Frozen Assets (20 page)

Without looking away from Hardy's face, Sigurjóna pressed a button on the intercom console on the desk in front of her. ‘Dísa, would you ask Jón Oddur to come and have a word with us, please?'

She released the intercom button. ‘By the way, Mr Hardy, what are you doing on Friday night?'

25

Tuesday, 23 September

‘You're on your own again, Haddi. Anything you need?'

Gunna leaned over the desk and peered at the monitor as Haddi appeared in the doorway. ‘Keflavík again?' he asked. ‘Taking Snorri as well?'

‘I'm afraid so. I hope this isn't going to take too long, but it is something a bit out of the ordinary,' she added as the computer chimed to indicate new messages.

‘Bloody hope not,' Haddi grumbled. ‘I've got enough on my plate as it is with all this traffic and whatnot going through the place. As for paperwork . . .'

His voice dropped to a mutter when he realized Gunna's attention was on the computer as she quickly scrolled through her messages, deleting as she went.

Hi Gunna,

The article's almost finished and I have just a couple of points I'd like to go over with you before I hand it over to the editor. Can we meet in the next few days? By the way, I've attached a few of Lára's photos that we'd like to use with the feature. Can you let me know if these are OK? If there's any you really hate, I'll make sure they're left out.

Thanks, regards, Skúli.

‘Hey, Haddi,' Gunna called. ‘Come and have a look. We're going to be famous,' she said, clicking on the icons one at a time to open the picture files.

Haddi bustled in and stood behind her as she ran through the photos of the station, Haddi and Snorri sitting at their desks, both of them being briefed, Snorri manning a speed camera with Gunna scowling behind him.

‘Good grief, Gunna, my girl, you look like you've had a bag of sour lemons for breakfast there.' Haddi guffawed.

‘And you look like one of the Keystone Kops.'

‘That's a good one.'

‘I like that, the way they've got the whole village in the background.'

‘She's bloody good with a camera, that girl is,' Haddi had to admit.

Gunna clicked on the final picture and brought up an image of herself taken during the march on the InterAlu compound, from a low viewpoint and with the hills and some of the marchers reflected in her mirror sunglasses.

‘So's that. Makes me look like a proper mean old cow. I hope they use that one.'

Haddi took off his glasses, polished them on his tie, put them back on and peered at the screen.

‘I've seen that bloke,' he said, pointing to a man among the crowd behind Gunna's shoulder in the picture, who was staring directly at the camera. She peered at the screen and found herself looking into the eyes of a man she had last seen on a car park surveillance camera.

‘Him?' she asked, pointing.

‘That's him. Fair-haired feller, the one in the pale leather jacket.'

‘All right. When did you see him?'

‘Saturday morning, I think. He was down at Hafnarkaffi, getting out of a taxi with a big fat bloke.'

‘Any reason you noticed him?'

Haddi scratched his head. ‘Not really. You don't often see a Reykjavík taxi round here, that's all, and the driver looked a right shady sort of character, didn't like the look of him at all. I was going to check his tyres, but I'd just been down the quay and it would have made me late for coffee here. So I didn't bother.'

‘A Reykjavík taxi? Did you get a number?' Gunna asked sharply.

‘No. Didn't bother. They were probably going to the aluminium place and stopped off to get petrol or something.'

‘What sort of car was it?'

‘Mercedes,' Haddi replied instantly. ‘Green, station wagon. Dent in the passenger side front wing. Why do you ask?'

‘Just wondering. What about the driver? Big guy?'

‘Big, well, a fat bloke anyway.'

‘Big tache? One of those seventies ones like the Smokey and the Bandit guy?'

‘That's it. Didn't like the look of him at all.'

‘Not to worry, Haddi. Not to worry,' Gunna said, reaching for the phone and stabbing at numbers.

‘Skúli Snædal, please,' she said crisply to the receptionist who answered. ‘Yes, it is important. This is Gunnhildur Gísladóttir at Hvalvík police and I don't care in the least if he's in a meeting.'

Matti opened his eyes and looked at the lumps on the ceiling that took him back to being a small boy again when he had been dispatched to Álfasteinn every summer, until he was precocious enough a teenager to spend the summer baiting lines and watching the slate-grey halibut flop over the gunwale instead.

