‘It looks like they’ve got us on a red eye leaving from JFK tomorrow night at 11:50. I’ll probably leave Buffalo around six p.m. or so.’ Lauren studied his face for a moment, trying to decipher the emotions there. She didn’t want to leave Reese and he didn’t want her to go, but was she reading too much into his motivations? Or was she terrified she would see something that would change everything between them?
‘Just be careful. Can you bring your gun? Do the cops carry guns in Iceland?’
‘No, neither Matt or I can bring our firearms and the regular cops there don’t carry them. There’s a special unit called the Viking Squad that carry them, so they do have access to firearms if something extreme happens. What’s funny is that Iceland has one of the highest per capita gun ownership rates among its citizens in the world, but almost no gun violence. It’s a very safe country. Look it up.’
Reese wasn’t convinced, even with all of Lauren’s Iceland trivia thrown at him. His green eyes narrowed. ‘You’re going into an iffy situation without a safety net. Again.’
‘We’re just going to talk to his brother, Jakob, and try to find the man he came here with.’
‘Who could also be the murderer,’ Reese pointed out.
‘Who could have conspired with the brother here to kill Gunnar. I’m not convinced Ryan isn’t involved somehow.’
‘You said the brother was fighting with your fleeing witness before the murder, so somehow they made up and are in cahoots? When I told you to find the witness I meant for you to have the cops in Iceland do it. The killer is probably some meth head running around downtown and they’re shipping you off to a frozen island.’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe the district attorney does have it in for you. Maybe you’re not the paranoid freak I’m always accusing you of being.’
‘Carl Church isn’t sad I’m leaving town,’ she agreed, ignoring the paranoid freak part. ‘I think he’d love it if I never came back.’
‘Speaking of coming back, Lindsey and Erin will both be home on the twenty-first. What if you’re still there? What if you get stuck over there for Christmas?’ Lauren’s jaw clenched at the thought of her daughters being home for Christmas, and her not being there. Reese knew how to hit below the belt when he wanted to. ‘Tomorrow’s the sixteenth. Let’s hope I can get this wrapped up by the twentieth.’
‘The killer is here in Buffalo. They’re sending you on a snipe hunt. Or a puffin hunt. Or whatever they hunt in Iceland.’
She threw a pillow at him, just missing his face. ‘Stop it. Let me investigate. Just enjoy the holidays and get better. I already made arrangements for Dayla to stop in and check on you every day.’
He threw the pillow back, missing her completely and sending it gliding along the hardwood floor causing a dozing Watson to jump down from the couch, grab it, and give it some vicious shakes. ‘If I wanted to be smothered with attention, I’d go stay with my parents.’
He’d lasted one week with his mom and dad after he got released from the hospital. On the eighth day Lauren found him standing on her front steps with Watson, his green army duffel and a plastic bag full of his medications. He’d been living with her ever since.
Lauren had recruited her neighbor from a few doors down to keep an eye on Reese while she was gone. ‘Dayla has specific instructions on your care. I’m more worried about leaving Watson alone with you.’
Lauren deftly reached down, snagged the pillow from the little white dog and tucked it behind her back, slobber and all. Watson gave a bark of protest, but lay down in a huff at her feet.
‘Just get back in one piece,’ was how Reese ended the conversation. Which was funny since Lauren felt like she was losing pieces of herself wherever she went lately.
As the plane hummed along, sleep finally overcame her, shutting out the memory of home, and she welcomed the darkness.
TWENTY-TWO
‘Lauren.’ A poke in her side woke her from a dead sleep. ‘Lauren, wake up.’
She started at the unexpected prod to the ribs. Lauren’s blue eyes fluttered open to the dimness of the cabin. Matt was leaning into her space, the large man on his right was snoring loudly with his head thrown back. The quiet was sprinkled with awed whispers.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, going into her worst-case scenario default mode.
‘Nothing,’ he smiled, and pointed to the window. ‘Just look. It’s the Northern Lights.’
Her breath caught in her chest as she turned her head. Outside her window, ghostly streaks of green and pink and purple danced in the night sky. In all her life she’d never seen anything so magnificent, so magical. The plane seemed to be flying towards it and through it at the same time.
