Frozen Out

by Quentin Bates

  ‘You all have a couple of officers to make use of, so make use of them. Delegate. Ask questions. All right? Now let’s get on with it. The trail’s gone cold, but that shouldn’t slow us down too much. You know what number to find me on and I’ll be back this afternoon.’

  Gunna clapped her hands once and found herself in an empty room. Outside, she ran into Bjössi sheltering from the stiff breeze in the lee of the building and grinding the butt of a cigarette under his heel.

  ‘Hi, Gunna. What d’you reckon on all this, then?’

  ‘That’s better.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Less of the sweetheart for the moment.’

  Bjössi laughed and coughed. ‘Ach, you know I don’t say it to wind you up. Hey, what about Vilhjálmur, then?’

  ‘Got his bollocks in a vice.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope they don’t stay there. Because when the people at the top are suffering, they tend to squeeze the bollocks of the people underneath them. Not that you have bollocks, sweetheart, but you do, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Point taken, and coming from you, I’ll treat that as a compliment. But all the same, this wasn’t investigated properly and that was Vilhjálmur’s decision.’

  ‘Under pressure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What I mean is that Vilhjálmur was being pressured from higher up not to make it a priority. He’s been expected to put as much effort as possible on narcotics, and that’s what he’s done.’

  ‘All right, so he’s not such a bad guy, just misguided.’

  ‘He’s always done everything by the book. Just following orders, is what he’d say, and rightly so. Hey, where are you off to?’

  ‘I feel like a day off,’ Gunna shot back as she started the second-best Volvo.

  Matti was worried, more worried than he had been the time he’d been stranded in Grimsby after failing to reach his ship just as the last Cod War broke out, more worried than the time his first – or second? – wife’s brothers had threatened to pay him a visit when he’d staked and lost her parents’ house on what should have been a cast-iron winning hand.

  This could be serious. Although Matti had watched Hardy carefully on their various journeys together over the summer around the south-west, acting as a combination of guide, driver and interpreter when necessary, he was still wondering just what Hardy’s business was about. He speculated that Hardy was American, disguised with a neutral enough accent to pass as a European. He felt sure that Hardy’s business was something to do with the spate of heavy industry projects springing up around the country, but this hardly concerned him. He knew that while Hardy paid on the nail and treated him with the respect due to an equal, his passenger in the understatedly expensive clothes was not someone to tangle with lightly. The air of authority and the hidden menace were unmistakable to someone with a professional interest in gauging the desires or the gullibility of the person in the passenger seat.

  At the time he had thought nothing of the trip to pick Hardy up on the dockside at Sandeyri in March. The man had wanted to go to many unlikely places at odd times and had been dropped off and collected from several unfamiliar places that Matti had been forced to search for when the time came.

  But he had to admit to himself that he was intrigued when the TV news had shown a short item about a car being recovered from the dock at Sandeyri. He wondered idly about it and put it from his mind. But now he had something to be concerned about – the possible loss of a valued client and an excellent source of tax-free, back pocket earnings.

  Sitting in the morning rush hour traffic waiting for the lights to change at the Miklabraut junction, Matti turned down the radio, abruptly silencing yet another round of Channel 2’s celebrity gossip, and drummed the wheel with his thumbs. After weeks of driving Hardy back and forth across the south of Iceland, he still had only a hazy idea of what the man’s business was. The only point of contact was an anonymous mobile number, and Hardy rarely asked to be collected or dropped off at the same place more than once. This time their meeting place was on the Grensás taxi rank where Matti bullied the big car into a space on the end. He was starting to feel uncomfortable in the Mercedes since Gunna had questioned him. Normally he wasn’t inclined to worry too much about the law, but this time he felt as if everything on the road was watching him.

  As usual, Hardy appeared within a few seconds, dropping into the passenger seat with the nearest he came to a smile.

  ‘Where to, boss?’ Matti asked.

  ‘Out of town today.’

  ‘OK. East? South? Which way?’

  ‘Hvalvík.’

