Cold Steal

by Quentin Bates

  Orri sniffed and blinked back tears that appeared unbidden. ‘I work for myself,’ he said finally.

  ‘You work alone?’

  ‘Look, who are you?’ Orri said, trying to think fast. ‘You’re not a cop, are you?’

  ‘Who do you work with?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘And your friend, he knows where you are and he’ll come and look for you if you’re not back at the right time?’

  ‘Or he’ll go to the police.’

  This time there was a snort of laughter behind him. ‘That does not sound likely, Orri Björnsson. A thief going to the police because another thief is late getting home. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Orri asked again. ‘Listen, I can help you. I can hear you’re not from here and I could . . .’ he said, but his voice faded away lamely.

  ‘I think we need to go for a walk, Orri,’ the voice said softly and his hands were swiftly hauled downwards and taped together behind his back. A second later a bag descended over his head and the faint light of the torch behind him was blotted out. Then he was spun round in a circle several times in each direction and roughly dragged, before his knees were kicked from under him and he collapsed in a heap. He could hear the voice making a joke in a language he didn’t understand and the sound of something scraping on the concrete floor before everything went quiet, even though he hadn’t heard anyone leave.

  Gunna could see that Jóhann was tired. He looked younger than his fifty years, she thought, although he had clearly put effort into keeping himself trim. He was a slim, spare man with a mop of curly hair that had turned an incongruous pale silver grey. It made him look oddly youthful, Gunna thought, deciding that he must have been a striking man in his younger days. He fiddled with his glasses, turning them over in his fingers and putting them on to check the laptop in front of him that chimed at intervals.

  ‘Vilhelm Thorleifsson,’ Gunna said. ‘You knew him well?’

  She saw the corners of his mouth droop in disapproval and he glanced at Sunna María, who sat impassively. They made an odd couple, Gunna decided, the prosperous dentist older than his wife by ten or fifteen years, she guessed, wondering what had brought them together.

  ‘I didn’t know Vilhelm well, I have to admit,’ he said in a dry voice. ‘I wouldn’t call him a friend as such.’

  ‘But I gather you were more involved in your business dealings with him?’

  A second rapid glance that passed between the two of them did not go unnoticed by Gunna as Sunna María left the room.

  ‘I have been maybe more involved in the day-to-day business activities. But my wife is aware of the overall picture,’ he said, his voice dry.

  ‘I don’t intend to delve unnecessarily into your business affairs, other than what could concern Vilhelm Thorleifsson. Is there anyone who would bear him a grudge, enough to have him murdered?’

  Jóhann smiled briefly, displaying teeth that looked less than perfect. ‘Not that I can imagine,’ he said. ‘Vilhelm’s business affairs were complex and extensive. Our involvement has been modest.’

  ‘Sólfell Investment and his shipping ventures, you mean?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘There have been a few other ventures. We have a property concern that Vilhelm put some finance into, and we were fortunate to have concluded our business. We handed over our stakes in his and Elvar Pálsson’s business in exchange for Sólfell Property being put solely into our hands.’

  ‘Any other business partners, other than Elvar Pálsson?’

  She watched the blood leave Jóhann’s lips as they pressed tightly together for a moment in disapproval.

  ‘No. I’m in the final stages of winding up any business relationships with Vilhelm and Elvar, other than companies that we both hold a share in. But we have an overseas investor in Sólfell Property and a company called Vison that is at start-up stage at the moment.’

  ‘You didn’t get on with Vilhelm and Elvar?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any special reason?’

  Jóhann hid a yawn behind his hand. ‘Call it a gut feeling,’ he said and Gunna sensed immediately that there was more than just dislike behind his comment.

  ‘You didn’t trust them?’

  ‘No. Not at all,’ he said sharply, as if the question had touched a nerve. ‘Elvar’s a relative of my wife’s, but not a close relative. My personal feeling is that he’s this far from being a criminal.’ He glanced at the closed door and held up a hand with a narrow gap between his thumb and the tip of the forefinger. ‘So, no. I have never been able to trust him and have done my best not to entangle our affairs with his. It’s a delicate matter, as my wife is fond of him.’