She felt small against its otherworldliness, yet blessed to be allowed to witness it, as if it were a gift bestowed on only upon a privileged few.
In that moment she felt that she was heading exactly where she needed to be going. That seeing the ethereal lights meant just as much as a full cold moon, maybe more. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered to Matt, ‘for waking me up.’
‘I couldn’t let you sleep through this,’ he whispered back, his cheek almost brushed against hers as he leaned in to get a better look. She glanced up along the row of windows to see the faces of other passengers pressed up in wonder against the glass. The people on the right side of the plane were either still asleep or straining to catch a glimpse from across the aisle. Lauren noticed the seat belt light on, preventing them from getting up and trying to get a better look. She turned her eyes back to the mystical show.
The silent symphony of light continued outside. She watched the swirling bands of color play across the sky until she somehow fell back asleep, dreaming in soundless shades and hues of greens and violets.
TWENTY-THREE
Lauren had woken up to the pilot’s voice welcoming them to Keflavík Airport in English, what she assumed was Icelandic, and another language she didn’t recognize. The time on her phone had automatically adjusted itself, telling her it was 9:35 in the morning, but no sunshine poured through her window. The sky was an inky twilight color, with just a hint of orange on the horizon as they touched down. All around her the other passengers were gathering up their belongings. She hit the Iceland app she had downloaded onto her phone. The sun wouldn’t rise until 11:17 a.m. And it would set at 3:29 p.m.
‘We have less than four and a half hours of sunlight today,’ she told Matt, peering out onto the darkened runway as they taxied to the gate.
‘I looked up all the sunrises and sunsets while we were waiting for the plane in New York City. I hope you’re not afraid of the dark.’
She shook her head, standing up as soon as the seatbelt light turned off. ‘I do my best work at night.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Matt waited for the large man to muscle his way forward, then stepped into the aisle to pull down both their carry-ons. ‘We’re not going to get too much daylight while we’re here.’
‘What’s the name of our contact person again?’ Lauren asked. They were stuck in the aisle, eyes forward, watching for the crew to open the cabin door. Matt’s seatmate had lodged himself halfway up the plane, crowding a couple of touristy looking twenty-somethings with backpacks.
‘Berg Arnason,’ Matt replied. The door opened and they began to inch up the aisle. ‘He’s a detective for the Reykjavík Metropolitan Police.’
They followed the line out the narrow door, down the creaking hallway. Outside, a wicked wind buffeted the retractable metal. ‘Did the Bureau send you his ID picture?’ she asked as they stepped into the gate area.
‘Of course. And I’m sure he has both of ours.’
The first thing that struck Lauren was how small the airport was in comparison to the sprawling JFK complex. The second thing was how clean it was. Everything was neat and tidy; no plastic wrappers on the floor, no gum stuck under the railings, no discarded magazines draped over the chairs. Lauren looked around the small bustling concourse lined with shops. A gift shop hawking Iceland souv
enirs was just off to the left, selling not only T-shirts and spirits, but water, chocolates, and snacks. ‘I need to grab a bottle of water. My mouth is like the Sahara Desert right now,’ she said.
‘I’ll go to baggage claim. Watch for Berg,’ Matt said, taking the handle of her rolling carry-on while adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. ‘I’ll meet you there.’
Lauren crossed the hall into the brightly lit shop. She grabbed two plastic bottles from a cooler against the far wall, then stood in line for the register behind an elderly white-haired lady in a gray parka. Lauren had Icelandic money in her pocket, coins and bills, but she wasn’t sure which to pay with so she decided to use her credit card for her first purchase.
The lady in front of her leaned back conspiratorially. ‘Only buy those first bottles and reuse them with water from the faucet. We have good water here. Right from the glaciers. Don’t waste your money.’
‘Thank you.’ Lauren marveled at how the woman seamlessly went from perfect English to Icelandic as she turned to the clerk to pay for her purchases. Giving Lauren a wink, she took her bag and shuffled away into the terminal.
