A Full Cold Moon

by Lissa Marie Redmond

  She stared at him stupidly, stuck in the ridiculousness of the moment. Her having a panic attack in Iceland because it was too quiet, then jumping out of her skin when she heard someone. She fished into her front pocket, producing her knit hat. She held it out, showing it to him. ‘Can I have one of those?’ She gestured to the cigarette as she pulled the hat on.

  He gave a snort of laughter as he shook one out for her. ‘Nasty habit,’ he said, cupping a hand around the top of his lighter as she leaned in. The tip glowed cherry red as she pulled back, inhaling. ‘I feel like a criminal every time I light one up. That’s why I hide back here, so no one can witness my crimes. It’s good to have an accomplice on a night like this.’

  Lauren hadn’t had a cigarette in years, and definitely not whatever the brand was that he was smoking. She immediately began to cough but didn’t put it out. Just like riding a bike, she thought, taking another longer drag. This time the smoke filled her lungs until she exhaled it. It was poison, but she felt her whole body relax as the smoke curled away from her lips. It amazed her at how easy it was to fall back into old bad habits.

  ‘How do you know I’m American?’ she asked. White haired, wearing a black knitted hat pulled over his ears, the man had on rubber knee-high fishing boots, like her dad used to wear when he’d go ice fishing on Lake Erie. The old man’s were discolored and worn, like he’d owned them a great many years. His puffy nylon jacket had seen better days as well. She wondered if he was a guest at the hotel or if he worked there or was just stopping to have a smoke before he passed on by.

  His watery blue eyes took her in. ‘Ill equipped for the weather. Not where you’re supposed to be. And a general demeanor of reckless arrogance.’ He laughed out a cloud of smoke. ‘Everything about you screams American.’

  ‘Is that good or bad?’

  ‘It’s three o’clock in the morning and a lady just rushed outside to smoke with this lonely old man. I’d say good for me. What about you?’

  She looked up at the night sky and shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, you’ve come a long way from home. You’re either rushing into something or rushing away from something. Which is it?’

  Her mind flashed back to her nightmare of Billy Munzert. ‘Both, maybe.’

  Suddenly, the night sky erupted with color. From the gap between the buildings, Lauren could see out over the harbor as the Northern Lights jumped and danced. Like electric harp strings, she thought, being strummed high above in the heavens. The cigarette began to shake between her fingers.

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ the old man said. ‘It just happens that way sometimes. People come here from all over the world to chase the Northern Lights and some never see them, no matter how hard or where they look. There’s a lesson in that, somewhere.’

  Lauren took another pull on her cigarette. It was almost down to the filter and it was making her sick to her stomach. ‘What’s the lesson?’ she asked, not taking her eyes off the spectacle above her as she tapped the ash into a small pile of snow next to the door.

  His deeply lined faced crinkled up in a smile as he gazed upward with her. ‘When you least expect something, it pops up on its own.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Lauren finished her cigarette with the man, whose name she never did get. They walked together around to the front of the building so she could get back in the hotel through the lobby. The old man waved to her once she was inside the sliding glass doors, and ambled slowly toward the parking lot.

  It took ten minutes of good scrubbing with her toothbrush to get the taste out of her mouth. Removing the smell from her pajamas was going to have to wait. She pulled them off, left them in a ball by the dresser and slept in a T-shirt.

  When her cellphone alarm woke her at eight a.m. she wasn’t exactly sure she’d gone outside the night before or she’d just dreamt it. She had to get up and smell her green pajama top to be certain. Sure enough, it reeked like smoke and she figured her hair must smell that way as well. Hopping into the shower, she was thankful she’d quit years ago but understood the pull it had, and still had, over her. If she wasn’t careful she could fall right back into the habit again. Especially after conversations about the case with Hector and nightmares about Billy Munzert.

  She thought about Brooklyn and her addiction to heroin as the hot water streamed over her face. It had taken Lauren seven or eight miserable tries before she finally quit smoking. She could only imagine what giving up a drug like heroin must be like. The struggle for Mr Hudson to keep his daughter alive was probably going to continue until the day he died, which wasn’t that far off if both of his kidneys were failing.

