A Full Cold Moon

by Lissa Marie Redmond

  ‘The view of the closest camera to the alley was blocked,’ Lauren said.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Berg said, ‘by construction equipment?’

  ‘A huge scaffolding rig. It blocked the street view all the way to the next intersection,’ Matt told him. ‘The ATM camera at the bank showed Gunnar came into the vestibule alone, so that was no help.’

  ‘Sounds like you haven’t been able to catch any breaks yet,’ Berg replied.

  Lauren sighed. ‘We’re hoping this trip might provide us with one. We’ve come a long way to go home empty-handed.’

  ‘Let’s see if I can help you with that.’ Berg’s voice bordered on mischievous from the front seat. Lauren, who was usually excellent at reading people she wasn’t romantically involved with, was having a hard time with Berg. He seemed deadly serious and recklessly merry at the same time. It was an oddly endearing combination.

  The sun was just starting to peek from the horizon when Berg pulled into the crowded parking lot of their hotel, exactly forty minutes after they departed the airport. A modern four-story rectangular building, it overlooked Reykjavík harbor. It was squashed between high-rise apartments that must have had magnificent views. Across the icy blue water, the land seemed to bend around and get lost in clouds. On the other side of the busy street was a walking path that followed the coastline. People walked their dogs next to the snow-topped black rocks that made up the shore. Even though it felt like four in the morning to Lauren, it was almost the middle of the day for the Icelanders.

  ‘You’ll be tempted to go to sleep because it’s dark out,’ Berg cautioned as he helped get their bags out of the back, ‘but don’t. Take a short nap if you’re tired, but set your alarm. Otherwise you’ll be up and walking around at three in the morning. The dark of our winter days throws people off.’

  ‘You’ll be back around to get us?’ Matt asked, accepting his backpack and grabbing the handle of his rolling suitcase.

  ‘Make sure your cellphones and watches are correct. Don’t forget the time difference. I’ll be back at three o’clock to take you to headquarters. Maybe out to dinner after, if you’re up for it.’

  Lauren hadn’t eaten since grabbing a burger at JFK during their layover. Nor had she had any coffee. A dull headache was starting to develop behind her eyes. She rubbed her temples, then grabbed onto the handles of her matching rolling bags, one significantly larger than the other. She was usually a very light packer, but her winter clothing was bulky right down to her wool socks. From everything she’d read about Iceland, its weather was even more unpredictable than Buffalo’s. She had a feeling there’d be no Walmart handy to grab a new pair of thermal gloves if she needed them. The shops selling gear in the airport looked very high end. As fashionable as the clothes were, she’d make do with her own winter wear.

  They waved their goodbyes to Berg and crossed the lot to the sliding doors leading to the lobby. Lauren had noticed in the airport a minimalistic aesthetic of pale wood, clean lines and white accents. The look was carried over in the hotel, but just like the Sussex back home, this hotel was done up in Christmas décor as well.

  A handsome young man with hair so light it looked almost white was waiting behind the front desk for them. ‘Welcome. Checking in?’ he asked in perfect English.

  Matt took the lead, as it was his Bureau’s travel coordinators who’d booked their accommodations. ‘Yes, thank you. Two rooms. Lawton and Riley.’

  We must really look American, Lauren thought as she rolled her luggage up to the desk next to Matt. Behind the clerk, whose nametag read Oli, hung a large map of downtown Reykjavík. That set a light bulb off in her head.

  ‘Do you have maps of downtown?’ she asked as he handed her a key card.

  ‘We do.’ He bent over and pulled two maps from under the desk. He laid them on the pale wood and circled a spot on each map. ‘We’re here. All the landmarks and sites are clearly marked.’ He went through them, touching each one with the tip of his pen, visibly proud of all his city had to offer.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lauren carefully folded her map and put it in her coat pocket. She’d examine it more closely in private once she got her bags upstairs.

  ‘I’ll meet you down here in the lobby at three. I’m going to try to FaceTime with Cara and the baby. Don’t forget to set your alarm,’ Matt said as they waited for the elevator.

  ‘I’m not going to sleep. I’m ordering a pot of coffee.’

