Frozen Assets (28 page)

And what about her lunatic sister? Bjarni Jón groaned to himself out loud. The stewardess with the magnificently toned behind looked at him with momentary concern as she delivered his brandy with a flashing smile, and he smiled wanly in return. No rings on her fingers. He quickly considered asking for her phone number but decided against it.

But Erna, bloody hell, what a mess. Two out-of-control kids, two failed marriages, numerous smashed cars and a discreet spell in rehab, not to mention bailing her out of a cell once or twice after screaming matches in the street. Bjarni Jón was fully aware that Sigurjóna and Erna were close, but the woman was a liability he could do without. So where the bloody hell had she got to this time? It wasn't as if she hadn't disappeared for a day or three before, but this time Sigurjóna was clearly more worried than usual. Hell, he'd worry about it when he got home, he thought, allowing his eyes to drift back to the stewardess's buttocks as she backed down the aisle with the trolley of drinks yet again.

HÃ¥rde opened his eyes. The sun was higher in the sky than it had been when he had closed them. His mind was calm. The dusty surface of the road told him that nobody had passed while he had thought.

The time he had spent concentrating on every breath, guiding his attention back to counting each slow inhalation whenever his thoughts wandered, had cleared his mind.

He picked up the mobile phone that he had switched off at the

InterAlu compound and opened it. He deftly lifted out the SIM card, dropped it out of the car's window into the grass at the roadside and replaced it with another that had been wrapped in a twist of paper in his wallet. He switched on and scrolled to one of only a few numbers in the directory.

‘Horst,' the gravel voice answered.

‘Hårde.'

‘Problem?'

‘Not sure. I need an alternative route off this island.'

‘You are mobile? Car?'

‘For the moment. I may have to get rid of the car soon.'

‘Call me back in twenty minutes. I'll have something for you,' Horst said, ending the call abruptly.

She watched Sigurjóna sit defiantly in the back of the squad car, handed the keys of the house to Edda for safekeeping and shut the door behind her. Pacing Sigurjóna's gravelled path with a Camel, Gunna returned Snorri's missed call.

‘You called. What is it, lad?'

‘Hårde, I think. There's a pair of seats booked on a flight to Madrid at five thirty this afternoon. Names of Erna Daníelsdóttir and Gunnar Hadre.'

‘Madrid? Erna as well? You know she's been reported missing?'

‘Maybe she's not that missing after all.'

‘Obviously not,' Gunna pondered. ‘It might be a smokescreen of some kind. I don't like it. The man knows he's being looked for. I want a team up there to grab him if he does show up for this flight, but I want surveillance up there straight away. Get on to the airport force, will you? Tell them what's happening.'

‘Yeah, of course, chief.'

‘Is Vilhjálmur about?'

‘In his office, I think.'

‘OK. I'll call him there.'

She dialled again and listened to the ringing tone with impatience.

‘Vilhjálmur,' announced the expected measured tone.

‘Gunna. There's plenty going on and now I need you to do your bit.'

‘Ah, Gunnhildur. Making progress, I assume? Excellent—'

Gunna cut him off abruptly. ‘Vilhjálmur, listen. Sigurjóna Huldudóttir's in custody at Hverfisgata.'

‘What? The Minister's wife? You're certain?' he demanded through a sharp intake of breath.

Gunna could feel the tremor of fear in the voice on the other end. ‘Of course I'm bloody sure, and I can find grounds to hold the miserable cow if she makes a fuss. Now, listen, and you'd better write this down. I want you to get on to Reykjavík now, straight away. I need a car in Mjósundsvegur with at least two officers before I get there.'

Vilhjálmur was silent, but she could hear the scratch of his fountain pen.

‘Mjósundsvegur. Number?' he asked to her relief.

‘Don't know. It's a guesthouse at the top end by the church. That's where our man's been staying. I doubt he's there, but I don't want to chance it alone.'

‘Quite right,' Vilhjálmur replied. ‘I'll get it fixed for you right away.'

‘Ask forensics to get there as well. If there are any prints, I want them. As soon as I'm done there, I'll be on the way out to Keflavík again. Things are happening at the airport, I reckon, so I want you to get on to the most senior officer there and brief him. Snorri can tell you more. All right?'

