Frozen Assets (3 page)

‘Yup, it stinks. But fishermen and coppers will be fine, just you see,' Gunna assured him.

Bjössi refilled his mug from the thermos. He wedged a hard lump of sugar between his teeth and sipped his fresh coffee through it.

‘I hope somebody's going to be fine,' Bjössi mumbled with the sugar lump still between his teeth. ‘The exchange rate's up and down. I don't care what the government tries to tell us, I can see prices of everything going up and Dóra says it's dearer just to live now. Half of the Poles and whatnot have already left, except the ones running lucrative dope businesses.'

‘You're probably right, but what's going to change? Nothing. Anyway, what's keeping you so busy over at Keflavík that you can't help an old colleague out for a few hours?'

‘Dope, dope and more dope.' Bjössi sighed. ‘It's just never-ending and I'm sick of it. It's dealing with these bloody low-lifes that I'm fed up with, day in, day out.'

‘Well, you shouldn't have joined the police in that case.'

‘Probably right,' Bjössi said, standing up. ‘But I reckon we're both stuck with it now, Gunna. Come and find me if you're in Keflavík tomorrow. By the way, who's the toyboy?'

‘What?'

‘Your young man.'

‘Oh, him. He's a journalist on
Dagurinn
, says he's here to write a profile of a country police station.'

‘Fun for you.' Bjössi sniggered while Gunna glowered.

‘It was wished on me,' she said. ‘Shit, that reminds me.'

‘Of what?'

‘I've just remembered I had a meeting with Vilhjálmur Traustason this morning.'

‘Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I told our glorious leader that you were a bit busy today.'

2

Wednesday, 27 August

Gunna's flat soles slapped on the polished floor of the hospital corridor. Sigmar's office was at the far end of the passage, marked only with a handwritten sign that indicated the occupant's name and not his position.

Hearing voices within, she knocked and pushed the door open without waiting for a response. Sigmar swivelled round, the phone at his ear.

‘I'll have to call you back. Sorry, I have a visitor. Yes, an hour at least.'

He dropped the phone on to its handset and smiled. ‘Good morning, sergeant. You've come to my rescue.'

‘Morning. In what way?'

‘One of the administrators,' he said with distaste, glaring at the phone. ‘More cash-saving incentives needed, although obviously that wouldn't extend to bureaucrats. But hopefully in an hour when the lady calls back, I'll be on my way home for lunch,' he added with satisfaction.

‘A result, then?'

‘Indeed. Now, our young man.' He shuffled through papers and came up with a handwritten sheet. ‘Of course you'd have the full report tomorrow, but I understand that you'll need to know as much as possible straight away.'

‘It helps.'

Sigmar consulted the sheet. ‘Actually I can't tell you much more than I did yesterday at the scene, except to confirm he hadn't been in the water for more than a few hours. Six, at most.'

‘The body was located at six thirty.'

‘Around midnight, not before. He was also extremely drunk, almost double the drink-driving limit. At any rate it's not surprising that he may have missed his footing. He'd certainly have had trouble walking in a straight line at that level of intoxication. The cause of death was drowning.'

Gunna scribbled notes in a pad as Sigmar spoke. ‘So he was alive when he hit the water?'

‘Oh, yes. But apart from that, there's not much to tell. He was in good health, didn't smoke, or at least not often, wasn't overweight. He clearly didn't do any kind of manual work as his hands are as soft as a baby's bottom.'

‘Any distinguishing marks?' Gunna asked.

‘Ah, yes. We have a tattoo. On the left upper arm.'

Sigmar tapped at his computer keyboard and swivelled the monitor round so they could both see it.

‘There you are. Wonderful things, computers,' he said appreciatively as Gunna looked at the magnified image of the young man's pale skin and the stylized motif of a book with E3 on one open page and V2 on the page opposite.

‘Will you email me these pictures? E-three?'

‘E cubed, EEE. Someone's initials, maybe?' Sigmar mused. ‘Who knows? It could be anything. But that's your job, sergeant.'

‘Of course.' She made a note and moved on. ‘Any DNA evidence?'

Sigmar frowned. ‘This isn't CSI, you know. If he has a criminal record, we'll know in a couple of days. But if he's an honest man, then the answer's no.'

‘We'll see, then.'

‘A little conundrum for you, sergeant?' Sigmar smiled. ‘Now, I'll give you my mobile number in case you have any more questions. But if you don't mind, I'd really like to not be here when the financial controller calls back.'

27-08-2008, 1339

Skandalblogger writes:

Keeping our end up!

