Cold Breath (Gunnhildur Mystery Book 7)

by Quentin Bates

  A hand descended on her shoulder and squeezed gently. She opened her eyes, terrified of what would greet her.

  ‘Come on, Hanne,’ the police officer said gently. ‘They’re taking him to Blönduós, there’s no time to waste.’

  She picked up Carsten’s cherry-red coat from the floor as she shuffled to the door on the policeman’s arm, following the stretcher her husband was on as it was wheeled smartly through the doors and into the biting cold.

  On the way she caught sight of a newspaper in a rack by the door and stopped, transfixed by the face that stared back at her from the front page. In a brief moment of clarity she wondered if it was time for her to have a heart attack of her own.

  ‘Come on, Hanne.’

  The door of the ambulance was open and a man in a green overall with a broad smile on his round face held out a hand for her.

  The man would hardly be smiling if her husband was dead, she thought.

  He had to be alive, surely?

  Osman looked invigorated by his day in the fresh air and Steinunn looked delighted that a day of Iceland’s rainswept countryside, just as it was about to shrug off winter, had been such a success.

  Gunna and Ívar Laxdal arrived at the minister’s house as the sightseers were finishing dinner, a three-course affair, Gunna noted, judging by the stacked crockery in the kitchen where the au pair and an assistant brought in from the ministry canteen were sitting exhausted at the kitchen table.

  ‘Ali, would you excuse me, please?’ Steinunn said, rising as she saw Ívar Laxdal and Gunna approaching, escorted by Valgeir, incongruous in skinny jeans and a sweater instead of his usual suit. ‘This way, please,’ she instructed and they followed her down the spiral staircase to the study in the basement.

  She closed the door of the study behind her and sat down behind a cluttered desk while Ívar Laxdal cast around for a chair and finally waved Gunna to the only spare seat available.

  ‘Well?’ Steinunn said, elbows on the desk and fingers in a steeple in front of her face. ‘What do you have to tell me?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ Gunna replied, perched uncomfortably on the stool like a naughty schoolgirl. ‘No identification whatsoever. All we can tell you is that the dead man could be of Eastern European origin, judging by his clothing.’

  ‘I see. I take it you’ve met the National Security Unit today. What’s their take on this?’

  ‘They’ll tell you themselves, but they don’t know enough to have one,’ Ívar Laxdal said. ‘We don’t know who this man was and we don’t know where he came from. All we know is that he had a weapon and he was quite happy to use it. We’re certain he’s not a local. Gunnhildur?’

  ‘I’m with you on this. I’ve encountered all kinds of homegrown villains and we’ve had a few firearms incidents, but never a situation like this.’

  ‘So what are you doing?’

  ‘Contacting Interpol to see if we can identify him. We have fingerprints and we’re fast-tracking a DNA sample through the lab in Sweden. But even ultra-fast means days, maybe even weeks. If Interpol don’t know who he is, then we’re stuck, unless something new comes to light.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘An accomplice. Or several. If this guy’s a professional, then he’s likely to have been part of a team. I can’t imagine that he walked up to Einholt, so how did he get there? If he came by car and then walked along the shore, where’s the vehicle and who’s the driver?’

  There was an awkward silence as Steinunn digested the information. ‘So you said. Do you really think there are more of these . . . these people out there?’

  Her eyes darted towards the narrow window high in the wall.

  ‘I told you before, I’m certain of it. It’s highly unlikely the man was working alone. On the other hand, maybe your guest can provide a little insight?’

  ‘Osman? He’s not going to know who was trying to kill him, is he?’

  Gunna shrugged. ‘We won’t know unless we ask him, will we?’

  Steinunn shook her head impatiently. ‘Ask him if you must, but I won’t have him interrogated like a common criminal. He’s an increasingly important figure on the international stage. We have to treat him as such.’

  ‘That’s not what the National Security Unit say about him,’ Ívar Laxdal said in a soft voice.

  ‘What?’ Steinunn blanched as if she’d been struck. ‘I don’t listen to gossip, Ívar. You know that.’

  ‘Sometimes gossip is all we have to work with, and sometimes it’s remarkably accurate.’

