Gunna wondered if the Lithuanian police had methods that were less proscriptive, as a charge was made to stick and Baddó spent eight years in prison before being released and immediately arrested as an undesirable alien and flown home.
‘At taxpayer’s expense and in club class, I expect,’ Gunna grumbled to herself guiltily, knowing that the turmoil at home over the last few days had sapped her energy and stopped her from reading the files when she should have.
‘I’m really sorry, but I have to take this,’ he apologized, snatching up his phone and hurrying out into the street as he saw the number Hinrik used appear on the screen.
‘Any progress?’ Jóel Ingi asked as soon as the door had shut behind him, leaving Már bemused at the coffee-shop table behind his tall latte.
‘Hey, Jóel Ingi. How goes it? Not disturbing you, am I?’
‘It’s not exactly convenient, so I’ll have to be quick. Any news?’
‘Progress, but not enough to tell you much. My guy is definitely getting there, though.’
‘And?’
‘That’s the good news. He’s on the trail.’
‘And there’s some bad news?’
Hinrik chuckled. ‘Funds. My guy needs another payment to continue his work.’
‘So soon? But you’ve already had . . .’
‘I told you at the start this wouldn’t be cheap,’ Hinrik told him abruptly. ‘You want quality, you have to pay for it. Try someone else if you like, but they’ll have the same costs as we do.’
‘OK, all right. How much?’
‘One will do.’
‘One hundred thousand?’
‘Don’t play games. One million.’
Jóel Ingi stifled a groan.
‘Still there, are you?’ Hinrik asked.
‘Yeah. Give me your account details and I’ll transfer it across.’
‘Come on. You think I pay tax? We deal in cash. Krónur, euros, or dollars. Let me know when it’s ready and I’ll tell my guy he can keep up the good work.’
‘What do we have, young man?’ Gunna asked, knowing that Eiríkur intensely disliked being addressed as ‘young man’.
‘Arctic Hotel, and about three weeks ago. The manager didn’t like it one bit, but I said the alternative was that there would be a heavy investigation that would mean lots of guests and staff being interviewed, so he caved in and found some scared receptionist who had gone up to a room and untied a fat guy who’d been trussed up like a chicken and blindfolded.’
‘Excellent, Eiríkur. Good stuff. It’s a step up from teenagers stealing mobile phones, isn’t it? What’s the guy’s name?’
‘Hermann Finnsson. He lives in Mosfellsbær and his phone number’s here,’ he said, pointing as Gunna copied the details. ‘Oh, by the way, the transactions on Jóhannes Karlsson’s debit card are here.’
He passed Gunna a printout of an online bank statement.
‘You got this from his son, right?’
‘Yup. Seems he had access to one of his dad’s accounts and this one has a transaction on it right around the time the old fellow was found. The son’s pretty upset from what I can gather and is trying to shield his mother from the truth.’
‘What? That his dad paid a hooker to tie him up?’
‘Exactly. He’s trying to get access to the rest of his father’s accounts and he said he’d pass the details on as soon as he has them.’
‘Odd shopping habits for a shipowner in his sixties, wouldn’t you say?’ Gunna asked, her finger running down the list of transactions. ‘Plenty of cash withdrawn as well, I see. Looks like there’s more to this than meets the eye.’
‘That’s a jeweller,’ Eiríkur said, looking over her shoulder. ‘And that’s a clothes shop.’
‘Something for you to investigate, Eiríkur, first thing tomorrow before they get busy. Now, where’s Helgi? Leave Hermann Finnsson to me and you get yourself off home.’
Hekla paused at the end of the pool and rested. Thirty lengths was respectable, she decided and hauled herself out onto the edge, not bothering to swim the few metres to the steps. It was cold and she instantly shivered, drops of cold rain that wanted to be snow landing on her back as she made for the hot tub at a brisk pace.
There was space alongside two chatting women and a man who appeared to be asleep in the scalding water as Hekla lowered herself gingerly into the tub, gasping at the sheer intensity of the heat after the chill air.
