Cold Steal

by Quentin Bates

  There was nothing to indicate where Vison was and Eiríkur found himself backtracking more than once along dirt roads that made the Polo rattle and rumble alarmingly. When he finally found the place, he was already irritated at having wasted time.

  He parked in a yard between two long buildings where the lack of any other cars told him there was little likelihood of anyone being about who might be able to answer a question or two. He knocked and tried the handle of the first door he came to and found it locked tight. Another door marked Vison Ltd, Office & Reception was also locked and there were no lights to be seen. He shivered as he rounded the end of the building, stepping into the cold wind that stole down the hillside, and rattled the handle of yet another locked door.

  Something about the place unsettled him. Eiríkur had always tried to fend off superstition, but found himself a victim of it when presented with dark and unfamiliar places. He had the inescapable feeling that he was being watched and walked back the way he had come, keeping his eye on the car. He walked quickly around the second long building, apparently identical to the other. Again there was nobody to be seen, and a perfect full moon still visible in the thin daylight between the torn clouds racing over the sky added to his discomfort.

  He clicked his fob and the lights of the Polo flashed comfortingly as the silence was broken and a quad bike roared into the yard.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A heavy man in a blue padded overall asked as he got off the bike, removing his helmet and hanging it on the handlebars.

  Eiríkur opened his wallet quickly, not giving the man enough time to read the contents, just as he had seen Gunna do. ‘Eiríkur Thór Jónsson, city police.’

  ‘Aha. And what does the law want with this place?’

  ‘Just being curious. The name came up in connection with an investigation and I thought it best to take a look.’

  The heavy man looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Which name? This place has only been Vison for a few months. Before that it was just called Akur.’

  ‘I can’t give too many details, but it’s a name connected with this location. What’s your connection with this place? You work here?’

  The man grinned and unzipped the overall that had been closed tight to his neck. ‘Ásgrímur Stefánsson. I’m the manager. At the moment, anyway.’

  ‘Which means what?’

  ‘Ach. It’s complicated. You want a look around, do you?’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  He unlocked the office, clicked on the lights and pushed open a second door, beckoning Eiríkur to follow. He found himself in a cold, dark space, his breath visible in the chill. There was a moment’s disquiet and then the lights shimmered into life and he saw the room stretching away into the distance.

  ‘This is it,’ Ásgrímur said, hands in his pockets as he nodded towards the rows of steel cages that filled the place.

  ‘This is for mink, right? No animals?’

  ‘Yep. Mink. The animals won’t arrive for a while yet. We’re still setting up.’

  ‘So this is a new place? It doesn’t look new.’

  Ásgrímur barked with mirthless laughter. ‘You want the full story?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘This was a mink farm years ago, back in the eighties. My family built the place and when the market fell to pieces we shut up shop. Closed down.’

  ‘It went bust?’

  ‘That’s what we should have done, but no. It would have been easy to just file for bankruptcy and let the bank pick up the pieces, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so. But you own this place?’

  Ásgrímur’s heels clicked on the concrete floor as he strode along an aisle between the cages with Eiríkur next to him. ‘My sisters and I own the land and the buildings, but now I’m just an employee of the company that’s setting up here. That’s Vison. You’re from the police, you said?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Just as long as you’re not one of those bunny-hugging vegetarians.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Back in the eighties those were the people who screwed up my livelihood by destroying the fur market. So I went to work in Denmark for a long time. There are fur farms still running there and I wanted to stay in the business.’

  They reached the final row of cages and a door at the far end.

  ‘What’s in there?’ Eiríkur asked.

  ‘Cold storage for feed when we finally get up and running in the summer. Storage for bedding and there’s a small lab for quality control in there as well. That’s all waiting to be fitted out.’

  He tried the handle and the door swung open, but the lights refused to obey as he clicked the switch by the door.

  ‘The circuit breaker’s popped, I expect,’ Ásgrímur grunted. ‘There’s a lot needs to be done yet before we start up.’

  ‘When’s that happening?’

  ‘June, if everything goes according to plan.’

