Winterlude

by Quentin Bates

  The rain vanished as she drove up onto the heath. The sun shone briefly, but the car’s temperature gauge showed that outside it was uncomfortably far below zero and she watched for signs of ice on the road, keeping the car at a reasonable speed as others sped past her.

  Heading for the city centre and back to Hverfisgata, she took the road past half-built trading estates and newish blocks of flats that already looked old. Black sand and fields of black lava filled the gaps between the new buildings as the city spread into what had been open countryside a few years before. Gunna wondered how far the building boom, interrupted by the financial crash and now gradually gathering momentum again, would last and who would live in all the new blocks and houses far from the city centre.

  ‘We know he was killed some time on Sunday. But if there’s any way that could be narrowed down, it would certainly help,’ Gunna said hopefully.

  The police force’s only forensic pathologist, a Spanish woman with wild midnight hair and serious black glasses known as Miss Cruz, stroked her chin with one finger. Gunna liked working with Miss Cruz and was not looking forward to the day when her year-long position with the Icelandic police force would come to an end.

  ‘I can’t be sure,’ she said. ‘But I think later in the day is more likely.’

  ‘Temperature?’

  ‘Body temperature, yes. The remains were still in rigor mortis when the body was found, and judging by the core temperature of the body on Monday morning, I would suggest between three and six on Sunday afternoon.’

  Gunna nodded, satisfied that this was the most precise figure she would be likely to get. ‘And no doubt about the cause of death?’

  ‘None at all. I can give you details if you like.’

  ‘No need. As long as it was the beating he received that did it?’

  Miss Cruz thought briefly. ‘There’s no question about it. This was a rather savage beating, with all of the blows to the head. There are a few minor bruises to the arms, indicating that he tried to protect himself, to start with at least.’

  ‘Fists, or a weapon?’

  ‘I’d say both. It looks like the decisive blow was administered with a weapon. Something round.’

  ‘A baseball bat?’

  ‘Maybe. But I think something smaller, narrower.’

  Helgi allowed himself to enjoy the drive. He made good time out of the city as it had proved to be no problem to get one of the police force’s small 4x4s from the car pool, on a promise that it would be back before the weekend. He left the tunnel under Hvalfjördur and Borgarnes behind him, and opened the window going up the long incline to the heath separating what he thought of as the south from the north of Iceland to let in some of the fresh, clean air. At the top, he was tempted to stop and admire the dark ribbon of Hrútafjördur slicing into the landscape below.

  He gunned the Daihatsu past the old crossroads and slowed to stop at the new petrol station further along, resplendent in red plastic and polished concrete. He drank a stale coffee and filled the car’s tank with regret, mourning the old Brú truckstop, before heading north through the darkening landscape along unlit roads as Gunna was cursing the sleet between Selfoss and Reykjavík.

  The first Christmas lights were on outside the Co-op as Helgi drove into Blönduós, parked the car and sat in silence, wondering why he had come.

  ‘You’re here, then.’

  Helgi’s older sister hardly greeted him effusively, but he detected a little well-hidden warmth behind her few words.

  ‘Just a flying visit, Rúna.’

  She hesitated and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Welcome home.’

  He dropped his holdall by the kitchen door and sniffed. ‘Liver sausage?’

  ‘Yup. I know Halla doesn’t do that sort of stuff, so I brought a few home for you.’

  Helgi nodded in silent appreciation. His young wife had little time for traditional food and was on a mission to help him lose a few kilos, her valiant attempts sabotaged whenever the heavy food of his upbringing was on offer.

  ‘So how’s Blönduós these days?’

  Rúna shrugged. ‘Same as usual. Not much changes. Valdi’s at work. The boys are at college in Akureyri. I might be out of a job next year, I reckon.’

  ‘Not closing down?’

  ‘No. But there are fewer people about, so there’s less trade. I don’t know. I might just drop down to half days or something, just work mornings and leave it at that,’ she sighed. ‘I guess you’re here about the brothers from Tunga?’

  Helgi nodded sadly as Rúna put a mug in front of him.

  ‘Thought so. The town’s been talking about it since yesterday. Going out there today, are you?’

