Cold Comfort

“Can’t say. He said it was a while ago, though, a good few years.”

“Fair enough. What I could really do with knowing is if she worked alone, or if there’s someone fronting for her. This is something that’s becoming a real problem these days.”

“Since the law was changed, it’s certainly been driven even further underground,” Skúli agreed.

“Didn’t you interview some Eastern European woman last year about this?”

“Yup. Could have been a fantastic front page, but it was the same week that the banks went belly-up and I suppose there was bigger news and my story got buried near the back.”

“All right. Tell me what you can, then. D’you want a refill?”

“Yes please.”

“Get one for me at the same time, will you? I’m going to nip to the loo.”

Gunna returned to find Skúli sitting in front of two mugs and reading through his notes.

“That’s better. Now, where were we?”

“Svana Geirs,” Skúli replied, and sipped. “As far as I can see, there wasn’t anyone fronting for her business, if that’s what you can call it. The whisper is that there’s a little club who quietly shared her services. I don’t know how many there are, but she didn’t do what you might call freelance work, and I gather she was well paid enough by her group of ‘friends’ not to need to.”

“Hell, so this was an organized operation, then?”

“Absolutely. Very small and discreet, the most exclusive club in town.”

“And some exclusive members, I suppose?”

“Very much so. Not men who would welcome publicity.”

Giving in to temptation, Gunna put a lump of hard sugar between her teeth and filtered a mouthful of coffee through it.

“Don’t stare, Skúli,” she admonished.

“Sorry. I thought it was only old men who did that.”

“You’re sure?” the National Commissioner’s deputy asked. For a second Gunna looked at Ívar Laxdal’s knitted brows and wondered how this thickset barrel of a man managed to wear a hat as ridiculous as a beret and still radiate authority.

“I’m sure enough. Sure enough to warrant leaning hard on some of these people.”

“What sort of people?”

Gunna ticked them off on her fingers. “The regulars are two businessmen, one accountant and one MP.”

“Which party?” Ívar Laxdal demanded.

“Social Democrat.”

He snorted. “Wishy-washy liberal types. But they’re part of the government right now and therefore able to kick us where it hurts. And they’ll close ranks to protect their own,” he rumbled. “These politicians worry about their own skins first and the rest of us afterwards.”

“It’s probably best I didn’t hear you say that,” Gunna said quietly to remind him that politics and policing should stay separate.

“No coppers on that list?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“That’s something to be grateful for. But I suppose even a chief superintendent wouldn’t be taking home enough to get him into that sort of club,” he said, almost as if to himself. Gunna reflected that she hadn’t given him names and he hadn’t asked for them.

In the park behind the Hverfisgata police station they stood next to her son Gísli’s treasured elderly Range Rover. Gunna frequently reminded herself that one day she would have to buy a car of her own, reliable enough to commute in, and stop borrowing Gísli’s car while he was at sea. Gunna had deliberately waylaid Ívar Laxdal outside to preclude any chance of being overheard. He stood in thought, one hand clasped in the other, then spun round and glared at Gunna as if she had dropped a hand grenade into his lap.

“If this is mishandled, it could be a disaster. I’m warning you, Gunnhildur.”

“Warning me of what, precisely?” she asked with a shiver of trepidation and anger.

“I’m warning you that if this isn’t dealt with sensitively, it could blight a lot of people’s careers. Yours included,” he added.

“By ‘dealt with sensitively,’ just what are you trying to tell me? Not to look too hard in any particular direction?”

“Hell, no,” Ívar Laxdal thundered. “It’s a bloody disgrace. And don’t be so damned suspicious. I mean you’re going to have to keep this very discreet and be sure of your ground. You know what this country’s like. Just a whisper out of place and everyone knows. Shit always sticks and I don’t want to see it sticking to anyone without good reason. Understand? You included.”

“Thanks. That’s what I thought you meant. Just wanted to be sure.”

Ívar Laxdal deflated slightly and Gunna felt there was a ghost of a smile about him for once. Maybe the man could thaw out occasionally, and she wondered idly what kind of life he led out of uniform.

“In that case, you’d better get on with it. All right?”

“Understood. Er …”

“What? Anything else?”

“The usual,” Gunna sighed. “Manpower. There’s only three of us in the department. My superior officer is on long-term sick leave. We’re all working flat out as it is.”

“Who’s your chief inspector?”

“Örlygur Sveinsson.”

“That old woman …” Ívar Laxdal grumbled, smacking one fist into the other hand as he thought. “Leave it with me. Report to me on this. I’ll square things with Örlygur if he comes back.”