Chilled to the Bone (16 page)

Mug in hand, Pétur looked at her fondly and made for the door again. “I’ll do another hour and then call it a day,” he said.

“I’ll come and get you. Don’t overdo it. You know what the doc said.”

Pétur snorted. “The doc. What the hell does he know?” he demanded and was gone, with his step-shuffle-click signaling his progress down the hall and back out to the garage, leaving Hekla to stare aghast at the photograph of a young and dynamic Jóhannes Karlsson staring back at her from the midst of his full-page obituary.

W
ITH
H
ELGI DISPATCHED
to Kópavogur to speak to the tearful girlfriend who had reported Magnús Jóhann Sigmarsson’s
disappearance, Gunna parked outside the Harbourside Hotel for the second time that day. The building was an imposing one, giving the upper floors some fine views over the bay, with Esja beyond it, with the stiff wind whipping up white horses on Faxa Bay in what remained of the daylight. Not that Reykjavík’s favorite mountain could be seen in the gloom, Gunna reflected as she slammed the leased car’s door and made for the entrance. Darkness fell early at this time of year and January was a bleak month, with New Year over and people nervously awaiting the first post-Christmas credit card bill of the year.

“Looking for Símon,” Gunna growled at the receptionist whose company-issue welcoming smile faded away quickly.

“I’m not sure if he’s here right now,” she said. “I can call his office if you like?”

“You do that. Call his office and if he’s not there, call his mobile,” Gunna told the young woman. “And if that doesn’t work you can give me his address and I’ll go and hammer on his front door.”

She walked around the lobby inspecting the vast canvases hung on the high walls of what had once been a hardware store and guessed that to get walls that high, the ceiling must have been raised by a meter or more when the place had been rebuilt.

Símon arrived looking flustered. Bags had appeared under his eyes since they had spoken that morning and he looked a dozen years older without the flirtatious twinkle in his eyes.

“Gunnhildur,” he greeted her with undeniable dismay. “What can I do for you? Any developments?”

“You remember this place when the old hardware store was here, don’t you?”

“I do,” he replied, puzzled.

“When it was turned into a hotel, how did they manage to make the ceiling higher down here? Or is it my imagination?”

“Er … the whole place was gutted, floors and everything
came out. The only thing that’s original are the outside walls. They more or less built a new building inside the shell of the old one.”

“Right. I thought so. I was wondering if my memory was playing tricks. Magnús Sigmarsson should have been here for a shift yesterday and didn’t show up. Has he been seen since?”

Taken aback by the suddenness of Gunna’s change of direction, Símon’s face fell.

“I … er … I don’t know. I need to check the rotas.”

“Good. Let’s do that.”

Símon practically elbowed the receptionist from her position behind the desk and tapped at the computer. He sighed. “Twelve to eight. He should have been on a twelve to eight shift yesterday, today and again tomorrow. He’s skating on thin ice now. I could easily have him dismissed for this.”

Gunna looked over the computer screen, which was covered in blocks of color.

“That’s him there, is it?” she asked, pointing to a dark green block that stretched across four days of timetable.

“That’s him. Or should have been. One of the restaurant supervisors covered his shift yesterday, but I don’t know what today’s arrangement is.”

“I have a feeling you might want to get his shift covered tomorrow as well. Something tells me he won’t be in.”

Símon looked shocked. “Has something happened to him?”

“You tell me. Magnús was reported missing by his girlfriend. She hasn’t seen him for twenty-four hours. He hasn’t shown up for work and his car’s missing. Does he have a history of being unreliable?”

“He’s often late, but he’s never not turned up.”

Gunna heard her phone buzz and saw Helgi’s number flashing. “Yes?”

“
Hæ
, chief. The drippy girlfriend saw him the night before
last. He didn’t turn up as expected yesterday. Phone’s dead, and his car’s gone.”

“All right, Helgi, thanks. Can you get onto comms and see if his name’s on any flights?”

“Already done it. He’s not on any passenger lists, and his passport’s expired anyway.”

“You’d best circulate the registration and if it’s on the move traffic will pick it up soon enough.”

“Ahead of you on that one as well,” Helgi said with satisfaction. “Next step, we have a look at his apartment?”

