Thin Ice: An Inspector Gunna Mystery (Gunnhildur Mystery Book 5) (37 page)

‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘So make it easy for yourself and come clean. No?’

The door squeaked open and Helgi returned. He looked expectantly at Gunna, who gave him a slight shake of the head.

‘The lawyer will be here in half an hour,’ he said.

‘Good. You’d better get the recording kit ready. I need to have a chat with the doctor and find out if this character can be transferred to Litla Hraun tomorrow,’ Gunna said and she saw the tear finally detach itself from the corner of Össur’s eye and roll down his cheek at the mention of the prison’s name.

Magni ordered a second beer. He had gone straight through passport control. The officer who checked him through looked tired as he glanced quickly over the top of Jóhann Einarsson’s passport at the man in front of him.

The departure area was crowded with passengers for a delayed flight to somewhere in North America, asleep here and there among their baggage, while he could see a queue starting to form at the departure gate for the Edinburgh flight. He looked at his ticket and saw that his seat would be near the front of the aircraft. Hell, he thought, he didn’t need to stand in a queue when the bar was a far more comfortable place. He could be the last one on, he decided, and laughed to himself at the thought that he might find himself sitting next to Tinna Lind, even though they had taken care to keep away from each other.

He made his beer last, savouring it as he waited and watched the queue start to move. He couldn’t help looking out for Tinna Lind and decided she must have been at the front of the line.

Magni downed the last of his beer, put his glass down and smiled at the barmaid before sauntering to the back of the queue, feeling awkward as the only person in the place without any hand baggage. His passport and boarding pass were checked yet again and, as he boarded the plane and found his seat, he looked around for the blonde head and saw several among the rows of seats behind him, before settling himself back and closing his eyes.

Gunna’s phone buzzed. She looked at it quickly to see if anyone important might be sending her a message, and was surprised to see Gísli’s name there.

Hæ Mum. I’m at the hospital. Th’s not well. Can you come by today sometime?

She found herself wondering what she could say, irritated by the distraction from the day’s frenetic activity and at the same time brought down to earth.

OK. I’ll give you a call when I’m off duty. How long will you be there?
she thumbed back into her phone and stabbed the send button.

The answer came back after a few seconds.
As long as it takes. Call when you can. xx
, she read, and found herself overwhelmed by sadness at her son’s situation and her own powerlessness to help him. She sent back the shortest message she could.
Will do. xx
and put her phone away as Ívar Laxdal arrived, driving thoughts of anything other than work from her mind.

‘What do we have, Gunnhildur?’

‘We have Össur in bed at the National Hospital, and he’s going nowhere other than custody at Litla Hraun.’

‘He’s your suspect?’

‘He is,’ Gunna confirmed. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind that he murdered Brandur Geirsson and was the instigator of the kidnapping of Erna Brandsen and Tinna Lind Bogadóttir. I’m confident forensics will confirm the pistol is his and that it’s the one he used to shoot Brandur.’

Ívar Laxdal stood up and gazed outside. Gunna wondered if he was admiring his beloved black Volvo in the car park below, even though it was dark and the rain had started to pelt the building again, rattling the windows.

‘Press conference time, I think?’ he said with a smile, knowing the effect it would have.

‘Again?’ Gunna’s heart sank. ‘Can’t you do it?’

‘You’re the investigating officer. You’re in charge of the unit. It’s your police work that’s put Össur in a cell.’

For a moment Gunna toyed with the idea of telling Ívar Laxdal that she had been two steps behind from the start.

‘All right. If I must. But we ought to wait until tomorrow when we have the results.’

‘We need to speak to the press tonight, I’m afraid, and it has to be in time for the evening bulletin.’

Gunna groaned. ‘In half an hour, then?’

‘Shirt, tie and polished shoes?’

‘I’d prefer sweatshirt, jeans and trainers, but I don’t think that’d go down well upstairs.’

‘Upstairs are happy, Gunnhildur,’ he assured her. ‘But we need to look the part for the gentlemen of the press.’

‘That’s good to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and slip into something a lot less comfortable.’

* * *

A few flashes popped and Gunna tried not to blink as she read out her statement while Ívar Laxdal sat next to her. He wasn’t smiling, but there was an aura of satisfaction about him.

