Chilled to the Bone (30 page)

“I’m not sure. I need a little space.”

Jóel Ingi knew better than to argue and waited for the sudden screech of the blender to stop before saying anything more. He nodded as Agnes poured the thick pulp into a bowl and added a spoonful of yogurt, stirring slowly.

“Will you text me when you get there? How long will you be staying?”

Agnes shrugged. “A few days, maybe,” she said absently.

“Look, about yesterday …” Jóel Ingi said before Agnes cut him off.

“Shhhh. It’s not important.”

“H
ÓLMGEIR
,” G
UNNA READ
off the report in front of her.

“Yeah?” The sharp-faced little man with greasy hair which fell into his eyes responded.

“You’re Hólmgeir Sigurjónsson and you have a record that stretches back to kindergarten as far as I can see. Your friend Ásmundur Ásuson’s dead and you’re going to tell me just what happened.”

Hólmgeir’s eyes shifted rapidly from side to side and he licked his dry lips. Gunna could sense the wheels turning in his mind as the man quickly considered how much he could get away with keeping back. He’d made no obvious reaction to the news of his friend’s death and he reminded Gunna of rat in a trap.

“Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? You turned up with Ási at casualty in a taxi. How did he get cut like that, and why didn’t he get to casualty earlier?”

“I don’t know what happened. He just appeared at home like that.”

“Where’s ‘at home’?”

“My place. Ási rents—” he stopped and corrected himself. “He rented a room from me.”

“So you don’t know what happened to him? You weren’t with him when this happened?” Gunna asked. “Because I’m damn sure you know just what went on.”

Hólmgeir licked his lips; even without the trembling of his fidgeting hands, his nerves were palpable. “I don’t know anything. Ási turned up with blood all down his leg and I tried to get him to go to hospital but he wouldn’t have it.”

“You could have called an ambulance, couldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah. There was that,” he admitted.

“So why didn’t you?”

“Ási wrapped it all up in a bandage and said he’d be all right. He had a spliff and went to sleep on the couch and I reckoned he knew what he was doing so I went out for a bit.”

“And?”

“And when I came back he wouldn’t wake up properly. He was spaced, woozy. So I got him in the car and took him to casualty.”

“Who slashed Ási’s leg, Hólmgeir? Who did he have a fight with?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t there,” he said, his voice rising in pitch with anger and excitement. “Look, where’s my lawyer?”

Gunna sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “Why? You’re not under arrest, not yet, at any rate. Why do you reckon you might need a lawyer?”

“I don’t trust you bastards.”

Gunna opened her mouth to speak and stopped as Helgi quietly came in. Hólmgeir’s mouth shut like a door as Helgi leaned over Gunna’s shoulder and murmured in her ear.

Hólmgeir’s eyes swiveled from one to the other. His growing panic could not be mistaken and he struggled to hear the muttered conversation.

“Yeah. No problem,” Gunna said finally and Helgi straightened, picked up Hólmgeir’s file from the desk in front of her and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“What’s he taken that for?”

“Just an administrative matter,” Gunna said. “Hólmgeir, are you sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me?” She asked, standing up and smiling in a way that she could see set his pulse pounding with nerves. “Don’t go away.”

S
HE HURRIED ACROSS
the lobby and reached the lift with only a second to spare.

“
Hæ
, Jóel Ingi,” Katrín giggled, breathing hard to catch her breath after her headlong run for the lift. She opened her thick coat and fanned herself. “Phew … not used to exercise, I’m afraid,” she said, slowly unwinding her scarf and smiling at him, a rosy glow in her plump cheeks.

“You’re very smart today,” she said, looking sideways at his suit while Jóel Ingi tried to stop himself looking down at her billowing chest, which seemed to be trying to escape from the low-slung blouse imprisoning it.

“Coming out for lunch with the rest of us today?” she asked. “Már was talking about a place by the harbor that does a lunchtime seafood buffet.”

