Frozen Assets (6 page)

‘Sigurjóna doesn't like them.'

‘And if Sigurjóna had known that Einar Eyjólfur had something to do with Clean Iceland, would that have caused a problem at work?'

‘Shit, yeah.'

Gunna looked at Dísa in silence, hoping that the silence would prompt her to continue.

‘Actually he was more than upset. He was scared, I thought, but he didn't say anything about it. I saw him watching the street outside in the evenings and checking to see if we were being followed if we were out somewhere, and I told him not to be silly.'

‘And he never mentioned what he might be anxious about?'

‘No, he'd just change the subject if I asked him, but I could see he was uncomfortable with it.'

‘Do you think this was anything to do with his friend's accident?'

Dísa nodded in silence and looked down at her hands.

‘And do you believe that there might be some connection to his work?'

She nodded again.

‘Do you believe that you are in any danger?'

‘No, I don't think so,' she replied in a small voice.

‘All right. Thank you for all your help, and I assure you it is a help,' Gunna said, rising to her feet. ‘But I expect I will want to come and ask you a few more questions later. By the way, I know it's not pleasant, but it seems Einar Eyjólfur had no next of kin. Would you be prepared to identify him formally?'

Dísa gulped and turned pale. ‘I've never seen a dead person before.'

‘He'll look as if he's asleep.'

‘OK. I'll do it.'

‘Tomorrow?'

Dísa looked doubtful. ‘I will if you'll come with me,' she finally said in a small voice.

‘Of course,' Gunna said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘I'll pick you up as well if you like.'

‘Please. I'll take the day off. Sigurjóna won't mind if she knows why.'

‘Fine. I'll go over to the hospital with you. You're going to be all right tonight, aren't you?' she asked, the front door open in front of her.

The sun was low in the sky and it was still warm after a hot day, but a stiff breeze was blowing uphill from the sea, whipping dust from the street to fill the air with grit.

‘Dísa, you're not on your own here, are you?'

‘It's all right. My uncle's family is upstairs and Mum is down the street.'

Gunna pulled her cap lower and prepared to trot over the road to her car.

‘The guy's name, I remember it now.'

‘And?'

‘Egill. Egill Grímsson.'

***

The phone buzzed on the kitchen worktop and Gunna debated with herself whether or not to answer the ‘unknown number' call. After all, she was off duty. Laufey looked up from the homework she had decided to spread across the kitchen table.

‘Phone, Mum.'

‘I know, sweetheart.' Gunna picked it up. ‘Gunnhildur.'

Vilhjálmur Traustason's voice was an octave above its usual pitch, and for once he didn't even bother to introduce himself.

‘Why on earth were you in Reykjavík?' he demanded.

‘You keep telling me what a wonderful city it is and how you can't understand me living in a backwater like Hvalvík.'

‘Don't play games, Gunnhildur. I've had a complaint from a very senior level that you have been harassing a prominent figure in the business community.
Very
prominent.'

‘And who is that supposed to be?'

Vilhjálmur's voice rose slightly further and Gunna toyed with the idea that if it were to go up any more, then only dogs and dolphins would be able to hear the chief inspector's tantrums.

‘You know perfectly well and I'm instructing you to be careful. This is a very influential lady and I can't see how she could be connected in any way to anything suspicious.'

‘Look, our dead guy worked for her. This was a perfectly ordinary interview, nothing heavy, simply to try and find out what his movements had been before we found him dead a hundred kilometres from Reykjavík. Is that OK?'

She could hear the chief inspector taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. She knew he found it difficult to haul her over the coals, just as she found it hard to take his rapid rise through the ranks seriously.

‘Well, in that case—'

‘And just so that you know, your prominent figure had just finished screaming blue murder at some unlucky dogsbody as I got there, and she reeks of vodka at two in the afternoon.'

‘In that case—'

‘In that case, I should have informed traffic, just in case the bloody woman decided to drive herself home.'

‘Gunnhildur, listen, I don't want any trouble arising from this, you understand? We don't need a repeat of, you know, what happened before.'

‘Just following procedure, Vilhjálmur, going by the rule book.'

