Frozen Assets

The group scattered, leaving Gunna and Snorri behind as they all hunched behind phones and computers or disappeared from the room.

‘What now, chief?’ Snorri asked.

Gunna thought. ‘I want to know where Matti Kristjáns is in all this. He was nowhere to be found yesterday, so you’d better be off to Reykjavík for the afternoon and see if you can track the old bastard down. Have a quick look at the taxi ranks and if he’s not there, get straight down to Nonni the Taxi’s place. Be as heavy as you like if they don’t cooperate.’

‘OK. I can do that.’

‘It’s getting on for one now, and there’s the briefing with Vilhjálmur Traustason at five, so hopefully I’ll have something for him by then. You’d better be off and see if you can find anything out before then.’

With everyone else busy, Gunna tapped a computer until it awoke from its sleep, typed ‘Clean Iceland’ into a search engine and waited impatiently for the machine to do her bidding.

A list of choices appeared, Gunna clicked on the most obvious one and instantly the website of the Clean Iceland Campaign emerged in front of her. She saw that it was largely in English and began to pick her way through the panels of information, starting with news. Here she scrolled down to the beginning of the year, quickly found a bulletin on Egill Grímsson’s death and read through a short biography of the man, detailing his commitment to the cause of opposing heavy industry in Iceland and his devotion to his family, alongside his dedication to his job as a schoolteacher in the grey Reykjavík suburb where he had lived for most of his forty-four years.

Gunna made a few notes, including that he had been one of the founders of the movement and had lobbied the Ministry of Environmental Affairs tirelessly, while being involved in an international campaign of protests outside Icelandic embassies across the developed world in cooperation with environmental groups abroad that formed a loose network across much of Europe, North America and some Asian countries.

She closed the window on the screen and sat back.

So, he was a bit of a firebrand on the quiet, was our Egill, she mused.

23

Sunday, 21 September

This time Matti Kristjáns wasn’t just worried — he was frightened. He ran the conversation with Hardy over in his mind as he packed those of his meagre possessions that he didn’t dare leave behind.

‘Meet me in an hour and we’ll talk it over,’ Hardy had said nonchalantly, too nonchalantly, Matti thought. Had it been a mistake to tell Hardy a little bird had whispered in his ear that the police were looking for him? Although no stranger to a little persuasion himself, Matti couldn’t forget Hardy’s coolness after having so effortlessly broken the wrist of the man in the farmhouse outside Borgarnes.

Rooting under his bed, he hauled out a seaman’s canvas kitbag and stuffed clothes unceremoniously into it, dirty clothes and clean going in together, and a sleeping bag on top of the lot. From the drawer in the bedside table he took a few papers, driving licence, health insurance card, passport and a couple of bank cards, all of which he stowed in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Sadly he surveyed the stack of glossy pornography peeking from under his bed. Antiques, some of these, he thought with a pang, recalling that the airbrushed nudes had been with him through plenty of tough times without a word of complaint.

Matti shoved the stack back under his bed and clicked the door shut on his way out. At the bottom of the stairs he paused and listened for the TV in the living room. A daytime soap meant that the old woman was in. In fact, she wasn’t older than Matti, but years of hard living had taken a grim toll.

‘Tóta! Going out for a bit,’ Matti called, hoping she wouldn’t hear him, but the door swung open and the heavy-set woman stood in the doorway leaning on the frame.

‘Going to be long?’ she demanded without taking the cigarette from her lips.

‘Day or two,’ Matti lied.

‘Paid up, are you?’

‘Yeah, I think so,’ he lied again as Tóta’s eyes narrowed, and he knew that she could smell something wrong. Set a thief to catch a thief, he thought bitterly.

‘Well, if you’re not sure how long you’re going to be, then I’d better have another month’s rent so’s I can be sure,’ she said in a sandpaper growl.

Matti knew when not to argue. He pulled a handful of notes from his trouser pocket and handed them over.

‘That’s all I’ve got right now. Nonni’s supposed to be paying out at the end of the month for the booking work and we’ll square up then if that’s OK.’

Tóta thumbed through the notes, counting under her breath.

‘All right. That’ll do for now,’ she said as her face broke into a gap-toothed smile. ‘I won’t rent your room out straight away, though I reckon I could put four Poles in there tomorrow if I wanted to. Tonight, even,’ she cackled, and promptly dissolved into a fit of coughing. Matti made his escape as Tóta’s face was beginning to go a colour he wasn’t comfortable with.