  They walked back between the cages, their clouds of breath preceding them in the chilled air.

  ‘So how come you came back from Denmark? The market improved, did it?’

  ‘Simple. The gentleman I worked for in Denmark wanted to expand, and he knew I’d farmed mink in Iceland. Times have changed. The fur market has picked up now. Costs in Iceland have fallen and the exchange rate since the crash means we can be competitive on exports again. So he wanted me to set up here.’

  ‘And fortunately you still owned this place so you’re a partner in this?’

  Ásgrímur grinned, displaying gaps between his teeth that made Eiríkur wince. ‘I’m getting on for sixty, and I can’t be doing with all the paperwork and all that shit. Once the place is up and running I’ll manage it for a few years, and when the lads are trained to do everything, I’ll step back and retire. That’s the grand plan, anyway. Right now I do what I do well and get paid for it, plus they lease the site off me. That’s enough for me.’

  ‘So Mr Vadluga is putting a decent amount of money into this venture?’

  Ásgrímur’s eyes narrowed again. ‘You’ve been doing your homework, I see.’

  ‘It’s not difficult. The company’s in his name.’

  ‘If it’s something to do with fraud, then I can tell you Boris is straight. Everything’s up front. Cash on the nail, accounts, the lot. That’s the way the farm in Denmark was run and that’s the way this one runs as well. Or will run,’ he added.

  Out in the yard it felt warmer than inside the echoing building. Eiríkur shivered and nodded towards the second row of buildings.

  ‘What’s over there?’

  ‘Nothing much at the moment. You want to look?’

  ‘I do.’

  Ásgrímur found a key among dozens on a ring and opened the door. Again lights flickered on. A sports car with its bonnet gaping open and a hole where its engine had once been sat sadly in a corner. A row of filing cabinets lined the far wall. Lengths of timber had been stacked here and there.

  ‘This lot all has to go.’ Ásgrímur sighed. ‘My brother-in-law’s antique Porsche has been in there for the best part of twenty years and if he doesn’t get it sorted out soon I’ll put it on eBay. That’s the paperwork going back to the old company here. That can all go as well.’

  Eiríkur took it all in. ‘In that case I’ll be on my way and leave you to it. By the way, how often does Mr Vadluga come here?’

  ‘Almost never. About two years ago was the last time, when he wanted to take a look at this place.’

  ‘So he hasn’t been to Iceland for a while?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t travel a lot these days. Not like he used to do.’

  ‘You know a young man called Maris Leinasars?’

  ‘Yep, he’s been working here for a few months, helping get set up. A decent enough lad. Works hard.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘No idea. I had a call saying he wasn’t well and he’d be off for a few days.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it might be more tha
n a few days,’ Eiríkur said.

  This time Orri did have a lawyer, Gunna saw as she put her head around the door, a plump young woman she had often seen in the interview rooms, and nodded to her.

  ‘Mind if I sit in?’

  Eiríkur ushered her in and announced her presence for the benefit of the recording. Eiríkur and Orri sat opposite each other; Eiríkur with Sævaldur at his side, red-faced and seething with badly suppressed anger, while the plump lawyer sat at the end of the table.

  ‘Want me to recap? he asked.

  ‘If you would.’

  ‘We’ve established beyond any doubt that Orri has been using Steinar Atlason’s storeroom in the basement of Ferjubakki twenty. We have Steinar’s testimony to that effect and we have fingerprints from the storeroom that are being analysed at the moment. There’s a heap of iPads, games consoles, laptops, drills and whatnot that Tinna and Geiri are checking for serial numbers so we can trace the owners and find out where all this stuff came from.’

  Gunna jerked her head at Orri as if he were a piece of the furniture. ‘And what’s our friend’s story on where all this stuff came from?’

  ‘He claims he was storing it for a former work colleague who has left the country.’

  Gunna grinned. ‘That’s almost as good as “the cheque’s in the post” or “of course I’ll still respect you in the morning”, isn’t it?’

  The lawyer looked cross but let the comment pass while Orri grimaced in anger.