  ‘Either way,’ he said, ‘I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Welcome to Iceland.’

  Welcome, indeed, she thought as she stepped into the elevator.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Three o’clock came quickly for Lauren, especially after drinking the entire pot of coffee room service had brought up. She’d taken her contacts out after sleeping with them in on the plane and dreaded putting them back in. Finally, she decided vanity be damned, she was going to wear her black, square-framed glasses. She layered some cold weather long underwear under her usual black suit, opting for a light blue shirt just to add some color. Splashing some water on her face in the tiny bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. The usual bags under her eyes were minimal. She’d actually managed to get a couple hours of sleep on the plane, even with the Northern Lights show.

  Running a brush through her short, dark hair, she mussed up the front a little. How different she looked from just two years ago when she sported long blond tresses and her vision was twenty/twenty. Almost getting killed a few times makes you realize being over forty is a blessing, and all the baggage that comes with middle age is a necessary reminder that no one is promised another day. She glanced down at the thick ropey line that crossed her palm. I’m even proud of my scars, she thought. But the mental ones, unfortunately, she was still working on.

  Matt was waiting for her in the lobby, wearing the same expensive coat, blue suit with a white shirt and red power tie, a scarf that looked good but was paper thin, and those stupid shiny black shoes.

  ‘I didn’t know we were going on a photo shoot,’ she said, joining him on a tan couch that arched around an oval ash wood table.

  ‘Do you only have one black suit you wear every single day or did you spring for multiple sets?’ he shot back good-naturedly.

  She put her files down on the table and made a show of running her hands down her unzipped parka. ‘I have a great many black suits that all look exactly the same. People remember you better if you wear the same thing all the time.’

  ‘Is there some science backing that hypothesis?’

  ‘Possibly.’ She eyed the coffee station across the lobby where a woman in a green sweater dress was pumping some steaming brown liquid into a white coffee mug. She was tempted to go over, but her heart was already pounding in her chest from the last cup she’d had. ‘Did you talk to your wife? How’s the baby?’

  ‘She’s good. Andrew is crabby, but extremely cute. It’s his teeth. He wants to gum on everything.’ Lauren remembered those days. It seemed impossible her daughters were twenty and twenty-one. In her mind it was just yesterday that she was bouncing one on her hip while the other cried to be picked up. She wished those days hadn’t been so hard, flown by so fast, that she had appreciated them more instead of just trying to survive each day as a single mother.

  The double doors slid open and Berg came striding in, snapping her out of her thoughts. Lauren appreciated the way he carried himself, broad shoulders back, chest out, oozing his personal blend of confidence and friendliness that made him so damn likable.

  He squared himself in front of them, planting a fist on each hip. ‘Did you have a nice nap?’

  ‘No naps for me. I’m anxious to get started.’ Lauren stood with her folio tucked under her arm.

  ‘Yes, you do seem the type,’ he commented with a smile. He had a day’s worth of beard sprouting from his chin, just as red as his hair. ‘How about you, friend? Get any sleep?’

  Matt rose from the couch. ‘I managed to squeeze in an hour. I forgot to close
the shades and the sunlight woke me up.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Berg said. His coat was still unzipped, revealing a navy-blue sweater and black turtleneck. ‘Window shades are very important here. In the summer it’s light about twenty-three hours a day. Most of our windows have blackout shades.’ He motioned toward the doorway. ‘I checked in with my division commander while you were resting, told him I picked you up and we’re going to see the brother today.’

  ‘Aren’t we going to Reykjavík Police Headquarters?’ Lauren asked as they walked back out into the windswept parking lot. Unfazed by the wind whipping across the water, Berg’s unzipped coat flapped on either side of him. Now that the sun was up Lauren could see mountains across the harbor ringed in white clouds.

  ‘Not today,’ Berg clicked open the doors to his SUV with the fob. ‘I neglected to mention a few things to you this morning when I picked you up.’

  Lauren got in the front passenger side this time. ‘Such as?’

  ‘The city council member being investigated … he’s my cousin. I got called back to headquarters after I dropped you off. My division commander doesn’t want me anywhere near the investigation or the detectives covering it until it’s over.’