Jóel Ingi scowled and quickly adjusted his features into the best smile he could manage. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I have a few meetings this morning and I might have to miss lunch if they overrun.”

Katrín sighed. “I do like a man who’s dedicated to his work,” she said. “But not too dedicated. Bye!” She grinned, stepping out of the lift as the door hissed open on the third floor and leaving him alone in the steel box, wishing that he could stay there for the rest of the day.

He took a deep breath as the door shut and a moment later it slid back again to reveal Már looking at him.

“Stay there,” he ordered, stepping quickly into the lift and stabbing the button for the ground floor. “You’re in the shit. Ægir’s had some journalist from
Reykjavík Voice
on the phone already this morning; he chewed him out and said no comment, but he’s on the warpath right now.”

“What’s happened?” Jóel Ingi asked with dread in his voice. “What’s this hack saying?”

Már took a deep breath. “He’s asking if the minister can categorically deny that three Libyan men and one woman who were murdered in twenty ten in Tripoli passed through Iceland the year before. He has names and dates.”

“How?”

“How the fuck should I know? It was between us and the Yanks. If you remember, we didn’t even have a minister then. One was leaving just as the new guy was having his office measured for carpets.”

Jóel Ingi felt his fingers go numb. “But all this was nothing to do with the minister. He can deny having known anything about it.”

“You know that and I know that, but we both know where the buck stops. Laughing boy was the minister. The fact that he’d been in the job five minutes means nothing.”

“So what now?”

Már glared. “I don’t know what information that greasy hack has, but without any proof, they’re not going to get far on hearsay. So I’m hoping they don’t have the laptop you’ve been insisting is about to be recovered.”

“So what now? What am I going to tell Ægir?”

The lift stopped and Már stood in the door, stopping it from closing. “I’d recommend that you go home, phone in sick and then find that fucking laptop, even if it costs you money.”

“It’s cost me a fortune already!”

“That’s your problem. You shouldn’t have mislaid it to start with, should you?”

B
ADDÓ LOOKED AT
himself in the bathroom mirror and didn’t like what he saw. His rough-cut beard had been left lop-sided and he grimaced with discomfort as he trimmed it back as far as he could with a pair of scissors he’d found at the back of María’s bathroom cabinet.

He looked ruefully at his handiwork and scowled at the livid cut across his face. Pain was one thing—pain could be managed—but this was going to make him unmistakeable. It was as bad as having an orange flashing light on top of his head, he thought furiously.

Deep in a cupboard he found an old hoodie that had belonged to María’s son, a young man who had long flown the nest but had neglected to take many of his discarded belongings with him. It wasn’t something that María had mentioned, but Baddó knew the boy was in prison after being caught at Keflavík airport with a bag of pills, a steady job in a bakery abandoned in the quest for a quick payday, Baddó guessed. He wondered if he’d be joining his nephew inside if he couldn’t turn things around quickly. With the hood of the sweater shrouding his head and his chin tucked deep in a scarf, the cut could almost be hidden, and in this dark winter weather a man wrapped up warmly would be nothing remarkable.

Baddó scribbled a note for María and left it on the kitchen table. He made a quick sandwich and ate it in a few rapid mouthfuls, anxious to be away before his sister came home and started asking awkward questions. Worse still, the police could be on their way to pay him a visit as that ham-fisted thug he’d cut with the broken wine bottle would probably have spilled his guts by now.

He switched on his phone as he closed the door behind him, clicking it quietly shut. Money and transport were the main things on his mind as he slipped down the stairs and out
into the street. Hinrik’s mobile rang a dozen times before he gave up and stabbed the red button. He cursed under his breath and punched in another number from memory, marching along the street, hunched inside his coat to keep the bitter cold off his aching face.

“Hello,” a pleasant voice answered.

“
Hæ
, Ebba, it’s me. You all right?”

“I was expecting to see you yesterday,” she answered, her voice cool.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I had some trouble and I was in casualty until the early hours.”

“Casualty? You’re hurt?”