  ‘Not in this case. I don’t want to hear another word.’

  ‘Steinunn, there are serious questions about this man’s integrity,’ Ívar Laxdal growled, and Gunna could hear the frustration adding urgency to his voice. ‘There’s every chance he’s not what he appears to be. Have you seen what’s in the media about him already?’

  ‘Gossip. Bring me evidence,’ Steinunn snapped. ‘Has any of this leaked out?’

  ‘It’s only a matter of time, I expect,’ Gunna replied, aware that Ívar Laxdal’s frustrated anger had left him tight-lipped. ‘We can’t hope to keep this out of sight. And there’s the question of whether we should keep it out of sight.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A man has lost his life. This isn’t a police state. There will be questions. We feel the best thing is to pre-empt the media and at least get this into the open before the rumour mill does it for us; and it will. You don’t take a corpse to the National Hospital with a fatal gunshot wound and expect nobody to bat an eyelid.’

  For the first time Steinunn seemed to be genuinely disturbed and Gunna wondered if it was the threat of adverse publicity that was causing her discomfort or the possibility of a situation spiralling out of control. She could see a twitch starting to show under Steinunn’s jaw, just as she noticed the fingernails bitten short.

  The minister’s chair was pushed back hard, stopping against a bookcase on the wall. Steinunn sent Ívar Laxdal a look that told him the interview was at an end, but he remained where he was.

  ‘Has the Prime Minister’s office been informed?’ he asked, his gravel voice low but distinct.

  ‘No,’ Steinunn snapped back. ‘Not that it’s any of your concern.’

  ‘It is my concern,’ he replied. ‘Especially if I’m not convinced this is being handled correctly.’

  ‘You do your job, Ívar, and I’ll do mine. For your information, the PM knows there’s a situation but hasn’t asked for details. I’ve assured him it’s under control. Until it’s not under control, I’m not going to bother him with this.’

  Gunna could see the furious twitch spread to Steinunn’s lip while Ívar Laxdal stood unmoving.

  ‘We can’t keep this quiet, Steinunn. We need to take the initiative.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Ívar Laxdal scratched his chin with his thumb and the rasp cut through the quiet. A tinkling laugh from upstairs could be heard faintly through the closed door.

  ‘I mean we need to take the bull by the horns and release at least part of what’s happened. You know damn well that if we don’t, it’ll get out anyway, and by then we’ll be playing catchup, trying to kill rumours instead of pre-empting them. We have to manage this, not react to it.’

  Steinunn’s eyes went from Ívar Laxdal to Gunna and back. Gunna tried to keep her face expressionless until the minister’s gaze had moved on.

  ‘All right,’ Steinunn decided. ‘I want a plan. Tell Valgeir and he can bring it to me to be approved.’

  ‘There isn’t time for that. We have to do this fast,’ Ívar Laxdal said and Gunna expected Steinunn to slap him. ‘We announce that an unidentified individual has died of injuries sustained during a suspected terrorist incident. Male, rough age, and we release a photofit good enough for anyone who’s seen him but not too accurate. That’s it. They can ask all the questions they like, but no details. We can cite security issues and nobody will argue. We’ll give them the absolute bare bones and n
o details.’

  Steinunn stood for a moment in thought. ‘When?’

  ‘Right away. In time for the late news bulletin.’

  ‘No,’ she said in a sharp voice. ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘We can’t keep a lid on this, Steinunn. We’ll need to release something, and it’s best done sooner than later.’

  ‘Not today. We have to have more facts before we say anything. Understood? I’ll let you know when you can release something, and it has to be approved by my department,’ she said, eyes fixed on Ívar Laxdal. ‘That means me. Understood?’

  ‘And we need to move Osman.’

  ‘No. He stays at Einholt.’

  ‘Steinunn, whoever’s after him knows where he is. We need to move him somewhere out of sight.’

  ‘Do you have a suggestion?’

  ‘Not yet, but pretty much anywhere but Einholt would be ideal.’

  Steinunn’s eyes focused somewhere beyond Ívar Laxdal’s shoulder.

  ‘There’s you and the Special Unit watching the place, so it should be the safest place in the country. But bring me options tomorrow. I’ll think it over.’