  Gunna nodded. ‘I see. When you say he’s this far from being a criminal, in what way?’

  Jóhann grimaced. ‘It’s not easy to say. You understand that I have nothing concrete to base this on. But his opinions, the way he does business, everything. Elvar Pálsson would sell his first-born child if he thought there was a profit in it. Everything has a price, and Vilhelm was much the same. You can call it a generation gap if you like. But you understand?’

  ‘Gut feeling again?’

  ‘More than gut feeling, I think.’

  He looked up as the door creaked open.

  ‘Finished?’ Sunna María asked, standing behind her husband with her hands on his shoulders. ‘Jóhann’s tired. It’s been a long day. Hasn’t it, darling?’

  ‘I think we’ve discussed everything for the moment. Of course, if either of you hear of or from Elvar Pálsson, then I’d appreciate it if you let me know.’

  ‘He’s in danger, do you think?’ Sunna María asked, eyes wide.

  ‘I’ve no idea, but until we can find out what happened to Vilhelm Thorleifsson, then I can’t rule anything out.’

  ‘Do you have any leads?’ Jóhann asked, biting his lip.

  ‘I can’t say. My colleagues are handling the investigation in Borgarfjördur, and I won’t know until tomorrow what progress has been made today.’

  ‘Are we in any danger, do you think?’

  ‘I can’t say, but I’d recommend that you take care. Don’t answer the door to anyone you don’t know. Don’t go out alone.’

  ‘How about protection?’ Sunna María asked. ‘Shouldn’t we have protection? I mean, if you think Elvar’s in danger, so could we be, surely?’

  ‘To be honest, we don’t have the manpower, unless there’s a very pressing reason.’

  ‘You mean, if someone killed one of us, the other one would be entitled to protection?’ Jóhann asked, and his face cracked into a wintry smile.

  ‘Something like that,’ Gunna said, and tore a sheet of paper from her notebook. She quickly wrote a number on it.

  ‘It’s not cheap, but try this person if you want some protection right away. I would have to convince my superiors that you need protection, so going private’s your only option. At least until someone starts breaking your windows.’

  ‘I need to piss,’ Orri said, trying to sound angry, but his tone came out as plaintive.

  ‘Piss, then,’ the voice said. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

  ‘Let me up, then.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything about getting up. If you need to piss, then you’ll have to do it where you are.’

  Orri wondered how long he had been sitting in the chair. It felt an age and his bladder was bursting. He wondered if it was still night, or if it was daytime by now.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I want to know how long I’ve been kept here against my will.’

  ‘A little while, Orri Björnsson. Not as long as you might think, believe me.’

  He could hear the swish of soft footsteps on the concrete floor.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded, his voice cracking as he began to panic and he fought against the bands of thick tape that fastened his hands
together, struggling to stand up, but stopping as he found that more bands tied his feet to the legs of the chair.

  ‘Be careful, Orri Björnsson,’ the voice said softly. ‘If you tip the chair over nobody is going to help you up.’

  He heard the legs of another chair scrape across the floor towards him.

  ‘Stay still, you fool,’ the voice snapped and Orri obeyed. ‘Full name?’

  ‘Orri Sigurgeir Björnsson.’

  ‘Date of birth?’

  ‘Eighteenth of March 1978. Why do you need to know that?’

  ‘Address?’

  ‘I’m not telling you until you tell me why.’

  Orri gasped as he was immediately doused in freezing water, and he guessed as he struggled to get his breath back that the voice must have had a bucketful ready.

  ‘Address?’

  ‘Ferjubakki twenty.’

  ‘Which floor?’

  ‘Third,’ Orri answered in confusion, wheels turning in his mind at the curt questions.