  ‘Meaning what?’ Matt asked from the back seat.

  Berg threw the car into drive. ‘They’ve been investigating him for quite some time. They say he had some police officials in his pocket. I didn’t know anything about it, he and I were never close, but when the story got out two days ago, they gave me a choice: be put on a leave or be your tour guide. So here I am.’

  ‘What about using your resources?’ Lauren asked, forehead wrinkling in concern. ‘Your local records, your databases?

  ‘I can phone in whatever we need. I still have my departmental laptop. We’re in good shape.’

  ‘Can I go speak to your commander without you?’ Matt’s voice rose an octave. ‘My superiors are going to want me to make contact with him.’

  ‘They are in contact with him,’ Berg assured him. ‘As well as your State Department. And your police department, Lauren. Gunnar Jonsson’s murder investigation is important, but the timing is terrible. I don’t know how far my cousin’s corruption goes, but if how they are treating me and you is any indication, it’s a bigger scandal than they’ve let on.’

  ‘So where are we going now?’ Lauren figured it was just her luck. Or lack thereof. It seemed like everything that could go wrong with her investigation was going wrong.

  ‘To Jakob Benediktsson’s flat over on Sogavegur Street. He lives over a clothing shop. I phoned him right before I picked you up. He’s expecting us.’

  Something struck Lauren as odd as they made their way through the narrow city streets lined with shops, restaurants and parked cars. ‘Why are all the doors open?’

  ‘We use geothermal power for heating. It’s practically free here.’ Berg expertly turned the car down a tight side street. ‘The shops leave their doors open. It’s welcoming, yes?’

  Visions of her mother clutching her chest at such a thing filled her head. In Lauren’s house growing up, the thermostat never went above sixty-eight degrees, no matter how cold it was outside. If you were cold, you put on another sweater. She and her sister were not allowed to touch the thermostat, ever, and heaven forbid she held the door open for a second too long. ‘Do you think we’re heating the outside?’ her mother would screech from the kitchen.

  ‘Very welcoming,’ Matt agreed. ‘And the Christmas decorations are great.’

  ‘We take Christmas very seriously here.’ Berg spotted a parking space and pulled up next to an impossibly tiny car to parallel park. ‘We have thirteen Santa Clauses. We call them the Yule lads. Today Askasleikir, the bowl licker, comes down from their mountain home.’ He put his arm around the back of his seat and guided the SUV into the spot with one fluid motion. ‘He’s my daughter’s favorite. She puts food in a bowl and leaves it next to her bed. In the morning she’ll wake up and it’ll be licked clean. By me, of course, but she thinks it’s magical. Tonight she’ll get something extra special in her shoe.’

  ‘Her shoe?’ Lauren asked. They were parked in front of a store advertising real Icelandic woolen sweaters. The dummies in the front windows wore beautiful heavy cream-colored jumpers decorated with blue snowflakes and red zigzag patterns around the neck.

  ‘Our children leave an old shoe on the windowsill. Now that I’ve told you, you’ll see them everywhere. Each night until Christmas they’ll get a small gift in their shoe if they’ve been good. If they’ve been bad the shoe gets filled with rotten potatoes.’ He threw the truck in park and cracked the door. ‘Jakob lives upstairs.’

  ‘Did you ever get potatoes as a child?’ Lauren asked.

  The mischievous look came back over Berg’s face as he smiled. ‘Once or twice.’

  Matt and Lauren followed Berg as he walked around the front of the shop and down a side alley to a metal staircase that led to the upper flat. The metal steps had rubber treads all the way up, clear of any ice or snow. A small shovel stood sentry next to the door. Berg pounded on the wood with one of his meaty fists.

  Almost immediately the door opened. A short, thin man, younger looking than Gunnar, answered. ‘Jakob? I’m Detective Berg Arnason. We spoke on the phone.’ He motioned to the two of them behind him. ‘These are the investigators from America.’

  Jakob began to respond in Icelandic and Berg held up a hand, cutting him off. ‘Please. In English. Can we come in?’

