by Paty Jager
“Will you give your computer tech permission to give me this information?” Hawke waited what seemed like more than the couple of minutes as the man made his decision.
“Hand the phone to Dóra.”
Hawke did as he was told and waited for the two to talk in Icelandic. That they were concealing what they said from him, made him even more curious about the two names he wanted.
Dóra handed the phone back to him. “I have been given permission to help you.”
He listened, realized the man had ended the conversation, and faced the woman sitting at the computer. “Do you know who I want information about?”
She nodded. “Wanza was here with her mother two years ago. Their last name is Odenyo.” She typed some more. “This is the number of the mother.”
Hawke wrote down the mother’s name and phone number. “Thank you. And Billy?”
The woman pursed her lips. “You do not want to stir this up.”
“What do you mean?” He pulled a chair over near Dóra and sipped his coffee.
“Billy’s father brought a lawsuit against the conference, blaming us for his negligence. That we didn’t have the proper equipment ready for his class. We had exactly what he’d asked for. It just happened to not be new because he’d asked for older equipment. Like he’d used when he was in the military.”
Hawke nodded. “So, the whole mishap was this man’s fault. How could he bring a lawsuit?”
She shook her head. “He is using defamation of character, because Nonni told everyone about how he’d kept this man from killing someone.”
“And this is the person who you don’t want to give me the name and phone number?” Hawke watched as she mulled over his request. This conference was her job. Did she dare sacrifice it toward finding the person who killed her boss’s son?
“Einar wished to not raise the ire of the ogre. Do you think he could have killed Nonni?”
“We won’t know until I can find out if he still held a grudge. Four years is plenty of time for him to feel it was water under the bridge.” Hawke tried to express empathy toward Einar and Nonni’s death, but he always followed every trail, no matter how unpleasant it might be. If he couldn’t get the name and phone number from Dóra, he was pretty sure Sigga could help him if she didn’t already know about it. If the American police official had sued, there should be a record at a courthouse.
“You won’t say anything to get him angry?” Dóra asked.
“I’ll be on my best behavior.” Since she didn’t know how he rubbed people wrong a lot of the time, she didn’t know that was the best he could do.
She handed him a slip of paper with a name and number. “It is the middle of the night there.”
“I won’t call until after lunch. Thank you.” He studied the name. There wasn’t a title, just the name and number. That in itself was interesting.
A couple more people arrived, walking straight to the coffee and muffins.
Hawke shoved the name and number in his shirt pocket and walked out into the open loft area. Conference attendees were arriving for their morning classes. Yesterday would have been the end of his class, had he continued it. The next two days he’d planned to sit in on other classes. Now he would be tracking down information.
He pulled out his phone to see what the time was in Kenya. They were three hours ahead. He punched in the number he’d received from Dóra.
The phone rang several times and a message in a language he didn’t know come on. The machine beeped and he left a message.
“This is Gabriel Hawke. I’d like to talk to your daughter, Wanza. This is my number, please call me back.” He recited his number and ended the call. All he could do was wait.
He called Böðvarsson.
“Ari,” the man answered.
“It’s Hawke. Are you coming to the conference today?”
“I can. What did you find out?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“I’ll be there in an hour. Where do you want to meet?”
Hawke scanned the people and conference base of operation’s door. “The lobby in the Center Hotel across the street.”
“I’ll be there.”
Hawke wandered down the staircase, out of the building, and across the streets. It was now time for the guests of the hotel to awaken and eat their complimentary breakfast in the upstairs restaurant. He glanced at the uncomfortable chairs in the lobby and sent a text to Böðvarsson to meet him up in the restaurant.
He stepped into the elevator after an older couple stepped out. They smiled. He tipped his head and punched the button for the third floor.
<<>><<>><<>>
Hawke was on his second cup of coffee and third pastry when Böðvarsson stepped off the elevator. The inspector filled a cup with coffee and helped himself to a pastry before sitting across from Hawke.
“Is there a reason you want to meet here rather than at the Harpa?” Böðvarsson asked, raising the coffee cup to his mouth. “Not that I mind. This is a wonderful view.”
Hawke had to agree. He’d been watching the harbor while waiting. “I asked you to come over here because I have a feeling Einar wouldn’t like to see me.” He shrugged and took a bite of the pastry.
Böðvarsson studied him. “What have you discovered?”
“Not as much as I would like. Four years ago, Nonni discredited a police official from the US during the man’s seminar. Then he taunted, I guess would be the word, the man’s son. I learned this morning that the man in question has tried to sue the conference. I need to talk to him or see if he or the son are here, in Reykjavik or Iceland.”
Böðvarsson held out his hand. “Give me the names. I can run them and see if they have arrived. That will lessen any contact with them.”
Hawke studied the man. “You won’t just shove this to the side because it makes Einar uncomfortable?”
“We have few murders on Iceland. I want to get this solved as much as you do. Even more so. It would be a poor mark on my career if I did not catch who did this.”
