Quentin Bates - Chilled to the Bone

“Am I going to be arrested?”

Sif’s eyes were wide and there was fear behind her round glasses. “Maybe as a formality. You’re certainly part of a large and rather complex investigation. Now, what’s so special about this laptop?”

“It was in Dad’s workshop. Hekla said she’d been given it by someone, but I didn’t believe her. So I started it up; you need a password to get it to work.”

“And?” Gunna asked as Sif paused.

“It was easy, really. The guy’s business card was in the case as well. The password was his name.”

“Jóel Ingi?”

“Bragason. That was like, really obvious. I was bored over Christmas and I tried to read some of the guy’s reports, but they were really dull. So I went through his emails instead and found all that stuff in the outbox, all those emails between him and the people he works with about those four asylum seekers.”

“You knew about that?”

“Duh,” Sif said. “We’re not all brain-dead dweebs who are only interested in music and partying.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you were. What are you doing at college, by the way?”

“Journalism and political science.”

“Ah. That explains a few things. So who did you pass this information on to?”

“One of the guys in my course, and my tutor,” Sif said in a small voice. “Will they get in trouble now?”

Gunna thought quickly. “No, I shouldn’t think so. Is all this information still on the computer? How did you pass it on? Electronically or on paper?”

“There’s nothing on that laptop. I reformatted it.”

“What? You erased everything?”

Sif nodded and swept her hair out of her eyes. “The emails are copied to a dropbox on the internet as well, and I backed up the whole hard drive onto a portable HD.”

She knelt on the floor and pushed a hand under the mattress, producing a small black box with two USB cables coming out of it. Gunna took it from her hand and put it in the pocket of her coat.

“That can stay safe with me, Sif,” she said and looked toward the door. “Listen,” she added quietly, looking into Sif’s face and watching her eyes go wide. “What I said before about telling it like it is, do that. But as far as anyone’s concerned, you didn’t have a password, and you never got into that laptop. Is that clear? You just put it back where it was and forgot about it.”

Sif nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I can do that.”

Ívar Laxdal and Gunna watched as the first ambulance drove away sedately with Hekla and Sif on board, closely followed by Pétur in the old Land Rover and the black ministry 4×4 bringing up the rear, all of them heading for the National Hospital.

“Are they hurt badly?” Ívar Laxdal asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Hekla had been slapped a few times, but no bones broken. The girl is the one I’d be concerned about. Eighteen is an impressionable age and this could haunt her for evermore.”

“We still don’t know which one of them stuck that thing into Bigfoot’s head, do we?”

Gunna shrugged. “Does it matter? It’ll be a self-defense plea whatever happens. As for Baddó, who knows? The ambulance guy reckoned he wouldn’t make it to tomorrow.”

“This needs to be kept discreet, Gunnhildur, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Is that what our friends in that black car told you?”

“I’m sure you’ll do your work with your usual thoroughness and we’ll see what rises to the surface, won’t we?” Ívar Laxdal let fall one of his rare smiles and extinguished it just as quickly. “I have a feeling that one or both of them will be out of a job soon. Tomorrow, maybe.”

Gunna did a double take and stared at Ívar Laxdal. “As quickly as that?”

“A fuck-up at that level, especially a potentially embarrassing one like this, isn’t something that’s easily forgiven, you know. Using a freelance private investigator to keep tabs on the ministry’s own staff, even if they have screwed up, doesn’t look good. The minister will find it easier to lay blame on people who aren’t there any more if, or when, this becomes public knowledge.”

“Jóel Ingi and one or both of those other clowns will be convenient scapegoats a month before the next election?”

This time Ívar Laxdal dropped a muffled laugh, an even rarer event. “You’re turning into an old cynic, Gunnhildur,” he said, almost jovially, and Gunna realized she was seeing a new side to the man, one in which he admitted taking delight in the tribulations facing the men from the ministry.

“You know that Már Einarsson knew that Jóel Ingi was leaving the country last night, but didn’t tell anyone. He deliberately chose not to have him stopped? Bára was tracking the poor bastard and reporting his every movement to Már.”

“And to Ægir, or further?”

“Who knows?”

Anyway, Gunnhildur, would you like a ride back to town?” he asked, swinging his keys on one finger.

“Why not? Helgi can stay here with the forensics team to finish up. I’ll just let him know, so he doesn’t think I’m a missing person as well,” she said, heading toward the house while Ívar Laxdal climbed into his car and the engine whispered into life.

“Long day, mum?” Laufey said as Gunna groaned, dropped her shoes by the door and her coat over the back of a chair.

“Long isn’t the word for it, and don’t even ask what I’ve been up to,” she said, wondering whether or not she dared to collapse onto the sofa, where Steini watched her over the top of his glasses and patted the seat next to him. “I mustn’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t stand up again. Where’s … our guest?”

Laufey jerked her head toward the hall. “In the shower, I guess. I reckon she was a bit put out.”

“All right, who’s upset her now?”

“Me, I’m afraid,” Steini admitted. “She was hungry and I told her we wouldn’t be having dinner until you got here, so she went out-I suppose she’s been to the shop for a burger.”

“She’s in the shower, though? Again? Damn. Bang on the door, would you, sweetheart, and ask her if she’s going to be long?”

Laufey pulled a long face, but got up all the same, while Gunna gave in to temptation and sank onto the sofa next to Steini, leaning against him, grateful for the arm he curled around her shoulders.

“Tough day?”

“You could say that. Exhausting, stressful, but there’s a light at the end of a long tunnel.”

“And another long day tomorrow, I suppose?”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. But the overtime won’t do any harm if I’m going to replace that old car anytime soon,” Gunna said with a yawn that left her gaping. “How about you?”

“I got in an hour ago to find Laufey and Drífa talking about men. They stopped as soon as I came in, thankfully. Those two are getting on like a house on fire.”

“That’s good.” Gunna rubbed her eyes. “Are you cooking or am I?”

“I think it’ll be me, don’t you? And if Drífa has already filled up on junk food, that means more spaghetti for us.”

Laufey reappeared and dropped back onto her seat as a vaguely familiar voice was heard. Gunna twisted to see the television and saw Ægir Lárusson’s bald head and heavy features on the screen.

“Laufey, turn it up would you?”

“… Not in a position to comment at the present moment,” she heard him say, the wind blowing wisps of hair from the sides of his head as he stood in front of the ministry building. Gunna sat up and watched intently. Már Einarsson could be seen indistinctly as the camera panned back and a microphone was thrust under Ægir Lárusson’s chin.

“Is this something you will be investigating as a matter of urgency?” an unseen interviewer asked.