  ‘No, tomorrow. I’ll have a word with Anna Björg today and go out to Tunga in the morning. Maybe have a beer at the hotel tonight, since I’m on expenses.’

  ‘She’s expecting you, is she?’

  ‘She should be. I emailed her before I left.’

  ‘She’ll be there, then. It makes a change to have a girl running the police here for a change.’

  ‘Anna Björg’s not a girl, Rúna. She’s my age – that’s ancient.’

  ‘She’s younger than I am, Helgi, so that’s young. She’s also recently single, so you watch your step, little brother. No revisiting old times,’ Rúna said with a ghost of a smile on her pinched face. ‘Dinner’s at six if Valdi’s back by then. So don’t be late.’

  Gunna scowled as her computer whirred. She resented being in the office when she needed to be out asking questions, and was already missing both Helgi’s support and his company.

  When the computer was ready to use, Gunna typed in the names of Katla Einarsdóttir and both of her sons, drawing a blank with Katla and Einar, but she whistled as she saw that Elmar Kjartansson had a significant police record in spite of his youth. She hit print and poured herself a mug of coffee while the printer in the corner whispered to itself, before sitting back to read through the list of convictions and the statements of the arresting officers.

  She almost regretted not dragging the boy back to Reykjavík with her and letting him stew in an interview room for an hour or two. Elmar had spent three months in a low-security prison when he was eighteen years old for repeated thefts and petty drug offences, and had graduated to assault a year later after a drunken argument. The fact that he was on parole and was due to spend six months in prison once a place was available accounted for his nerves while she had questioned him in his mother’s kitchen, and she was furious at her own carelessness for not having looked up his records first.

  She rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock, realizing that she had been on her feet since before seven that morning and it was going to be touch and go if she were to be home before seven as promised. She shut the computer down and stood up to leave. A look out of the window showed her that Ívar Laxdal, the National Commissioner’s Deputy and the man she reported to while the senior officer supposedly at the head of the serious crime unit was still on long-term sick leave, had already left.

  On the way down the stairs she toyed with the idea of asking Herbert the cop in Selfoss to collect Elmar Kjartansson and bring him to Reykjavík, but on reflection, she decided against it. Whatever the boy had on his conscience, she felt it was unlikely to be murder, and his other misdemeanours could be dealt with by Herbert and the local force.

  ‘He’s as guilty as hell, but of what?’ she muttered to herself, fumbling in her coat pocket for her car key and watching the lights flash as she clicked the fob.

  Helgi decided that it was killing two birds with one stone as he sat alone in the bar at the town’s only hotel and nursed a small beer. Anna Björg, the local police officer, had been delayed dealing with a road traffic accident on the main road a dozen miles away and had promised to meet him for a drink instead of in the more formal surroundings of the police station.

  Schmaltzy seventies muzak oozed from a speaker somewhere over his head as he checked his phone for messages and sent Halla a te
xt to let her know he had arrived. She hadn’t been delighted at his suddenly being sent out of town, but the prospect of a block of days off in lieu and the promised fitting of a new bathroom cabinet had mollified her.

  He was wondering where Anna Björg was and considering calling her when cold air curled around his ankles as the hotel’s main door opened, heralding her arrival. Helgi stood up and saw her grin with pleasure at seeing him. She was stouter than he remembered and her face had a few lines that hadn’t been there last time they met, but the windblown flaxen hair and the red cheeks hadn’t changed.

  ‘Hæ, Helgi,’ she said, hugging him and bestowing a kiss on his cheek. ‘Sorry I’m late, but a truck came off the road between here and the Hook and we had to organize a tow truck to haul it out. I was so covered in mud afterwards that I had to go home and change.’

  ‘No problem. As you’re out of uniform, can I get you a beer?’

  ‘Duh. Stupid question, city boy. But you’re a guest here so I’ll get them,’ she said decisively. ‘Go on, sit yourself down.’

  Two beers arrived as Helgi was staring out of the window into the blackness beyond. Anna Björg lifted hers high to clink glasses.