Hearing the truth in the man’s words, Hawke pulled the paper out of his pocket. He unfolded it and stared at the name of Wanza’s mother. “Is there a chance you can discover more about this woman and her daughter?”
The inspector took the paper. “Where are they located?”
“Kenya. I left a message on her phone.”
“Did you already call the man in America?”
“No. I didn’t want to piss him off by calling in the middle of the night.”
“Good idea. I’ll have both of these people looked into. Why do you think this woman would know anything about Nonni’s death?”
“I don’t. But her daughter’s name keeps getting mentioned from the conference two years ago.” He let out a deep sigh. “And I can’t find anything else other than the keys. Did you get the surveillance tapes from the hotel?”
“I was going to call you once I arrived at the police station to tell you they were available.” Böðvarsson finished off his pastry and wiped his mouth and hands. “I can take you if you like.”
Hawke finished off his coffee. “I’m ready.” He picked up his pack and followed the inspector to the elevator.
Chapter Twelve
By noon, Hawke’s eyes were blurry and felt as if he’d been riding in a dust storm. He’d gone over and over the surveillance tape for the time frame the keys would have been slipped under the door and didn’t see anything. People came and went up and down the hall. He stopped looking when Largess entered his room. The man said he’d picked up the keys when he’d entered. How had they been left when no one stopped at his door or did anything unusual?
He shoved away from the monitor and wandered down the hall to the restroom. All the coffee he’d consumed had been expanding his bladder the last hour and he’d ignored it.
The only possibility had to be the key was left earlier. Or later!
Largess hadn’t stopped when entering the room. Which meant h
e hadn’t picked anything up off the floor. Could the man have walked in, went into the bathroom, and when he came out spotted the key and figured he’d stepped over it on his way in?
Hawke finished and hurried back to the desk and monitor where Böðvarsson had set him up. He let the tape roll after Largess entered the room.
A woman dressed in the hotel uniform bent at the door, straightened, and then walked down the hall, passing the Italian woman, Carmilla, who walked up to Largess’s door and knocked.
Now he had something to work with. He spun in his chair and caught the attention of the female officer in the room. “Can I get a photo of the maid and the woman knocking on the door?”
The officer placed the two photos in his hand ten minutes later.
“Where’s Böðvarsson’s office?” he asked.
The woman showed him down the hall to the door with the man’s name on it.
“Thank you.” He knocked and walked in.
Sigga sat in the chair in front of the inspector’s desk. What would she do when she saw the Italian woman knocking on her lover’s door?
“Sæll, Hawke, I heard you were looking at surveillance tapes,” Sigga said.
“It appears either one of the hotel staff put the key under the door, or a female guest of Largess’s dropped it on her way in.” Hawke watched Sigga.
Her facial features turned to stone and her eyes glinted with anger.
He wasn’t going to let her see the tapes or tell her who. They might have another murder on their hands. “I’m going to go talk to the staff member at the hotel.” His gaze drifted to Böðvarsson and back to Sigga. “Want to give me a lift and give me my hat back?”
She shot out of the chair as if it had ejected her. “Yes. I will give you a ride.”
And, no doubt, try to find out who the woman was spending time with her boy toy. Hawke motioned for her to exit the office. When she’d walked out, he closed the door behind her and faced the inspector. “Did you get anywhere with the names I gave you?”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”
Hawke nodded as Sigga opened the door.
“Come on!”
He grinned at Böðvarsson and followed the woman out of the building and to her car. Once they were settled in the car, she started interrogating him.
“Tell me the woman who went to Kevin’s room.” She had her gaze on him and not the road.
“Watch the traffic. Staring at me isn’t going to get you the answer. Especially, if we end up in a hospital.” He’d already folded up the photo of Carmilla and put it in his pocket. The only one she could try to look at was of the staff member.
“Why won’t you tell me who it was?” She pulled her car into the valet parking at the hotel.
“Because you are emotionally involved. I don’t want you to scare the person off until I can talk to her.” He grabbed his hat from the back seat and plopped it on his head when he stood next to the car. “Forget that while we talk to the staff.”
“I am a professional.” She huffed, flashing her badge at the valet who walked toward them. She strode by the flustered young man and through the front door.
“Is this you being professional?” Hawke grinned. This woman was as much fun to pick on as his friend Justine, a waitress at his favorite place for breakfast.
She stopped halfway to the registration counter, pivoted, and glared at him.
Hawke burst out laughing. Thirty seconds ticked by and she started laughing.
“Sorry. That man makes me crazy every year.” She drew in a deep breath, let it out, and spun back around.
They walked up to the counter together. Grady, the man he’d visited with the morning before, smiled at him.
Hawke placed the photo of the staff member on the desk. “Is this person working this morning?”
“Is she in trouble?” Grady asked.
“No. We just need to ask her some questions,” Hawke motioned to Sigga, who showed her Icelandic police badge.
Grady shook his head. “Tinna comes in to work when I go home. She won’t be in for four more hours.”
“What about her home address?” Hawke asked.