Gunna walked across the lobby of the hotel with her phone to her ear to give Símon and the receptionist less of an opportunity to eavesdrop. “I reckon so. Can you arrange for the door to be opened? I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Will do, chief. See you there,” Helgi said cheerfully and rang off.

“That was about Magnús, wasn’t it?” Símon asked immediately. “He’s all right, surely?”

“No idea, but I would hope so. Now, carrying on from our conversation this morning,” Gunna said grimly. “It’s time you were a little more forthcoming, otherwise I’m going to be down here with a team at eight tomorrow morning to interview every single member of staff from the globe-trotting managing director to the unemployed immigrant who washes dishes for cash. Do we understand each other?”

T
HE LANDLORD WAS
an elderly man who wheezed up the stairs and had to stop for a breather on the landing.

“Had to move out, you see, can’t cope with stairs any more,” he explained. “Got a place with a lift now. So much easier,” he prattled as he selected a key from a bunch. “This is on the level, isn’t it?”

“How do you mean?” Helgi asked, smothering a yawn.

“Could get into all sorts of trouble, couldn’t I? I know it’s my
flat, but it’s let and I can’t just go waltzing in there when I feel like it. Tenants have rights these days,” he said sadly.

“Open it, will you? If you get a complaint I think we can back you up.”

The landlord turned the key in the lock and Helgi put a hand on his arm as the door swung open.

“I think you’d best stay here. There’s no knowing what we’re going to find,” he said, snapping on a pair of surgical gloves.

The smell of long unwashed laundry was overpowering and Gunna wrinkled her nose as the aroma brought Gísli to mind; suddenly all the thoughts that had been running through her mind in the evenings came flooding back. She briskly banished them, forcing herself to concentrate on the job in hand as they went through the flat but found no clue as to Magnús Sigmarsson’s whereabouts.

“At least the bastard’s not drowned in the bath,” Helgi said with relief.

“No, but someone’s had an energetic time in here,” Gunna said, lifting a sodden towel from the floor to reveal another below it, stained red with blood. “Water’s been everywhere.”

“And somebody cut a finger over there,” Helgi said, squinting at the rim of the bathtub against the wall where a smear of blood could be seen against the pale blue plastic and a handprint in blood could be seen on the wall by the door. “We’d best get that checked, I suppose.”

“Arrange it with forensics, would you?” Gunna said absently, thinking back to the words of Magnús’s disgusted neighbor. “I wonder. Helgi, what does this look like to you? Water and blood everywhere and towels all over the floor?”

“No idea, chief. But it seems weird. The rest of the flat’s much as you’d expect. It’s a bit grubby and he hasn’t done his laundry as often as he might have. I get the feeling something energetic has been going on in here.”

“And I’m wondering just what. Would you like to give Magnús’s drippy girlfriend a call and ask if they made a habit of screwing in the bath? Because if not, then what went on here may not have been that friendly.”

H
ARALDUR JUMPED WHEN
his phone rang and Svava looked at him oddly over the dinner table as he answered it with a quaver in his voice.

“Haraldur.”

“Good evening. Haraldur Samúelsson?”

“That’s me.”

“My name’s Gunnhildur Gísladóttir and I’m with the Reykjavík city police,” Gunna said. Svava wondered what had happened when Haraldur twitched with nervousness.

“I … er … what can I do for you?” he asked and Gunna immediately sensed the dread in his voice. It went deeper than that of the law-abiding citizen caught up in something beyond his understanding and told her instantly that Haraldur’s conscience was troubled.

“It’s to do with an investigation; your name has come up in connection with an incident at the Harbourside Hotel. You were staying there a few days ago, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Haraldur replied, his voice almost a squeak as Svava stood up and silently left the room.

“I would prefer it if we could meet to discuss this. First thing tomorrow, maybe?” Gunna said in a tone of voice that made the “maybe” redundant.

“Yes. I’ll be at the office in the morning until twelve. You can find me there. Fiskitangi forty-two.”

“Fiskitangi? Where’s that?” Gunna asked with the sinking feeling that told her the man was out of town.

“It’s in Akureyri.”

