Chilled to the Bone (7 page)

He noticed the short-lived rain had turned to occasional flakes of snow spinning in his headlights and that the Renault stayed with him all the way along Sæbraut. He tried to see the driver in the darkness, stepping on the brake at intersections to throw a little light onto the face that had to be there. Eventually he simply told himself to stop being so stupid and that the car probably belonged to some deadbeat in a dead-end job who couldn’t afford anything better. The Renault rolled past him, its nailed tires rattling on the newly scraped road surface, and on along Snorrabraut as he turned off for the ministry. He still hadn’t managed to catch sight of the driver, other than a glimpse of bulky green coat and a baseball cap.

T
HE MOMENT
G
UNNA
woke, the previous day’s news came flooding back to her, and she arrived at the Gullfoss Hotel brooding over the frustration she had suppressed on the morning drive to Reykjavík. Usually driving for almost an hour to Reykjavík provided valuable thinking time but today it had been agonizing, with work driven from her mind. Deciding to start at the hotel rather than going to the station at Hverfisgata, where piles of paperwork and emails awaited her, she found Kolbeinn in the hotel’s bar. He looked up from polishing a glass, put it on the rack on his side of the bar and let loose a winning smile.

“Good morning. What can I get you?”

“You can answer some questions,” Gunna told him in a harsher voice than she had intended, and immediately reminded herself that while yesterday’s news had kept her awake half the night and put her in a foul temper, work and personal life needed to be kept strictly separate. “I’d like a quiet
chat, if you’re not busy,” she said, in a more gentle tone this time.

Kolbeinn shrugged and his smile remained unchanged. Gunna guessed that it was a requirement of the job. “It’s quiet at the moment,” he said, gesturing at the empty room. “Can I get you anything?”

“A coffee would do nicely. How long have you worked here?”

“A couple of years.”

“And you were here yesterday?”

Kolbeinn nodded, concentrating on the coffee machine that steamed and spluttered. “I’m here most days.”

“You work day shifts, do you? Or what’s the arrangement?”

“Eight to four some days. Four to whenever the bar closes other days.”

“Midnight?” Gunna asked, sipping the rather insipid coffee he had placed soundlessly in front of her.

“Midnight, two, four. Longer sometimes. It’s all overtime so I don’t mind.”

Gunna tapped the bar with her finger, willing herself to be patient. She placed a series of grainy printouts from the hotel’s CCTV on the bar in front of him. “You were here yesterday, so you served these two people, didn’t you?” She asked, pointing at the woman sitting with Jóhannes Karlsson.

Kolbeinn’s face was a bland mask. “That’s right,” he agreed. “Yesterday morning. It was around ten, eleven, I think.”

Gunna rearranged the pictures. “I want you to look at the picture of this person. Any ideas?”

Kolbeinn shook his head, glancing from the statuesque blonde to the brunette with the curls and the tracksuit.

“No. I hardly spoke to her,” he said, pointing at the blonde.

“But you spoke to the gentleman who was with her, didn’t you?”

“Of course, He’s a regular guest here,” he said, clearly confused.

“You tell me. Have you seen either of these women before?”

Kolbeinn’s voice was slow and unconvincing. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this one,” he added, looking carefully at the picture of the woman with the curls.

“Who was here first yesterday?” Gunna asked, although she already knew the answer from the CCTV footage. “Him or her?”

“Like I told your colleague yesterday, the gentleman was here yesterday morning, reading the paper. Then the lady arrived and went over and sat next to him. I brought him a coffee and she asked for chamomile tea.”

“Hold on a second, which of my colleagues did you speak to yesterday?” Gunna asked in irritation, looking through her notes and wondering why Eiríkur and Helgi hadn’t mentioned speaking to the barman.

“The one with the beard,” Kolbeinn said, as if he felt sorry for the confused police officer speaking to him. “Nice guy,” he added. “We went over to Café Twenty-two over the road and had a beer. He asked for my friend Magnús, but he’s working over at the Harbourside Hotel these days.”

“Really?” Gunna asked. “What did he ask you about? I’m sorry, but there seem to be a few crossed wires here.”

