Frozen Assets gm-1

by Quentin Bates

‘Do you expect him back, considering he’s taken most of his stuff?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. If he isn’t back by the end of the month, I’ll rent his room out to someone else. I could get three Polish in here, easy,’ she said, brightening at the prospect.

  ‘Let’s try again. Do you know who he was going about with? Any friends who visited him here? Anyone looking for him? Did he mention anyone in particular?’

  ‘No. Nothing. He whinged all the time about Nonni the Taxi and the bloke at some club he did business for. Some foreigner, he said. I reckon Fatso was a bit scared of him, didn’t want to upset him.’

  Gunna shut the door behind her, but decided to keep the surgical gloves on until she was out of the house. ‘What sort of business?’

  ‘Don’t know. Didn’t ask. But Fatso had plenty of money. Lots of money.’

  ‘Where from, d’you know?’

  ‘Ask Fatso when you find him. I’ll bet he won’t tell you either.’

  At the front door, Gunna rolled off the gloves, taking her time as Tóta was clearly anxious to get back to her television.

  ‘Thank you for your assistance. If you hear anything about Matti, I’d appreciate it if you let me know. That way I won’t have to look for him down in your cellar, if you get my meaning,’ Gunna said as Tóta scowled through the crack of the door.

  Dagga decided to take the stairs instead of waiting for the lift. As she reached the first landing, she heard the lift hiss and open above and behind her, but shrugged and decided to carry on anyway.

  Hardy stepped from the lift and dialled a number on his mobile, letting it ring until a disembodied voice told him in soothing tones that the number was either switched off or out of range. He cut the voice off before it had a chance to ask him to try again later and stepped quietly into Spearpoint’s offices.

  Dísa looked up as the door opened and recognized him. Without a word spoken, she buzzed through to Sigurjóna.

  ‘What?’ Sigurjóna snapped through the intercom.

  ‘Mr Hardy is here to see you,’ Dísa replied.

  ‘One minute, please, Dísa. Then show him in.’

  ‘Sigurjóna will be right with you,’ she said in her careful English, looking back up at Hardy who simply nodded in reply.

  Hardy stood impassive at the desk. Dísa found the man sinister. He said little, but what he said was always polite. On his rare visits to Spearpoint’s offices, he always looked the same, always dressed in the same way come rain, shine or snow. As she waited for the minute to pass, Dísa thought to herself that what really made Hardy sinister was the impassive look that gave no clue as to what he was thinking.

  The intercom light flickered in front of her and Dísa looked up to where Hardy was standing at the window, hands folded together behind his back and rocking almost imperceptibly on the balls of his feet.

  ‘Sigurjóna’s free now,’ Dísa said to his back. Hardy twisted round soundlessly, nodding at Dísa with a hint of a smile.

  Sigurjóna was sitting at her desk, watching a TV news channel with the sound turned down low. She glowered as Hardy came in and padded across the thick carpet.

  ‘It’s started again,’ she said, without bothering with a greeting.

  ‘The blog?’

  ‘Last week. I thought you had stopped it when it went quiet. I thought you’d found someone who was responsible for all this?’

  ‘A message has been sent. I’m sure it will be effective.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sigurjóna spat. ‘And do you know what that stupid Skandalblogger is saying now?’

  ‘No. I haven’t read it.’

  ‘All right. It’s saying that someone who drowned in Hvalvík harbour was put there deliberately.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I hear the police are asking questions again.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I thought I could trust you after Horst said that you could fix anything?’

  Hardy wondered how many drinks Sigurjóna had already had at this early hour of the afternoon. He felt that drinking while concentration was required was the sure sign of an amateur, or someone in deeper than they could cope with.

  ‘Some tasks take longer than others, I’m afraid. But the important work is progressing well. I understand that Horst is satisfied with progress at the site in Hvalvík and that the Lagoon site is also coming along well.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s all on schedule. I have well-paid staff to look after the details, so they do just that,’ Sigurjóna said. ‘Now, I’m wondering if you’re going to finish the little job I asked you to do before?’

  ‘It’s in hand,’ Hardy assured her. ‘It’s not often that something like this can be done overnight. But I have to ask for your help with another matter as well.’

  Sigurjóna smiled a touch more broadly than she would have done without access to the vodka bottle in the cabinet. ‘In that case we’ll help each other out. But why do you need help with anything from us?’

  ‘I need to locate someone and, as I don’t have local knowledge, I need assistance from someone who does.’

  ‘I’m sure one of my people can help. But what about the driver who was fixing stuff for you? Can’t he help you with whatever you’re on the lookout for?’

  ‘That’s the person I need to locate.’

  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, pointin
g 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.