He reached out, expecting Marika to be curled in a ball beside him, but his hand found only a cold depression in the mattress.

‘Marika!'

‘What?'

Matti hauled on his trousers and made his way blearily to the bathroom where he peed loudly and with great relief. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Nothing,' she replied from the next room.

In Álfasteinn's long kitchen, she sat in a ragged armchair with a large black and white cat perched on its arm. Both of them looked at Matti as he appeared, face puffed and the hair on one side of his head standing on end. Marika put the book she was reading on the other arm of the chair.

‘Where's Lóa?'

‘Gone out.'

‘Going to be long, d'you know?'

‘She say she be quick. An hour, maybe. She is nice lady, your cousin.'

‘Ach, she's all right, is Lóa. A bit of a monster sometimes. Any coffee?' he asked through a yawn.

‘On cooker.' Marika picked up the book and returned to it.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Reading.'

‘Reading what?'

‘English book.
Grapes of Wrath
.'

‘Good?'

‘Yes.'

Matti shuffled over to the stove and poured coffee from the pot. He yawned again, scratched and drank. Marika looked up for a moment and shook her head briefly. Matti switched on the radio over the sink and listened for a minute to an announcer reading out a list of forthcoming funerals before he switched off again and wandered to the window to look out over the sea. Marika turned a page and carried on reading.

Suddenly the cat jumped down to the floor and went to sit expectantly by the door. Matti watched it drowsily and wondered if it had seen a mouse, but the door creaked open and a large collie loped in, greeting the cat before lying down on a square of carpet under the window. Behind the collie came the stocky figure of Lóa, kicking off rubber boots at the door and padding in thick socks into the kitchen.

‘Ah, Matti my boy, so you've finally managed to drag your fat arse out of bed, have you? The whole bloody house was shaking, you were snoring so loud.'

‘Yes, Lóa, dear cousin.'

She heaved a bag on to the worktop and a chunk of meat oozing blood could be seen inside.

‘What's for dinner, then?'

‘Hallgrímur over at Einarsnes shot a seal yesterday and this is my share of it. Good of him, I think.'

She lowered herself with a groan into a chair.

‘Bad back still?' Matti asked.

Lóa nodded. ‘Now and again. Well, what brings you up here this time?'

‘Ach. You know. Needed to get away for a while.'

‘In trouble again?'

‘Sort of.'

‘What sort of?'

‘Nothing much. Just need to let the dust settle.'

‘That's not what I gathered from your young lady.'

Matti goggled. ‘But . . . ?'

‘But what?'

‘You don't speak English or Romanian or whatever it is she speaks.'

‘Well, Matti, it may have escaped your notice, but Marika speaks quite passable Icelandic.'

‘Bloody hell.'

‘Language, please.'

‘Sorry. I never noticed. We just speak English together.'

‘And now you can speak Icelandic as well. At least she doesn't use all those awful slang expressions you use all the time.'

‘Bloody hell.'

‘Language, Matti.'

‘Sorry.'

Lóa stood up and banged the kettle on to the stove. ‘Matti, you always come up west when you're in the soup, and I'm not going to ask again what it is this time. I'd like to know if it's serious, though, and if the police are looking for you.'

‘Well, yes.'

‘Serious, or police?'

‘Both.'

‘Silly boy. You can't stay here long without being found, you know. Hallgrímur's wife saw you in the shop in Hólmavík yesterday. If she knows you're here, then sooner or later everyone else will.'

‘I know,' he admitted.

Lóa's voice dropped to a murmur. ‘Your young lady, Marika. Seems like a nice girl. Got her head screwed on. You ought to hang on to her.'

‘Ach. She's all right.'

‘Not your type, I'd have thought. Skinny little thing. Does she work?'

‘Yeah, in a club.'

‘So I assume that's where you met, is it? Some dive?'

‘Sort of.'

‘What sort of work does she do?'

Matti sighed and knew that the truth wouldn't do, although not telling the truth to Lóa could be a dangerous business.

‘She dances,' he said finally.

‘Oh, I see. What kind of dance?'

‘The sort where you take your clothes off and people watch.'

Lóa's brow furrowed in a way that reminded Matti uncomfortably of their cousin Gunna.

