Unsure of himself, he called out.
‘Valgeir?’
There was no reply. He switched on the hall light, checked the living room and saw nothing but more boxes in neat stacks. Valgeir’s phone lay on the armrest of the only remaining chair.
It was when he pushed open the door to the bedroom that he saw him and stood rooted to the spot in confusion, before a voice at the back of his mind told him to do something, and he wondered for a second, What?
Skúli snatched at the cloth that had been stuffed in Valgeir’s mouth, slapped him gently and called his name.
‘Hey, come on. Wake up, will you?’
He felt in Valgeir’s neck and was overjoyed to feel a pulse confirming he was alive. After what seemed a long time, one eye opened.
‘Skúli?’ he said and retched, gasping for air and retching again. ‘Get this off me, please, Skúli.’
It was only then that Skúli stood back and saw what he meant.
His clothes were in a heap on the floor and Valgeir had been trussed up in towels and the same broad brown tape used to seal his removal boxes. His legs were behind him and one end of a cord had been tied around his ankles, while the other looped around his neck, so that every time he straightened his body, the cord cut off his airway.
Skúli’s fingers tugged at the knot and failed to release it. He looked around in panic as Valgeir choked again, and ran from the room. The scissors had been laid neatly next to the now empty tape dispenser on top of one of the boxes. He guessed they were sharp enough for the sticky plastic tape, but he had to saw at the thick cord.
‘Take a deep breath,’ he ordered as Valgeir’s eyes bulged and then closed tight. ‘This is going to hurt.’
The boat’s engine coughed and grunted into life. Osman watched as Gunna coiled away the mooring rope. She leaned over the gunwale to check the cooling water was circulating and pointed to the coiled rope.
‘I want you to jump onto the berth and make that rope fast when we get there. All right?’
‘Where?’ Osman asked. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Not far.’ Gunna gestured at the pontoons on the other side of the harbour. ‘Just over there.’
Osman looked visibly relieved.
‘So we’re not going back to the city?’
‘Well, we are, but not in this.’
The wind had shifted direction, a cold blast coming off the land. Gunna shivered and lifted the collar of the coat she had pulled on over her fleece. If she were to need the Glock now, she reflected that she would need to take off two layers to reach it, and then she would still need to dig into her pocket for the clip to load it.
She put the boat into gear and increased the engine revs from the gurgle of tickover to a full-throated roar, taking it astern with the wheel hard over to leave the fuel berth.
Osman watched with fascination as she gave the wheel a few turns back to amidships, and opened the throttle to take the boat at a gentle pace across the open water of the harbour.
Overnight the place had become busy as a couple of larger fishing vessels had docked – the occasional gust of wind brought them the pungent sweetish smell from the factory on the quayside.
Gunna took the boat through the harbour entrance, enjoying the feeling of it buck as it caught the waves and the wheel in her hands. Osman stood in the wheelhouse doorway, holding on to the door frame, his face already turning pale.
‘Where are we going? I thought . . .’
‘Don’t worry. We’re not going far. Just enjoying the breeze.’
She took the boat a few minutes past the entrance, steered in a long curve around the bay beneath the shadow of the mountain above them and toyed for a moment with the thought of a trip into Hvalfjörður, before telling herself to be sensible and get Osman back to dry land.
He relaxed as the boat slipped into the smooth waters behind the arms of the harbour entrance and Gunna cut the engine revolutions back to tickover. As she approached the finger berth, she put it into gear astern and gave a burst of power. The boat responded obediently, losing way and sliding neatly to the berth.
‘There,’ Gunna said as the boat bumped against the timbers. ‘Jump up.’
Osman stepped gingerly onto the pontoon, placed the loop over a cleat and stood back.
‘Now that one,’ Gunna said, taking in the bight of the rope and jerking a thumb at the bow rope she had laid over the gunwale. ‘And quick.’
She made the stern rope fast, took in the slack of the bow rope and hauled herself up and along the narrow walkway around the wheelhouse to make it tight on the cleat on the casing. She rapidly passed the rest of the rope back through her hands.
