Quentin Bates - Frozen Assets

Gunna wanted to spit on her palm and shake his hand, but was still suspicious. It seemed to have all been too easy.

‘Done. Can I have Snorri from next week?’

Gunna used the CID room. She could have gone back to Hvalvík as soon as Vilhjálmur had agreed to let her have both Snorri and a jeep, but she felt the need of the buzz of colleagues around her rather than Haddi’s dry chuckle from the next room.

‘Hvalvík police,’ she heard Haddi answer gruffly after a dozen rings.

‘Hi, it’s me. Are you all right without me for a few hours?’

‘Yeah. I reckon I can maintain law and order for a while. Are you busy with that bloke?’

‘Pretty much. CID have better things to do, so this is down to us.’

‘That’s all right. Tomorrow’s going to be busy, though.’

‘Why’s that?’ Gunna asked.

‘They’re bringing some low-loaders through to the smelter site so we’ll have to close a couple of streets and escort them through.’

‘Shouldn’t be a problem. D’you want the good news?’

‘No news is normally good news.’

‘We have Snorri from Monday and get a jeep in October.’

Gunna heard Haddi snort, which she recognized as a laugh of sorts. ‘And what did you have to do to persuade Vilhjálmur? Did you beat him round the head or just threaten the old fool?’

‘Didn’t have to do either. Just set out the case and explained how busy we are. But he did try and palm me off with Viggó Björgvins.’

‘But you got Snorri instead?’

‘So he says. But I’ll wait and see if it’s Viggó who turns up on Monday morning.’

‘If he does, I’ll be asking for a transfer,’ Haddi growled.

‘Me too,’ Gunna agreed. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you later.’

Rather than use Bjössi’s desk, she sat herself opposite his empty place in the chair that would belong to the station’s second CID officer — when recruitment and financial constraints might allow the post to be filled.

It took more than an hour on the computer to plough through the national register that lists the full name, date of birth and legal residence of every Icelandic citizen and foreign resident. She emerged from the E section with ten candidates for men with the initials EEE, of whom six could not be ruled out by their age. Encouraged, she plunged into the V section of the register, but found that VV was a very common set of initials and decided to concentrate on E3.

Referring to the list of names and dates of birth on the pad next to her, she clicked the mouse on the telephone directory and began with the first of the names. She added the phone numbers given to the list on her pad, pulled Bjössi’s phone across the desk towards her and dialled the first number.

‘Hello?’ a woman’s voice answered.

‘Good morning. This is Gunnhildur Gísladóttir at Hvalvík police. Could I speak to Eiríkur Emil Eiríksson?’

‘He’s not here,’ the voice answered sharply.

‘Could you tell me where I could find him?’

‘You’re not his. .’ There was a pause. ‘You’re not his bit on the side, are you?’ the voice continued with suppressed fury. ‘Because if you are-’

‘I’m an investigating officer with Hvalvík police and I assure you I’ve never met the man, but I’m trying to eliminate certain people from an inquiry. Can you tell me where I can find him? This is a serious matter.’

The voice on the line sighed. ‘He’s at sea as far as I know. But sometimes he doesn’t bother to come home when they’re ashore.’

‘And you’re his wife?’

‘I don’t know about that. I’m his kids’ mum at any rate.’

‘I see. I apologize, but I have to eliminate a series of people from an incident. Could you describe him for me? Height and hair colour?’

Gunna could hear the click of a lighter and a long exhalation.

‘Eiríkur’s about two metres, a bit over. Dark hair, going a bit bald at the back, big nose.’

‘In that case I don’t think I’ll have to trouble you any more as that doesn’t fit the description of the person we’re looking for. But can I have your name, please? It’s just in case I need to follow this up later.’

‘Aldís Gunnarsdóttir.’

‘And is that an Akureyri phone number?’

‘Dalvík.’

‘OK. Thank you for your help. I don’t expect we’ll need to trouble you any further.’

‘What’s he done?’ Aldís asked sharply.

‘Excuse me?’

‘What’s he done, the bloke you’re looking for? Eiríkur gets up to all sorts.’

‘Nothing as far as I know. It’s a missing person inquiry.’

‘Oh. Shame.’ The woman’s disappointment was palpable.

Gunna ended the call with relief, carefully noting names, numbers and the time of the call. She looked back at the list and dialled again.

‘Good morning. This is Gunnhildur Gísladóttir at Hvalvík police. Could I speak to Elmar Einar Ervík, please?’

It was long past midday when Gunna realized that she would have to be quick getting back to Hvalvík before the station closed its doors at six. But she consoled herself with a job well done that left only one name unaccounted for on the list she had started with. One person had not answered his home phone or the mobile number that the telephone company’s website listed. She reflected that this was nothing out of the ordinary, as the person could be out of the country, at sea, a meeting or simply asleep. Out of curiosity, she opened a search engine on the computer, typed in Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson and clicked the search box.

The personnel page of a company website was at the top of the list that appeared within seconds. Gunna followed the link to the site and scrolled down the list of staff to the name she was looking for. Some entries had a picture alongside the staff listing, but there was no picture of Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson, just the name and the mobile phone number she had already called unsuccessfully twice.

She scrolled back through the list until she found the company’s personnel manager. Gunna pulled the phone over and dialled again.

‘Good afternoon. Spearpoint,’ a soft voice purred.

‘Good afternoon. This is Gunnhildur Gísladóttir at Hvalvík police. I’m trying to contact Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson.’

27-08-2008, 2114

Skandalblogger writes:

So what’s going on here with the health service? We hear whispers from the inside that times are hard at the coalface of government and plans are being floated to open ‘areas of health provision’ to the ‘private sector’ as we’ve been told.

Excuse us? Isn’t this Iceland, not some tinpot banana republic run as the President’s personal bank account? Or is it? We’re supposed to be the pinnacle of well-being and happiness. So what’s gone wrong? Why is government floating these proposals in secret and coming over coy when anyone asks about it?

It seems uncomfortable to contemplate, but all the signs are there that the parts of the health service that actually produce a few quid for the state coffers are likely to be flogged off cheap to friends of the party, while the taxpayer continues to prop up the bits of it that aren’t profitable.

So let’s cast our minds back a year or two to when the guys at the top sold off our state-run telephone system to their golfing buddies. Now, wasn’t the rationale at the time that the proceeds would be used to give us, the Icelandic taxpayers, a second-to-none health service? In which case, did the fat guys in suits simply trouser the cash they got for the phone company, considering health is now in such a poor financial state that the only option is to privatize?

Flummoxed. .

Bæjó!

Thursday, 28 August

Gunna drove into Reykjavík late in the morning when the roads should have been fairly quiet, but still found herself caught up in a straggle of traffic crawling along main roads. In spite of the falling housing market and the jittery business environment that dominated the news, things seemed busy enough as the second-best Volvo swung on to Miklabraut and down towards the city centre. New buildings and cranes dotted the skyline.