We're still here, ladies and gentlemen, and we know how much you all appreciate the Skandalblogger's efforts to keep youup to date with the great and the good.

The latest is that our last gem of gossip, brought to us by word of mouth from someone who knows, has resulted in the abject fury of a certain recently re-elected former jailbird, who has been going apeshit over our revelation that he's had a hair transplant.

Strangely, he didn't seem to mind too much about being called a disgraced convicted criminal. Well, you can't argue with the truth . . . But, no, it's the rug thing that's really got his goat. That's putting his priorities in the right place.

Bæjó!

An hour later Gunna was at the police station in Keflavík. Like Sigmar at the hospital, Chief Inspector Vilhjálmur Traustason had a surprisingly small office and, at more than two metres in height, he seemed to fill most of it. No lightweight herself, Gunna felt that the room could burst if a third person were to try and squeeze in. She sipped weak coffee and placed the cup awkwardly on the corner of his desk.

‘Sorry about yesterday. It was something of a busy day,' she apologized without a shred of remorse in her voice.

‘Understood. Investigation has to take precedence,' he said stiffly. ‘Now, resources.'

‘Indeed. How much is there in the kitty for me to spend?'

‘Less than ever,' he replied with a tiny sigh, finally looking up from the screen of the laptop on the desk.

‘I need—'

‘I know what you need.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Because you tell me at every available opportunity exactly what you need, as does every other station officer in the county. And I have to keep telling you that there are fewer financial resources available. But . . .' Vilhjálmur Traustason tailed off, attention on his screen.

‘But what?'

Throughout her career, she had been mildly irritated by Vilhjálmur Traustason, as well as occasionally tempted to punch his prominent nose. Promotion had sought him out in the same way that it had steadfastly avoided Gunna. She was fully aware that only an unusual set of circumstances had made her a sergeant in a rural area instead of still being a constable in the city force, and that further promotion was less than likely. The chief inspector's steady rise put them at odds when it came to the increasingly frequent issue of funding.

‘I know how you love figures, Vilhjálmur. So I've prepared some for you,' she said, passing a sheet of paper across the desk to him.

He looked doubtful and scrutinized the list of requirements.

‘You don't really need all this, do you?' he asked, aghast.

‘Probably not. But I'm sure we can strike a happy medium somewhere.'

‘But — all this? Why? How can you justify it?'

‘Since the smelter construction started on the far side of the harbour we simply have so much more to do. Traffic through Hvalvík has increased by around four hundred per cent and virtually all of that is heavy goods. Basically, trucks going to and from that new aluminium plant. The place is awash with heavy traffic and Polish labourers.'

‘But you're coping well.'

‘For the moment, Vilhjálmur, for the moment. There's only me and Haddi, and Haddi doesn't speak enough English or anything else to deal with these people.'

‘You can call for additional manpower when you need it.'

‘I can call and it's not going to come half the time. That's why I'm putting in for two additional officers for the Hvalvík station.'

‘Two?' Vilhjálmur squeaked. ‘There's a request for an additional car here as well. You have two cars already and normally a station like yours has only one vehicle.'

‘It's a big area we have to cover. The Volvos are getting old and we could do with a jeep for the winter.'

Vilhjálmur consulted his laptop again, scratched his head and sucked his teeth while Gunna watched him carefully while pretending to make notes on the pad resting on her knee.

Eventually he sighed heavily. ‘Gunnhildur. What do you really need? What are your priorities?'

‘Manpower. Then an additional vehicle. Then all the other bits and pieces.'

‘Well, you're in luck, actually, as I have a very experienced officer who has asked for a transfer and I'm sure he'd suit you.'

‘Not Viggó Björgvins?'

‘How did you know?' he snapped.

‘Because the man's being transferred all the bloody time. No. I want someone a lot younger than that idiot.'

Sour-faced, Vilhjálmur consulted his laptop. ‘You can have one officer on permanent secondment.'

‘Who?'

‘You can have Snorri Hilmarsson or Bára Gunnólfsdóttir. They've both been seconded to you occasionally, I believe.'

Gunna thought quickly. She knew and liked both officers. Bára was small, fair and quick-witted with an ability to get straight to the heart of things, while Snorri was the beefy, likeable young man with an endless reserve of good humour who was normally the one sent to help out at Hvalvík. Gunna knew him as tenacious but without Bára's spark of fierce intelligence. She had seen plenty of both of them and paused over a less than easy choice.

‘Snorri,' she decided.

‘Why?'

‘He's a plodder. Methodical, gets on with it. Country copper material. Bára has a great future in CID, as long as you can keep her on the force.'