“Everything you’ve been asking. Do I know this woman and all that.” Kolbeinn was gabbling as Gunna glared. “He had a badge and everything.”

Gunna took a deep breath. “All right. Now, tell me where you spoke to this man, will you?”

Kolbeinn looked frightened. “Here. He came in and had a coffee. There wasn’t anyone about, so we got chatting and he told me he was a policeman who was looking for someone who had been reported missing and had I seen her? Then he showed me his badge and some pictures.”

“These pictures?”

“I’m not sure if it was these,” Kolbeinn floundered, “but it was definitely her. My shift was over and Gussi was supposed
to take over, so we went for a beer and he asked a lot more questions.”

“I don’t suppose he gave you his name, did he?” Gunna asked and was rewarded with a shake of the head. “No, I don’t suppose he did, and I don’t imagine it was a police badge he showed you, either. Look, if you speak to anyone about this, it’s either me or one of the two guys who are here with me today. Understand? Now, what time did this man appear and tell you he was one of us?” she asked, her anger cooling at the sight of the young man’s crestfallen face.

B
ADDÓ WAS DELICATELY
sipping coffee when Hinrik appeared. He waved him to a seat, knowing that anywhere but propping up the bar wasn’t the thin man’s style.

Hinrik frowned at the sight of the cup in Baddó’s hand. “You don’t want a real drink?”

“Not this early. Sit down.”

Hinrik lowered himself uncomfortably into a chair and looked about him until he caught the eye of the youth behind the bar, who scuttled over with a glass on a tray. “You look more wide awake today, Baddó.”

“Well, you know, home cooking can do wonders for a man after eight years of cabbage.”

“So. What’re you thinking?”

Baddó sipped and put the cup down. He extracted the envelope containing the two photographs from an inside pocket. “I’m thinking, why me, considering the cops are probably keeping an eye on me?”

Hinrik shrugged. “You’re the right man for the job, and the police force has enough to do already without keeping tabs on a reformed character like yourself.”

“Bullshit. You must have plenty of people you can call on to do some snooping and snap a few thumbs. Why pick this old fart?”

“Since you ask, I’ll be honest with you.” Hinrik laid a finger on the table next to his glass. “To start with, you’re a new face who’s not a new face, if you see what I mean. You’ve been out of circulation for long enough that most of the young fuckwits with their brains in their bollocks were still playing about on their skateboards when you were around.”

Baddó nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Two.” Hinrik laid another finger on the table’s edge, alongside the first. “This calls for discretion, so it had to be someone with something upstairs who wouldn’t spill his guts after the first two shots on a Friday night.”

“Agreed.”

A third finger joined the other two.

Baddó nodded. “And three?”

“There isn’t a third reason. Except maybe for old times’ sake.”

“Get away with you, Hinrik. You don’t have a sentimental fiber in your entire body.”

The thin man smiled, making it look like a facial muscle exercise. “True,” he admitted, and took out a fat envelope, which he placed next to the one Baddó had already put on the table. “Down payment plus expenses.”

Baddó stowed the fat envelope away in one smooth move and opened the other one. “I need something to go on here. Where’s this taken? I’m not going to ask who she’s upset, but what’s this tart done that you’re looking for her?”

Hinrik’s smile disappeared. “I’m not sure what she’s done,” he admitted reluctantly. “But someone has been mightily pissed off.”

H
ELGI WAS IMMERSED
again in the hotel’s CCTV footage, alone this time as he pored over the blurry images fast-forwarding through the hotel’s lobby and corridors.

“We’ve had some unwelcome company,” Gunna said
without preamble. “Can you put that thing on to the bar at around six yesterday?”

“Yesterday evening?”

“That’s it. Some smart operator came in here masquerading as a copper and chatted up the bartender. He even took him across the street and bought him a beer.”

Helgi grimaced as he fiddled with the computer to find the footage from the previous evening. “Buying anyone a beer would rule him out as one of us, wouldn’t it? So what do you reckon that was all about?”

