‘Here she is!’ Kolbeinn announced, and a cheer erupted from the group. Skúli wondered who it was and returned to his notebook.
‘Sorry about that. They’re making so much noise in there that they can’t hear when someone knocks on the door,’ Kolbeinn apologized, hauling himself back to his seat on the worktop. ‘Where were we?’
‘InterAlu, Spearpoint, ESC.’
‘Yeah. Well, the smelter was never really our main target. We’ve focused on the whole issue of these foreign aluminium plants that do nothing for the environment and precious little for the economy, except to keep it at boiling point. In real terms they offer less employment than, say, a shoe factory or something like that.’
‘All right, you’ve made the case against aluminium. What was it about this particular site?’
‘You know as well as I do.’
‘But I need to hear it from you.’
‘Man, where do I begin? There’s just so much to be up in arms against. There’s the crooked Minister channelling lucrative contracts to his friends and his wife’s company, setting up ESC and then making sure it gets a whole heap of public subsidy before being floated on the stock market. That was a great story, actually, and it was your colleague who broke that one.’
‘But what about the Hvalvík Lagoon power plant?’
‘That was the big one. Setting up a privately run power generation plant and taking protected status away from part of a national park to do it was just too much to be ignored. You know, Skúli? There is something you could delve into.’
‘Which is?’
The smile fell from Kolbeinn’s face. ‘Two of our closest collaborators were murdered in the last year and the perpetrator has never been caught.’
‘The Norwegian guy?’
‘That’s him. The policewoman from Hvalvík was right behind him but she was prevented from making an arrest. We have it on very good authority that a unit was deployed on orders direct from the Ministry, and actively prevented the police from arresting this man.’
‘You’re sure?
Kolbeinn nodded again.
‘Bjarni Jón? Higher up?’
‘Lárus Jóhann.’
‘But why?’
‘God. Can you imagine the uproar if it came to court? There’s so much shit that would have come out that it couldn’t happen. So he was quietly deported,’ Kolbeinn said.
‘I see,’ Skúli replied dubiously, wondering if this might be close to the truth or a wild conspiracy story.
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Kolbeinn asked, his eyes gleaming maliciously.
‘Well …’
‘I can tell you right now that a slimmed-down Spearpoint will be up and running again tomorrow as if nothing had ever happened.’
‘You’re sure? How can you know?’
Kolbeinn tapped the side of his nose in a theatrical gesture. ‘Find out what your boss is doing today.’
‘You mean Rich Golli?’ Skúli asked.
‘Both of them.’
‘You reckon Golli’s going to be bailing Sigurjóna out?’
‘It’s a done deal. Sigurjóna didn’t have much room to manoeuvre. So she’s not a happy lady right now, especially as her husband’s also moved out.’
‘Really? Where to?’
‘You need to keep up with the gossip, Skúli,’ Kolbeinn admonished. ‘Officially, they’re living together, but separated. Unofficially, he’s shacked up with a political science doctoral student who probably sees him as a fast-track ticket to somewhere or other.’
Suddenly, Skúli felt that he ought to be on his way back to Dagurinn’s office, and he stood up, shutting his notebook.
‘Check in with me tomorrow,’ Kolbeinn told him as he showed him to the door. ‘You’ll see.’
Walking away from Kolbeinn’s flat, he stopped dead in his tracks and almost turned on his heel to go back, remembering that the last time he had seen the woman in the sober suit and sensible shoes she had been sitting at the Minister’s side.
38
Tuesday, 7 October
Steam leaked from the kitchen at the back and hung in a cloud over the serving counter. The atmosphere in Hafnarkaffi was unusually lively and there was only one topic of conversation.
‘Good Lord, you’d think these people would have the decency to resign,’ Stefán Jónsson held forth.
‘No shame and no morals,’ someone else at the same table said.
‘Same all over. Same as the bloody government,’ Stefán added.
‘Morning, boys,’ Gunna offered, joining them at the table with a mug and a sandwich.
‘Ah, Gunnhildur. What does the law make of all this?’
‘What? The haddock quota? A disgrace, I reckon.’
‘No. Bloody Glitnir and the government bailing those bastards out with I don’t know how many billions of our cash.’
Gunna took a long pull at her coffee to wash down the first mouthful of prawn sandwich.