  Matti’s heart almost missed a beat and he was sure that Hardy immediately sensed it.

  ‘Hvalvík it is, then,’ he grunted, coaxing the car out into the road and scraping the bumper of the car double-parked in front.

  They sailed through Reykjavík’s sunshine. It was a warm day and the dust rose thickly in the heat. Hardy was dressed as usual in spite of the temperature, the pale leather jacket making him look slimmer across the shoulders than he really was.

  ‘Everything all right, big man? You’re quiet today,’ Hardy said pleasantly as they left the city behind and began to climb the heath.

  ‘That guy. The one you went to talk to near Borgarnes. He’s dead.’

  Hardy lifted an eyebrow. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It was on the radio. Heart attack, they said.’

  ‘So? You didn’t see anything, did you?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ Matti assured him.

  ‘Then there’s nothing for you to worry about, is there?’

  Hardy looked relaxed as he admired the landscape around him. His hands lay idle in his lap with fingers twined together.

  ‘You know, Matti,’ he said eventually. ‘The guy you work for?’

  ‘Nonni?’

  ‘No, big man. Not the taxi man. The other guy you work for, the one you need to be particularly discreet about.’

  ‘You, you mean?’

  Irritation flashed over Hardy’s face. ‘No. The one with the establishment.’

  ‘Him? Why? I don’t do much for Mundi Grétars these days.’

  ‘Ah, but I’m sure you do. I have a little word of advice for you.’

  ‘Like what?’ Matti demanded.

  ‘It might be an idea to distance yourself from those activities for a little while.’

  Matti did his best not to be angry. With the police already snooping into his business, he found it hard to accept that Hardy was also aware of his other sideline.

  ‘What’s this about, eh?’

  ‘I just thought you ought to know that your friend may have some problems in the next few weeks and that it might be useful if you’re not too closely involved with him and his ladies for a while.’

  Bloody hell, Matti thought. The bloody man seems to know everything there is to know.

  ‘Especially the lady that you’re such good friends with. We wouldn’t want her to be in any trouble, would we?’ Hardy asked with an unmistakable note of iron in his tone.

  Matti drove in shock and silence while Hardy examined his fingernails. Neither of them spoke until Hvalvík could be seen as a bundle of houses clustered around the shallow curve of its bay in the paler sunshine of the south coast.

  ‘Where to now?’ Matti asked gruffly, butterflies fluttering under his belt at the thought of Gunna or that other cop noticing his taxi going though the village.

  ‘This time we’re going out to the Lagoon site,’ Hardy said and Matti sighed with relief as this meant at least going straight through the village and out the other side without needing to stop. But his peace of mind was cut short as the fuel gauge light blinked red as they passed the ‘Hvalvík welcomes careful drivers’ sign.

  ‘Shit. Bastard.’

  ‘What’s up?’ Hardy asked quietly.

  ‘Ach, nothing. Just got to diesel up.’

  The car rolled to a halt in front of the pumps outside Hafnarkaffi. Ma
tti hurriedly pumped fuel, cursing the slow pace of the machine and staring out over the roof of the car to scan for anyone who might recognize him.

  ‘Shit. Fuck,’ he continued to mutter to himself as the pump clanged to a halt and he hurried inside to pay at the counter where there was nobody to take his money. For a moment he was tempted to jump back in the car and leave, but thought better of it. In a one-horse dump full of nosy parkers, somebody would be bound to notice.

  ‘Sorry, my love. Been waiting long, have you?’ cooed a woman who appeared suddenly behind the counter.

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘Not a local, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. And I was sure I recognized you from somewhere. Can’t for the life of me say where, though. From Reykjavík, are you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Matti grunted, willing her to move faster as she tapped buttons on the computerized till.

  ‘I’ll never get the hang of this thing,’ she warbled. ‘The old till’s so much easier, but progress is progress and I suppose I’ll have to get used to it sooner or later. That’ll be six thousand two hundred, my dear.’

  Matti dropped notes on the counter and made for the door. As he stepped out, a police car cruised up the street towards them and Matti swore to himself, looking down at the ground as he opened the car door.