Well, mind you do. Do you understand? We can't have that sort of person causing a fuss because a regional officer oversteps the mark.'

He stressed ‘regional', and Gunna found herself resisting the temptation to snap back. She jammed her phone against one shoulder while opening the fridge and peering inside.

‘What do you mean by overstepping the mark?' she asked angrily. ‘Since when has trying to find out why someone died in suspicious circumstances been overstepping the mark?'

‘Progress briefing tomorrow. Don't forget.' The phone went dead in her hand.

‘You can just go to hell, chief inspector,' she muttered, tossing the phone back on to the worktop where it spun in circles before coming to rest behind the toaster. Laufey looked at her mother with wide eyes.

‘All right, Mum?'

‘Yes. It's just something you need to learn as you go through life, my love.'

‘What's that?'

‘That most of the people in charge are idiots.'

‘You have to find these — these — these
bastards
!'

Sigurjóna Huldudóttir's composure had disappeared entirely. Her shoulders shook and her voice trembled in fury.

‘There's nothing more I can do, Sigurjóna,' Bjarni Jón Bjarnason said in a voice he hoped sounded soothing, while bracing himself for the storm. ‘The computer crime squad have been investigating this for weeks without getting anywhere and I've badgered the Minister of Foreign Affairs to put pressure on countries that host these websites, but it's not as if Iceland has so much weight that we can bully other governments,' he added bitterly.

‘But it's just disgusting,' she spat. ‘Absolutely revolting. How do they find these things out? Have you seen this?'

‘No, I haven't,' he lied.

‘Just look at it. Go on, read it. Look what this scumbag is saying.' She wrenched the laptop around on the table.

‘Who?'

‘Just read the bloody thing!'

Bjarni Jón read. He recognized every one of the blogger's targets easily enough, and anyone with more than a passing acquaintance with any of the gossip magazines would be able to do the same.

Sigurjóna stood up and paced the living room from end to end, smoking furiously, and spun back so that the parquet floor squealed under her heel.

‘Have you read it? Well, have you?'

‘Yes, I have now.'

‘And?'

‘And what?'

She gathered her breath. ‘And what the hell are you going to do about it?' she shrieked, while Bjarni Jón quailed at the onslaught.

‘Look, Jóna. We've had this bloody site closed down already a couple of times, and it just pops up somewhere else. The blog's hosted in some former Soviet state where all that counts is money and they don't reply to official communications if they don't feel like it.'

Sigurjóna threw herself into a chair, looked around briefly for an ashtray and ground out her cigarette clumsily on a saucer that still had a cup in it, spilling cup and cold coffee on to the table. Anger was something she did well and she knew it.

‘How does this bastard know all these things?' she hissed.

‘Like what things?' Bjarni Jón asked.

‘Like how Inga Katrín had a nose job at the same time as she had her boobs fixed?'

‘How should I know?'

‘And how does this shitbag know about . . . Sugarplum?'

Bjarni Jón winced. This one was painful.

‘Well, how do they know?' she yelled, bringing her fury to the whirling climax that Bjarni Jón had known was coming. ‘That's our name! Nobody else's! Unless you've been whispering something in your secretary's ear!'

‘Jóna, please. Calm down.'

‘Why the hell should I?'

Bjarni Jón summoned his scattered courage and tried to keep his head high. ‘Look, Jóna, I wouldn't touch Birna even if it was on offer. She's as cold as a dead fish.'

‘And how do you know? Tried it on, have you?'

In spite of herself, Sigurjóna was starting to enjoy herself. Occasionally she revelled in letting her temper and tongue have free rein and, however much Bjarni Jón was tempted to yell back, his self-control was never allowed to slip that far.

‘Listen. Birna is completely frigid. I have it on good authority. She's not been involved with a man since she left university. She gets off on her career, nothing else.'

‘All right, then.'

Bjarni Jón stifled a sigh of relief as Sigurjóna's temper suddenly cooled, but he knew at the same time that his wife's icy side could be just as unpleasant.

‘Are you going to do something about this Skandalblogging arsehole?' she demanded quietly.

‘Jóna, my love, I've already done everything I can.'