“Ah, right. In that case I’ll get a flight in the morning and I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”

“I could meet you at the airport if you like,” Haraldur offered.

“I’ll come and find you if you don’t mind. Since I have to go to Akureyri, there are a few other errands I can run at the same time,” Gunna said. “But thanks for the offer. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Haraldur sat still on the kitchen chair for a few moments after the conversation had ended. Svava deliberately shut the door behind her and turned to face him, hands on hips.

“Halli. Will you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I’m not sure. First there was a policeman on the phone asking all kinds of questions about when I stayed at the Harbourside when I went to Reykjavík to meet the Daewoo guys from Denmark the other day. Now there’s this policewoman who wants to come up here tomorrow and talk to me.”

“What’s all this about, Halli? You’ve been as nervous as a cat for two days and don’t you dare tell me there’s nothing to worry about.”

“It might be about my wallet being stolen,” he said vaguely, picking up his plate and carefully placing it in the dishwasher. Svava’s pursed lips indicated that she found his explanation wanting.

“And how did whoever stole your wallet manage to get into our account?” She demanded, her voice increasingly shrill. “I’m telling you, Haraldur Samúelsson. We’ve been here before and we don’t want to go there again, do we?” She stalked out of the kitchen and slammed the door so hard that the cups and glasses in the kitchen cupboards rattled in sympathy.

A
GNES JUST LOOKED
at him as he collapsed into one of the pair of leather armchairs.

“Hard day, darling?” she asked in a slightly sardonic tone that set Jóel Ingi wondering what was behind it before he noticed that her face was carefully made up and her long frame
was sheathed in a startling red dress that matched her scarlet lips.

“Going out?”

“Yup.”

“Will you be back late?”

“It’s Saturday night. Of course I will.”

“All right. Have fun,” he said bleakly as she stood up. He admired her without saying anything, from the supple leather black boots that encased her calves to the dress that showed nothing but hinted at everything.

“See you later, sugar,” she said, blowing him a kiss from the door. “Don’t wait up. Bye.”

H
ERMANN
F
INNSSON WAS
not happy to get a visit from the police. A heavily built, balding man with jowls that trembled as he shook his head, he radiated nerves and continually looked through the window of the living room of the over-decorated, overheated upstairs flat he occupied.

“I understand that you stayed at the Arctic Hotel last week. You live in Mosfellsbær, so why stay in a hotel so close to home?” Gunna asked, hoping to put the man at his ease and watching his fingers tremble with nerves.

“I … er, I decided to stay in town that night. I’d been out with some people and didn’t want to drive.”

“Really? A taxi home would have been cheaper, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“So, why stay at such an expensive hotel?”

Hermann Finnsson shrugged, lost for words. “I don’t know. Does there have to be a reason?”

It was Gunna’s turn to shrug. “Of course not. You’re married, Hermann?”

“Not any more. I was, a long time ago.”

“So who did you go out with that night?”

“Some people.”

Hermann thrust his hands into the pockets of his cardigan, Gunna guessed to stop them trembling.

“Look, Hermann. I’m not investigating you or anything you’ve done. But I have a very good idea of what happened and I need to find the person who took you for a ride. No names, no hassle afterward. I just want some information.”

“Nothing happened,” he said in a thin voice and leaned against the wall, a bead of perspiration running from his thick hair down one temple. “Honestly.”

“No. Nothing didn’t happen. I have it on good authority that you checked into the hotel that morning and left that afternoon. You didn’t spend the night there, even though you had paid for it. Why was that?”

“Am I a suspect or something?” he blurted out as the bead of perspiration became a rivulet.

“No. Not at all. But you could be an important witness.”

Hermann’s eyes flickered to the window and back. “No. I can’t. I don’t have anything to say.”

Gunna could sense his terror, so sharp as to be an almost palpable presence in the room, and the intensity of it set her wondering what he was so frightened of. Facing a blank refusal to cooperate, though, there was little she could do.

“All right. If that’s the way you want it, I can’t force you to say anything,” Gunna said with a grim undertone, taking a card from her wallet. “But if you change your mind, please give me a call. I repeat, I’m not looking for any wrongdoing on your part—just information,” she said, putting the card into his hand and noticing that the palm was damp with sweat.