Lauren paid for her bottles, noticing they did, indeed, advertise themselves as being bottled glacier water, and went to look for Matt. Announcements in several languages over the loudspeakers kept reminding passengers to queue up for the next bus into Reykjavik. She saw a sign for baggage and followed the arrow.
Outside the windows that lined the terminal, the sky was still that crazy in-between-morning-and-night haze. She could see snow on the ground, but not much, maybe an inch or so, with a dusting blowing across the runways with the winds. She stopped to stare at a sculpture of what appeared to be a giant steel egg perched on some boulders in the middle of a pond. Coming through the side of the egg was what looked like the pointy tip of a wing. A group of tourists were taking pictures of it with their cellphones.
She made her way to the baggage area where she saw Matt standing near one of the carousels, next to a red-haired man.
That wasn’t entirely accurate. He didn’t just have red hair; he had fiery, flaming curls that framed an equally red-tinged face. Six foot one, with broad shoulders, he was about fifty years old, but it was hard to tell. Lauren guessed his complexion was what Angela from the hotel was trying to describe when she said ‘like a fisherman.’ He and Matt both turned toward her as she walked up. ‘Detective Lauren Riley,’ Matt motioned to his new companion, ‘this is Detective Berg Arnason with the Reykjavik Metropolitan Police.’
Lauren’s hand was engulfed in his as he shook it. ‘Great to meet you, Detective Arnason.’
‘Please, call me Berg.’ His voice was deep and rich and his smile reached his eyes, which crinkled with deep laugh lines. Lauren noticed he had very straight, squared teeth with a yellowish tinge and the thought suddenly popped in her head, This guy is a real life freaking Viking. I would not be surprised if he had a sword under that gray parka of his.
‘Berg is going to drive us into Reykjavík.’ Matt swung his hard silver suitcase down off the carousel. ‘It’s a lot farther than I thought.’
‘It’s fifty kilometers from here,’ he said. ‘About a forty-five-minute drive, depending on the weather.’
Lauren tried to convert kilometers into miles in her head as she grabbed her own suitcase. I should have paid more attention in math class, she thought as she rolled her carry-on and her big suitcase behind her, one in each hand.
‘Can I help you with those?’ Berg asked, reaching out for her larger piece of luggage.
She smiled. ‘I’m OK.’ She didn’t mind a man offering to help with her bags, but Matt was actually struggling with his, as one of the wheels was sticking and he was trying to balance his backpack on his shoulder at the same time. ‘But thank you.’
Realizing Matt’s distress, Berg didn’t even ask his permission, he just slipped his arm up and snagged the backpack from him, slinging it over his shoulder. ‘I got it, friend,’ Berg said cheerfully, continuing to lead the way out of the automatic doors. Matt looked like a little boy trailing after his father, right down to the way his shoulders were slumped.
The wind hit Lauren full in the face as soon as she stepped outside. She’d always associated snow with a clean smell, like the rain and fog got a do over. Even so close to the runways, the air here smelled better, more pure, than the air during a snowfall in Buffalo. The cold stung her nostrils in a familiar way, but the scent made you want to inhale deeply, take it down into your lungs, and fill yourself up.
In contrast, Matt’s whole body gave a shudder. While Lauren had dug out her brown parka with its detachable faux-fur-lined hood, Matt wore the same expensive wool coat and shiny black shoes he wore in Buffalo. It was clear he hadn’t spent much time outdoors in the cold – probably just long enough to get from one heated space to another. Lauren also had multiple layers of thermal underwear packed in her suitcase. Layers were always the key in cold weather. Berg wore heavy black boots, dark pants and an unzipped, loose-fitting parka with no hood. The weather was nothing to him.
‘Buffalo has cold, right? And snow?’ he asked as he led them to an SUV in the lot.
‘Lots of cold and snow,’ Lauren replied. Matt’s teeth were chattering.
‘I went to Niagara Falls when I was a kid,’ Berg said as he hit his key fob, opening the boot. ‘I remember thinking there was a lot of snow.’ He picked up each piece of luggage easily, sliding them into the back, putting Matt’s backpack on top. He closed it with a bang. ‘We’ve had some good weather the last two weeks. I’m hoping it lasts while you’re here.’