Sigurjóna sniffed and tapped another cigarette from its packet. ‘If you don't, I will.'

‘What?'

‘You heard me.'

‘How?'

‘Maybe I'll ask Mr Hardy to keep his eyes open for me.'

Bjarni Jón caught his breath. ‘Jóna, I'm warning you. These aren't nice people and they aren't the sort you want to owe too many favours.'

‘I don't care. I have to stop this. I can't stand it any more. And if you don't do something, I'll find someone who will.'

4

Friday, 29 August

Haddi and Snorri were already at the station when Gunna arrived, out of breath, irritable and late.

‘Afternoon,' Haddi said.

‘Hell. Sorry, Haddi. Laufey desperately needed a lift to the stables this morning and she didn't bother to tell me until two minutes before I was ready to leave. Children, nothing but trouble from day one,' she grumbled.

‘Never had a moment's trouble with mine,' Haddi said with the satisfied look of a proud parent on his face.

‘Haddi, my dear friend. That's entirely due to the fact that you had the sense to stay at sea until your lads had grown up a bit.'

‘Well, there is that,' he agreed and bustled to the spitting percolator. ‘Not putting you off, are we, Snorri?'

Haddi put three steaming mugs on the table and sat back down again. ‘So, what's on the agenda for Hvalvík's guardians of law and order, chief?'

Gunna came back to the front office from her own room holding a batch of papers which she slapped on the table.

‘Simple. Haddi, I need you to mind the shop. Snorri, you can take the smart Volvo and go up to the InterAlu compound. Introduce yourself to the manager there. He's called Sveinn, nice enough bloke, but don't make any promises. Most of what we have to deal with here at the moment is traffic to and from the InterAlu site, which is the smelter they're building on the far side of the harbour. There are dozens of trucks every day and every now and again there are low-loaders with the heavy equipment.'

‘They go right through the town?'

‘Not now. The back road was built up in the spring, so most of it can bypass the town itself, and sometime in the autumn they're due to start dredging the harbour to deepen it, after which they'll start bringing in the very heavy stuff by sea. All right?'

‘Yup. I'll go and see Sveinn. What's happening with the other construction — the hydroelectric one?'

Gunna sighed. ‘That's going to be a nightmare when it really gets into gear. There's going to be a huge volume of traffic going both ways when they start clearing the site. Haven't you been up there?'

‘Not since the project started,' Snorri said.

‘It's a bloody awful road up there past Stjáni at Læk's place. But it's their problem, so they can sort it out when the time comes. All right? You'd better be back from the InterAlu place before eleven so Haddi can do his usual tour of the docks.'

Haddi smiled to himself.

‘Don't get the car dirty, or Haddi'll be furious.'

‘And what might you be up to today, Gunna?' Haddi asked.

‘I have a meeting with Vilhjálmur Traustason to brief him on our dead guy's case in half an hour. And considering it's a good forty minutes' drive to Keflavík from here, I reckon I'm going to find the old fool in a bad mood when I get there.'

She planted her cap squarely on her head and made for the door.

‘So I'll see you boys later. Look after the place for me.'

Gunna didn't break any speed limits getting to Keflavík, although by the time the Hvalvík station's second-best Volvo pulled up outside the Keflavík police station she was running almost an hour late.

‘What brings you over here, darling?'

Bjössi's question was her first greeting inside the door, where Bjössi was standing with a mug in one hand and a pack of filterless Camels in the other on his way to the back door for a quiet smoke in the bright morning sunshine.

‘Can't keep away. Nothing like a visit to the big city to remind a girl of what she's missing out in the country.'

‘That's what I keep telling you,' Bjössi agreed, pushing backwards through the doors with his hands full. ‘See you in a minute . . .'

‘Ah, Gunnhildur, I'm terribly sorry to have to keep you waiting,' a breathless Vilhjálmur Traustason apologized, bustling past in the opposite direction. ‘A meeting with the Sheriff took a little longer than anticipated,' he explained as if to a wayward child, while Gunna strode along in his wake.

In his small office Vilhjálmur waved Gunna to a chair and carefully placed his cap on the top of his filing cabinet on his way to his own chair. He leaned on his desk and placed his palms together in a steeple in front of his face.

