Frozen Assets gm-1

by Quentin Bates

  The second-best Volvo juddered along the dock to the end where the first black-clad man was sitting on a pile of pallets, nursing the elbow of the arm that had been inside the car when Gunna put her foot down.

  ‘All right, chum?’ Gunna called, leaning out of the window and slowing down as she approached him. The man glowered back at her, but said nothing.

  ‘You might want to go and give your pal a hand,’ she said, jerking a thumb behind her in the direction of the empty quayside. ‘He went for a swim.’

  36

  Sunday, 5 October

  05-10-2008, 1252

  Skandalblogger writes:

  Ladies and gentlemen, boys, girls and those of you who haven’t made up your minds yet . . .

  So, what has been happening behind the scenes at Glitnir? For just how long has the Icelandic financial sector been doing the big business equivalent of using its Mastercard to pay its Visa bills?

  Children, Skandalblogger has been harping on about the shortcomings of our great leaders for long enough for us to be able to say . . . told you so! But we won’t. Let’s just say that now things start to look genuinely serious, Geir and his pals in Parliament had better do something right for a change.

  Some people just don’t get any luckier, do they? Just as Bjarni Jón Environment was about to be hung out to dry for getting caught in the act, Glitnir goes tits-up, the economy’s suddenly on its knees and the PM decides government needs to show strength. So BJB’s still in a job, his sins swept under the carpet until such time as the present brouhaha blows over, by which time it’ll all be loooong forgotten. Still, at least the fragrant Sigurjóna’s back in business, even though staff at Spearpoint are taking bets on how long she’ll tough it out now she’s not the boss any longer and her trademark tantrums are off the menu.

  As it happens, word has reached your faithful Skandalblogger that BJB has already been putting it about, passing an old adversary a titbit of advice to oil the wheels of justice. There’s nothing like making a real problem into someone else’s problem to cheer up a chap who’s just been handed a shit sandwich for lunch.

  So keep up the good work!

  37

  Monday, 6 October

  Gunna wondered how she could complete her report honestly and contemplated telling the unvarnished truth of how the men in the black van had spirited Hårde away.

  She could still see the man’s clear blue eyes gazing directly into hers a second before the doors of the van slammed shut. Gunna frowned and put the computer in front of her to sleep.

  ‘Snorri!’

  ‘Yes, chief?’

  ‘I’m going out. Might be a while. Look after the place, will you?’

  ‘Will do.’

  Outside the breeze off the sea brought the fresh tang of seaweed with it. It was going to be a windy night, maybe the first proper storm of winter, she decided, settling into the second-best Volvo.

  She went home first and scoured Gísli’s and Laufey’s bedrooms for unwashed clothes before bundling the results into the washing machine. She scouted around the living room, picked up glasses and cups and washed them up, leaving them to drain, thinking hard all the while, wondering how long Gísli and Laufey would want to stay at home.

  She took the second-best Volvo for a tour round the village, noticing a few badly parked cars here and there, a broken window at the back of the old fish plant and the station’s other car where Haddi had parked outside Palli Jakobsson’s workshop.

  The InterAlu compound on the far side of the harbour area was closed up. She was astonished at how quickly everything had been wound up. On Saturday all the heavy machinery had been trucked away and on Sunday the shipping containers that housed the site offices and bunkrooms had been collected by the same fleet of trucks. It was already as if the site had been derelict for months. Gunna walked along the chain link fence facing the road and back at the gate she rattled the heavy lock. Although a sign warned that the site was patrolled by fierce dogs, she knew it was deserted, construction halted before it had got beyond concreting the huge foundations.

  She contemplated driving out of the village through Sléttudalur to the deserted Lagoon site, but decided against it, and took the other direction instead.

  By the ‘Thank you for driving carefully’ sign, Gunna put her foot down as the heavy car enjoyed the upward slope out of the village towards the heath. Rolling into Keflavík, she went straight to the police station.

  ‘Hi, Bjössi.’

  Bjössi was lounging in the doorway with a cigarette in one hand and a mug in the other. ‘Ah, Gunna. Congratulations.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Your bank.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t you listen to the news? Glitnir’s been bailed out and nationalized by the government. That makes Glitnir a state-owned bank, hence owned by the taxpayer, so that’s you and me.’

  ‘When did this happen?’ Gunna asked, mystified.

  ‘On the news just now.’

  ‘Bloody hell. That’ll put the cat among the pigeons.’

  They stood in silence for a while. Eventually Bjössi ground the stub of his cigarette under his heel and stretched. ‘Apart from that, Vilhjálmur’s not here any more.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s right. Officially, he’s on sick leave.’