‘Young Tommi’s being confirmed this year, you know. I don’t know where the time’s gone,’ the larger of the two women said. ‘It seems like it was only yesterday he was being christened.’
‘You’ll be a great-grandmother before you know it, if he takes after his father,’ the smaller one laughed.
Hekla relaxed and stretched her neck back to ease the stiffness that had accumulated across her shoulders over the last few days. It felt odd being in this pool. Normally she would have gone for a swim at the pool nearer home, but that only opened in the afternoons, which meant that she would have had to take at least one of the children with her. She reflected that there was no way she could take one twin and not the other, and with both in tow, there would be no thirty lengths for her. So a visit to the Grafarvogur pool it had to be, combining it with a couple of other errands in town while the children were at a neighbour’s house for a few hours.
‘We had wondered about the catering. My Muggi wants to use the masonic hall, of course, but I’m wondering about which caterer to use.’
Hekla closed her eyes and let the sound of the two twittering women wash over her as she let the tension seep out of her legs and into the hot, sulphurous water.
‘Did he really?’ The smaller woman asked mischievously. ‘He never told me about that, the little devil.’
‘He did, my Muggi said he saw him at it.’
Hekla came to with a sudden jerk, conscious that she had almost been asleep, and looked up to see the pale-blue eyes of the corpulent man with elegant grey hair she had hardly noticed looking into hers with a disturbing intensity. Flustered, she looked away and ran a hand through the short hair above her ears, massaging her scalp with her fingers while the man looked at her with a mixture of confusion and surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, and quickly shut it again, as if he’d thought better of it.
‘What those boys don’t get up to. But it’s so much better for them than being cooped up inside in front of the television all day, don’t you think. Are you going to Florida again this year?’ The larger one asked, the pair unconscious of the tension brewing next to them.
‘Oh, next month, I think. February’s such a miserable time, isn’t it?’
Hekla risked a glance back at the man and saw that without the two women chatting next to them, he would have said something to her. She forced a brief smile at him and stood up, hot water cascading from her arms as the chill air bit again, just as the man opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say anything, she had waded past him and was up the steps and trotting to the changing room.
He stared at faces in the street, hoping that eventually he would see the features of that blasted woman who had caused him so much grief. Jóel Ingi was furious, mostly with the woman he knew only as Sonja and who was still there on personal.is, where he had stumbled across her and so much else. He wondered what Hinrik had done and why he needed more money so soon. The man had promised results and so far he had the feeling that his cash had been wasted; nevertheless, he’d been left with no option but to dig into his savings.
Angry, he walked faster, as if the expended energy would make him feel better. He knew that he should have gone to the gym to work off a little of the aggression he could feel building up in his biceps. The urge to vent some of the pressure grew inside him and, without realizing it, he found that he was almost running along the street, with passers-by giving him quizzical looks.
He fought to control his breathing, which came in gasps, and to calm down he told himself over and over again that there was nothi
ng he could do. He would have to wait. He conjured up a warm, soothing voice in his mind, which he tried to imagine guiding him when he felt this way, the dark brown, earthy female voice that normally reassured him. He slowed his pace and his heart gradually stopped pounding. The sensation of overwhelming pressure in the centre of his chest began to fade and he took deep breaths, great gulps of clean air, which he released as slowly as he could. Suddenly he felt exhausted; it was time to rest.
Hekla looked over her shoulder as she hurried from the changing room, through the turnstile and into the car park. Behind her a pall of steam continued to rise from the open-air pool; she hoped the man was still in the hot tub where she had left him. She had changed at a speed the bulky man could hardly hope to match, she thought, throwing her towel onto the back seat as she sat behind the Toyota’s wheel and groaned as it whined and declined to start.
‘No. Not now, you bitch,’ she whispered to the car, leaning forward and resting her forehead on the steering wheel while forcing herself to rest the starter for a few seconds. ‘Go on. Do it. Do it for me. Start,’ she muttered, gasping a sigh of relief as the engine coughed into unwilling life, leaving a cloud of black smoke behind it.