‘Hey, take this,’ she ordered, passing the end to Osman, who stood with it in his hands, wondering what to do with it.
‘What?’
Gunna slid down from the casing and swung her legs over the gunwale on the pontoon.
‘A ship should always be tied up properly, whether it’s a cockleshell like this or a battleship,’ she said, whipping the rope around another cleat on the pontoon, and doing the same with the stern rope’s end. See?’
She stood back and Osman could see that the boat was neatly secured four ways.
‘Very good,’ he said.
Gunna shut down the engine and listened to the gurgle die away, before lifting the hatch and dropping herself down below alongside the engine. She shut off the sea cocks, lifted herself back on deck and slid the hatch into place. In the wheelhouse she lifted the bench seat, isolated the batteries and wondered how long it would be before she got another chance to spend a little time at sea. She shook off her thoughts as she locked the wheelhouse, and let her fingers trail across the timber of the wheelhouse door’s frame. Next time, she thought, giving it a pat.
‘Come on, then.’
The steel gate pushed open and clanged shut behind them. They walked back up the slope towards the town, shoulders hunched against the biting wind, and Gunna could see Osman wrinkling his nose.
‘Gunnhildur, what is that smell?’ Osman asked.
‘That? That’s the money smell,’ she replied with a laugh.
‘Money?’
She turned and waved a hand towards a large blue and white ship laid to one of the quaysides where figures bustled to and fro around it.
‘See that one there? It’s the time of year when they catch a little fish, I don’t know what it’s called in English. But they catch huge amounts for a few weeks, and it goes to the factory over there. That’s where they turn it into fishmeal. Like flour, but made of fish.’
‘Flour? For what?’
‘You wouldn’t want to try and make bread with it,’ Gunna laughed. ‘It’s used for fish feed, animal feed. That kind of thing. They call it the money smell because the crews used to earn so much money while the season lasted. So for the fishermen it really was the smell of money.’
*
‘What the fuck happened?’ Skúli demanded as Valgeir gasped down lungfuls of air. ‘You got robbed or what?’
‘Shit . . .’
Valgeir fumbled for his trousers, but gave up and dragged the duvet around him as he shivered. His hands shook as he gathered the folds of the bedclothes around his throat, where a red mark had formed as the cord had cut into his neck.
‘Is the door locked?’
‘Yes, of course. I had to climb in through the bathroom window.’
‘Please, Skúli. Go and bolt the door. Put the chain on, and lock the bathroom window.’
‘The door’s locked. Why bolt it as well?’
‘Just do it,’ Valgeir pleaded.
Skúli went out into the hall and shot the bolt at the bottom of the door and hooked the security chain in place. The bathroom window was less easy, as he found that he’d wrenched it almost clear of the frame, but he managed to pull it back into place, where it wouldn’t be easily noticed.
When Skúli returned, Valgeir was hunched with his eyes closed, sobbing between deep breaths.
/> ‘It’s all locked up. Nobody’s coming in here without a battering ram. Do you feel like putting some clothes on and telling me what happened? And how about I call the police and you report whatever happened here?’
‘No!’ Valgeir’s eyes were wide open. ‘Not the police. Definitely not.’
‘Shit, Valgeir. Someone almost murdered you, and you’re seriously telling me you don’t want to take it to the police?’
‘No. Not a word.’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing. It never happened. Get me some water, would you?’
In the kitchen Skúli hunted for a glass in the empty cupboards, gave up and let the cold tap run for a moment before filling a plastic mug.
Valgeir had pulled on his trousers and a shirt by the time Skúli handed him the mug, and he drank the water down in one long draught before sitting down on the edge of the bed and holding his head in his hands.
Skúli sat on a stool.
‘All right, explain. Give me a reason not to report an attempted murder.’
‘Because I’ve almost sold the flat. I’ve got a new job in Vienna and I’m supposed to be leaving tomorrow. I just want to forget all this. Pretend it never happened. Get on with my life from now on.’
