Chilled To The Bone Part 11

He chewed his lip and wondered where the car was going. He was certain it was the same woman. The hair was different, cut very short and made spiky by the moisture and steam, but she looked so familiar. That figure was the same, with those heavy b.r.e.a.s.t.s that he'd last seen encased in electric-blue PVC. He told himself bitterly that he had seen more of them through the blasted woman's demure swimsuit than he had during the session at the Arctic Hotel that had cost him so dear. On top of that, her listing was still there on personal.is.

From under the lids of half-closed eyes he had watched her relax in the hot tub, concentrating on the face alone, certain that the strong jawline and narrow, slightly kinked nose in a long but shapely face belonged to the same woman. Watching the car from a distance and with time to think, his blood boiled with anger at the humiliation, as well as the fact that she had bled his account dry. Taking deep breaths and telling himself to be calm and maintain a steady speed as the red car pa.s.sed through Mosfellsbaer without stopping, he reminded himself that the b.i.t.c.h had at least kept her word. She had skinned his credit and debit cards, but had only used them once, plus he had been released from his bonds exactly when she had said he would be. That didn't detract from the fact that he'd had to borrow money for the first time in years to tide himself over that month.

Where was the red car going? he wondered. All the way to Akranes, maybe? Or further? He looked at the fuel gauge and was relieved to see he had more than half a tank. With the last of the Mosfellsbaer roundabouts behind it, the red car picked up speed along the quiet road.

Agnes was painting when he came in. She sat at her easel in the wide-open living room with an absorbed look on her face, a fine brush crosswise in her mouth and another in her hand as she concentrated every ounce of her attention on the small canvas in front of her. Joel Ingi wondered what the abstract image was supposed to be as she etched a swooping line in aquamarine across half of the canvas.

'Is it a bird?' he guessed.

'Nope,' Agnes replied distractedly. 'Not sure yet.'

He admired her dedication, wis.h.i.+ng he could do the same. The tiny pink point of her tongue protruded between her lips as she took the broader brush from her mouth and worked at a patch in a corner of the painting, lightening the tone. A wisp of her pale blonde hair had escaped from the band around her head and she absently pushed it out of her eyes, her otherwise clear forehead furrowed in concentration.

'I'm going for a shower,' he said, slipping off his jacket and loosening his tie. 'Coming?' he asked hopefully.

Agnes had her eyes focused on the inexplicable painting. 'Hmm?'

'Nothing,' he said, turning and making for the bathroom as Agnes's phone tinkled in the pocket of her artist's smock.

His phone rang in the breast pocket of his jacket. A traditional sort of man, he had set the ring tone to sound like the bell of an old-fas.h.i.+oned phone, the kind with the rotary dial that nowadays you only see in junk shops.

'Haraldur,' he greeted the unknown caller with a warm voice.

'Good day to you, Halli. I hope you're keeping well.'

'Fine, thanks. Sorry, but who is this?'

There was a chuckle from the other end and Haraldur was irritated. It had been a busy day and he had no time to play games.

'Look, should I know you?' he asked sharply, abandoning his urbane voice.

'No. But I know you. My name's Jon and I'm investigating an incident connected to your stay at the Harbourside Hotel recently.'

Haraldur suddenly felt faint and looked around for somewhere to sit. Fortunately he was alone in the office and let himself sink into the comfortable chair he kept to put customers at ease.

'Still there, are you, Halli?'

'I'm not sure I can help you.'

'I'm sure you can.'

'Is this some kind of a joke?' he asked, angry now that he had started to collect his thoughts.

'Oh, no. Far from it. The lady you met at the Harbourside. The one who started off blonde and then wasn't. I'm looking for her, and I'm surprised you aren't as well, Halli. I'm after a name,' the voice said. 'To start with.'

'Who the h.e.l.l are you?'

'Hey, calm down, Halli. It's all right. A little information and everything will be fine.'

'I don't have time for this,' he said abruptly.

'Really?' the voice drawled. 'Because if you don't, then the lovely Svava might. I'm sure she'll be interested to know what you were up to at the Harbourside, wouldn't she?'

Halli felt faint a second time. He had tried to put the incident out of his mind and he'd almost succeeded.

'Her name's Sonja,' he said weakly. 'That's all I know.'

'How much did the b.i.t.c.h sting you for, then?'

'About half a million.'

'In cash? She emptied your account, I suppose?'

'Look, I really don't want to talk about this.'

'But I do, Halli, I do. And if you don't, then I'll ask Svava if she can give me copies of your bank statements. I suppose you have a joint account, don't you?'

'Yes,' Haraldur said faintly, understanding that the man with the harsh voice held all the cards, and deciding that Jon was probably no more his name than that woman's name was Sonja.

'All right. Now, answers. She calls herself Sonja. How did you meet her?'

'Through an ad on the internet.'

'Where?'

'Personal.is.'