‘Now,' he said, as if preparing himself for action. ‘The drowned man, Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson.'

‘You have my interim report already, so you know everything I do for the moment.'

‘I want to know what you think.'

‘I think he was murdered.'

‘Really?' There was a brief note of fright in his voice. ‘Why? The man had a very high blood alcohol content and Sigmar at pathology says drowning was the cause of death.'

‘That's right. But we don't understand how a man on a night out in Reykjavík managed to drown in an obscure backwater a hundred kilometres away.'

‘You think it's suspicious, not just an unfortunate accident?'

‘Of course I do! His blood alcohol content was so high that the man could probably hardly walk, let alone get from a bar on Laugarvegur to Hvalvík without some help. I understand that Einar Eyjólfur wasn't a habitual drinker at all — quite the opposite.'

‘Of course this matter warrants further investigation, but it isn't a murder inquiry until there's evidence of foul play. There'll be an inquest, but unless there's evidence to the contrary, the verdict will certainly be death by misadventure.'

‘It stinks. There's just so much that needs to be explained.'

‘Well, I suppose you'd better do your best. But I'm concerned that this could be a waste of your time. Find out what you can in the next week or so, and then we'll see. Hm?'

Gunna knew that Vilhjálmur was a man who played everything by the book and would sooner cut off a hand than break a rule. She desperately wanted to ask why he was so unconcerned about Einar Eyjólfur's death, but restrained herself.

‘I could do with some help on this one. CID are too busy with narcotics as it is. Can I have an officer for a week to help me out with the leg work?'

Vilhjálmur lifted his steepled hands to bring the fingertips in line with his prominent nose.

‘We are overstretched as it is and I don't have a single spare officer at my disposal, at least not now that Snorri Hilmarsson has been transferred to the Hvalvík station,' he said pointedly. ‘However, I had in fact anticipated your request and have already discussed this. The city force will be working with you on this case and Sævaldur Bogason will be assisting you.'

Gunna groaned inwardly. ‘Bloody hell. The man's like a bull in a china shop.'

‘Sævaldur is an experienced and effective officer who gets results,' Vilhjálmur said coldly.

‘Fair enough,' Gunna sighed. ‘I'll get over there and talk to him.'

‘That would be advisable,' Vilhjálmur said, picking up the old-fashioned fountain pen from his desk, his attention already on the top report in a pile, indicating that the meeting was at an end.

‘Do you mind if I ask some background questions?' Skúli asked timidly.

‘Fire away, young man. If there's anything I don't want to tell you, you'll find out.'

Skúli sipped his Coke. They were sitting at one of the few small tables at a truckstop at the top of the heath halfway between Hvalvík and the handful of small communities to the east. Rain from a sudden shower pelted down outside from clouds as black as inky fingerprints on the western sky and formed rivers that flowed down the truckstop's windows.

‘How does the station at Hvalvík run?'

‘It's not a main police station, so it's staffed during the day. Normally there're three of us: me, Haddi the old guy and Snorri the new boy. We belong to Keflavík, so out of hours any police services have to come from there — in theory. In reality the three of us are in and around Hvalvík most of the time. Then we have the rural areas we have to visit on occasions, like today.'

‘So you do a nine-to-five day?'

‘It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid. We run watches outside station hours so one of us is always on call all the time, so you can be at work even if you're asleep at home. I like to keep work and personal life separate as far as is possible in a little place like this, but a lot of the time it's just impossible.'

‘How do you mean?' Skúli asked.

‘Well, in Reykjavík or even Akureyri, you can change out of uniform and not be a copper any more. You can't do that here. Everyone knows you're the police, whether you're in uniform or mowing your lawn.'

‘So it really is a full-time job?'

‘Absolutely. And that's something that people can fail to grasp. Yesterday evening some kids were out playing behind the school and they found a mobile phone somebody had lost. They could have taken it home and given it to their parents to hand in at the station, or tried to find the owner, or just kept it, I suppose. But no, they knocked on my door and gave it to me, because they all know where Gunna the Cop lives and it didn't occur to them that I might be off duty.'

‘Is this a problem for you?'