‘Well, Stefán. Considering it’s your money and mine, I’d be inclined to offer you my congratulations on the bank that you’ve just become part owner of.’
‘Well, there is that,’ Albert Jónasson at the next table turned round to add. ‘But which one’s next? That’s what I’d like to know. Landsbanki or Kaupthing?’
‘Hi! Stína!’ Stefán called out. ‘Put the wireless on for the news, would you?’
The newsreader’s grave voice boomed out and as the first item began Gunna’s phone buzzed.
‘Haddi. This better be important, disturbing a girl over lunch.’
She heard Haddi wheeze before he replied. ‘Going to be long? There’s someone here to see you.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Dunno. Some big shot. He’s come from Reykjavík to see you. Though I can’t understand why anyone’d come all that way just to see you.’
‘All right.’ Gunna sighed. In only a few days since the investigating team had rapidly been disbanded, life had seemed a little empty. ‘Tell him to come down to Hafnarkaffi if he’s hungry, otherwise I’ll be back in ten minutes,’ she decided.
‘I’ll tell him you’ll be back in a minute. I don’t reckon people like this go to places like Hafnarkaffi.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Gunna replied, reaching for her soup.
‘If Haddi had said, I’d have been quicker,’ Gunna said when she found Ívar Laxdal sitting in the better chair in her office.
‘Not a problem, Gunnhildur.’
‘What about Hårde? I’d love to know what went wrong.’
The National Commissioner’s deputy looked as awkward as Gunna could expect a man in such an exalted position to look.
‘I can’t comment. To be completely open with you, I don’t know the full story myself, but,’ he said quickly, indicating that he had no intention of discussing the matter further, ‘I do need to know whether or not you want to apply for this post in the east. Let me know, will you?’
‘I’ve decided not to apply for it. Family reasons. I’m a single parent and I really don’t want to uproot my daughter before she’s finished school. Didn’t the Sheriff tell you?’
His face brightened. ‘Well, yes, he did. But I wanted to hear it from you. Interesting.’
Gunna was immediately puzzled that he should be pleased. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Well, of course in the light of what’s happened in the last few days and the uncertain economic future, we have to be prepared for different eventualities …’
‘You mean Glitnir going bust, all the rumours about Landsbanki going the same way and the whole country going to the dogs?’
‘Precisely. However, the National Commissioner and the Minister had already decided that we need to follow the precedent of forces in other countries and set up a dedicated serious crime unit, headquartered in Reykjavík.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘We decided that if you were to turn down the Egilstadir posting, then you should be invited to apply to join the serious crime unit. You�
�d stay a sergeant initially, but there’d be a travel allowance and I expect you’d probably be an inspector inside a year.’
For a moment Gunna could think of nothing to say.
‘Why? I mean, why me? Surely the mess that this Hårde case turned out to be isn’t much of a recommendation?’
A thin smile ran round Ívar Laxdal’s face. ‘On the contrary. Between ourselves, you resisted interference that came all the way from ministerial level, ran a small team extremely well and simply stuck with it all the way. A fine job, although I couldn’t possibly say that officially. You have my number. Let me know in the next few days, would you?’ He smiled again, shrugging his way into his overcoat and tucking a briefcase under one arm.
‘What did our stuffed shirt want?’ Haddi asked, scratching thoughtfully at the side of his nose as Gunna swept past. ‘Not leaving us, are you?’
At the back of the building, Gunna lit a Camel and tried to take in Ívar Laxdal’s offer. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket, scrolled through the numbers and pressed the green button.
‘Steini, hi, it’s me. Yup, fine. Just thought you’d like to know I’ll be staying after all.’
About the Author
Brought up in the south of England, Quentin Bates took up the offer of a gap year working in Iceland in 1979, and found himself spending a gap decade there. During the 1980s he acquired a family, a new language and a new profession, before returning to the UK in 1990. Since then he has been, among other things, a full-time marine journalist.
Frozen Out is born of the author’s intimate knowledge of Iceland and its people, along with a fascination with the recent upheaval in Iceland’s turbulent society. Quentin and his wife regularly return to their friends, relatives and other home in the north of Iceland.
Copyright
Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters
162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com
This edition published by Robinson, an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd,
2011
Copyright © Quentin Bates, 2011
The right of Quentin Bates to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act
1988
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from
the British Library
ISBN: 978–1–84901–775–6
Frozen Out Page 36