With a glance over her shoulder, she gunned the Toyota’s complaining engine and the car slipped sideways as the wheels failed to grip on the frozen ground, finally finding a purchase as she eased the accelerator and the wheels stopped spinning. The car bounced across the car park just as a heavily built man jogged from the pool door, catching a glimpse of Hekla’s cropped head behind the wheel of the battered red Toyota as his own four-wheel-drive car started first time.
He sped onto the main road, narrowly avoiding a collision and waving his apologies to the driver of the bus that had managed to stop just in time. Not knowing which way the red car had gone, he hoped it had gone right and sped faster than was wise though the slush. He took the first roundabout at a dangerous pace and prayed that the police weren’t out, putting his foot down along the road past Korpúlfsstadir and the course where he occasional played a few holes. He ignored the speed bumps and was finally rewarded with the sight of a down-at-heel red car in the distance. Resisting the temptation to put his foot down and close the distance, he kept it carefully in sight, and was able to see well in advance which way it went at the next roundabout.
The red car was making its way along Vesturlandsvegur, the main road that passed through the last suburbs of the city outskirts before the stretch to the Hvalfjördur tunnel and the countryside beyond.
He chewed his lip and wondered where the car was going. He was certain it was the same woman. The hair was different, cut very short and made spiky by the moisture and steam, but she looked so familiar. That figure was the same, with those heavy breasts that he’d last seen encased in electric-blue PVC. He told himself bitterly that he had seen more of them through the blasted woman’s demure swimsuit than he had during the session at the Arctic Hotel that had cost him so dear. On top of that, her listing was still there on personal.is.
From under the lids of half-closed eyes he had watched her relax in the hot tub, concentrating on the face alone, certain that the strong jawline and narrow, slightly kinked nose in a long but shapely face belonged to the same woman. Watching the car from a distance and with time to think, his blood boiled with anger at the humiliation, as well as the fact that she had bled his account dry. Taking deep breaths and telling himself to be calm and maintain a steady speed as the red car passed through Mosfellsbær without stopping, he reminded himself that the bitch had at least kept her word. She had skinned his credit and debit cards, but had only used them once, plus he had been released from his bonds exactly when she had said he would be. That didn’t detract from the fact that he’d had to borrow money for the first time in years to tide himself over that month.
Where was the red car going? he wondered. All the way to Akranes, maybe? Or further? He looked at the fuel gauge and was relieved to see he had more than half a tank. With the last of the Mosfellsbær roundabouts behind it, the red car picked up speed along the quiet road.
Agnes was painting when he came in. She sat at her easel in the wide-open living room with an absorbed look on her face, a fine brush crosswise in her mouth and another in her hand as she concentrated every ounce of her attention on the small canvas in front of her. Jóel Ingi wondered what the abstract image was supposed to be as she etched a swooping line in aquamarine across half of the canvas.
‘Is it a bird?’ he guessed.
‘Nope,’ Agnes replied distractedly. ‘Not sure yet.’
He admired her dedication, wishing he could do the same. The tiny pink point of her tongue protruded between her lips as she took the broader brush from her mouth and worked at a patch in a corner of the painting, lightening the tone. A wisp of her pale blonde hair had escaped from the band around her head and she absently pushed it out of her eyes, her otherwise clear forehead furrowed in concentration.
‘I’m going for a shower,’ he said, slipping off his jacket and loosening his tie. ‘Coming?’ he asked hopefully.
Agnes had her eyes focused on the inexplicable painting. ‘Hmm?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, turning and making for the bathroom as Agnes’s phone tinkled in the pocket of her artist’s smock.
His phone rang in the breast pocket of his jacket. A traditional sort of man, he had set the ring tone to sound like the bell of an old-fashioned phone, the kind with the rotary dial that nowadays you only see in junk shops.
‘Haraldur,’ he greeted the unknown caller with a warm voice.
‘Good day to you, Halli. I hope you’re keeping well.’
‘Fine, thanks. Sorry, but who is this?’
There was a chuckle from the other end and Haraldur was irritated. It had been a busy day and he had no time to play games.