‘I can confirm that we have a suspect in custody,’ she intoned slowly and clearly, aware that her words were being recorded and trying not to sound anything other than as bland as possible. ‘The suspect is linked to the death of Brandur Geirsson and the suspect’s name is not being released as yet.’ She took a deep breath as several hands shot up. ‘We are actively continuing the search for Magni Klemens Sighvatsson and Tinna Lind Brandsen Bogadóttir, and we are treating this primarily as a missing persons inquiry. They are wanted for questioning in connection with the death of Brandur Geirsson, but we are not at present treating them as suspects. Pictures of both individuals are available on request.’

She looked around the room.

‘Any questions?’ Ívar Laxdal rumbled.

‘Are these people involved in the kidnapping a few days ago?’

‘We believe so. That’s why we need to speak to them,’ Ívar Laxdal said, scanning the dozen faces opposite them. ‘Next? Skúli?’ he said, pointing towards a fresh-faced young man.

‘Is there speculation that Tinna Lind Bogadóttir could have been abducted?’

‘It’s a possibility we can’t rule out,’ Gunna said.

‘Or are you looking at some kind of Stockholm syndrome scenario?’

‘That’s another possibility. As I said, we need to speak to them. That’s why the search is being pursued vigorously.’

‘One more question,’ Ívar Laxdal decided, pointing at a young woman in the group of journalists.

‘Is there any truth in the rumours that the disappearance of these two persons is linked to organized crime?’ she asked, and there was an immediate hush in the room.

Gunna looked at Ívar Laxdal. He gestured to her to answer and she grimaced.

‘That’s a question we’re not in a position to answer at the moment,’ she said.

‘So you’re not ruling out an organized crime link?’

‘The investigation is at an early stage, and at the moment I’m not ruling anything out,’ Gunna said in a sharp voice. ‘But I can tell you that we have no indication so far of any links with anyone outside Iceland.’ She paused, coughed and cleared her throat.

‘Inspector . . .?’

‘That’s all I can say now. You will, of course, be kept informed, and there will be a press call again at the same time tomorrow.’

Ívar Laxdal turned to Gunna as the journalists straggled from the room. ‘Now, before we go, what about the others, Össur Óskarsson’s accomplices?’

‘That’s the big question,’ she said in an undertone. ‘Össur won’t say anything, probably from force of habit as much as anything. But the money, assuming it ever existed, is nowhere to be seen. My opinion is that Magni Sighvatsson and Tinna Lind Bogadóttir have whatever money there is, but we don’t have a crime. Alli the Cornershop hasn’t made a formal complaint and he isn’t likely to. I’d very much like to question both of them, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m happy just to have Össur waiting for me to throw the book at him.’

‘The other two are accessories to several crimes.’

‘They are, as well as being witnesses, which is the more important reason I’d like to have them here, as well as to simply explain what the hell they’ve been up to.’

‘So where are they?’ he asked. ‘We need to know.’

‘I’ve alerted every airport in the country that has international flights, which is Keflavík and the airport in town that has a flight to the Faroes a couple of days a week. I’ve already checked and there are no flights overseas from Akureyri or anywhere else at this time of year. We’ve already been through the passenger lists and there’s no Magni Sighvatsson or Tinna Lind Bogadóttir booked on anything, but we’ve alerted the airlines and the ferry to Hirtshals in case there’s a last-minute booking.’

‘They could be travelling under other names, couldn’t they, assuming they are trying to leave the country?’

‘We’ve circulated their photos, along with all the others, and we’ll have a look through the airport CCTV footage when we have time.’ Gunna shrugged. ‘I’d hazard a guess that both Alli the Cornershop and the Undertakers will be looking for them, and it’s not as if you can stay out of sight for long in a country like this. If they want to stay healthy, then they have to get out of the country, and my gut feeling is that they’ll want to lay low somewhere quiet until the hue and cry dies down. But I could be wrong,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. Anyhow, I have my hands full with Össur at the moment, and Helgi and Eiríkur will be paying Rafn Sigmarsson a visit this evening to find out why someone might want to set fire to his van, and why it happened to be parked outside Alli’s place. Then we need to ask Alli a lot more questions as well. Not that he’ll tell us anything, but it’s worth it just to watch the old bastard squirm.’