He was pleased to hear some alarm in her voice. “I had an accident and it needed some stitches. So I’m not a pretty sight right now.”

“What sort of accident?”

“Someone decided he didn’t like the color of my eyes, I guess.”

“But you’re all right, though, aren’t you?”

Baddó wondered what to say; he was far from Ebba’s conception of all right.

“Listen, Ebba. I really need to get away for a few days.” He paused, stifling an unexpected pang. “I’ll be back in a week or so. Okay?”

He heard Ebba sigh. “If you say so, Baddó. It was nice knowing you. But if you’ve better things to do, then just say so straight out.”

“Really. Genuinely, Ebba. I’ve had a problem. Someone wants to cut my throat and last night he almost managed it. I’m not a teenager who has to make up excuses,” he started harshly and immediately thought better of it. “I keep my word. I said I’d be back in a week or two and I will. But first I need to make myself scarce.”

“Fair enough. Give me a call when you’re back in town,
won’t you?” she said, and Baddó tried to figure out if she meant it or if she was telling him to get lost.

H
INRIK ROLLED HIMSELF
an early-morning joint from the little bag of grass that he kept in the coffee jar. He puffed and rolled his eyes as a tapping at the unbroken pane of glass in the front door echoed through the apartment. He put the spliff down, tied the towel securely around his waist and went to the door, picking up a baseball bat on the way and holding it behind his back.

“Who’s there?” He called to the indistinct figure outside.

“It’s me. Jóel Ingi.”

Relieved, Hinrik propped the bat in the corner behind the door and opened it a crack. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you. Let me in.”

Hinrik scowled. He found it hard to see Jóel Ingi as anything but a tiresome youngster with soft hands. Anyone who parted with money so easily had to be simple, he reckoned.

“Look, I’m not even dressed yet. What’s the hurry?”

Jóel Ingi’s agitation was infectious and Hinrik found himself suddenly on edge.

“Let me in, will you? This is important.”

“Come on, man. It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s almost noon, for fuck’s sake! Open the bastard door, will you? I can’t hang around outside here.”

Unwillingly, and against his better judgement, Hinrik eased the door open and padded down the corridor. He pointed toward the kitchen. “Go in there. I’m going to get some clothes.”

Jóel Ingi sat on a chair and crossed his legs, then uncrossed them and stood up. The flat was quiet apart from a rumbling snore that came from somewhere close by. Unable to stay still, Jóel Ingi sat down again and took a deep breath, trying to recall
the relaxation classes Agnes had dragged him to when she’d been into yoga, but which he had spent ogling the teacher’s hourglass figure rather than listening to what she had to say.

Hinrik appeared, sour-faced, wearing black jeans and buttoning a black shirt. “What’s your problem, then?”

“Results? You’ve had plenty of time.”

“This stuff doesn’t happen overnight, y’know.”

Hinrik lit the joint that had gone out in the ashtray and hauled the fragrant smoke deep into his lungs before letting it go with a series of regretful coughs that set his narrow shoulders shaking.

“I’ve paid you a stack of money and you haven’t come up with anything.”

“So? Sue me,” Hinrik offered with a lopsided smile. “Go to the police and see what they say.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I reckon I do understand. You get rolled by some tart and you want it sorted out discreetly. But you didn’t tell me you liked rough stuff, did you?”

Hinrik grinned, but his triumph faded at the sight of the fury etched on Jóel Ingi’s face.

“You really don’t understand, do you? You have no idea how deep this goes, you stupid bastard,” he snarled.

“Hey, look. It’s nothing to do with me, man. You asked me to do a job and I’ve done what I can.”

Jóel Ingi’s palm smacked the table with a crack and his lip trembled. Hinrik stopped with the joint halfway to his mouth in surprise. “You idiot,” he whispered. “You don’t understand. If you don’t come up with the name and address you were paid to find, then I’m going to be in the shit up to my neck, and anyone who had anything to do with that computer is going to be right there with me.”