‘Look, should I know you?’ he asked sharply, abandoning his urbane voice.
‘No. But I know you. My name’s Jón and I’m investigating an incident connected to your stay at the Harbourside Hotel recently.’
Haraldur suddenly felt faint and looked around for somewhere to sit. Fortunately he was alone in the office and let himself sink into the comfortable chair he kept to put customers at ease.
‘Still there, are you, Halli?’
‘I’m not sure I can help you.’
‘I’m sure you can.’
‘Is this some kind of a joke?’ he asked, angry now that he had started to collect his thoughts.
‘Oh, no. Far from it. The lady you met at the Harbourside. The one who started off blonde and then wasn’t. I’m looking for her, and I’m surprised you aren’t as well, Halli. I’m after a name,’ the voice said. ‘To start with.’
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Hey, calm down, Halli. It’s all right. A little information and everything will be fine.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ he said abruptly.
‘Really?’ the voice drawled. ‘Because if you don’t, then the lovely Svava might. I’m sure she’ll be interested to know what you were up to at the Harbourside, wouldn’t she?’
Halli felt faint a second time. He had tried to put the incident out of his mind and he’d almost succeeded.
‘Her name’s Sonja,’ he said weakly. ‘That’s all I know.’
‘How much did the bitch sting you for, then?’
‘About half a million.’
‘In cash? She emptied your account, I suppose?’
‘Look, I really don’t want to talk about this.’
‘But I do, Halli, I do. And if you don’t, then I’ll ask Svava if she can give me copies of your bank statements. I suppose you have a joint account, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Haraldur said faintly, understanding that the man with the harsh voice held all the cards, and deciding that Jón was probably no more his name than that woman’s name was Sonja.
‘All right. Now, answers. She calls herself Sonja. How did you meet her?’
‘Throug
h an ad on the internet.’
‘Where?’
‘Personal.is.’
‘Which is what?’
Haraldur looked round as the door opened and frantically waved the secretary out of the room as the door rapidly closed again.
‘It’s a site for people to meet. You can look at it yourself, can’t you?’
‘I most certainly will. Now, this Sonja. Age?’
Haraldur floundered. ‘I don’t know. Around thirty, maybe.’
‘Height, weight?’
‘Tall. One-eighty, something like that. Weight? I have no idea.’
‘OK. Skinny? Fat? Big tits or small?’
‘Er . . . medium I guess. Around medium.’
‘Eyes?’
‘Green, I think.’
‘Yeah,’ the voice chuckled. ‘I guess you had other things than her eyes on your mind, didn’t you, Halli? Listen, I appreciate your help. If I find her and it all goes well, then you won’t hear from me again, and neither will Svava. All right?’
‘Please. Leave my wife out of this,’ Halli said, trying to stop himself from pleading.
‘G’bye, Halli. And not a word to anyone, anyone at all. Understood?’ the voice said sharply and the call ended, leaving Haraldur sitting in the office chair with his shirt sticking to the sweat that had collected on his back.
Hekla stole an occasional look in the mirror. There were cars overtaking her at intervals, and there was always a car somewhere in the distance behind her, but too far for her tell if it was the same one. Surely anyone following her would have wanted to stay closer? She regretted not having taken a more roundabout route through Grafarvogur after leaving the swimming pool, taking a few twists and turns that would at least have given her an idea if she were being followed, but such was her hurry that the thought hadn’t crossed her mind until it was too late.
She struggled to remember the man with the pale eyes. It had been a good while ago that she had met him at some hotel in Reykjavík; she wasn’t sure which one. He seemed a decent enough old boy and she had almost not wanted to take his money, but times had been hard and still were, and the man’s cash had paid for the car to be fixed and insured, as well as covering the month’s rent. Halfdán? Hermann? She struggled to remember the name, although she recalled clearly enough the vaguely sad, pale-blue eyes in the heavy face, and the look of disappointment rather than anger when he realized he was being robbed, even though she had been considerate enough to get him off before leaving him to wait it out.
Chilled to the Bone Page 11