  He nodded, seeming flustered he hadn’t already invited them in. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ He stepped aside. In one hand he held a mug with a tea bag string dangling from it. ‘I just have so many questions. Thank you for coming.’

  Berg let Lauren and Matt go in ahead of him. Jakob’s kitchen was small, but had a very warm, cozy vibe. A teapot sat on the stove, steam curling out of its spout. A big orange cat sat on the kitchen counter eyeballing them. Jakob set his tea down next to the cat. ‘Please. Let’s go in the living room. We can sit there.’

  Jacob’s apartment wasn’t much. In fact, from her seat on the taupe-colored couch in the living room, Lauren could see into every room of the apartment. Jakob grabbed a laptop off of the coffee table in the middle of the living room and tucked it away on some shelving behind him as he sat in the only chair, leaving the three of them squashed together on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘I tried to clean up. I can’t seem to focus.’ He shook his head as if to try to clear it. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t believe someone killed Gunnar.’

  Lauren took the lead. ‘Did you know Gunnar was going to the United States?’

  Jakob nodded. He had the same small stature and delicate features of Gunnar, but the resemblance ended there. Jakob’s hair was blond and his complexion that mix of cream and blush Lauren had seen on so many of the Icelandic citizens. ‘Our mother married my father when Gunnar was five. He was good to Gunnar, but I think Gunnar always wanted to know who his real father was, especially because my mother had no interest in contacting him.’

  ‘Your mother never wanted to connect with John Hudson?’ Matt asked.

  His eyes strayed over to a picture of a woman on the wall. Painfully thin, she was looking straight into the camera and smiling lovingly at the photographer, who was obviously someone she cared very deeply about.

  ‘Is that Katrin?’ Lauren asked, gesturing with her head to the picture.

  He nodded. ‘That was her right before she died. She told us she only knew John Hudson for one night. Here in Iceland there’s no shame in being a single mother. She had a good job. She had no need to find him. Then she met my father about five years later. They married and had me. My father loved us both. He treated Gunnar like he was his own. Then my mother got sick.’ Jakob paused for a moment, cupping his hand around his mouth. Katrin’s death was hard for him to talk about. ‘He moved closer to my grandmother when my mother died. He came down to Reykjavík as soon as he heard about Gunnar, stayed here with me. My father is
heartbroken. He just went back north yesterday.’

  ‘What made Gunnar decide to seek out his biological father now?’ Lauren asked.

  ‘When my mother died two years ago, Gunnar became obsessed with finding out who his father was. He didn’t act on it for the longest time, I think because he didn’t want to hurt my father. But then it just sort of consumed him. He finally gave one of those silly websites a go and a match popped up right away. He was shocked. He ran into the living room and held his phone under my nose, showing me the notification, and telling me his father’s name was John Hudson.’

  ‘Have you spoken with Mr Hudson?’

  Jakob gave a bitter laugh. ‘Mr Hudson. My mother didn’t know his last name was Hudson. She didn’t even know he was John with an “h”. That’s why Gunnar’s last name is Jonsson.’

  Now he pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to keep himself together. Blinking back tears, he went on. ‘I spoke to Gunnar’s father two days ago. He’s making all the arrangements to have Gunnar brought back here. I can’t tell you how helpful that is for me. I had no idea how to get his body back from America. Mr Hudson said he can’t travel to Iceland, but he wants to fly me and my father to the States after the new year for a memorial service. He seemed very distraught.’

  ‘He is,’ Lauren assured him. ‘He was ecstatic to find out that he had another son and he’s devastated by Gunnar’s death.’

  Jakob nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘Isn’t that what every orphan dreams about? Finding their long-lost parent, and they’re full of joy at their reunion? And now this.’ He spread his hands out in front of him. ‘Gunnar was murdered. Murdered.’ He looked directly at Berg. ‘How does this happen?’

  ‘That’s why they’re here,’ Berg told Jakob. ‘To get answers for you and Gunnar’s father.’

  ‘I don’t see how I can help.’ The despair in his voice cut right to Lauren’s heart. ‘Gunnar was a very kind person. He never had an enemy. He kept to himself, minded his own business. No problems.’