  ‘Skál. Now, what brings you back to these old haunts? But first, how have you been keeping?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Middle age starting to kick in with a vengeance now.’

  ‘And the little ones? Two, three of them?’

  ‘Two,’ Helgi sighed. ‘Svavar’s four now and Vala’s eighteen months.’

  Anna Björg shook her head. ‘Hardcore, Helgi, starting all that stuff a second time round. You must be a machine,’ she laughed and watched Helgi’s pained expression. ‘Ah, but I needed that,’ she said, finishing her beer while Helgi was barely halfway through his.

  ‘And you?’ he asked. ‘How’ve you been?’

  She rolled the empty glass in her hands. ‘Ach. Y’know. Work, work, work. The summer was great and I spent plenty of it on horseback. But it’ll be snowing soon.’

  ‘How many horses now?’

  ‘Only eight.’

  ‘Only?’

  ‘Well. After Gussi moved away, he decided he didn’t want anything to do with horses ever again, so I kept hold of them all, and the stable. I should have figured out years ago that horses are better than men.’

  ‘There’s nobody else, then?’

  ‘Not right now. There was someone after Gussi.’ She shrugged. ‘He liked the uniform and the handcuffs, but he didn’t like dogs or horses, so he had to go.’

  Helgi downed his beer and stood up. ‘You know, Anna Björg, I never have been able to figure out when you’re joking and when you’re not. Another one?’

  ‘Why would I joke about anything like that? Deadly serious, me.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Helgi said uncertainly. ‘The same again?’

  The bar was still empty. Helgi rapped on the counter until the girl who doubled as the receptionist appeared and poured two more beers for them.

  ‘Quiet here on a weeknight,’ he said as he placed the glasses on the table. ‘Not a lot happening around here?’

  ‘Not a lot. It’ll be jumping on Friday night, I expect. There’s some band playing, so that might be a long night for us.’ Anna Björg raised her glass. ‘Skál. So, tell me what brings you here. This is to do with the Tunga brothers?’

  ‘The man who ran over Kjartan’s boy got eight years, out after four,’ Helgi said. ‘Yeah, I know,’ he added, noticing the sour look on Anna Björg’s face. ‘He’d been at a rehabilitation hostel for eight weeks. Then someone beat him up and broke his head wide open, in an industrial unit that he apparently still owned.’

  ‘And things point this way?’

  Helgi cracked his knuckles uncomfortably. ‘Well, no. Not exactly. Kjartan has a rock solid alibi, as he was at sea. But we all know how the Tunga brothers look after each other. So Gunna suggested I come up here and ask a few discreet questions.’

  ‘Gunna? That’s your inspector?’

  ‘Sergeant. We’re supposed to be under Örlygur Sveinsson, but he’s been off sick practically since the unit was formed and so Gunna’s been running things.’

  ‘That’s Gunnhildur Gísla, right? What’s she like?’

  ‘I like her a lot. What you see is what you get. No office politics, no fishing for promotion – although it’s long overdue in her case. She gets results even though it’s not always the results that upstairs would like.’

  ‘So Gunna sent you up here to check out the Tunga boys’ alibis?’

  ‘Pretty much. Any ideas?’

  ‘What day?’

  ‘Sunday.’

  ‘Well, I saw Ingi on the road to the Hook on Sunday morning, so I doubt it could have been him.’

  Helgi felt a sudden surge of relief that Anna Björg did not fail to notice in his face.

  ‘Do you know any of them?’

  ‘I was at school with Ingi,’ Helgi admitted. ‘Kjartan left the district while I was a kid. I never really knew the other two, although I bundled Reynir into a cell more than once when I was in uniform here. But he’s calmed down a lot since then, hasn’t he?’

  Anna Björg nodded. ‘Össur’s the sensible one, I reckon. Kjartan I don’t know and Reynir’s a dark horse. He’s sobered up, but I’d still be wary of him. The man’s an unguided missile at the best of times and there’s no knowing when he’s likely to blow his top. Not that I’ve had reason to have any dealings with them for a long time. Are you going out to Tunga tomorrow, or do you just want to try and ask around discreetly?’