  ‘Your mother’s name?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ Orri demanded, expecting another dousing, or worse. ‘It’s none of your fucking business.’

  Instead there was silence for a moment before the voice spoke again, with a soft menace this time. ‘Your mother’s name?’

  ‘Her name was Ingibjörg Theódórsdóttir. She’s dead,’ he added without knowing why.

  ‘And you have a sister, Margrét Hildur Björnsdóttir, right? Does the name Elísabet Sólborg Höskuldsdóttir mean anything to you?’ the voice asked softly as Orri felt his mouth go dry and both the need to pee and the chill of the water soaking into his clothes were forgotten.

  ‘Yes,’ he croaked.

  ‘Good,’ the voice said with evident satisfaction. ‘As you can guess, Orri, while you have been sitting here in the dark, I’ve done a little research and know quite a bit about you, and by the time you get out of this place I’ll know a lot more. It never ceases to surprise me how much you can learn from a person’s phone. You’re a rather foolish young man, but it seems there are a few skills there that we might be able to use.’

  ‘We?’ Orri asked. ‘Who’s “we”?’

  ‘That’s something you don’t need to know, Orri. Just be happy that we haven’t decided to deal with you in a way that we normally would with someone who interferes. You understand? Normally you would have disappeared,’ the voice said smoothly. There was silence while the disembodied voice allowed its words to sink in. Orri gasped for breath inside the bag. ‘Tell me, Orri. Do you know who this house belongs to?’

  ‘Yes,’ he gulped. ‘Do you?’

  ‘I want to know how good your information is.’

  ‘It’s owned by Sólfell Property.’

  He wondered if the voice was even listening.

  ‘Normally someone like you would have vanished. Maybe lost in the hills somewhere, but it would be many years before you might be found. Understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ Orri replied, his mouth dry, but his heart hammering with relief at the thought that whoever had put a bag over his head and tied him to a chair was going to let him live after all.

  The voice spoke softly and Orri strained to listen through the bag that was gradually suffocating him.

  ‘In a few minutes I will be gone. This place will be empty, so there’s no need for you to search around for anything worth stealing because there’s nothing here. In a few days you might receive some instructions. You would be well advised to do what you are told.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’ Orri asked. The words were out of his mouth without thinking. There was silence for what felt a long time.

  ‘I thought I had made it plain that I know where you live. I know who your girlfriend is, where she works and where she lives. I know where your sister and her children live. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Orri whispered.

  ‘I don’t care about your other business, but it would be as well for you to not get caught,’ the voice said in a silky tone.

  ‘But . . . that was nothing to do with me,’ Orri said desperately and heard the voice’s chair pushed back as its legs rattled on the concrete.

  ‘Goodbye, Orri Björnsson. Watch out for instructions.’

  ‘Hey, how do I get out of here?’

  ‘You’ll find a way, if you’re smart enough.’

  ‘But . . . what if I can’t get out?’

  ‘If you’re not that smart, then you’re no loss. Consider it a test, Orri Björnsson.’

  ‘Take the bag off, at least, will you?’ Orri pleaded as he heard the soft footfalls recede and the door at the top of the stairs shut.

  ‘Go home, Gunnhildur.’

  She looked up from the papers she had been engrossed in to see Ívar Laxdal at the end of her desk.

  ‘I can’t make head nor tail of this stuff,’ she said. ‘I just see company names and who owns which percentage of some company that also owns bits and pieces of something else. It’s an absolute minefield.’

  ‘Go home, like I told you.’

  Gunna squared the sheets of paper she had been poring over and tucked them into her folder.

  Ívar Laxdal’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not taking that lot home with you, are you?’

  ‘I am. I’ll have another read through it all tonight and see if I can make sense of it.’

  ‘No.’ Ívar Laxdal shook his head. ‘Don’t waste your time. If nothing jumped out at you right away, then it’s probably not going to. Take the whole lot to a specialist over at financial and ask them to guide you through it. But you have some names, at least?’