  She blew her short hair dry, styling it with some gel and her fingertips like her friend Dayla had showed her. Lauren was getting used to it being short, and darker – a light chestnut brown. If she went somewhere hot, the sun would bleach it blond again immediately. She still had light eyebrows. She liked the change in her appearance though. Her forties felt good and the new look reflected that.

  She got to the lobby before Matt, attacking the coffee station and making small talk with a couple from California on vacation. ‘Have you gotten to the Blue Lagoon yet?’ The fiftyish woman asked, stirring her creamer into her coffee with a plastic straw.

  ‘Not yet,’ Lauren admitted. ‘I’m here on business and we haven’t gotten to any of the sights.’

  ‘Don’t miss that,’ the woman’s husband said, sipping from his own white mug. ‘It’s so strange to rush from the twenty-eight-degree air into the world’s biggest hot tub. Very exhilarating.’

  ‘It’s on my to-do list,’ Lauren smiled. Just then Matt came walking up, beads of water glistening in his hair from the shower.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, glancing out the front windows into the darkness. ‘I think.’

  ‘It does take some getting used to,’ the woman agreed. ‘We’ve been here almost a week and it still amazes me how they carry on with only a couple hours of daylight.’

  The sliding glass doors parted. Berg stuck his head in, holding his arm out to one side so they didn’t close and decapitate him. ‘Ready?’

  ‘It was nice talking to you,’ Lauren told the couple who raised their coffee mugs to her and Matt in return.

  ‘Get to the Blue Lagoon!’ the woman called after her as Lauren walked out with Matt.

  ‘You want to go to the Blue Lagoon?’ Berg asked. A wicked wind blew across the harbor through the hotel parking lot causing him to turn the collar up on his coat, but not zip it or put on a hat.

  He hit his key fob and the three of them climbed in. Berg’s truck was positively toasty after the wind tunnel of the parking lot.

  ‘I want to finish this case,’ Lauren replied. She then relayed the conversation she’d had with Hector the night before.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like your friends back home have much of anything to go on,’ Berg said with an annoying look of doubt on his face.

  ‘I can’t help but feel we were premature in coming to Iceland,’ Lauren replied as diplomatically as she could.

  ‘You don’t have quite as far to go today.’ Berg said. ‘Ragnar and Freyja live just down the road in one of the high-rises, almost directly across from the Harpa Concert Hall. If you look carefully on the way, you’ll see the Sólfar or Sun Voyager sculpture. It was designed by a man with the last name Arnason, but he’s no relation to me. It looks like a big Viking ship. It’ll be on your right. The concert hall is just a short distance further.’

  ‘I saw that ship on postcards in the airport yesterday,’ Matt said, sliding over from the driver to passenger-side backseat to get a better view.

  ‘I’ll have to drive you past the concert hall when the sun is up,’ Berg said. ‘It’s not the same if you can’t see the sunlight reflecting off the glass.’

  ‘I imagine an apartment overlooking the water and concert hall isn’t cheap,’ Lauren remarked, watching out the window for the metal sculpture.

  ‘Not just an apa
rtment, a penthouse apartment. This neighborhood is nicknamed the Shadow District. Sometimes I think it’s because the people who live here have enough money to hide their vices.’

  Berg’s arm stretched across Lauren to point at her window. ‘There’s the Sólfar.’

  The shiny metal skeleton of a Viking ship passed them by. ‘That’s the concert hall just ahead.’

  The outside of the vast building was comprised of hundreds of glass panels that seemed to undulate in the reflected colored light cast on it. Set off of the main road into the harbor, it appeared to be floating on a reflection of itself in the water. ‘It’s breathtaking,’ Lauren said in a hushed voice.

  ‘It is nice, isn’t it? It almost didn’t get finished. They ran out of money.’ He swung the car down a side street. Lauren craned her neck to watch it until they disappeared behind a building. ‘But we managed to get it built and now it’s a wonder.’

  He came around the back of a huge high-rise building and slowly crept through the lot, looking for a parking space. ‘Do they know we’re coming?’ Matt asked.

  ‘No. I thought the element of surprise would be best.’