  Outside in the cold, Gunna withstood the temptation to dig Ívar Laxdal in the ribs.

  ‘I thought she was going to slap you,’ she said with a laugh that was more than half relief at the tension having been broken.

  ‘It wouldn’t have come as a surprise if she had,’ he grunted as he opened the car door. ‘Steinunn has a reputation.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘First, we have to dispose of Sif. Could you do that? Then I guess we’re back to square one.’

  ‘And I’m back to babysitting, am I?’

  ‘Ready to leave the country?’

  Valgeir had grudgingly agreed to meet at a burger bar near the harbour.

  ‘Next week,’ he said and registered Skúli’s surprise. ‘Yes, I know it’s really quick. But I’m taking up my post in a month and I wanted a holiday first, so there’s a week to pack my stuff. I can’t wait.’

  ‘Why Vienna? Not Berlin or somewhere bigger?’

  Valgeir looked sheepish and Skúli saw a warm smile gradually appear.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘there’s this woman I’ve been seeing, and she lives in that part of the world.’

  ‘A girl? Wow, congratulations.’

  ‘Oh, go to hell, Skúli,’ Valgeir said in a voice that failed to conceal his delight. ‘We’ve been having a long-distance relationship for a while, and I’ve kept it quiet. But now you know.’

  ‘I’m sure Dagga will be relieved. She was starting to think you were the other way inclined.’

  ‘Way wide of the mark,’ Valgeir said and smirked. ‘I just took my time, and now I need to get my place ready to put on the market.’

  ‘You’re selling?’

  ‘Sell at the top of the market, they say.’ Valgeir winked. ‘I reckon things are going to keep going up for a while, but they’ll drop again.’

  ‘Is that secret inside information on the next crash?’

  ‘It’s no secret. I have contacts in investment businesses and they’re dropping property to buy currency. I can’t wait to get away. A couple of years as cultural attaché in Vienna will suit me perfectly, and by the time I’m posted home again all the shit will hopefully have died down.’

  ‘What shit’s that?’ Skúli asked, feigning innocence and chewing his sandwich.

  ‘Hell, Skúli. The shitstorm you unleashed, plus the Children of Freedom thing. Steinunn’s days in the cabinet are numbered. Anyone close to her has failure written all over them. I saw your piece this morning. You’re not going to be popular for a while.’

  ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘I should never have told you anything.’

  ‘Did I mention your name?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Valgeir snapped, hurt. ‘But anyone can put two and two together, and if Steinunn hadn’t approved this posting, then I’d be worried.’

  ‘But I didn’t and you’re clear,’ Skúli replied. ‘As long as nobody notices us here.’

  ‘Why do you think I told you this place? It’s not because of the cuisine.’

  ‘In any case, Steinunn has more to worry about with the Children of Freedom than with Osman, doesn’t she? I gather the Prime Minister isn’t happy and he wants her out.’

  ‘True,’ Valgeir said. ‘The PM doesn’t like her. To be quite honest, without wanting to be quoted, a moderately intelligent nine-year-old wouldn’t do a worse job than Steinunn does. Not that the PM’s much closer to the top of the class, but he’s as sly as any fox.’

  Skúli snorted with laughter, relieved that Valgeir’s sense of humour had been coaxed back to the surface.

  ‘So will the Children of Freedom be the PM’s opportunity to dump Steinunn, or is the Osman thing more likely to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back?’

  ‘You could put it like that. She ignored public opinion on Kyle McCombie and the Children of Freedom, which was a mistake. That guy’s a complete lunatic.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. My colleague interviewed him and said he’s totally batshit crazy.’

  ‘So she got the full force of it?’

  ‘Not at all. She said he came across as fairly balanced, it’s just his underlying beliefs that are crazy. The fact that he’s so articulate and has all kinds of figures at his fingertips makes him sound reasonable; it’s only afterwards that you think through what he’s said and realize it’s all just ranting. The presentation is so polished he doesn’t sound like a fruitcake.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Valgeir said, absently pushing a sliver of tomato around his plate. ‘I had wondered if I was the only one who thought he was nuts.’