Grady winced. “I can’t give that out.”
Sigga waved her badge again. “This says you can.”
The registration clerk stared at the monitor under the registration desk and rattled off an address. Hawke didn’t understand the words, but Sigga nodded.
They walked out to the parked car. Hawke settled onto the passenger seat and his stomach rumbled.
“We can get something to eat on the way to Tinna’s,” Sigga said.
“Sounds good.” He buckled his seat belt and placed his hat in his lap.
<<>><<>><<>>
After lunch, Sigga parked the car in a lot in front of what she called Árbær neighborhood.
Hawke studied the long buildings that resembled motels in the states, except these buildings had immaculate trees and shrubs and small well-maintained patches of grass. Each apartment appeared to be two stories with a small patio in the back.
“There is the apartment. There’s a car in the spot. She should be here,” Sigga said.
“Do people rent these?” Hawke asked, curious at what the price would be compared to the one room with a bath he rented over a horse arena back home.
“Most of the apartments in this area have been purchased. Renting is unstable. You can be kicked out after a few months.”
“Kicked out? Because they want to sell?”
“Or someone is willing to pay more rent.” Sigga walked up to the door and knocked.
Hawke contemplated Sigga’s words.
The door opened. “Hállo?” a woman in her thirties asked.
Sigga introduced them and asked if she was Tinna.
“Yes.” Tinna studied them. “Why do you wish to talk to me?”
Hawke motioned to the inside. “We can explain inside.”
The woman backed up, and they walked in, following her into a small sitting area.
“Do you live here alone?” he asked.
“Yes. I make enough at the hotel to manage on my own. I like it that way.” Tinna sat on a chair, leaving the small couch for him and Sigga.
Sigga sat, he stood, holding his hat in his hands.
“Tinna, why did you slip a key under the door of room two-nineteen on Wednesday night?” Hawke used a casual tone.
“How did you...” Tinna shook her head. “Surveillance. The key, along with a note, was left on the registration desk. It said, ‘borrowed this, please slip under door of room two-nineteen.’ I didn’t see any harm. And when the person in that room didn’t ask about the key, I figured it had been arranged that would be how the key was returned.”
“I don’t suppose you still have the note?” Sigga asked.
“No. I wadded it up and tossed it in the waste basket.” Tinna glanced at the two of them. “Am I in trouble?”
“No. We’re just determining how the keys were returned to Mr. Largess.” Hawke sighed. Another boulder in the investigation. They had to come up with a solid lead soon.
“Thank you for your time,” Sigga said, standing.
Walking out to the car, Hawke said, “We need surveillance tapes of the registration counter.”
“I’ll start the paperwork rolling when I get back to the station. Where do you want to go?”
Hawke didn’t know which direction to try next. “The station. If Böðvarsson hasn’t heard back from the people I gave him this morning, I’ll make some calls.”
<<>><<>><<>>
Hawke walked into the detective inspector’s office. The man held up a hand as he talked on the phone. Hawke took a seat and waited.
Ending the call, Böðvarsson tapped a pen on the pad he’d been writing on. “That was the airport. Billy Weston entered Iceland a week ago. His return flight is not until next week. I have been on the phone calling all hotels. He is not staying at a hotel.”
“He is here and has been here.”
Hawke twirled his Stetson in his hands. “There’s a chance he followed our victim and when he saw him alone did what he came here to do.”
“Or he is just here on vacation.” Böðvarsson studied him. “You don’t know for sure that Billy is the one who killed Nonni.”
“From everything I’ve found, he is the only person who had a problem with Nonni. Back home, we’d call Nonni an altar boy or a goody-goody. Other than partying with his friends and keeping them off drugs, which is admirable, he doesn’t have any reason for anyone in this country to want him dead.”
“We still haven’t ruled out random killing.” Böðvarsson put down the pen and picked up a file.
“You may not, but the tracks I followed back to the parking lot weren’t made by someone who was scared, paranoid, or worried about what they’d just done. The stride was even and purposeful. That to me means it was a premeditated killing.” He’d had to voice a similar argument some years ago to get his superior to take another look at a homicide. They had, and eventually gathered enough information to put the woman’s boyfriend in jail.
“I have two officers working on tracking down where he could be staying.”
“Do you have a photo of him?” Hawke wasn’t waiting around for what could take days. He’d enlist Nonni’s friends to take him to all the bars.
“What are you planning?”
“I’d like to know what he looks like. That way when I find him, I can talk to him, learn where he is staying, and let you know.”
Böðvarsson studied him. “That’s all you plan to do?”
“I might ask him why he’s here.” That wasn’t lying. He would ask the man why he was in Iceland.
“I’m not sure about this. If I show you the photo, you promise you will take Sigga with you on your hunt?”
He didn’t want the woman along. “What if he recognizes her as someone from the conference? I wouldn’t get as much information out of him.”
Böðvarsson handed a photocopy of a photo across the desk.
Hawke pulled out his phone and took a picture of the photo. “Thanks.”
He stood, walking to the door.