  Hardy looked out from his seat at the police car as it passed by. Matti lifted his head to follow his gaze and was relieved to see that rather than the cousin he definitely had no wish to run into, the driver was an older man with a kindly face who looked over at them curiously, but didn’t bother to stop.

  ‘Right. Let’s go then, shall we?’

  Hardy pointed. ‘There’s a café there. Do you want to eat?’

  ‘No,’ Matti said brusquely. ‘Let’s get out to the compound, shall we? It’s a real dump, that place,’ he added lamely.

  Dagga coaxed the television next to her desk into life as a sober newsreader was halfway through his item on the 19.19 news.

  ‘… morning and we are taking you straight over live to the press briefing that is already taking place.’

  ‘Smári Geir doing well for himself on TV, I see,’ Dagga observed as the young man’s face vanished and was replaced with a trio of senior police officers sitting behind a row of microphones.

  ‘We consider that, in the light of this serious allegation from a highly unusual source, a further investigation is justified,’ one of them read out from a prepared statement. Skúli stared at the group, his eyes going from the man speaking to one of the others next to him, and back.

  ‘These allegations are of an extremely grave nature, claiming that a very serious crime has been committed against an innocent young man, culminating in his death. We are issuing a general appeal for witnesses to come forward and to place at the disposal of the police any information that may identify the alleged perpetrator,’ Vilhjálmur Traustason read out in a tone as morbid as the grave.

  Flashes flickered and he blinked repeatedly.

  ‘We have already identified persons who may or may not be involved in this incident. At present we are eliminating persons who are known to have been at or near the scene on the day in question. That is all. Questions?’

  There was an immediate chorus that was cut short as the broadcast returned to the studio.

  ‘No statement on their website yet,’ Dagga said, looking up from her laptop. ‘I’ve emailed and asked for the text and I suppose it’ll be here soon. What are we doing on this, Jonni?’ she asked.

  ‘We can cobble most of it together from the statement when it comes and the TV reports, but I suppose we’d better find a few comments. Any ideas, Skúli, as you’re our crime man?’

  ‘What’s Reynir Óli’s take on this?’

  ‘Oh, the usual.’ Jonni yawned. ‘Play along with the others, make it a front page if we can get an angle no one else will have.’

  ‘Like what?’ Dagga asked.

  ‘Well.’ Jonni smiled cruelly. ‘I was thinking Sigurjóna Huldudóttir. She’s been on the receiving end of Skandalblogger more than most people, so I’m sure she’d love the chance to sound off. It’s just a question of which one of you two darlings wants to go and listen to her ranting. Make it early, though. She’s normally a bit pissed by mid-afternoon.’

  At the Keflavík station Gunna had already banged the doors aside when she realized that she didn’t know where her own incident room was, but catching sight of Bára at the end of a corridor she set off to follow her.

  ‘How goes it?’

  ‘Fine. I have two guys chasing up Clean Iceland and I’m off in a minute to talk to the guy who calls himself the strategic director.’

  ‘Good. Play it cool, will you? We don’t want to alarm anyone. Now, is everyone here? I need to speak to you all together.’

  The incident room was just a large office with a few desks, phones and PCs. A planner pinned to the wall showed the dates when Einar Eyjólfur had been last seen and when his body had been discovered.

  Gunna stood before it with the sheaf of notes she had picked up from the station in Hvalvík, along with Snorri, who had been given the whole story in a staccato barrage on the way after they had left a bewildered Haddi in sole charge at Hvalvík.

  ‘Right, ladies and gentlemen.’ She looked around at Bára and Bjössi. ‘Where’s Snorri?’

  ‘Here, chief,’ he said apologetically, slipping in around the door.

  ‘I’ll keep this quick,’ Gunna announced, pinning the passport picture of Ström staring blankly out of it to the wall board. ‘This man is someone we need to eliminate. We don’t have anyone else at all. Einar Eyjólfur appears to have had no enemies at all, everyone liked him, so there doesn’t seem to be anyone anywhere who would have wanted to harm him.’