Vilhjálmur winced at the reference to the police force's retention rate.

‘All right. I'll interview Snorri when he comes on duty and we'll see if he's prepared for a transfer to Hvalvík.'

‘Oh, he is. He lives in Hvalvík anyway, so he's happy with it.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I've already asked him.'

‘Gunnhildur, you know you shouldn't bypass procedure,' Vilhjálmur admonished grimly. ‘Now, vehicles.'

‘Yes.'

‘It's August now. How long are these vehicles you have going to last?'

‘Search me. I'm not a mechanic.'

‘I don't have a vehicle for you. I can't justify it.'

‘Come on. That old Volvo's going to fall apart soon.'

He tapped his teeth with the pencil. ‘Make it last the summer. I'll allocate you a jeep, but not until October.'

Gunna wanted to spit on her palm and shake his hand, but was still suspicious. It seemed to have all been too easy.

‘Done. Can I have Snorri from next week?'

Gunna used the CID room. She could have gone back to Hvalvík as soon as Vilhjálmur had agreed to let her have both Snorri and a jeep, but she felt the need of the buzz of colleagues around her rather than Haddi's dry chuckle from the next room.

‘Hvalvík police,' she heard Haddi answer gruffly after a dozen rings.

‘Hi, it's me. Are you all right without me for a few hours?'

‘Yeah. I reckon I can maintain law and order for a while. Are you busy with that bloke?'

‘Pretty much. CID have better things to do, so this is down to us.'

‘That's all right. Tomorrow's going to be busy, though.'

‘Why's that?' Gunna asked.

‘They're bringing some low-loaders through to the smelter site so we'll have to close a couple of streets and escort them through.'

‘Shouldn't be a problem. D'you want the good news?'

‘No news is normally good news.'

‘We have Snorri from Monday and get a jeep in October.'

Gunna heard Haddi snort, which she recognized as a laugh of sorts. ‘And what did you have to do to persuade Vilhjálmur? Did you beat him round the head or just threaten the old fool?'

‘Didn't have to do either. Just set out the case and explained how busy we are. But he did try and palm me off with Viggó Björgvins.'

‘But you got Snorri instead?'

‘So he says. But I'll wait and see if it's Viggó who turns up on Monday morning.'

‘If he does, I'll be asking for a transfer,' Haddi growled.

‘Me too,' Gunna agreed. ‘Anyway, I'll see you later.'

Rather than use Bjössi's desk, she sat herself opposite his empty place in the chair that would belong to the station's second CID officer — when recruitment and financial constraints might allow the post to be filled.

It took more than an hour on the computer to plough through the national register that lists the full name, date of birth and legal residence of every Icelandic citizen and foreign resident. She emerged from the E section with ten candidates for men with the initials EEE, of whom six could not be ruled out by their age. Encouraged, she plunged into the V section of the register, but found that VV was a very common set of initials and decided to concentrate on E3.

Referring to the list of names and dates of birth on the pad next to her, she clicked the mouse on the telephone directory and began with the first of the names. She added the phone numbers given to the list on her pad, pulled Bjössi's phone across the desk towards her and dialled the first number.

‘Hello?' a woman's voice answered.

‘Good morning. This is Gunnhildur Gísladóttir at Hvalvík police. Could I speak to Eiríkur Emil Eiríksson?'

‘He's not here,' the voice answered sharply.

‘Could you tell me where I could find him?'

‘You're not his . . .' There was a pause. ‘You're not his bit on the side, are you?' the voice continued with suppressed fury. ‘Because if you are—'

‘I'm an investigating officer with Hvalvík police and I assure you I've never met the man, but I'm trying to eliminate certain people from an inquiry. Can you tell me where I can find him? This is a serious matter.'

The voice on the line sighed. ‘He's at sea as far as I know. But sometimes he doesn't bother to come home when they're ashore.'

‘And you're his wife?'

‘I don't know about that. I'm his kids' mum at any rate.'

‘I see. I apologize, but I have to eliminate a series of people from an incident. Could you describe him for me? Height and hair colour?'

Gunna could hear the click of a lighter and a long exhalation.

‘Eiríkur's about two metres, a bit over. Dark hair, going a bit bald at the back, big nose.'

‘In that case I don't think I'll have to trouble you any more as that doesn't fit the description of the person we're looking for. But can I have your name, please? It's just in case I need to follow this up later.'

‘Aldís Gunnarsdóttir.'

‘And is that an Akureyri phone number?'

‘Dalvík.'

‘OK. Thank you for your help. I don't expect we'll need to trouble you any further.'