  Helgi thought. The idea of going to Tunga wasn’t an appealing one and he had put off thinking about it.

  ‘I’d best go and talk to them. Kjartan will undoubtedly have passed on the news that he’s being watched. If he didn’t have such a copper-bottomed alibi, he’d be my number one suspect. But it’s not our only line of enquiry. Gunna’s chasing up other people in the city. It seems there’s no shortage of people that Borgar Jónsson pissed off, so we’re spoilt for choice at the moment.’

  He picked up the two empty glasses and Anna Björg took them from him. ‘My turn. Want me to go out to Tunga with you in the morning?’

  ‘I’m sure you have enough to be getting on with, don’t you?’

  She shrugged as she stood up. ‘Up to you. Let me know tomorrow. I’ve no objection to a little drive out into the country and a look at Össur’s stable while you have a friendly chat with Reynir,’ she said, turning and departing for the bar where this time the receptionist appeared as if she had been called and had already started pouring two more beers.

  ‘Staying with Rúna, are you?’ Anna Björg asked as she placed the glasses on the table and sat down.

  ‘No. Here,’ he said, looking around the otherwise deserted bar. ‘I was going to stay with Rúna. But, you know . . . Big sister doesn’t have a lot of space in that little house and as it’s work, the taxpayer is putting me up in the town’s finest hotel.’

  Anna Björg’s eyes twinkled. ‘Careful, Helgi. A married man on his own in a busy nightspot like this. That could mean trouble.’

  ‘It’s an entirely fair division of labour,’ Gunna explained to her pouting daughter, Laufey. ‘Steini cooked. I’ve washed, dried and folded two loads of clothes – mostly yours, I’d like to point out. So we’ve come to a unanimous decision that loading the dishwasher is all yours.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘There’s no room for a “but” anywhere in this discussion.’

  ‘I wasn’t consulted on this,’ Laufey argued. ‘So I feel that I should have the right to lodge an objection and go and watch TV while this goes to arbitration, surely? Isn’t that the way it works?’

  ‘Ah. You may be under the illusion that this household in some way resembles a democracy. I’m sorry to disappoint, but that’s not the way it works.’

  ‘Then I’ll start a grassroots movement and protest against the shameless use of forced labour. Steini, are you with me on this?’ Laufey asked hopefully
, and Steini looked up from skimming that morning’s paper.

  ‘I think it’s probably best not to stray into dangerous territory here,’ he decided.

  ‘Where does all this revolutionary fervour come from, anyway?’ Gunna asked.

  ‘We’ve been doing it in history, and Ylfa talked about the pots and pans revolution as well.’

  ‘That’s hardly history. It was only a couple of years ago.’

  ‘But it brought down the government. The only time an Icelandic government has been forced out of office by a popular movement.’

  Steini stroked his moustache and looked at her quizzically. ‘I must say I rather like the sound of this teacher. But does the council know that a secondary school teacher is preaching revolution to fifteen-year-olds?’

  ‘She’s the new teacher at the school,’ Gunna told him. ‘A decent enough girl, but she might want to tone the radical stuff down if she wants a full-time job next term. Anyhow, back to the thorny issue of loading the dishwasher.’

  ‘Yes, Mum?’

  ‘If you’d just done it instead of arguing, you would have finished by now.’

  Laufey thought for a moment. ‘Which would have been a victory for the forces of international capitalism,’ she said.

  ‘Right, in that case,’ Gunna decided, hearing her phone ringing and hunting for it through the pockets of her coat, which hung on the kitchen door, ‘negotiations on getting a lift to Reykjavík on Saturday will only be entered into once the dishwasher is full. Where the hell is my damned phone?’

  Steini lifted the newspaper, put it down and felt among the cushions on the sofa.

  ‘That’s blackmail, Mum,’ Laufey said darkly, holding out the phone, which had been behind the kettle.

  ‘Not at all. It’s simply that one should always negotiate from a position of strength,’ Gunna retorted, pressing the green button. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Gunnhildur? Herbert over in Selfoss. Y’all right?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Anything up? Elmar, maybe?’

  She heard the fat man sigh and imagined she could hear his chair creaking as he sat back.