'Which is what?'

Haraldur looked round as the door opened and frantically waved the secretary out of the room as the door rapidly closed again.

'It's a site for people to meet. You can look at it yourself, can't you?'

'I most certainly will. Now, this Sonja. Age?'

Haraldur floundered. 'I don't know. Around thirty, maybe.'

'Height, weight?'

'Tall. One-eighty, something like that. Weight? I have no idea.'

'OK. Skinny? Fat? Big t.i.ts or small?'

'Er . . . medium I guess. Around medium.'

'Eyes?'

'Green, I think.'

'Yeah,' the voice chuckled. 'I guess you had other things than her eyes on your mind, didn't you, Halli? Listen, I appreciate your help. If I find her and it all goes well, then you won't hear from me again, and neither will Svava. All right?'

'Please. Leave my wife out of this,' Halli said, trying to stop himself from pleading.

'G'bye, Halli. And not a word to anyone, anyone at all. Understood?' the voice said sharply and the call ended, leaving Haraldur sitting in the office chair with his s.h.i.+rt sticking to the sweat that had collected on his back.

Hekla stole an occasional look in the mirror. There were cars overtaking her at intervals, and there was always a car somewhere in the distance behind her, but too far for her tell if it was the same one. Surely anyone following her would have wanted to stay closer? She regretted not having taken a more roundabout route through Grafarvogur after leaving the swimming pool, taking a few twists and turns that would at least have given her an idea if she were being followed, but such was her hurry that the thought hadn't crossed her mind until it was too late.

She struggled to remember the man with the pale eyes. It had been a good while ago that she had met him at some hotel in Reykjavik; she wasn't sure which one. He seemed a decent enough old boy and she had almost not wanted to take his money, but times had been hard and still were, and the man's cash had paid for the car to be fixed and insured, as well as covering the month's rent. Halfdan? Hermann? She struggled to remember the name, although she recalled clearly enough the vaguely sad, pale-blue eyes in the heavy face, and the look of disappointment rather than anger when he realized he was being robbed, even though she had been considerate enough to get him off before leaving him to wait it out.

As she approached the little settlement at Kjalarnes, she was a.s.sailed by doubt. How long had that grey car been following her, had it been behind her all the way? She thought back frantically and decided that it had been behind her in the distance all the way from Mosfellsbaer; she told herself it had to be someone on the way to Akranes, or maybe further. Someone from out of town, she told herself, slowing the car and noticing that the car behind did the same, allowing a van to overtake, whose driver was pus.h.i.+ng it to the limits of what could be considered safe on the slippery winter roads.

She stopped to turn left and the van hurtled past, spraying slush over the red car's windscreen as it pa.s.sed. Hekla fumbled for the wipers to clear it, hoping to see the grey car follow the van, but instead she saw that it was still some way off and clearly moving slowly. She crossed the road, and rather than driving straight through the village to the house she rented on the far side, she pulled into the petrol station beside the first pump. Hekla took her time pumping fuel, hoping to give the grey car a chance to drive past, but with the tank full and only a truck having gone past, her heart sank. It had to be him, Hermann or Halfdan or Heimir or whatever the d.a.m.ned man's name was something that began with an H.

He sat in the car at the side of the road, spots of cold rain pattering on the roof as he wondered what to do. Should he follow the woman he believed was called Sonja and confront her when the opportunity arose? Or should he simply follow her discreetly, find out where she was going and then retire and think again? He stared through the windscreen at the grey landscape, the mountains obscured by cloud and the sea to the left a monochrome ma.s.s blending seamlessly with the sky.

Finally he put the car into gear and started moving as a truck roared past, its horn blaring a warning as it hurtled northwards, throwing a spray of ice and water up behind its rear wheels. He cruised towards Kjalarnes and as he signalled and pulled into the middle of the road to turn left, he could see the red car at the petrol station. His hands trembling and sweaty with nerves on the wheel, he cruised past as slowly as he dared, but the red car's driver was nowhere to be seen. He stopped and looked at the old Toyota, the red paint on its wings flaking into rust spots, and quickly wrote down the registration number on the back of his hand before sedately driving away.

Hekla emerged from the petrol station's shop, having lingered there as long as she could, visiting the toilets and spending as long as she dared looking at the magazines on the racks before paying for her fuel, all the while darting glances out of the window to see if the grey car, or the grey man with the pale eyes, was anywhere in sight. She emerged nervously, looking about her and hoping there had been nothing at all to worry about. There was nothing but the wind whipping spray off the sea, giving the air a piercing tang of seaweed and a freshness that made her eyes smart.

Relieved, but still worried, Hekla drove slowly down the hill, reminding herself that she ought to collect the children from their friend's house and next Sat.u.r.day morning she would have to return the favour and have a house full of toddlers for a couple of hours.