‘Bloody hell,' she said finally.

It was late in the afternoon and they had a meeting room to themselves. Skúli thought Gunna would be impressed as they sat in their glass cage at
Dagurinn
's offices, but she didn't seem to have realized what a feat he had achieved. He could see Jonni and Dagga looking curiously at them, and turned back to the computer screen.

‘Is this all the pictures?' Gunna demanded.

‘It's all the ones I have, but I suppose Lára might have more.'

‘And this is the highest quality you can get?'

‘I think so. Lára didn't compress the files, so this is as they were taken.'

Gunna peered at the picture of herself on the screen, jaw set firm, sky and mountains reflected in the mirrors of her sunglasses. ‘Zoom in, will you?'

‘On what?'

‘There.' She pointed to the man in the middle distance looking directly at the lens from behind her.

The man's face filled the screen, impassive blue eyes and a day's worth of stubble on his cheeks. A very ordinary face, Gunna thought, nothing special about the combination of features, but unmistakably the face of a strong-willed character used to getting his own way.

‘Skúli, my boy, I'd very much like to get more pictures of this man if it's possible. Can you get hold of the photographer?'

Skúli opened his mobile and thumbed buttons before holding it to his ear.

‘Hi, Lára? Skúli at
Dagurinn
. Yeah, fine, thanks. And you? Cool.'

Gunna sat and listened to Skúli's half of the conversation, fascinated at the way his entire manner changed when speaking to someone of his own age.

‘Yeah, er, Lára. I need a favour if that's OK? I have someone here who wants to see any pictures you have of the march at Hvalvík. Yeah, it was a great day, wasn't it? Just wondering if you're on the way over here at all?'

Gunna frowned and motioned to Skúli for him to pass the phone to her. He frowned back.

‘Er, Lára, just a moment,' he said, and held the phone in the palm of his hand. ‘She says she has more pics, but wants to know who wants to see them?'

‘Let me speak to her.'

‘Er, OK.'

He handed the phone across with a second's reluctance.

‘Good morning. Lára? This is Gunnhildur Gísladóttir, Hvalvík police. I'm working on an investigation and need to identify someone in one of your pictures of the march. Could you help out?' Gunna asked in a tone that clearly expected a positive reply.

Lára's voice crackled through a poor line. ‘Yeah, that's OK. I can bring my laptop and you can go through all the pictures I took if you want.'

‘Excellent. When?'

‘Depends where you are? Are you in town or out at Hvalvík right now?'

‘I'm in Skúli's office at the moment.'

‘No problem. I'll be right with you. Five minutes.'

‘Good. Thank you,' Gunna finished, snapping Skúli's phone shut. ‘She'll be here in a few minutes.'

‘She's here already,' Skúli said, looking over Gunna's shoulder. She swung her head round to see Lára's gangly form approaching, lopsided with a camera bag slung over one shoulder. She stopped at Dagga's desk, where some exaggerated air kisses took place as Jonni scowled.

‘You know,' Skúli said, looking at the image on his computer screen, ‘I spoke to this man at the march.'

‘What? Why didn't you say so before?'

‘Should I have?'

‘Ach, I'm sorry, Skúli. Now, tell me more.'

‘Well, not much really. He came and chatted for a minute, and then he was gone. Didn't think much of it.'

‘What did he say?'

‘Not much. Asked if I was a journo and I said yes. He said he was working for a German magazine called
Eco Zeit
, but I googled it afterwards and it doesn't seem to exist.'

‘Did he say his name?'

‘No, don't think so.'

‘And is he German or what?'

Skúli thought. ‘Sorry, I don't know. He spoke English very well, better than I do, but I couldn't tell you if he had an accent or not.'

There was a tap at the door and Lára appeared, grinning.

‘Hi,' Skúli responded with a warmth that told Gunna he was more than a little pleased to see her. ‘That was quick.'

‘Wasn't it just? I was upstairs. Been doing some pictures for
Home and Garden
magazine on the next floor,' she said, unfolding a laptop and tapping it into life. She quickly located a folder of image files, swiped across them and opened the whole series.

‘These are the pics from the march. That was a pretty good day, I even sold some photos of it in Denmark and Sweden. Now, what was it you wanted to look at?'