Arnaldur Indridason - Arctic Chill

They had tried to gather more information on Gestur while waiting for the search warrant to come through. Erlendur and Elinborg drove over to meet the landlord who owned most of the flats on the staircase at his office in the centre of town. He was a rather manic individual in his thirties who had sold the fishing quota he inherited up north and gone into property dealing in Reykjavik, apparently with some success. He told them he planned to sell off the flats on the staircase, the lettings business was far too stressful, the rental market attracted all sorts. He also rented out flats in another part of town and was involved in constant legal wrangles, evictions and debt collection.

“This Gestur, did he keep up with his payments?” Elinborg asked.

“Always. He’s rented the place for a year and a half and I’ve never had a moment’s trouble with him.”

“Does he pay into an account?”

The landlord hesitated.

“Is it cash in hand?” Erlendur asked. “Does he come here and pay you in person?”

The landlord nodded.

“That’s how he wanted it,” he said. “He was the one who insisted on it. In fact, he made it a condition.”

“You didn’t check his ID number when you took him on as a tenant?” Elinborg asked.

“I must have forgotten.”

“You mean it’s black?” Erlendur asked. “The rent he pays you?”

The landlord did not answer. He cleared his throat.

“Er, does this have to go any further?” he asked hesitantly. They had not told him why the police were asking questions about this particular tenant. “Does the taxman have to find out?”

“Only if you’re a lying scumbag,” Erlendur said.

“It’s …,” the landlord said awkwardly. “I do all sorts of deals, okay. This man came in wanting to know if we could come to an arrangement. He didn’t mind paying the full amount but he didn’t want any paperwork. I told him I would need him to fill in a tenancy agreement but the old guy was very convincing. He said he would pay six months in advance and I could keep three months” payment as a deposit. He paid in cash. Said he was too old for all that electronic nonsense. I believed him. He’s one of the best tenants I’ve ever had. Never late with a single payment.”

“Did you see him at all?” Elinborg asked.

“I’ve met him maybe a couple of times since then. That’s all. Are you going to the tax authorities with this?”

“So the flat wasn’t registered in anyone’s name?”

“No,” the landlord said with a shrug, as if confessing to a minor oversight.

“Tell me something else. Sunee who lives opposite him, does she always pay on time?” Erlendur asked.

“You mean the Thai?” the landlord asked. “Always pays.”

“Cash in hand?” Elinborg asked.

“No, no,” the landlord said. “It’s all above-board. They’re all above-board except for that bloke.”

He paused.

“Well, and maybe two or three others. But no more. And I told her that I’d kick her out double quick if she didn’t pay. I don’t like letting to her sort but the market’s a nightmare, the types you get renting! I’m going to call it a day. Sell the flats. I can’t be doing with it any more.”

That was all they had to go on when they entered the flat. They stood in the living room of the man who called himself either Gestur or Rognvaldur, utterly perplexed. They had no idea where to look for him, did not know who he was. In fact, they had nothing whatsoever to go on but the word of a known criminal.

“Strange how people keep vanishing in this case,” Elinborg said. “First Niran, now this guy.”

“I’m afraid it’ll prove a harder job to track this man down than Niran,” Erlendur said. “It’s as if he’s done the same thing before. As if he’s been forced to do a disappearing act at short notice before.”

“You mean, if he is what Andres says he is?”

“It’s too well prepared somehow,” Erlendur said, “too premeditated. He probably has some other bolthole where he can lie low if something happens to draw attention to him.”

“He doesn’t even keep any personal belongings here,” Elinborg said. “He’s left nothing behind. As if he doesn’t exist — as if he never existed.”

The landlord had told them when handing over the spare key that he himself owned the few bits and pieces that were in the flat. Even the paperbacks in the bookcase were his property. There was an old television in the living room and an ancient radio-cassette player in the kitchen. The television was licensed to the landlord as well.

“We need to talk to his neighbours on the staircase,” Erlendur said with a sigh. “Ask about his movements. Whether he showed any particular interest in the kids in the block or in the neighbourhood. That sort of thing. Would you mind seeing to it?”

Elinborg nodded.

“Do you think Sunee hid Niran because of this man?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Erlendur said. “It’s all so hazy still.”

“Why doesn’t she just tell us what she’s afraid of so that we can help her?”

“Search me.”

Erlendur walked across the landing to Sunee’s flat once Gudny had arrived. He had called her over to assist. He did not know exactly how to express the questions to find out what he wanted to know without distressing Sunee. He sat down with her and Gudny under the yellow dragon and told her about her next-door neighbour and their suspicions as to what kind of offender he might be. Sunee listened attentively, asked questions and answered without hesitation, and by the time they stood up again Erlendur was convinced that the man had never behaved in an inappropriate way towards her boys.

“I’m sure,” Sunee said firmly. “It never happen.”

“He seemed to know Niran and Elias.”

“They knew him because he lives right opposite,” Gudny translated. “It’s out of the question that they ever went into his flat. Elias went to the shop for him a couple of times, that’s all.”

The other residents on the staircase had had little to do with the man; he came and went without anyone paying much attention. There was never any noise from his flat. “He crept around here like a mouse,” Fanney said.

Elinborg noticed that Erlendur seemed preoccupied when he returned from Sunee’s flat.

“Has Sigurdur Oli ever talked to you about his father?” he asked as they walked downstairs. “Do you know anything about him?”

“Sigurdur Oli? No. Not that I remember. He never talks about himself. Why do you ask? What about his father?”

“Oh, nothing. I was talking to Sigurdur Oli today and it suddenly occurred to me that I don’t know anything about him.”

“I don’t know anyone who does,” Elinborg said.

It was intended as a joke but she sensed that Erlendur was being serious and regretted her words. She often made snide comments at Sigurdur Oli’s expense, but then he asked for it by being so inflexible in his views, so pedantic and lacking in empathy. He never let his job get to him, whatever happened. He seemed completely thick-skinned. Elinborg knew that this was the difference between Erlendur and Sigurdur Oli; the source of the friction, almost amounting to antipathy, that existed between them.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Erlendur said. “He’s not a bad cop. And he’s not as bad as you think.”

“I never said he was,” Elinborg answered. “I just don’t feel like spending much time with him.”

“It suddenly struck me as odd when I was talking to him today that I don’t know him at all. I know nothing about him, any more than I ever really knew Marion Briem. You know Marion’s passed away?”

Elinborg nodded. The news had spread around the force. Few people remembered Marion, apart from the oldest members. No one had stayed in touch except Erlendur, who had been wondering ever since Marion died just what their working partnership and friendship had been based on. His thoughts had turned to Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg, his closest colleagues. He barely knew them and recognised that this was not least his own fault. He was well aware that he was not a sociable man.