Quentin Bates - Cold Steal

Jóhann hung on for dear life, his arms wrapped around Helga Dís, pressing himself close to her as they shuddered and vibrated.

‘All right, are you?’ she yelled.

He could only nod his head in reply. His arms were still weak. Sitting on the back of the quad bike, he held on tight as the wheels transmitted every pothole and lump in the road straight through his spine to the back of his head. He sighed with relief as the bike finally hit the main road and he could see cars and signs of civilization around him.

Helga Dís seemed to drive more slowly on the better roads, but he decided that had to be an illusion. He recognized the hills, and with relief realized that Borgarnes was closer than he’d imagined. As they by-passed the cluster of shops and filling stations, the rain began to come down hard, drops bouncing off the visor of the helmet he had borrowed from Bjarni as they rolled into the town.

‘I’d better come in with you,’ Helga Dís said, looking behind her when they stopped outside the police station.

Jóhann dismounted stiffly and she helped him off with the helmet. Helga Dís carried both helmets in one hand and took his arm with the other, supporting him through the door. Jóhann was surprised and frustrated at how weak he was after his experience. He wanted to sit down but leaned instead against the reception desk.

‘Good morning, Unnur,’ Helga Dís greeted the officer manning the station. ‘I’ve brought someone to see you.’

Unnur took off her glasses and looked at them. ‘Good morning, Helga. You’re about early.’ She looked Jóhann up and down. ‘And who might you be?’ she asked.

‘My name is Jóhann Hjálmarsson and I believe you might be looking for me,’ he said with an effort.

‘Tell me about your relationship with Boris Vadluga.’

‘That was Vilhelm and Elvar,’ Sunna María said stiffly. ‘We were sleeping partners, Jóhann and I.’

‘But still partners. You were directors of Sólfell Investment. Mr Vadluga could hardly have been happy when his money went up in smoke.’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t get involved.’

‘You’re a director, so you’re involved. Not reading the small print doesn’t absolve you of any responsibility.’

‘Is this going to take long?’

‘It’ll take as long as it takes, and my colleague from financial crime would like to speak to you as well. Of course, you’re free to leave at any time,’ Gunna said, folding her arms, and Sunna María instantly scraped her chair back across the floor. ‘But then we might have to look at other options, and if you decline to co-operate it won’t reflect well when we find ourselves in court.’

‘When? You mean if.’

‘When,’ Gunna assured her. ‘Two people dead? If it doesn’t come to court, then something’s seriously wrong, I’d say.’ She laid the photocopy of the hook-nosed man’s driving licence on the table between them. ‘It’s a faked licence, naturally. I’d be interested to know this man’s real name.’

‘I have no idea. I told you that before and I’m getting tired of telling you this.’

‘You’re absolutely sure you’ve never seen this man?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Sunna María repeated. ‘I don’t know him.’

‘Now that’s odd,’ Gunna said softly. ‘This is the man I suspect may have abducted and possibly murdered your husband, and I have a witness who has seen him in your company. On one of those occasions under circumstances that would indicate you’re quite intimately acquainted with him.’

Sunna María opened her mouth and closed it again.

‘In that case, there has to be some mistake,’ she said finally. ‘It happens, I’m sure.’

‘He and another man were living at Kópavogsbakki fifty until recently.’

‘We have nothing to do with the letting. Óttar Sveinsson handles everything.’

‘Óttar told me you knew this man. How do you explain that? And how come the basement of Kópavogsbakki fifty had been painted? Surely that’s the letting agent’s job, but Óttar said he had no idea that the place had been painted.’

Sunna María’s face twisted into something that was a long way from a smile but was clearly supposed to be one.

‘You’ll have to ask the tenant that, won’t you?’

The squad car emerged into the daylight and Unnur Matthíasdóttir brought it to a halt in the lay-by outside the Hvalfjördur Tunnel’s southern exit. Reykjavík could be seen dimly in the distance across the bay beneath scudding spring clouds. She got out of the car and went round to open the door for Jóhann, helping him out as Eiríkur hurried across from his own car.

‘Jóhann? Eiríkur Thór Jónsson from CID,’ he said. ‘You have no idea how pleased I am to see you in one piece.’

‘Thank you,’ Jóhann said with tears in his eyes, bewildered by the attention he was getting. ‘I’d just like a lift home, if you don’t mind.’

Eiríkur helped him into the Polo and shut the door. He saw Jóhann huddle into his borrowed coat and reach forward to turn up the heater.

‘What’s the story?’

‘To be honest, I don’t know. The lady who brought him in has her sheep and horses miles up in the highlands at a place called Geirsmörk,’ Unnur said. ‘She and her father had been up there for a few days and they stumbled across this guy in the road the night before last; they took him back to the chalet they have up there and warmed him up. She said he was too weak to be moved yesterday. It seems he was at a place called Vatnsendi, which has been abandoned for at least fifty years. How he got up there, who knows?’

‘How is he?’

‘He’s very weak. I wanted to take him to hospital, but he wouldn’t hear of it and wanted to go straight home. We had already had an alert about this man, so I called and here you are.’

‘Thanks. We’d more or less written him off.’

‘Did he walk out, or what?’

‘It seems he was abducted. Hopefully he can tell us how he managed to get to somewhere that far up country. Have you asked him any questions?’

‘Only to make sure he was feeling all right and wasn’t going to have a seizure on the way. So now he’s all yours,’ Unnur said with a bright smile.

‘Thank you,’ Eiríkur said. ‘I’d best get him to Reykjavík and we’ll see if we can work out what happened to him.’

‘Are you telling me my wife may have had something to do with this?’

Jóhann’s eyes were wide. Anger and surprise made his voice lift in pitch. Gunna could see that both of his hands trembled. A drip had been put into one arm below where the borrowed shirt that was several sizes too big for him had been rolled up high above a skinny forearm.

‘We don’t know, but for the moment I really don’t want anyone to know that you’re alive and well.’

‘I see,’ he said, subsiding thoughtfully. ‘What’s today? Thursday? Is it almost a week?’

‘What happened last Friday morning? Tell me every detail you can remember.’

His brows knitted. ‘It’s hazy,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been trying for days to remember everything.’

‘It’s important,’ Gunna reminded him.

‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ he shot back in irritation. ‘I had a message asking for a meeting at the old Sólfell offices at twelve.’

‘How? Email or text?’

‘Email, I think. I’d have to check my computer. But it was no problem, so I got a taxi up there.’

‘That fits. I traced you that far. Who were you going to meet?’

‘So I went up to the office on the eighth floor. I can’t remember. It might have been Óttar or one of the property managers.’

‘Óttar Sveinsson?’

‘Yes. His company leases our property and Sólfell also rented its offices through him. But I can’t be sure. It might have been one of his staff. So when I got there the place was open and there was someone there I didn’t recognize, but he said his name was Boris.’