‘The weather reports said nothing major was expected,’ Matt said, opening the passenger side door as Berg climbed in the front driver’s side.
‘The weather reports don’t look out the window.’ Berg turned in his seat to address Lauren behind him. ‘If they did, then they’d know the weather in Reykjavik changes by the hour. Are you OK back there?’
‘I’m fine,’ Lauren replied. ‘Plenty of room. I like that egg.’ She pointed to the giant steel sculpture.
Berg laughed. ‘The Jetnest? It is nice, isn’t it? That’s a jet’s wing coming out, not a bird’s. I love that it’s the first thing I see when I come home from abroad.’
He motioned to more buildings in the distance. ‘The Naval base Gunnar’s father was stationed at was located here. We still have a small presence of your military. But now the barracks are used to house many of the foreign workers we had to bring in for the main airport.’
‘Not enough people here for the jobs?’ Matt asked.
‘With the number of tourists we get now? No, my friend. It’s like we get invaded every summer. There are literally more visitors than Icelanders. It’s not so bad now in the winter months.’
Lauren watched the people pour from the airport doors and drag their luggage to waiting buses to take them into downtown Reykjavík. They’re outnumbered, she thought as she watched the poor drivers struggle to load all the bags into the vehicles.
Berg put the Subaru Outback 4x4 into gear and pulled out of the lot. ‘I was forwarded the case file from your Bureau, Matt. It’s a terrible thing that happened to Gunnar.’
If she hadn’t done some research, Lauren would have thought Berg knew the victim from the way he called him Gunnar. She had read that Icelanders rarely used last names when referring to people. It seemed the whole country was on a first name basis. That would take some getting used to.
Matt must not have read that Wikipedia page. ‘Did you know the victim?’ he asked.
Berg shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t know him. I’m familiar with Ragnar Steinarsson by reputation. His company is very successful. They’ve done quite well, even after the crash of 2008. He married Freyja Runarsdóttir, whose grandfather started it. She was a beauty queen when I was young. She was runner-up for Miss Iceland in the eighties.’
‘Are they still married?’ Lauren asked.
‘I saw a picture of them from last month at a charit
y function in the online edition of the newspaper.’ Berg shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘But who can say what goes on between two people?’
‘Our liaison spoke to Gunnar Jonsson’s brother, Jakob. He confirmed that Gunnar worked for Steinarsson,’ Matt said.
‘I spoke to Jakob as well.’ Berg’s blue eyes met Lauren’s in the rearview mirror. ‘He said Gunnar’s been Steinarsson’s personal assistant for the past year. I told Jakob you’d be coming to speak with him. He’s anxious to talk to you. He feels like his brother’s murder isn’t getting any attention since Erik Oddsson has come under suspicion of bribery.’
‘Who’s Erik Oddsson?’ Lauren asked.
‘A very beloved city council member who is being accused of being in the Russian mob’s pocket. Very shocking. People are devastated. I was supposed to have a partner assigned to me to help you, but all resources were re-allotted to investigate Erik.’ Berg let the SUV pick up speed on the highway. Lauren noted Berg’s subtle accent; the Vs turned slightly into Ws in his mouth. ‘It seems likely he could be arrested at any time.’
Lauren looked out at the serene, barren landscape stretching before her. ‘It looks like we’re on the moon,’ she commented. The lack of trees was jarring, but the quiet stillness was also breathtakingly beautiful. ‘I can’t imagine a dirty politician somewhere so pristine.’
‘Pristine to look at,’ Berg replied grimly, ‘but dirty under the surface. You’ll see.’
TWENTY-FOUR
They discussed the homicide the entire way to the hotel, with Berg making them repeat things two and three times – not because he didn’t understand, but because he wanted to be sure he was getting the story exactly right. ‘We do have homicides here. One or two a year, mostly domestic situations or alcohol involved. But to be killed by a brick from a construction site? A crime like that is very rare in Iceland.’ He seemed to mull it over in his mind while he drove. ‘You don’t have cameras on the city streets in Buffalo? We have them all over Reykjavík.’
A Full Cold Moon Page 13