Vilhjálmur Traustason had the fleeting feeling that Gunna had been promoted over his head.

‘Nine five five zero, zero three five five.'

Gunna's communicator buzzed and she pressed the button on her headset to reply.

‘Zero three five five, nine five five zero.'

‘Olli here. The phone company just got back to me. The number is an ordinary pay-as-you go SIM card that was never registered. It's the sort you can pick up at petrol stations. Nothing special about it and no hope of identifying the user.'

‘Not to worry. It was worth a go.'

‘Hang on. It's been switched off for about two hours.'

‘Any idea where?'

‘The last connection was through the mast at Lækjarbakki.'

‘Outside Hvalvík?'

‘That's the one.'

‘Two hours ago?'

‘Last connection was 10.05.'

‘OK, thanks, Olli. Make sure the number's monitored in case it comes up again, and will you ask the phone company to call me direct if there's any activity?'

‘Will do. We checked Erna Dan's house as well, all quiet, no sign of anything unusual and the intruder alarm says it's active.'

‘Good,' Gunna said. ‘Sounds like nobody home there.'

They were back around the incident room table, ignored computer screens lighting the room with their dim glow. There was a chill in the room now that the sun had travelled far enough west by midday for its rays to leave their side of the building in shadow.

‘What do we have?' Gunna demanded, without bothering to greet anyone and hauling off her jacket as she sat down.

‘I went to the Gullfoss like you said,' Bára began. ‘Tracked down a doorman who saw Hårde leave with Erna at about two in the morning. They left on foot and he didn't see them take a cab or get in a car.'

Vilhjálmur shimmered silently in. Gunna looked up at him inquiringly, but he held both hands up palms outwards to indicate that he did not intend to take part other than to listen.

‘Who spoke to the snapper, Ármann?'

‘Me, chief,' Snorri replied quickly. ‘Nothing much to tell, really. He didn't notice Erna and Hårde particularly, just snapped off the photo of every table and got as many names as he could.'

‘Nothing, then?'

‘Nothing we didn't know already. He showed me the whole file of pictures he took, and our two can only be seen in a couple of them. He left before the party really got going. But he said he saw all the awards being presented and also Sigurjóna dropping hers on the floor.'

‘How did that happen?' Gunna asked.

‘Just pissed, I think. Ármann also did some video and he admitted he'd posted the clip of Sigurjóna dropping her statue on to YouTube, the one that Skandalblogger linked to.'

‘Any significance there? Does this guy have a link to the Skandalblogger?' Gunna asked.

‘Could be. But if so, he's not saying anything, which is hardly surprising. Is that relevant at this stage?'

‘Probably not,' Gunna decided. ‘Making a fool of yourself in public generally isn't a criminal offence. I just want to know where that bloody Hårde is and if Sigurjóna's fruitcake sister is still in the land of the living. Who dug up the flight ticket info?'

‘Me again, chief.' Snorri's hand went up. ‘17.35 flight this afternoon to Madrid, booked in the names of Erna Daníelsdóttir and Gunnar Hadre.'

‘Hadre?'

‘Well, close enough to Hårde. I checked back with the airline. It was booked over the net using a credit card that checks back to Erna Dan.'

Gunna leaned back and stretched her legs out in front under the table. ‘What I'm wondering is this, did Erna book this and maybe type in Hårde's name wrong? Or did maybe Hårde book this using her computer and credit card? I have to admit, I'm getting a nasty feeling that we're going to find a seriously dead Erna somewhere sooner or later.'

‘Ah, I'll see if I can check,' Snorri said. He seated himself in front of one of the semi-dormant computers and tapped at the keyboard to wake it.

‘What does anybody think?' Gunna asked. ‘I reckon it stinks.'

‘Why's that?'

‘The man knows we're looking for him.'

‘How would he know that?' Vilhjálmur asked quietly.

‘Because Sigurjóna bloody Huldudóttir told him so. Anyhow, it seems too easy. Watch the airport and wait for him to show up. It's too simple. A man like Hårde doesn't get caught out like this.'

‘Where else could he go?' Bára asked.