He liked the cafe by the harbour with its down-to-earth feel, but Hinrik clearly felt uncomfortable there, which was precisely why Baddo had wanted to meet in unfamiliar surroundings.

'I used to love this place before I went away. There was always someone I knew in here.'

'Yeah. There's always a clientele hanging around here,' Hinrik agreed.

'Why do you say that?'

'Just over that way, there's a hostel for junkies and p.i.s.sheads. If you want to sell any gear, that's the place. Want a dirty job done? Cash in hand, no questions.'

'Oh, right. I had no idea.'

'Things have changed while you've been away, Baddo.' Hinrik smiled, sipped and grimaced at the stale coffee. 'What's this s.h.i.+t?'

'For f.u.c.k's sake, Hinrik. It's coffee. Don't be so d.a.m.ned fussy,' Baddo scolded, and raised his voice to call across to the raw-boned woman behind the counter. 'Hey, Sina, sweetheart. Any fresh coffee over there for my picky friend?'

The woman looked over and chewed her lip at the sight of Hinrik in his leather coat pouring the contents of his coffee mug out of the window and quickly closing it again.

'There's fresh here if he wants to come and get it.'

'You don't do table service?' Hinrik asked, flas.h.i.+ng her a smile.

Sina glared back at him. 'Depends who it is.'

'For crying out loud,' Baddo swore, fetching Hinrik a fresh mug himself and banging it down in front of him so that it slopped onto the table.

'h.e.l.l. Why did you want to meet in this dump?'

'Because at this time of day it's quiet. That's why. Are you keeping tabs on me, or what?'

'Baddo, old friend,' Hinrik said, sitting back and smiling unconvincingly. 'Of course I'm keeping tabs on you. What do you expect? I've paid you a wedge of cash to do a job that I've been contracted to sort out by someone I'd like to keep on the right side of. Wouldn't you?'

Disarmed by Hinrik's honesty, Baddo had to agree.

'Yeah. Well, what is it you wanted to know, anyway?'

'Just a progress report. That'll do.'

'Calls herself Sonja. Operates here and there at the better hotels, including that smart place up there,' he said, jerking a thumb towards the harbour and the smart district above the slipways that had appeared during his years away.

'How did you find that out?'

'You don't really want to know, do you?'

'Probably not,' Hinrik agreed. 'Probably best if I don't know. What else?'

'I'm getting there. I'll have more for you tomorrow. But if there's no time to meet you, it'll be because I'm on top of this,' Baddo said, tapping the table with a forefinger and leaning forward. 'Listen. If your client, whoever he is, wants this done quickly and quietly, why doesn't he tell me what he knows so I can get it done a bit faster?'

'Discretion, Baddo, old friend,' Hinrik said. 'I told you, this is delicate stuff. I'm the only one who knows who this person is, and that's the way it has to stay, so there was no opportunity to pa.s.s details to you.'

'You mean someone was skinned by this b.i.t.c.h, doesn't want anyone to know and is out for revenge?'

'Never you mind, Baddo. Never you mind. Just come up with a name and an address, and you won't need to worry your sweet head about it any more. We'll see to the rest.'

Even Baddo felt a chill at the lopsided leer of a smile that revealed how Hinrik's row of broken teeth had been patched with a single gold replacement.

'This might be of some interest to you,' ivar Laxdal said, handing Gunna a folded printout.

He had been on his way down the back stairs at the central police station at Hverfisgata and Gunna had been on her way up. She wondered if he had known she was there; the man's uncanny ability to head people off at the pa.s.s when they would have preferred to avoid him was well known. She wondered idly if he had a crystal ball secreted in one of his office filing cabinets, and if so, could she put in a request for one as well? But instead of saying so, she skimmed through the sheet of paper.

'Links to your case, doesn't it?'

'You mean the Gullfoss Hotel thing? Yes. When did this come in?' she asked, wondering just how carefully ivar Laxdal was following what should be a fairly mundane investigation.

'An hour ago. A young woman called in tears and wanted to report this fellow missing. It's early days. It's only yesterday since she saw him last, so there's a uniform around there now taking a statement. Just so you know,' he said, continuing downwards and giving the impression that the conversation had taken place without his having stopped at all on the way to the ground floor.

Gunna read Magnus Johann Sigmarsson's name and her heart sank.

It was an evening session and the place was full. Normally Joel Ingi preferred to train in the mornings before work, but the business with Hinrik had derailed his usual schedule. He had spent half the afternoon at home as Agnes daubed at her inexplicable canvas and he lounged with his iPod in his ears, ignoring the music as he ran events back and forth in his mind.

When Agnes finally stood up, smiled and announced that she had finished painting, he looked at the canvas, shook his head in incomprehension and decided to go to the gym for an hour.

The look on her face spoke volumes in terms of disapproval.

'I'll pick up a takeaway on the way back. Thai or Chinese?'

'Thai,' Agnes instructed, hauling the smock over her head and dropping it by the bedroom door.