‘Not at all. It's just part of being on the force in a rural area. It's part of the package. But it's the same in town to some extent. Your neighbours are always going to know you're in the force and they might treat you slightly differently, or they might not.'

Skúli wrote hasty notes on his pad.

‘So. Young man. Tell me, why Hvalvík?'

‘Don't know really. It was partly my idea, I suppose, and Reynir Óli said it might make a good feature.'

‘Who's Reynir Óli?'

‘My editor. It was all set up through the police PR department. I asked the lady there for somewhere rural to go to, but not too far from the city, so she called back the next day and suggested Hvalvík or somewhere up in Snæfellsnes.'

‘So you chose Hvalvík.'

‘Yup. Closer to town,' Skúli said, delicately wiping the detritus of hot dog from his chin. ‘And it sounded a bit more interesting as well,' he added sheepishly.

‘Why?'

‘Well, one of my colleagues said it might be a better feature because there are so few women in the police.'

‘You what?'

‘He reckoned it might make a good story because there aren't many female police officers of your experience.'

‘You mean all the policewomen you see are these young ones who've been in the job for five minutes and you might get something more out of an old bag like me?'

‘Um. Yes.'

Gunna grinned. ‘Good answer. When being questioned by the law, just tell the truth. And who told you this?'

‘Jonni Kristinns, the political editor.'

‘I know Jonni well enough from when I was in the city force. He's a friend of the bloke who was my partner at the time.'

‘Your husband?'

Gunna looked sourly across the table at Skúli. ‘No. My police partner when I was on the city force. You work together a lot of the time and I suppose in many ways your partner is someone you get to know better than a husband or a wife.'

‘Is this guy still in the police?'

‘Bjössi? Yeah. But he moved out of the city as well, and out of uniform. He's in CID in Keflavík now.'

‘What's his name?'

‘Björn Valsson, known as Bjössi. I haven't seen Jonni in years. He was on TV as well, wasn't he?'

‘I think so, a while ago. He's one of those old guys who can't keep away from paper.'

Skúli was acutely aware that he had asked few of the questions he had lined up, but had again ended up doing most of the talking while Gunna asked the questions.

‘How long have you been in the police?' he asked finally.

‘Sixteen years, with a break in the middle.'

‘What for?'

‘You know, children, all that stuff.'

‘So you're married?'

‘Not any more.'

‘Is it long since you split up?'

Gunna gave Skúli a sharp look. ‘Is this really necessary? The last thing I want to see is my private life splashed across
Dagurinn
on a Saturday morning.'

‘No, it's not for print. It's just, you know, for me to build up a picture of you,' Skúli gabbled. ‘I don't want to put in too much personal stuff, but people like to see it.'

‘All right,' Gunna said unwillingly. ‘I have a son from a relationship when I was in my teens. Gísli's nineteen now. I have a thirteen-year-old daughter with my husband, who died eight years ago in an accident that I don't want to discuss. Is that enough for you?'

‘Plenty, thank you,' Skúli said gratefully. He had noticed the broad gold ring on Gunna's finger and wondered why she had never mentioned a husband. ‘How did you wind up in a place like this?'

‘You mean, what's a girl like you doing in a nice place like this?'

‘Yeah. I mean, no,' Skúli stumbled. ‘Sorry. That's not what I meant. Are you from around here originally?'

Gunna smothered a grin. Making the lad gabble with embarrassment was becoming a source of light relief during an otherwise dull day.

‘No. I'm not from round here. I'm from Vestureyri.'

‘What? Right up there in the western fjords? Wow. So, why Hvalvík?'

‘All right, here we go. I was brought up in Vestureyri, worked in the fish when I was twelve, all that stuff. When I was nineteen one of my uncles suggested I could be a copper for the summer. I thought — why not? My mum was happy to babysit for me. I gave it a try as a probational constable for a few months and got a kick out of it. Less money than working in the fish, but a lot more interesting.'

‘So you stayed with it?'

‘Yup. Applied to the police college and was accepted straight away. There weren't many women going into the force then, so they were glad to get applications, although my family weren't too pleased when I moved south for the winter so I could go to college.'