Quentin Bates - Chilled to the Bone

A phone call to a friend in the car trade told her the mud-colored Hyundai was more than likely a stolen vehicle. The man with the scarred face was certainly not the Elma Líf Sævarsdóttir the car was registered to, and she guessed that there was something shady that linked Jóel Ingi, Hinrik the Herb and the desperate-looking man with his face covered in stitches.

With Jóel Ingi’s trail gone cold, she told herself that she could pick it up later, either from his home or the ministry, and the instinct developed during years spent in uniform told her the Hyundai would be worth tailing in the meantime. This time she was ready. The brown car toiled up the slope and the venerable Renault, sharp and well looked after in spite of its age, was quick enough to keep up at a respectable distance.

She followed it through the thickening afternoon traffic as it seemed to go aimlessly through the city and out the far side toward Kópavogur before joining the main road to Hafnarfjördur. She watched the Hyundai make a slow circuit of the harbor area, encountering locked dock gates several times before it occurred to her that the driver was lost.

Finally it stopped at the side of the road in an industrial area, parking between a couple of trucks outside a row of small fish processing plants. The little factories were deserted, the day’s work over by mid-afternoon and the staff long gone, but leaving tubs of waste outside for the gulls to peck and gnaw at. She wrinkled her nose at the aroma of stale fish that the breeze brought and closed the car window as she parked a hundred meters behind the Hyundai and waited.

After a while it occurred to her that she might be in for a long wait, telling herself it could be uncomfortable sooner rather than later. There were no lights to be seen in the Hyundai and she wondered what the driver was doing. She slipped out of the car, zipped her parka up to the neck and pulled on a baseball cap that she hoped would hide her face, walking away from the Hyundai and taking a short cut between two buildings into the street higher up, conscious that this could be a mistake. The man could decide to move off at any moment, leaving her unable to follow quickly enough.

Walking briskly around the corner, she completed a circuit by striding back toward her car, taking care to stay on the opposite side of the road, thereby giving her the opportunity for only a very quick view of the Hyundai, where she was relieved to see its occupant with closed eyes, the seat laid back as far as it would go.

Satisfied for the moment, she walked smartly back to the Renault, looking about her rapidly to see if she’d been observed, and side-stepped between two shipping containers. Dubious about the cold, but left with no choice, out of the wind and out of sight, she unzipped, squatted quickly and emerged relieved a moment later to take her place in the Renault, where she switched on the radio, told herself that she was now good for the rest of the day, and waited for the Hyundai’s occupant to wake up and move off.

Ægir Lárusson was unamused and Már Einarsson was visibly agitated at his side.

“Jóel Ingi Bragason is on sick leave. He was taken ill last night.”

“So he’s in hospital, is he?” Gunna asked. “Which one?”

“I don’t know,” Már said stiffly. “As far as I’m aware, he’s at home.”

“What’s his address?”

“I can’t tell you that. It’s confidential.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not going to be that hard to find out where the man lives. You may as well tell me and save me going through the national register.”

Már looked at Ægir, who gave the tiniest nod of assent. Már wrote a few lines on a notepad and tore the top sheet off, handing it to her.

“Classy address,” Gunna said. Standing behind her, Helgi heard his phone chime and she registered him raising an eyebrow as he read the text message. “I’m wondering what does Jóel Ingi’s sudden illness have to do with this mysterious laptop that you were so anxious about a few days ago?”

Már looked anxious and flashed a glance at Ægir, who forced a smile. “Officer, I don’t know exactly why you are suddenly so interested in a matter you were asked to investigate some time ago. It’s not as if the police were particularly enthusiastic then.”

Gunna held his gaze as he tried to stare her down. “I don’t know either. But I’m not a great believer in coincidences. I get the impression that Jóel Ingi is out of his depth and that neither of us has the full story. I certainly don’t believe the ministry has been entirely open on this. Far from it, in fact. I’d say that we’ve been asked to clear up your mess, but without being given the correct information.”

Ægir grimaced. “There are things I’m not at liberty to divulge.”

“That’s up to you. But without the facts, there’s not a lot we can do. On the other hand, it may well be that the ministry’s security is compromised. Tell me, what does Jóel Ingi do here, exactly?”

Már coughed. “He works with me. We’re part of a team that carries out analysis and prepares digests for policy development.”

“Tell me that’s more than watching foreign TV news reports?”

“Of course it is,” Már snapped.

“So he, and you, are dealing with sensitive or confidential data?”

“Naturally.”

“Like what?”

Már looked at Ægir, who pursed his lips and shook his head. “Where is this going, officer?” he asked wearily.

“What I’m after is some kind of background information that could tell me if Jóel Ingi is being pressured or even blackmailed. What kind of information is he working with?”

“Trade figures, mainly. Analysis of exports from countries that compete with our industries. That’s his main role at present.”

“What about his personal life? He’s married? Children?”

“He’s married, no children.”

“Hobbies? Activities? Clubs? Politics? Friends?”

Ægir sat back and his eyebrows twitched. Már looked blank. “He works out a lot. Fitness is important to him. When I go to the gym, he’s normally either there already or on the way. Politics? I don’t think he takes an interest. At least, not an active one. He doesn’t have many friends, as far as I know, not after he left the bank.”

“What? Explain, will you?”

“He used to be a legal adviser at one of the main banks before the crash. He left the bank about six months before everything went wrong, so I don’t know if he’d seen it coming or what, but he got out and applied for a post here instead. I gather most of his friends were in the banking sector and pretty much cut him off after the crash.”

Gunna looked squarely at him without saying anything until Már’s hands fluttered. “I really don’t know why. I suppose they resented the fact that he’d managed to get out with clean hands and a few million stashed away. There were never any questions about his role at the bank. He wasn’t called in by the winding-up committee. As far as I’m aware, he came away from it with his hands clean.”

“And his personal life?”

Már shrugged. “I really don’t know. He doesn’t have close friends. I suppose I’m the closest thing he has to one,” he said haltingly. “Although …” he tailed off and paused.

“Although what?” Gunna prompted.

“I’m not sure his marriage is all that stable. He’s devoted to Agnes, but it’s quite a stormy relationship. They can both be pretty volatile and I’ve seen them practically fighting one minute and in each others’ arms the next.”

“Understood,” Gunna said, making notes before turning to Ægir Lárusson. “This laptop you’re so keen to retrieve. What’s on it that’s so important?”

“You’re not security cleared. All I can say is that it contains sensitive data.”