  ‘His name’s Juris. He used to work at Green Bay until a few months ago.’

  ‘All right, and where is Juris now?’ Eiríkur asked. ‘Gone back to Lithuania or wherever?’

  ‘He left in a hurry and asked me to look after all his stuff for him,’ Orri said.

  ‘What’s his full name?’

  ‘I don’t know. Juris. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Very convenient, and a little unbelievable, surely? You store a load of stolen goods on behalf of someone whose name you don’t even know? You expect me to believe that?’ Eiríkur said in a soft voice that Gunna knew would be more likely to trip up lies than Sævaldur’s habitual bluster and noise.

  ‘That’s the truth. It’s up to you to prove otherwise,’ Orri said and the lawyer looked at her hands.

  ‘So when did Juris disappear?’

  ‘Two, three months ago. I can’t remember.’

  ‘In that case it’ll be interesting when we trace some of the owners of all that stuff and find out that it was stolen less than two months ago, won’t it?’

  ‘But you don’t have that kind of information, do you?’ the lawyer challenged. ‘Can we stick to what’s established fact, please?’

  ‘Why not?’ Gunna said with a wink to Eiríkur and looked at Orri’s hands with the sleeves of his dark green fleece tugged down over his wrists. She nodded at his hands, clasped together in his lap. ‘I can’t help noticing the scabs on your wrists, Orri. Anything you’d like to tell me about?’

  There was a look of fear that passed over his face. ‘No,’ he said quickly. Too quickly, Gunna decided.

  ‘They’ve been there for a while I’d guess and I’m fairly sure that those were some nasty cuts on your wrists. In fact, I’d go so far as to bet folding money there’s a matching set on your ankles as well.’

  Orri went pale and leaned over to mutter something to the lawyer.

  ‘My client and I need to confer. Ten minutes break?’

  ‘Let’s make it half an hour, shall we?’ Gunna suggested. ‘I could do with conferring as well.’

  Storm clouds were heavy overhead and Jóhann knew the ravens were behind him in the twilight, waiting for him to falter and fall. By sunrise he knew they would have picked his eyes out and he shed bitter tears at the thought of dying out here alone. Hunger was a constant ache in his belly and he could hardly feel his feet any more. The sole of his damaged shoe had come completely adrift and the sock beneath it had worn right through, leaving him squelching through the puddles with only the other sleeve of his once smart shirt wrapped around his foot for protection.

  A spot of light in the distance gave him a moment’s hope until it flickered out of sight and he wondered if it had simply been an illusion brought on by his own despair. There was a humming noise that he could hear occasionally and he dismissed it as yet another figment of his imagination, along with the flashing green and red lights he had begun to see in the sky.

  Blinking spots of white light returned intermittently, teasing him as he squinted through his rain-spattered glasses.

  Eventually he told himself that enough was enough. Full darkness would be upon him soon and he had run out of places to shelter. He no longer had the strength to walk and the only remaining option was to sit in the road and hope that some time in the summer someone would be able to identify whatever might be left of him.

  Gunna had watched the previous evening’s TV news on her computer and saw the request for sightings of Jóhann Hjálmarsson, fifty-four years old, grey hair and glasses, last seen on Friday in the downtown area of Reykjavík. Sunna María and Jóhann’s sons had been warned that the appeal would be broadcast, and while the two sons, both of whom had entered middle age early as far as Gunna could see, were deeply anxious, Sunna María was agitated and distracted, angry at her husband rather than concerned about his whereabouts.

  She closed her laptop and went back to the interview room where Orri had been given a meal. She expected him to be held overnight and transferred to prison at Litla Hraun the following day.

  Back in the interview room Eiríkur went through the formalities. Orri still looked pale as his lawyer sat next to him making notes.

  ‘My client has a statement to make,’ the lawyer announced, fiddling nervously with a necklace that straggled round her neck.

  ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘He accepts that the goods found in his basement may have been stolen, but is not prepared to accept responsibility for them as they were given to him by Juris, surname unknown, to look after for a few weeks. That was at least four months ago and he has not since heard from Juris and attempts to contact him have been unsuccessful. With reference to the scabs on his wrists, he would like to state that these occurred during a session of bondage with his girlfriend Elísabet Sólborg Höskuldsdóttir,’ the lawyer read from her notes, her voice quavering and her cheeks glowing pink. ‘He states that this was entirely consensual and is not prepared to discuss this sensitive personal matter,’ she finished, her voice an octave higher than it had been at the start of her speech.

  Gunna smiled broadly. ‘Very interesting, for what it’s worth. Of course, I’ll speak to Elísabet Höskuldsdóttir and ask her to corroborate your client’s testimony. I take it you’re not going to be in touch with her the moment you’re out of here to warn her what kind of questions she’s likely to be asked?’

  ‘That would be highly unprofessional,’ the lawyer said.

  ‘She won’t tell you,’ Orri said with a shrug. ‘Lísa’s a bit uptight about that kind of thing.’

  ‘Not too uptight to tie you up? I’m intrigued,’ Gunna said. ‘I must say, you don’t strike me as the kinky type. Was this your idea or hers?’

  ‘Hers.’

  ‘Like I said, I’ll ask her.’ Gunna tapped the table. ‘Now, Orri. We have sightings of you on Kópavogsbakki on half a dozen occasions and to my mind that means you must have been around that area a good few times, assuming that not every visit was noticed. What were you doing walking around a residential street that’s miles from where you live?’

  ‘Not me. It must have been someone who looks like me.’

  ‘The interesting part is that someone was assaulted in one of the houses on that street a week ago. There’s some compelling evidence to suggest that person was you. Fibres found at the scene match perfectly those of your fleece. There are bloodstains on the floor and I would imagine that the DNA sequencing will show it’s yours. Any comments, Orri?’

  ‘It wasn’t me. I was at home on
Tuesday night.’

  ‘You’ll notice I didn’t say the assault took place on Tuesday night. We were called to the scene on Wednesday, but it could have been any of several days or nights before that.’

  ‘You said a week ago, so I assumed Tuesday.’

  ‘So why Kópavogsbakki? I have a list of sightings with times and dates over the last couple of weeks, although not one in the week since the mysterious assault took place there. I suppose you’ll be able to tell me exactly where you were on all these occasions, as you weren’t walking around Kópavogsbakki?’

  Orri shrugged again and looked blank. ‘I don’t know. Like I said, nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You know Alex Snetzler.’

  ‘Yeah, He works with me.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Search me.’

  ‘You’re not aware that Alex is dead?’

  Orri’s pale face rapidly went paler. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘You’re a dangerous person to know, Orri. Juris worked at Green Bay Dispatch and was fencing stolen property, and he’s disappeared. Alex works at Green Bay Dispatch and his flat was stuffed with stolen property, and now he’s dead.’

  ‘Excuse me, officer,’ the lawyer broke in. ‘Are you insinuating that my client might have something to do with the disappearances of these men?’

  ‘I’m keeping an open mind,’ Gunna retorted. ‘It strikes me as too much of a coincidence that two fences appear to have come to sticky ends.’

  ‘I don’t know. I reckon Juris went back to Latvia. I don’t know about Alex. We work together but we don’t get on all that well.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘He’s a loudmouth. I don’t like people like that. He does his work. I do mine. Otherwise we don’t get in each other’s way.’

  ‘And you don’t know how he came to have a wardrobe stuffed full of stolen laptops and iPads. That’s just wonderful. Orri, it just beggars belief. You’re all over the place. There’s stolen gear in your basement that you completely forgot to tell us about, plus you sold that gold clasp to Aunt Bertha—’

  ‘It was my mother’s,’ Orri said.

  ‘No, it absolutely wasn’t. It belonged to a lady whose house was broken into sometime in the last couple of weeks by someone who took a couple of envelopes of foreign currency and a smart wristwatch that looks remarkably similar to one of the half dozen or so watches we found in your basement with all the other bits and pieces. Tomorrow my colleague will be asking its owner to identify it and if that goes the way I expect it to, then that places you right there.’