‘So who was it?’
Valgeir took a gulping breath.
‘Her. Astrid.’
‘What? The woman you were seeing in Germany? She turned up here in Reykjavík? When?’
‘This morning,’ Valgeir mumbled and looked up. ‘Fuck, Skúli. I’m in so much shit if this gets out. Up to my neck. I’ll be dismissed, career over in a flash.’
‘Explain, will you?’
‘I met her in Helsinki, at the same conference where Steinunn got on so well with Osman, a couple of months ago. She told me her name was Astrid and she was there undercover, supposedly with an EU delegation. She said she was tailing Osman, that he’s a known criminal and her team was gathering evidence.’
‘And you fell for it? And her?’
Valgeir moaned quietly. ‘Totally. I even took a couple of weekend breaks and met her twice in Berlin before Osman arrived here.’
‘But you knew Osman was on the way here?’
‘Yeah. Steinunn told the team that she was making arrangements for him to come to Iceland, but we weren’t to tell anyone, not even family.’
‘So you told this woman?’
Valgeir hung his head and a teardrop landed on the tiled floor with a splash.
‘Yeah. Everything,’ he groaned. ‘Not a word, Skúli. Don’t say a thing. I thought I was doing the right thing, that she really was working for Europol, and it was all part of a massive investigation into people trafficking.’
Skúli’s thoughts went to the two men in black and the lines on Ívar Laxdal’s face.
‘What have I done?’ Valgeir crooned to himself, and Skúli had no answer to give him. He looked up and his eyes were filled with tears. ‘I lost it. Completely lost it. I’ve never had much luck with girls, then suddenly there was this smart, attractive woman who showed real interest in me, and I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.’
‘You fucked up, Valgeir,’ Skúli agreed.
‘Now I’ve lost her, not that I ever had her, I suppose. And I don’t want to lose my career as well. So please, Skúli. Don’t say a word to anyone, let me finish packing and I’ll be gone tomorrow,’ he said and shivered. ‘I’m not staying here, though. The freight company can collect my stuff and I’ll go to a hotel for tonight. I don’t want to see this place again as long as I live.’
It took Osman half an hour and two mugs of hot coffee cradled in both hands before he stopped shivering enough to take off his coat. Gunna hung it on the hook behind the door.
ETA 10 minutes ÍL, flashed the message on her phone.
‘Ívar is on the way,’ she said. ‘I imagine we’ll be going back to town, but I have no idea where we’ll be staying.’
‘We can’t stay here another day? It’s peaceful here. I like that.’
Ívar Laxdal’s black Volvo appeared soundlessly in the street, and as he got out and looked around, Gunna tapped on the kitchen window, pointing towards the end of the house and the steps down to the basement flat.
‘Nice place, Gunnhildur,’ he said as he stamped his feet in the hall. ‘Can I ask how . . . ?’
‘It’s my son’s. I’ll tell you about the boat later.’
‘Ah, that explains things,’ he said, moving aside to let Luc and Birna crowd in behind him.
‘Osman’s in the kitchen. There’s enough coffee for everyone, but not enough chairs.’
Ívar Laxdal shook Osman’s hand and planted himself firmly on a stool next to him, leaving Luc to take the only one remaining, while Birna scowled at being left to stand.
‘How was the trip across the bay?’ he asked Osman.
‘It was an adventure. Not one I would like to repeat, but an adventure all the same.’
‘Ach. You were in capable hands. Gunnhildur comes from a long line of sea dogs and knows her way around a boat. I wouldn’t have let you go if it hadn’t been safe,’ he said and turned to Gunna. ‘Everything all right? No problems?’
‘Nothing so far. No sign of anyone snooping around. But Akranes isn’t a big town, so it’s only a matter of time before someone joins the dots.’
‘Exactly,’ Ívar Laxdal said. ‘We have a place for you overnight near Reykjavík, and you’ll be leaving the country tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Osman said, his mouth open. ‘But . . .’