“Ach, I don’t know,” Gunna said, failing to hide her irritation. “Some nosy bastard. A journalist, I’d imagine.”

“Are you all right, chief?” Helgi asked, looking around and peering over the reading glasses on the end of his nose.

“Fine, thanks,” Gunna scowled. “What’s on the screen?”

Helgi clicked and the figure of Kolbeinn in his white shirt and black waistcoat could be seen at the bar, polishing a glass. He served a couple of customers in rapid, jerky fast forward as Helgi scrolled through half an hour in a matter of minutes. As the clock rolled over to six precisely, a bearded man in a leather jacket approached the bar and Gunna could see him in conversation with Kolbeinn, their talk continuing over the cup of coffee the barman served him; she could see a wallet being flashed quickly.

“He could have showed that lad a library card at that speed and got away with it,” Helgi grunted as the bearded man left the bar with a spring in his step. “That was pretty quick, wasn’t it?”

“Remarkably so. Let’s have a look at the lobby, shall we? He’s admitted that this guy invited him over the road for a beer, so let’s just see how fast that happened. Then you can get me a still of this deadbeat hack’s face. I’ll see if he can be tracked down and I’ll have a quiet word in his ear.”

“Enough to sow fear in any God-fearing man’s heart,” Helgi intoned.

“A
NY NEWS
?”

Jóel Ingi shook his head. “Tonight, I hope.”

“I hope so. Ægir’s not going to let this go easily.”

“He’s a bastard. A real bastard,” Jóel Ingi announced in a whisper not quite discreet enough for comfort.

“Shhh. Someone could hear you,” Már scolded, stepping back and taking a closer look at Jóel Ingi. “Are you all right?” he asked eventually. “Been overdoing it?”

“Not sleeping all that well, but I’m fine. I can handle this. You wait and see.”

Y
NGVI WAS IN
his office, and as Gunna approached the open door she could hear his querulous protests in the face of a verbal onslaught. Stepping past the door, she was able to see through the narrow gap between it and the frame and catch a momentary glimpse of Yngvi behind his desk, leaning back in his leather office chair as a bulky man leaned with both hands on the desk.

“It’s a damned disgrace and it shouldn’t be allowed for you people to harass staff outside working hours …”

“I assure you …” Yngvi protested uselessly.

“Reprehensible,” the broad-backed man complained. “If you want to carry out your damned investigations into the disgraceful things that happen in this place, then you should do them on the premises. You shouldn’t be doing it in people’s own time and invading their privacy. It’s a damned scandal and I shall be taking this to the union. Have no fear.”

“If I can say something,” Yngvi finally managed to say as the bear of a man paused for breath—Gunna could almost hear Yngvi collecting his thoughts. “If I can say something. Look, Hákon. That’s your name, isn’t it? I’m sorry if your wife has been inconvenienced. She’s an outstanding member of staff.”

“And so damn what?” The big man wheezed. “Why’s she getting this harassment? That’s what it is,” he said in triumph, as if he had been searching for the right word. “Damned harassment.”

“Listen to me, will you? We will be carrying out an internal investigation, but that hasn’t started yet and it probably won’t be conducted until the police investigation is complete.”

“So what are you trying to tell me?” The big man demanded and Gunna stayed out of sight, also interested to hear Yngvi’s explanation.

“I’m telling you that if your wife has been harassed, it wasn’t anything to do with the hotel management. It must have been the police. It wasn’t anything I have authorized and any internal investigation here certainly wouldn’t leave the building.”

Gunna continued along the corridor slowly enough to hear Yngvi’s final comment to the man. “I suggest you speak to the police. There are three officers here right now, and the one in charge is a woman called Gunnhildur. Maybe she’ll be able to put your mind at rest.”

T
HE PICTURE WASN
’
T
clear, but it was clear enough. A broad-faced man with a goatee beard worn distinctively long had been caught on CCTV footage in a screenshot that was blurred but showed him looking almost toward the camera. Shortish hair and a faded dark leather jacket completed the picture. Gunna wondered where she had seen that face before with its determined look beneath heavy brows.