  ‘No, it’s not just you,’ Skúli said. ‘Anyway, the skids under Steinunn?’

  Valgeir shrugged.

  ‘Do I care? Probably,’ he said. ‘Maybe not right now, but she’s stepped in the shit so many times already that I can’t see her being able to stay on much longer. The PM can’t abide her, but they’re from the same party, so he can’t shoot her down without raising hell among the faithful. But then he doesn’t have a huge majority, so a few false steps and a couple of rebels – you know who I mean – and the government could crash and burn.’

  ‘So Steinunn and the PM are joined at the hip?’

  ‘Precisely,’ Valgeir said, selecting a toothpick from a jar on the table and applying it to the gap between his front teeth. ‘Unless she manages something massive, some monumental disaster that gives him a chance to shove her out into the cold.’

  ‘It’s not as if we have a tradition in Iceland of politicians apologizing and resigning when they screw up.’

  ‘True. But if there’s some colossal clusterfuck, then there’s no option,’ Valgeir said, the toothpick between his fingers. ‘Then she might have no option but to fall on her sword,’ he said with a look of deep satisfaction, snapping the toothpick between his fingers.

  ‘So what’s he like?’ Skúli asked. ‘Osman, I mean.’

  ‘He’s . . .’ Valgeir said and stopped, wondering how to describe Osman. ‘He’s one of those people who’s used to being obeyed, used to getting his own way, but he’s not grand at all. Very Middle Eastern, incredibly charming. You know, he kisses women’s hands and all that stuff. Handsome with it, big nose, black hair. Looks a bit like a vulture.’

  ‘But he’s not popular in some quarters. So why’s Steinunn brought him here?’

  ‘She met him at a human rights conference in Helsinki,’ Valgeir said, his voice low and his eyes darting from side to side, as if frightened of being overheard. ‘He can turn on the charm like a tap. He fixed her with those brown eyes and she was bowled over.’

  ‘The Iron Lady’s smitten?’

  ‘She thinks the sun shines out of his arsehole. He’s . . .’ Valgeir cast around for words. ‘He’s charismatic. It’s something in the way he talks. The only one I’ve seen so far who wasn’t blown away by him was one of the cops looki
ng after him. Steinunn’s niece was all over him and he took her back to . . .’

  ‘Back to?’ Skúli prompted.

  ‘Sorry. That’s strictly secret.’

  ‘When you say Steinunn’s niece, you mean Sif Strand was all over him?’

  Valgeir looked pained.

  ‘You didn’t hear that from me, all right? In fact, you didn’t hear it at all.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Skúli agreed. ‘Steinunn doesn’t know all the shady shit about him, does she? Didn’t you do background checks on him?’

  Valgeir twisted in his seat and craned his neck over the heads in the café.

  ‘We did. The National Security Unit did a report on him in double-quick time. Steinunn just read the summary and dropped it in the bin. It looked to be mostly hearsay and not much hard fact.’

  ‘But you read it?’ Skúli asked and Valgeir nodded. ‘And what did they make of him? Is he a fraud or for real?’

  Steingrímur’s impatience was obvious when Gunna returned to Einholt and Ívar Laxdal drove away. She looked around the living room and shot an enquiring glance at Steingrímur.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘TV room.’

  ‘Are you in a hurry to get away?’ Gunna yawned. ‘They’re supposed to be bringing our guest back here at ten on the dot.’

  ‘I ought to relieve my colleague at the watch post in an hour or two. Why?’

  ‘I need to sleep. Only had a couple of hours last night and I’m almost asleep on my feet. Could you keep watch while I close my eyes for an hour?’

  Steingrímur grimaced and Gunna could tell that he longed to say no.

  ‘All right. It’s almost six now. Call you at seven?’

  ‘Eight would be good.’

  ‘All right. Hey, what’s happening in the big outside world?’

  ‘Not a lot. The Laxdal tried to persuade the minister to let him make a statement later about the dead guy, but she wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘Your victim . . .’

  Gunna felt a jolt pass through her at the words. ‘Yes,’ she said in an ice-cold voice. ‘If that’s what you want to call him.’

  ‘Come on, Gunna. He fired two rounds at you. If you hadn’t got him first he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.’