Frozen Assets

entirely legal and placing them overseas somewhere in countries where things aren’t looked at too closely.’

‘Porn, scams, that sort of thing?’ Bjossi asked.

‘Could be.’

‘Skandalblogger, maybe?’

‘Who knows? Maybe we’ll find out when our own uber-nerds get in there.’

Gunna looked around the table. ‘Right then. Osk Lindal. Any joy?’

Snorri grinned. ‘There’s someone who isn’t a happy bunny on a Sunday afternoon.’

‘Explain,’ Gunna instructed sharply.

‘She didn’t answer the phone, so we paid her a visit. She lives in one of those terraces at the top of Mossfellsb?r, so it was easy enough to drop in on the way back from Borgarnes,’ Bara explained.

‘And?’

‘She was as unhelpful as she could be without slamming the door in our faces.’

‘Well, I reckon we interrupted some kind of party,’ Snorri grinned.

‘She was even less pleased when we got her to go and open up the Spearpoint offices so she could look up what we wanted.’

‘She was in some kind of kimono thing and had to get changed so she could go out,’ Snorri added. ‘She’s a biiig lady. A seriously strange woman.’

‘OK, what did you get?’

‘She had all the info there that we wanted. All the dates that Harde has been here from the middle of last year onwards,’ Bara said, handing over a computer printout. ‘As you can see, he was in Iceland when Einar Eyjolfur disappeared and also in March when Egill Grimsson was killed. And apart from a couple of breaks, he’s been here almost all summer.’

‘That figures,’ Snorri added, speaking for the first time. ‘The site manager at the Hvalvik compound confirmed that Harde had only been there once or twice a week, but after the fire on the night after that march, he’s been around pretty much all the time.’

‘Did you make any progress on finding whoever started that fire, Bjossi?’ Gunna inquired.

‘Nah. No fingerprints. No identifiable footprints. No witnesses. Nothing to go on at all. They’ll show up sooner or later, but how much evidence there might be towards a conviction when that happens is anybody’s guess.’

‘Airlines, anyone? Any progress there?’

‘Sorry, chief. Only got one pair,’ Snorri said sadly, with both of his large hands on the table in front of him.

‘Not to worry. That’s next, please, ladies and gentlemen. Anything from the nerds in Reykjavik?’

‘Yes. Er, there’s a new entry on Skandalblogger’s page, posted on Saturday. Has anyone seen it?’ Bara asked.

Heads were shaken around the table.

‘It’s about the awards thing that Sigurjona Huldudottir attended, alleging large amounts of cocaine being present.’

‘Nothing new there, then,’ Snorri said. ‘Is that something worth chasing, d’you think?’

‘Don’t know. We have enough to be getting on with as it is,’ Gunna mused. ‘I’ll let the Reykjavik drug squad know and they should be able to investigate.’

‘But that’s not all,’ Bara added. ‘There was a strange comment to say that Bjarni Jon Bjarnason should have good reason to be on his way back to Iceland early from this conference he’s at in Berlin. No more details. Maybe Skandalblogger knows something we don’t?’

‘I’m wondering if maybe we ought to be having a quiet word with the Minister for Environmental Affairs,’ Gunna said quietly, as if to herself, placing Skuli’s printout on the table and spreading it out. At the back of the room, Vilhjalmur Traustason’s eyes widened in horror. ‘And we need to find out about this, immediately.’

‘What’s this?’ Snorri asked, looking at Gunna with surprise. ‘I didn’t think you read this sort of thing.’

‘I don’t. It was passed to me last night. This is what Tuesday’s Hot Chat is going to look like. But you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to buy your own copies of Hot Chat.’

Gunna said Hot Chat as if the very words themselves smelled like a public toilet on a hot day.

‘Is this from your toyboy?’ Bjossi smirked.

‘That would be telling. If you look, you’ll see that these pictures were taken by a freelance hack called Armann J, real name Armann Jens Helgason. His phone number’s there. One of you can chase this guy up today and squeeze what you can out of him. Snorri, I’ll leave that to you. Now, if we look at these photos, incidentally taken at the

Gullfoss on Friday evening during that bullshitmongers’ jamboree, we will see the lovely Sigurjona, her PA or whatever he is, Sigurjona’s sister Erna the hairdresser, and a certain Mr Harde.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Bjossi said and whistled.

‘The cheeky cow.’ Bara seethed. ‘She knew exactly where he had been the night before and certainly didn’t bother to tell us that.’

‘Ah, but we didn’t ask where he had been, only if she knew where he was when we spoke to her. So another visit to the delightful Sigurjona might be in order. OK, boys and girls. Grab yourselves a coffee, then get to it, please,’ Gunna said, noticing with discomfort as he stood up the new lines that had appeared on Vilhjalmur Traustason’s long face, making him look a few years older than he had at the end of the previous week.

‘Ah, Gunnhildur. A word, if you would be so kind.’

Harde drove faster than usual out to Hvalvik, talking for most of the way to the voices that came through his mobile headset. His room at the guesthouse he had been staying at was tidy, and still occupied for a few more days as far as the owners would be concerned. The bed was made and there was still a toothbrush in the bathroom, but the locked suitcase on the bed was empty.

After three conversations in three languages, Harde passed the ‘Welcome to Hvalvik’ sign in a cloud of dust that hung in the still air behind him, warming in the morning sun.

The phone bleeped a fourth time. He looked down at the display and raised a finger to touch the button on his headset.

‘Good morning, Herr Horst,’ he said gravely, in English this time.

‘Good morning, Gunnar.’

‘Is everything confirmed?’ Harde asked.

‘Of course. It’s just as we discussed. You are able to disengage?’

‘I’m not sure yet. There might be some difficulties in leaving the country.’

‘If you need an alternative route, then call me on this number.’ Horst’s gravel voice rattled in his earpiece. ‘But I’m sure you’ll be all right. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that we can meet here in a few days?’

‘A week, maybe.’

‘A week? Is there some delay?’ Horst asked in surprise.

‘Just a few days’ holiday for a change.’

‘Of course. I think you deserve a break,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Call me if there’s a hitch.’

‘I will.’

Harde clicked the connection shut as the car cruised around Hvalvik, past the harbour area and along the road to the compound, where he sounded the horn for a guard to open the gate.

The room emptied quickly as Vilhjalmur Traustason stalked the length of the room, hands behind his back. He did not speak until the last one, Bjossi, winking at Gunna as he shut the door behind him, had left the room.

‘Just wanted to let you know I’m watching your progress and you’re doing a fine job,’ he said. Gunna could only look at him in disbelief.

‘What’s this for, Vilhjalmur? You’re not usually one for patting people on the back.’

‘That’s as may be. But you are making progress and the team is performing very well under your management.’

‘Where’s this going?’

‘Your promotion, and posting. I need to have a decision this week.’