  ‘But the man’s as fit as a flea,’ Gunna protested.

  ‘I know. That’s what’s puzzling about it.’ Bjössi grinned.

  ‘So who’s in charge here now?’

  ‘Beats me. I suppose Halli Stefáns is the senior man now, or else the top man himself.’

  ‘The Sheriff?’

  ‘Yup,’ Bjössi confirmed, gulping from his mug.

  ‘Is he in?’

  ‘Think so. Why? Got something to discuss, have you?’

  ‘Mind your own business.’

  Upstairs, Gunna waited until the County Sheriff’s secretary smiled and ushered her into his office. This time the Sheriff wore a suit instead of the faded jeans and polo shirt he had been in the last time they met.

  ‘Ah, Gunnhildur. I was going to ask you to come and have a chat,’ he said with a broad smile.

  ‘That’s good, because I need a word with you as well.’

  His expression instantly became serious. ‘I can’t tell you everything. I’m truly sorry about the incident when our man, er, eluded you.’

  ‘I’d have had the bastard if those toy soldiers hadn’t got in the bloody way,’ she said with more anger in her voice than she had intended.

  The Sheriff looked embarrassed. ‘As I said, I’m sorry. What I can tell you is that there was interference at the last moment from much higher up. Special Unit wasn’t deployed on my authority. I can’t say much more than that, except that the men you encountered were not a regular squad.’

  ‘Was this done to make sure Hårde got away? To save some big shots from a lot of embarrassment?’

  The Sheriff nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘This was taken out of my hands, and then handed straight back.’

  ‘Was it that National Commissioner’s dogsbody?’

  ‘No. Certainly not. This came from . . .’ He lifted a hand and pointed upwards.

  ‘From God?’ Gunna asked sharply.

  The Sheriff laughed humourlessly. ‘No. But not far off. I don’t know the full story either.’

  ‘Fair enough. I suppose it’ll leak out eventually, around the time I come up for retirement.’

  ‘Ah, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.’ The Sheriff smiled.

  ‘Retirement? Yes, please.’

  ‘No, not quite. It’s this posting to Egilstadir.’

  Gunna opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘It’s just that Ívar Laxdal was asking after you earlier,’ the Sheriff continued. ‘Of course I couldn’t say anything, as you hadn’t made a decision.’

  ‘Go on,’ Gunna said encouragingly.

  ‘I think you’d better speak to him yourself.�
�

  The door opened as he knocked and Kolbeinn the juggler’s face broke into a grin as he saw Skúli on the doorstep.

  ‘Come in, there’re a few of us here, so you’d better join in,’ he said happily.

  In the flat’s large living room, with its big picture window giving a magnificent view over the brooding mountain of Esja and Faxaflói Bay, a group of people lounged on chairs and sofas. Photographs from the march had been blown up and pasted across one wall and Skúli could see one of Kolbeinn in his juggler’s outfit in the centre. Music played quietly in the background and a TV on the table had the 24/7 News channel running with the sound turned down. Everyone had a bottle or a glass in hand. Skúli recognized a few familiar faces around the room, including Lára sitting in a wicker chair in the corner, and wondered if the broad grin on her face was directed his way in particular.

  ‘I’m sorry, have I interrupted a party?’ Skúli mumbled apologetically.

  ‘It would be a party if things didn’t look so grim. It’s just a little celebration now that the Hvalvík Lagoon project has been parked.’

  Skúli felt suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Look, Kolli, I don’t have much time. Could we talk quietly for a minute? Is that OK?’

  Kolbeinn still had the grin on his face. ‘Come in here,’ he said, stepping out into the hall, crowded with shoes and boots, and into the little kitchen. He lifted himself up and sat on the worktop while Skúli took the only chair and spread his notebook on the table.

  ‘So, what’s your take on all this?’ Skúli asked.

  ‘A victory for us.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In that InterAlu have pulled out and the Hvalvík smelter has been put on hold.’

  ‘Surely this was all due to the banking crisis and ESC being insolvent?’

  Kolbeinn shrugged. ‘So? It’s had the right result.’

  A knock at the front door echoed inside the kitchen and Kolbeinn looked up, waiting for someone from the living room to answer it. When nobody made a move, he slid down from the worktop.

  ‘Just a moment. I’ll be right back.’

  ‘Hi, great you could come,’ Skúli heard Kolbeinn greeting the person at the door, followed by footsteps in the hall as they made their way to the living room. He caught a glimpse of a sober business suit and sensible shoes as the woman passed the kitchen door with Kolbeinn behind her.

  ‘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. ‘Go
ing 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.’