‘As long as he doesn’t complain about police brutality, then you can make him squirm as much as you like, Gunnhildur,’ Ívar Laxdal said, jangling his keys. ‘Do your worst. With your villain in custody and a solid case, plus the opportunity of applying pressure to the Undertakers, I’m not complaining.’

Magni’s flight landed early, and he took it as a positive omen. It looked like being a cool evening on the other side of the airport’s plate glass windows as he followed the crowd towards passport control, looking from side to side. Gradually the group of Icelanders from his flight became diluted with arrivals on other flights, and by the time he was at the passport desk, he could no longer hear any familiar voices around him.

His passport was checked and he was sent on his way with a nod and a curt ‘thank you’, and with no baggage, he was soon outside in the arrivals area, leaning on the metal barrier with the taxi drivers holding up their placards marked with odd – to his eyes at least – names. One by one the drivers peeled off as their passengers came through the gate, scanning the crowd for their own names, and the drivers were replaced with new ones.

After half an hour Magni went to the arrivals area café and bought himself a coffee, paying with euros and getting some change in pounds. Once his coffee had been finished and he crushed the empty cup in his hands, he had to admit to himself that Tinna Lind wasn’t coming. He couldn’t have missed her as he had been one of the first off the flight. Had she been stopped at Keflavík, maybe at the passport desk, where her new blonde hair hadn’t been enough to convince the officer on duty that she was Ásta María Einarsdóttir?

He realized that he had no way of contacting her. He didn’t have the number of Tinna Lind’s phone, and his own cheap pay-as-you-go mobile probably wouldn’t work outside Iceland. He could find Erna’s phone number, but that would lead nowhere, and he knew nobody who might be able to help him contact her. He stood despondent, leaning on the polished rail with strange voices chattering around him, wondering what had become of her. Finally he retreated to the café and huddled in his coat, trying to figure out what to do. He emptied his pockets and counted the bundle of euros Tinna Lind had handed him before they’d left the bus. Eleven hundred and sixty euros might seem a lot, he reflected, but it wouldn’t keep him for long in a foreign city where he knew nobody and had nowhere to go.

Gunna stood for a long time with her hand on Gísli’s shoulder. Gísli sat stone-faced, staring into space with Thorvaldur Hauksson’s withered hand in his. There was silence in the room and Gunna slowly became aware that the sound of laboured breathing had stopped. The heart monitor’s screen displayed a single unbroken line.

‘He’s gone, Mum,’ Gísli said in a flat matter-of-fact tone, and gently laid the hand on the bed.

Gunna pulled up a chair and sat next to Gísli, fumbling for his hand and putting her other arm around his hunched shoulders.

‘Thanks, Mum. I’m glad you came.’

Gunna thought to herself that she would rather be practically anywhere else in the world, but said nothing as Gísli sniffed and stifled a gulp before it became a sob.

‘I’m so sorry, Gísli. Truly I am. It’s not fair on you that he should be taken away just as you’d got to know him.’

‘Yeah, Mum. It’s a bit shit, isn’t it? Still, I know you had your misgivings about him, so I appreciate your showing up.’

Tinna Lind crunched through crisp snow as she walked to the hotel from the airport. It was a refreshing short walk under a clear sky with a semi-circle of ivory moon high above. She shivered, but reminded herself that another flight tomorrow would take her somewhere much warmer.

The hotel was welcoming in the frigid way that only airport hotels where nobody stays longer than one night can be. At the desk she ordered a wake-up call, ignored the young desk clerk’s subtle invitation that she could call anytime if there were anything she might need, and retired to a large room on the fourth floor with a view of the terminal building.

She spent a long time under the hot water of the shower, swathed herself in a towel as thick as a bearskin and examined the still unfamiliar blonde of her hair, deciding that she might let it stay that way.

She poured a drink from the mini bar, put the television on and emptied her case onto the bed. She counted notes into piles, keeping a tally as she went, and grinned with satisfaction when she’d finished. Tinna Lind looked in the mirror opposite the bed and raised her glass to herself before she stowed the cash back in the case and lay back on the stack of pillows to watch the television news in a language she only half-understood.