  ‘There’s no shortage of people who would like to do this group of people a bad turn,’ Gunna said. ‘But murder? I don’t know. I have a list of the companies that Sólfell Investment and all the other companies that this bunch bought and sold over the last few years, although I doubt it’s a complete list. A lot of them are in Denmark and Sweden, one or two in Germany and there’s one in Britain as well. My guess is that we’re spoilt for choice for people who would happily knock these shysters off.’

  ‘So where do we start?’

  ‘That’s the problem. I’m also concerned about Elvar Pálsson, the missing link. Is he going to turn up as a corpse? Or is he sunning himself somewhere a long way south of here? My feeling is that this character is either keeping out of harm’s way or else he’s already been dealt with.’

  ‘Or he’s involved?’

  Gunna shivered. ‘Sending a message or taking care of unfinished business?’

  ‘Could be either. This woman’s husband is back tomorrow, right?’

  ‘No, he’s already back. I’ve just come from meeting the two of them. He’s not saying more than he has to, and he looks frightened.’

  ‘He’s a dentist?’

  ‘He is. A wealthy dentist.’

  ‘Is there any other kind?’

  ‘Wealthier than most, I understand.’

  Ívar Laxdal’s thumb scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Gunnhildur, go home. You have five minutes to be out of the building.’

  ‘Make it ten.’

  ‘Not a moment longer.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Jóhann asked, clearly intrigued by the slight young woman sitting in front of him while Sunna María hovered behind him.

  ‘My name’s Bára. I do the kind of work I think you’re looking for.’

  ‘How do you know what we’re looking for?’

  ‘Because you called me.’

  She studied Jóhann and could learn little from the man’s tired face, while Sunna María’s nervous fingers told her more. Jóhann’s face was impassive, with lines that radiated from behind his eyes and she could sense that on a good day there could be a quick humour there, but he had come straight from the airport after a day’s travelling and it was clear that his patience was thin.

  ‘What do you offer?’

  ‘Personal protection. I stay with you, watch your back, keep bystanders away, that kind of thing
. A lot of it’s gauging the temperature, understanding what’s going on around us, avoiding dangerous situations before they occur rather than having to deal with them when they happen,’ Bára said. ‘Although that’s naturally part of the brief as well. But it depends, and I’d have to have an idea of what to expect.’

  ‘What are your credentials? Experience?’

  ‘Five years as a police officer, and I was at the embassy in Brussels for a year. Is it the press you’re having problems with?’

  Sunna María looked at Jóhann and shook her head rapidly. ‘You tell her.’

  Jóhann cleared his throat. ‘A friend of ours has been murdered,’ he said. Bára took care not to show any surprise.

  ‘Here in Iceland? You mean the man who was murdered in Borgarfjördur a few days ago?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jóhann said in a dry voice. ‘Sunna, would you?’ He asked, nodding at the minibar in the corner of the room. ‘Ach, I seem to spend half my life in hotel rooms, and now I come home and have to spend the night in yet another one.’

  He sipped the whisky Sunna María handed him. ‘Drink?’

  Bára shook her head. ‘I’m at work.’

  ‘Not just Villi,’ Sunna María broke in. Nobody knows where Elvar is.’

  ‘There could have been two murders?’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ Jóhann said. ‘Elvar appears to have dropped off the face of the earth, but it’s not as if that hasn’t happened before. Both of these men are . . . were business acquaintances of ours.’

  ‘So you feel you could be subject to some kind of similar attack?’

  ‘Exactly. I’m not too worried, but my wife is concerned, as you can imagine.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘What can you do?’

  ‘What do you want? I can provide advice on where to go and not go, what to do or not do, places to avoid, things to look out for. Or I can accompany you if that’s what you feel you need.’

  Sunna María looked anxiously at Jóhann and nodded while he rested his chin in one hand.

  ‘Round-the-clock or daylight hours?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s up to you. I can sleep in the same room as you if that’s what you feel is needed.’