‘The thing is, we don’t have the resources to ensure your safety,’ Birna broke in.
‘And we’ve had four fatalities in a week, all apparently connected to your presence here. That’s as many murders as Iceland would normally have in five years,’ Ívar Laxdal added. ‘So you can understand my position, not least that we don’t want you to be the next fatality.’
‘Is this because Steinunn is going?’ Osman asked. ‘I thought she was a true friend, and now she’s abandoning me.’
‘That may have something to do with it,’ Ívar Laxdal said and shrugged. ‘Politicians . . .’
‘So you’re going to send me away? I thought I had at least a few weeks of safety here.’
‘This gentleman here is from Brussels, and even if you don’t know him, I gather he knows you pretty well,’ Ívar Laxdal said. ‘Luc?’
Ana pulled her scarf up over her mouth and her hat down to her eyebrows. It went against all the rules, but she wanted to check. In spite of the sunshine, the wind had a bitter quality to it as it ate its way through however many layers a person was wearing, so she buttoned her coat up, lifted the collar high and walked fast.
Öldugata was deserted. A few flakes of snow scudded along the ground, driven by the knife-edge wind that bit at her cheeks. Apart from a shabby car that had been parked half across the pavement, there was nothing to be seen at the house where Valgeir’s flat occupied part of the basement.
There was no movement anywhere. There were few lights behind the windows, no cars on the move and no pedestrians. It was as if this part of Reykjavík had been deserted. Encouragingly, there was no sign of life at Valgeir’s flat. She saw the door was shut and noticed, as she strode past, that there was a pristine covering of frost on the steps, so nobody had come in or out for an hour or two, and it was inviting trouble to go around the back of the house and peer through the windows.
It nagged at her that she hadn’t finished the job there and then, instead of trying to make Valgeir’s death look like a kinky sex game gone wrong.
She fingered the key in her pocket and decided against going in.
Ana strode back to the library and made up her mind on the way. If the instruction came through to stay in Iceland and try to re-establish monitoring Osman, she would return and make sure Valgeir was dead. If it was time to disengage, she would be on the first flight out.
Valgeir hunched in the passenger seat, nervously looking around, a scarf wound around his neck to hide the red mark that had eat
en into his skin. He clutched a laptop bag in his arms, and Skúli threw the case containing Valgeir’s clothes onto the back seat. All his remaining belongings had been quickly stuffed into boxes, taped and added to the pile in the hallway, and the flat had been locked and left without a backward glance.
Dagga’s battered blue Peugeot coughed and complained.
‘Come on, will you?’ Valgeir muttered.
‘I’m doing my best,’ Skúli retorted. ‘It doesn’t start easily in the cold.’
He turned the key again and the starter motor whined, hung, and unwillingly turned the engine over a couple of times before it burst into life.
‘Come on, let’s be going.’
‘It’s all right. There’s nobody about, and certainly not your ladyfriend.’
The car bumped off the kerb and into the road, while Valgeir sighed with relief. His eyes were red and his hands were trembling.
‘I’ll see if I can get a flight tomorrow.’
‘To Vienna? Is there a direct flight?’
‘No. I’ll need to make a connection somewhere, but it’s not a problem.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Going?’ Valgeir looked confused.
‘I ought to be taking you to A&E, or at least to the police,’ Skúli grumbled. ‘But as you won’t have either of those, where do you want me to take you?’
‘Hell, I don’t know. A hotel.’
‘Yeah. Which one?’
‘Hotel Vatnsmýri? By the domestic airport?’
‘Expensive,’ Skúli said, bringing the car to a halt at the lights at the bottom of Gilsgata. ‘There’s a hotel there,’ he said, pointing across the street.
‘Yeah, but I don’t like that place. Vatnsmýri is away from the centre and I can get the flybus to the airport tomorrow. Don’t go that way,’ he muttered. ‘Go left instead. I don’t want to go through town.’
‘You’re going tomorrow?’
Cold Breath (Gunnhildur Mystery Book 7) Page 30