Chilled to the Bone (40 page)

“Are they hurt badly?” Ívar Laxdal asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Hekla had been slapped a few times, but no bones broken. The girl is the one I’d be concerned about. Eighteen is an impressionable age and this could haunt her for evermore.”

“We still don’t know which one of them stuck that thing into Bigfoot’s head, do we?”

Gunna shrugged. “Does it matter? It’ll be a self-defense plea whatever happens. As for Baddó, who knows? The ambulance guy reckoned he wouldn’t make it to tomorrow.”

“This needs to be kept discreet, Gunnhildur, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Is that what our friends in that black car told you?”

“I’m sure you’ll do your work with your usual thoroughness and we’ll see what rises to the surface, won’t we?” Ívar Laxdal let fall one of his rare smiles and extinguished it just as quickly. “I have a feeling that one or both of them will be out of a job soon. Tomorrow, maybe.”

Gunna did a double take and stared at Ívar Laxdal. “As quickly as that?”

“A fuck-up at that level, especially a potentially embarrassing one like this, isn’t something that’s easily forgiven, you know. Using a freelance private investigator to keep tabs on the ministry’s own staff, even if they have screwed up, doesn’t
look good. The minister will find it easier to lay blame on people who aren’t there any more if, or when, this becomes public knowledge.”

“Jóel Ingi and one or both of those other clowns will be convenient scapegoats a month before the next election?”

This time Ívar Laxdal dropped a muffled laugh, an even rarer event. “You’re turning into an old cynic, Gunnhildur,” he said, almost jovially, and Gunna realized she was seeing a new side to the man, one in which he admitted taking delight in the tribulations facing the men from the ministry.

“You know that Már Einarsson knew that Jóel Ingi was leaving the country last night, but didn’t tell anyone. He deliberately chose not to have him stopped? Bára was tracking the poor bastard and reporting his every movement to Már.”

“And to Ægir, or further?”

“Who knows?”

Anyway, Gunnhildur, would you like a ride back to town?” he asked, swinging his keys on one finger.

“Why not? Helgi can stay here with the forensics team to finish up. I’ll just let him know, so he doesn’t think I’m a missing person as well,” she said, heading toward the house while Ívar Laxdal climbed into his car and the engine whispered into life.

“L
ONG DAY
, M
UM
?” Laufey said as Gunna groaned, dropped her shoes by the door and her coat over the back of a chair.

“Long isn’t the word for it, and don’t even ask what I’ve been up to,” she said, wondering whether or not she dared to collapse onto the sofa, where Steini watched her over the top of his glasses and patted the seat next to him. “I mustn’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t stand up again. Where’s … our guest?”

Laufey jerked her head toward the hall. “In the shower, I guess. I reckon she was a bit put out.”

“All right, who’s upset her now?”

“Me, I’m afraid,” Steini admitted. “She was hungry and I told her we wouldn’t be having dinner until you got here, so she went out—I suppose she’s been to the shop for a burger.”

“She’s in the shower, though? Again? Damn. Bang on the door, would you, sweetheart, and ask her if she’s going to be long?”

Laufey pulled a long face, but got up all the same, while Gunna gave in to temptation and sank onto the sofa next to Steini, leaning against him, grateful for the arm he curled around her shoulders.

“Tough day?”

“You could say that. Exhausting, stressful, but there’s a light at the end of a long tunnel.”

“And another long day tomorrow, I suppose?”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. But the overtime won’t do any harm if I’m going to replace that old car anytime soon,” Gunna said with a yawn that left her gaping. “How about you?”

“I got in an hour ago to find Laufey and Drífa talking about men. They stopped as soon as I came in, thankfully. Those two are getting on like a house on fire.”

“That’s good.” Gunna rubbed her eyes. “Are you cooking or am I?”

“I think it’ll be me, don’t you? And if Drífa has already filled up on junk food, that means more spaghetti for us.”

Laufey reappeared and dropped back onto her seat as a vaguely familiar voice was heard. Gunna twisted to see the television and saw Ægir Lárusson’s bald head and heavy features on the screen.

“Laufey, turn it up would you?”

“…  Not in a position to comment at the present moment,” she heard him say, the wind blowing wisps of hair from the sides of his head as he stood in front of the ministry building. Gunna sat up and watched intently. Már Einarsson could be
seen indistinctly as the camera panned back and a microphone was thrust under Ægir Lárusson’s chin.

“Is this something you will be investigating as a matter of urgency?” an unseen interviewer asked.

“Absolutely. Definitely,” Ægir Lárusson said with emphasis, smacking two fingers of one hand into the palm of the other. “If there is any truth behind these allegations, which I hasten to add have yet to be substantiated, then the ministry will do its utmost to examine the circumstances behind this deeply regrettable situation.”

“That man lies like a cheap watch,” Gunna said, lying back against Steini.

Steini frowned. “You know this guy?”

“And is the minister aware of what the implications could be for the government if these allegations are based on verifiable facts?” the interviewer asked.

Ægir Lárusson smiled, and Gunna saw Már Einarsson in the background, flanked by the plump young woman Gunna had seen him with that morning. Ægir Lárusson’s smile looked sinister in the harsh lights behind the camera.

“I am confident that this matter can be resolved and that there are no skeletons in the ministry’s cupboards,” he said, stiffening and adjusting the collar of the same thick coat Gunna had seen him wearing only a few hours earlier, making it plain that the interview should be over.

“So can we expect a statement from the minister shortly?”

“That’s up to the minister himself, and as you know he’s taking part in a Nordic regional conference in Riga. I’ll raise it with him at the first available opportunity.”

“But—”

“That is all I have to say for now,” Ægir Lárusson said with a brief return of that wintry smile before he stepped smartly out of shot and the TV picture returned to a serious presenter behind a desk.

“Shrimp quotas for next year …” he began as Laufey turned the sound down.

“Loathsome, revolting man,” Gunna grumbled, getting to her feet as the bathroom door opened and banged shut. “How long until dinner? What I really want to know is, are you doing garlic bread?”

“You’re sure? Aren’t you on shift tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes. A bit of garlic breath should make me even more feared an interrogator.”

“They’ll tell all just to escape your dragon breath.”

“The lying bastards will be lining up to confess and I’ll be a chief inspector before you know it. So pile it on, my good man.”