Frozen Out

by Quentin Bates

  Gunna sat down and scanned the room. There were film posters on the walls, but she had the impression that the kitchen didn’t get used often.

  ‘No problems at work?’

  Dísa shook her head. She pulled on and huddled inside a thick checked shirt several sizes too large that Gunna guessed had once belonged to Einar Eyjólfur.

  ‘No. Not at all. Sigurjóna’s fine.’

  ‘How about the others? It’s quite a small company and you must have all worked closely together.’

  ‘Sigurjóna’s not happy. Everyone knew that Einar Eyjólfur wasn’t about. Fjóla the accountant is really shocked as well. She’s quite old, almost forty, and Einar said she was a bit like his mum except younger.’

  Gunna wondered if Dísa even had any coffee in the flat.

  ‘Well, forty’s not that old, you know,’ she said softly.

  Dísa sniffed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, but everyone at Spearpoint is young except for Fjóla.’

  ‘That’s OK. No offence taken.’

  ‘How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  ‘Me? Thirty-six.’

  Dísa nodded dumbly and Gunna took a deep breath. ‘We identified Einar Eyjólfur from the national register. The E-three tattoo we figured out stood for EEE, and there aren’t that many people with those initials. You’d recognize that tattoo?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got one the same,’ she said, shrugging a shoulder out of the thick shirt to reveal the book and letters just below the nape of her neck.

  ‘And V-two?’

  ‘That’s me. VV. Dísa is short for Vigdís. Vigdís Veigarsdóttir.’

  ‘That explains it.’

  Dísa huddled back inside the shirt.

  ‘So. What can you tell me?’ Gunna asked.

  ‘I don’t really know.’

  ‘How about starting at the beginning? What’s your background?’

  ‘I was brought up here.’

  ‘In Vogar?’

  ‘In this street. This is my uncle’s house. Dad and my uncle built their houses at the same time. This flat is here because they expected my grandmother to come and live here one day when she was too old to live on her own. But then she died and the place stayed empty. When I started going out with Einar Eyjólfur and we decided to live together, my uncle said we could live down here.’

  ‘And your parents live close to here as well?’

  ‘Just Mum. Dad left ages ago. He’s got another wife and small children now. They live in Reykjavík.’

  ‘How long had you known Einar when you moved in together?’

  ‘Not long. Five or six weeks.’

  ‘And how long did you live together?’

  ‘Almost a year.’

  ‘Did you meet at work?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dísa said hollowly. ‘Jón Oddur bet him he wouldn’t ask me out, and he did. So he told me about the bet and it was like a private joke between us that we’d have a couple of dates and then split the winnings.’

  ‘And what then?’

  ‘Well, we just liked each other, I suppose.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about him, what sort of a character he was?’

  Dísa puffed her cheeks out and thought for a moment. ‘He was one of those people who is lovable and infuriating at the same time. You know what I mean?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘He would do the stupidest things. Like, completely idiotic. He’d put potatoes and ice cream in the same dish, things like that. But at the same time he was really clever and could do all kinds of things. He could speak English and Danish and bits of other languages as well, and he could do anything with the computer and electronic stuff.’

  ‘Was he a bit of a nerd, if you don’t mind me using that word?’

  ‘He was a nerd and he was proud of it. Sometimes he could be totally thoughtless and at other times he could be so considerate as well.’

  ‘And what happened? Why did you split up?’

  ‘Mum didn’t like him much, and he didn’t like her either, so that didn’t help. He really missed his friends being out here in Vogar and it’s a pain getting into town, because he said he didn’t want to own a car.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘He said that the combustion engine is destroying the earth and he didn’t want to contribute to it. But all that meant was that I drove us everywhere instead.’

  ‘A man of principle?’

  ‘When it suited him.’

  ‘But you were still close at the time he disappeared?’

  ‘We were.’

  ‘And when did you last see him?’ Gunna asked.

  ‘The day before he was found. He stayed here all weekend and had to meet some people on the Monday, so he went to town with me on Monday morning and went to his place and I went to work as usual. I thought I’d see him the next day, but he didn’t come in to work. Then you called on Wednesday to talk to Ósk.’

  ‘And you answered the phone?’

  ‘Yeah. And I knew right away something was wrong.’

  ‘Did he say anything about the people he was meeting?’

  ‘Not really. But he didn’t get off on drinking and always complained about having to take clients around the nightlife.’

  Gunna nodded. ‘Was there anything you noticed in the time up to his disappearance that was different? Changes in his behaviour or habits? Sigurjóna says that there was nothing she noticed in his work that was any different.’

  Dísa shook her head. ‘Sigurjóna’s a strange woman. Some things just completely pass her by and other things she watches like a hawk. If he hadn’t been doing his work, she would have noticed straight away.’

  ‘But there was nothing you noticed?’

  ‘There was something and I didn’t want to say anything about it at the office. Y’know, there wasn’t time and, it’s, like, work.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘This is what I thought you ought to know about. It was in the spring. There was this friend of Einar Eyjólfur’s who was killed in a road accident. I’d never met the guy, but it really shook him up.’

  ‘Do you remember the man’s name? Or where the accident occurred?’

  ‘No. Sorry. I keep saying sorry, don’t I? I think he was a teacher or something, and the accident happened right outside his house, so he said, up in Grafarvogur.’

  ‘And you never met this man?’

  ‘No. Just heard them talking a lot through the computer. On Skype.’

  Gunna made a few notes on her pad, angling it on the edge of the table so that it couldn’t be seen. She wrote ‘Computer – talk? How? Ask Snorri.’

  ‘If this man’s death upset him so much, do you know if they were related, or old friends, or anything like that?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. They talked mostly about all this ecological stuff, dams and power and electricity, that kind of thing. I think they were working on some sort of website together, something to do with Clean Iceland.’

  ‘The environmental group?’

  ‘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?’