  They zigzagged through the maze of parked cars to the back door of the apartment building. Lauren was surprised the door opened easily, forgetting that it was almost nine-thirty in the morning. They passed into a lobby where a young man in a suit, probably not even twenty years old, sat poised behind a desk. He wasn’t staring down at his phone texting or checking his social media, he seemed genuinely alert and ready to do his job. He asked them a question in Icelandic.

  ‘English, please,’ Berg said, resting his elbows on the counter over the desk.

  ‘Apologies. How can I help you?’

  ‘We’re here to see Ragnar Steinarsson.’ Berg flipped open a wallet containing his credentials. The young man took it, looked it over and reached for the landline on the desk next to him. Berg put a hand on his arm. ‘How about you just call the elevator for us, hmm? We’ll see ourselves up.’

  ‘Ragnar is off to work, I’m afraid.’ He looked down at Berg’s hand on his arm. ‘Only his wife is in.’

  ‘Freyja is an old friend of mine,’ Berg told him, pulling his hand back. ‘I want to surprise her.’

  The kid looked from Berg, to Matt to Lauren, uncertain of how to proceed. Lauren gently squeezed in next to Berg and smiled. ‘We only need a few minutes of her time. It would be better if we just went up. This is a very sensitive matter.’

  ‘You’re American.’ It was a statement not a question. ‘I knew it. You’re here about Ragnar’s assistant, Gunnar.’

  ‘You knew him?’ Lauren asked the wide-eyed desk attendant.

  He nodded. ‘Ragnar used to have his driver pick him up every morning. He brought Gunnar here and they’d go to Ragnar’s office together. He was a very nice person. It’s horrible how he died.’

  He left out ‘in America’, Lauren thought, but kept up her reassuring smile. ‘If you could just call the elevator down, we’ll take it from there.’

  ‘I shouldn’t call up to Freyja first?’

  Lauren was forcing him to break all of his rules. ‘No, please. We’d rather just go up on our own. I promise you won’t get in any trouble.’ And there it was, one of Lauren’s famous promises she had no way of keeping. Even in other countries she could still manage to throw them out like bombs ready to explode.

  He smiled back at her and hit a button on a panel set into the desk. Behind them the elevator bonged. ‘It’s the top floor, penthouse suite. Hit the button marked 15.’

  ‘Thank you. You’ve been a great help to us,’ Lauren said, lingering just a second longer than the men.

  Berg’s laugh filled the elevator as soon as they were all ensconced and on their way up. ‘You dazzled that poor boy. He will be heartbroken when you leave without saying goodbye.’

  ‘I’m old enough to be his mother.’ And have you seen the women in this country? She wanted to ask. Every single one looks like a runway model.

  ‘You’re an American policewoman, that’s going to fascinate men, no matter how much you try make yourself look frumpy. And you,’ his eyes flicked over to Matt, ‘don’t even say the words “FBI agent” out in a club. You may get swarmed.’

  ‘My wife would love that,’ Matt said watching the digital numbers climb as the car went up.

  ‘Frumpy?’ Lauren asked as the door opened to the penthouse floor.

  Berg shrugged. ‘There’s clearly a woman underneath all those oversized clothes and messy hair and glasses, but she hasn’t made an official appearance yet.’

  Lauren didn’t know if she should be offended or complimented. Her knowledge of Icelandic cultural norms didn’t extend to what constituted an insult based on your looks. Was it appropriate to even say that to a fellow law enforcement officer on the job? Or was Berg just one of those people who had no filter?

  She didn’t have much time to ponder that question because Ragnar Steinarsson’s penthouse took up the entire floor. The door to the suite was directly in front of them down a very short hallway. An evergreen wreath with red candles in the center decorated the taupe-colored door. It was obviously an expensive decoration and not meant to actually be lit, but it was beautiful.

  Berg poked the doorbell and stepped back. Lauren hated that there were three of them. Three was definitely a crowd when it came to interviews, and a hindrance to creating a decent rapport with people.

  A woman’s voice speaking in Icelandic came steadily toward the door. The only word Lauren recognized was the name Ragnar. She was still talking when it swung open, revealing a tall, strikingly beautiful woman in her late fifties. Stunned at the sight of three strangers outside the door of her impenetrable fortress, the woman stood wide-eyed staring at the trio.