  She tapped the noticeboard with one finger.

  ‘Name of Ström, presumed Swedish national, has probably been to Iceland more than once. I have established that he rented a car of the kind seen on the dock that night, a BMW X-three jeep with JA in the number. Don’t worry,’ she warned, seeing the expression on Bára’s face. ‘I’ve spent a day already eliminating every vehicle that doesn’t fit. We need to know what his business is, who he is, why he’s been here and what his movements have been.’

  ‘Is this man a suspect or a witness?’ Bára asked.

  ‘Initially a witness. We’ve placed him provisionally, time and place, where Einar Eyjólfur was found. Also, we have a possible link to him and the stolen blue jeep that was lifted from Sandeyri harbour. Now, Bjössi, will you investigate, assuming the jeep hasn’t been disposed of? If we link this to Egill Grímsson’s death as well, as I firmly believe we can, then we have something uncomfortably big on our hands.’

  Bjössi looked pensive for a moment. ‘Fuck. You mean this guy’s killed two people?’

  ‘It looks that way to me,’ Gunna agreed.

  He whistled. ‘Vilhjálmur and Ívar Laxdal are going to love you. Iceland hasn’t had a double murder since …?’

  ‘I suppose since Gréttir did his stuff. So, I want this investigated as a priority. Bjössi, I want you to start by contacting Stockholm. Then Interpol. Snorri will email you the picture of our boy to send out.’

  She put the sheaf of documents from Swiftcars on to the desk in front of him.

  ‘His passport, driving licence and credit card details are all in there, so hopefully our herring-munching friends in Sweden can tell us something straight away. Get on to Visa. The credit card trail might help us as well.’ Gunna took a long breath. ‘We don’t know if he’s still in the country. We have no idea if he thinks we might be on to him. We can only assume he’s dangerous and not to be approached. OK? That’s all for now.’

  The group scattered, leaving Gunna and Snorri behind as they all hunched behind phones and computers or disappeared from the room.

  ‘What now, chief?’ Snorri asked.

  Gunna thought. ‘I want to know where Matti Kristjáns is in all this. He was nowhere to be
found yesterday, so you’d better be off to Reykjavík for the afternoon and see if you can track the old bastard down. Have a quick look at the taxi ranks and if he’s not there, get straight down to Nonni the Taxi’s place. Be as heavy as you like if they don’t cooperate.’

  ‘OK. I can do that.’

  ‘It’s getting on for one now, and there’s the briefing with Vilhjálmur Traustason at five, so hopefully I’ll have something for him by then. You’d better be off and see if you can find anything out before then.’

  With everyone else busy, Gunna tapped a computer until it awoke from its sleep, typed ‘Clean Iceland’ into a search engine and waited impatiently for the machine to do her bidding.

  A list of choices appeared, Gunna clicked on the most obvious one and instantly the website of the Clean Iceland Campaign emerged in front of her. She saw that it was largely in English and began to pick her way through the panels of information, starting with news. Here she scrolled down to the beginning of the year, quickly found a bulletin on Egill Grímsson’s death and read through a short biography of the man, detailing his commitment to the cause of opposing heavy industry in Iceland and his devotion to his family, alongside his dedication to his job as a schoolteacher in the grey Reykjavík suburb where he had lived for most of his forty-four years.

  Gunna made a few notes, including that he had been one of the founders of the movement and had lobbied the Ministry of Environmental Affairs tirelessly, while being involved in an international campaign of protests outside Icelandic embassies across the developed world in cooperation with environmental groups abroad that formed a loose network across much of Europe, North America and some Asian countries.

  She closed the window on the screen and sat back.

  So, he was a bit of a firebrand on the quiet, was our Egill, she mused.

  23

  Sunday, 21 September

  This time Matti Kristjáns wasn’t just worried – he was frightened. He ran the conversation with Hardy over in his mind as he packed those of his meagre possessions that he didn’t dare leave behind.