‘Hell, I don't know. There are private aircraft coming in and out, more than ever now that Iceland has more billionaires per square metre than anywhere else in Europe. There are other airports, shipping, the ferry in the east. Or he might lie low until the heat's off.'

‘Where, though? He'd be noticed, surely?' Snorri suggested.

Gunna opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as the door banged open and Bjössi came in.

‘I thought you were at Hverfisgata practising police brutality on Sigurjóna?' he said, as Gunna watched deep disapproval register on Vilhjálmur Traustason's face.

‘Gave up. She flatly refuses to say anything at all without her lawyer present. I left her in an interview room with old Viggó Björgvins to bore the crap out of her.'

‘That'll do the trick. People have been known to admit to all sorts rather than listen to that old fart drone on for hours on end,' Bjössi agreed. ‘Oh, and there's a young man down in reception, wants to speak to you and says it's urgent.'

‘What? Who's that?'

‘Don't know. Said his name's Skúli. Does that mean anything to you?'

‘Ah. Yes. In that case, ten minutes for a coffee and a fag for the puffers. Back here at . . .' She looked up at the clock, registering that any chance of a lunch break had been and gone. ‘Back at five past.'

‘Getting anywhere, Snorri?' Gunna called across the room as she opened the door.

‘The technical bloke at the airline says he's sure enough that the flights were booked using the Icelandic version of the web page. Also, whoever booked it got all the accents right in Erna's name, but got Hårde's name wrong.'

‘Well, I suppose that indicates Erna was alive when the flights were booked,' Gunna rumbled.

‘Yeah, but that's not all. There's a Gunnvald Ström booked on a flight to Billund this afternoon as well.'

‘Bluff? Coincidence? We'd best have a presence at the airport and look out for Mr Ström and hopefully eliminate him.'

Skúli was sitting in the police station's lobby with Lára at his side.

‘What brings you here?' Gunna asked as she sat down next to them.

‘The guy. We've seen him.'

‘Which guy? Who do you mean?'

‘The one you're looking for. The one on the
Hot Chat
pages I showed you.'

‘Hårde?'

‘I don't know his name. But the one who was sitting at the table in that picture.'

‘He was on the march,' Lára added.

‘Where? When?'

‘About twenty minutes ago. At the check-in desk at the airport.'

‘You're sure? What was he up to?'

‘He was in the queue to check in for a flight, I suppose.'

‘Bloody hell. What were you doing up there, anyway?'

Skúli grimaced. ‘A shot in the dark. Bjarni Jón Bjarnason was arriving from Berlin. We were supposed to try and get a comment from him if we could, now that the InterAlu withdrawal seems to be happening, but he must have been whisked away through the VIP lounge. Which is what we'd expected anyway. Instead of going straight back, we decided to go for a coffee in the café by the departure desks and Lára almost walked into him.'

‘Did he see either of you?'

‘Don't think so.'

‘Would he recognize either of you anyway?'

‘I doubt it. We only spoke for a few minutes.'

‘Good. Right. I have to run, as you can imagine, Skúli. I can't tell you how grateful I am for the information, and if this comes off, I owe you an enormous favour.'

Skúli grinned broadly. ‘No problem.'

‘By the way,' she murmured in a voice that wouldn't carry, ‘maybe you ought to know that a certain prominent political figure's wife is in a cell at Hverfisgata, not that you heard that from me.'

Skúli grinned. ‘Great. Thanks, chief.'

‘Call me tomorrow. OK?' Gunna shot at him, departing at a trot.

‘Vilhjálmur!' Gunna bellowed, bursting back into the incident room. ‘Where the hell is the bloody man when you need him?'

‘Here, Gunnhildur. If you'd slow down for a second, you'd find me right behind you,' he said tartly.

‘Right. No time to fart about,' she said briskly as the rest of them appeared, having heard Gunna's bellow echo through the building. ‘Our man's at Keflavík airport right now.'

‘And you thought he wouldn't be?' Snorri mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich.

‘I may be wrong. So fire me. I'm told he was at check-in twenty minutes ago, so he's probably checked in by now and waiting for his flight. Vilhjálmur, I want the airport force alerted straight away.'

‘They're already on standby for this person, but it hasn't helped with the Minister going through and all the press they expected.'