  ‘It’s not Ragnar,’ Berg said. ‘It’s the police.’ He gestured to Lauren and Matt. ‘The American police as well.’

  ‘You’re here about Gunnar?’ she asked, flipping to flawless English. Regal, sophisticated and poised, she held herself with a natural elegance. Freyja’s blond hair was pinned up, away from her face. Her pink dress accented the hint of color across her high cheekbones.

  Berg nodded. ‘We came to speak to your husband. Is he in?’

  She glanced at Lauren and Matt, drinking them in with her eyes, assessing them. Then she gave a dazzling smile of perfect, even white teeth. ‘That’s who I thought was at the door. I thought Ragnar forgot his keys again. He just left for work. I’m surprised you didn’t pass him in the lobby.’

  ‘Can we step inside and talk?’ Lauren asked.

  Her icy blue eyes narrowed just a touch, but her smile was still radiant. ‘Please.’ She held the door wide. ‘Come in. Although it’s not as if we have any neighbors to bother.’

  They filed in and Freyja beckoned them to follow her into the great room. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped two sides, giving way to a spectacular view of the harbor and mountains beyond. The room was decorated in the same clean minimalistic style that Lauren kept running across. A huge fireplace crackled in the corner, throwing off a pleasant orange glow in the brightly lit room. The contrast to the murky darkness outside was warming and inviting.

  Instead of being squashed together on one worn-out sofa, they sat in the three oversized cream-colored wing chairs arranged around a square coffee table and facing a matching sofa. Freyja was tall, taller than Lauren by a good two inches, even more with the heels she was wearing.

  ‘Were you on your way out?’ Matt asked, perching himself on the edge of his chair.

  Freyja smoothed the silky fabric of her pale pink dress over her long legs as she sat on the couch. ‘No. I was going to return some phone calls and emails. I have to go to the gym later to meet with my personal trainer, but that’s not for a few hours.’

  She’s the type of woman who wakes up, gets dressed, and puts her makeup and heels on just to hang around the house, Lauren observed, just on the off chance someone might see her.

  ‘Do I know you
, detective …?’

  ‘Berg Arnason. And no. We’ve never met, but I do remember when you were first runner-up for Miss Iceland.’

  She waved her hand in a practiced, completely charming manner. ‘That was ages ago. How would you remember me out of all those contestants?’

  ‘My older sister loved the pageants. She made my mother take us to as many as she could. I remember you singing. Your voice was exquisite.’

  ‘You must have been a little boy.’

  ‘Not so little I didn’t know a great beauty when I saw one.’

  She expertly cast her eyes downward, then looked up at him through her thick, dark lashes. ‘You know how to make a woman blush, detective. I know you didn’t bring them’ – she tilted her head slightly in Matt and Lauren’s direction – ‘all this way just to flatter me.’

  ‘We actually came here to speak with your husband,’ Matt jumped in. ‘We understand Gunnar worked for him.’

  Freyja’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Gunnar’s name. ‘It’s such a tragedy. Gunnar was an excellent employee. My husband is devastated that he was murdered. And right after he left to catch a flight home. He can’t help thinking if he’d just stayed in America for one more night Gunnar would still be alive.’

  ‘You knew Ragnar was in Buffalo with Gunnar?’ Lauren asked, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  Freyja’s wide blue eyes fixed on Lauren’s. ‘Of course. They were there on business. Ragnar thought Buffalo’s location on the Canadian border might make it an excellent place to open an office. We do a lot of business in New York City and Toronto, but real estate can be prohibitive in both of those cities. An office in Buffalo could have been a much more cost-effective option. But now’ – she put her hand to her mouth – ‘I’d never allow Ragnar to put a branch of our business there.’

  ‘Is that why they flew into Toronto and not New York City?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Ragnar told me there was a four-hour layover between the New York City flight and the next flight to Buffalo on the day they wanted to leave. It seemed foolish to him to wait around that long for a fifty-five-minute plane ride when you can just hop in a rental car in Toronto and drive to Buffalo in less than two hours.’