Frozen Assets

‘Wherever. But that’s all the mystery there is. Look, the internet and the blog world are full of all kinds of conspiracy theories and lunatic ideas. It’s not a great source for a journalist from a serious newspaper to be using for research.’

Well, meow, Dagga thought. ‘And Skandalblogger’s comment that he was ‘‘very much one of us’’? He was a Spearpoint employee, wasn’t he?’ she asked, imagining that she could hear the enamel on Sigurjóna’s perfect teeth being ground to dust.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sigurjóna said, barely controlling the urge to let fly. ‘That’s something that has already been commented on, and out of respect for Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson’s family I would prefer not to comment further. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.’

Dagga picked up her recorder and they both stood up. Sigurjóna came around the desk, fury gone, smiling again.

‘Thank you so much. By the way, are you happy at Dagurinn? Hm? You know, I started at the ground floor in journalism as well, and it’s a great way to begin.’

‘I know.’

‘Of course, I can see you’ve done more research than you wanted to let on. Let me know when you feel like moving on from Dagurinn, won’t you?’ Sigurjóna added archly, shaking Dagga’s hand. ‘And you’ll send me a draft of your article? Just to check. I’m sure you understand.’

It was only when Spearpoint’s door closed behind her that Dagga checked her recorder and saw with relief that it was still running.

Gunna looked the old house up and down. With three storeys clad in corrugated iron and perched on a concrete basement, it was typical for the area, which was gradually becoming fashionable once again. Doubtless it would be sold sooner or later to an entrepreneur who would tear it down and replace it or else fill the old house with pine and dimmed lights.

But today Gunna was interested in the list of names on the array of doorbells and doubted that any of them would work. One of the fading slips of paper had been altered in the not too distant past, with the occupant’s real name scratched out and ‘Ugly Tóta’ scrawled across instead.

Gunna guessed that the flat the bell belonged to would be in the upper part of the house. She pressed the button, heard nothing and shoved the door, which, unsurprisingly when she saw the smashed lock hanging by a single screw, opened in front of her.

The stairs were dark and the first landing showed her a row of closed doors, but when she heard the sound of a television from behind the first one, she rapped at it. She heard the springs of a sofa complain inside and shuffling feet approach. The door opened and Gunna recognized Tóta immediately.

‘What?’ Tóta demanded, smoke from the stub of cigarette between her lips curling past half-closed eyes.

‘Good morning, Tóta. I’m sure you remember me. This is what you might call a friendly visit.’

‘Since when have coppers been friendly’s what I want to know?’

‘Well, you were happy enough every time we carted that lad of yours off to cool down in the cells.’

‘Yeah, well. He was a bit high-spirited when he was younger, my Pesi was. Anyway, what does the law want round here?’

Gunna looked over Tóta’s shoulder at the dingy room behind her, curtains drawn to keep out summer sun, and a large flatscreen TV gabbling to itself in the corner, the only new thing in the room. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in, then?’

Tóta shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

Tóta settled herself back in the corner of the sofa that fitted her snugly and finally took the cigarette from between her lips. ‘This can’t be anything that serious, otherwise there’d be two of you,’ she growled.

‘Like I said, just a friendly visit. I’m looking for Matti Kristjáns. I understand he’s living here at the moment.’

‘Yeah, Fatso lives here.’

‘And where is he now?’

Tóta shrugged and lit another cigarette from the glowing stub of the first. ‘Dunno. He went out.’

‘When?’

Another shrug. ‘Yesterday, maybe?’

‘Was it or wasn’t it?’

‘Dunno. Can’t be sure.’

Gunna took a deep breath and counted to ten. ‘So, Tóta, has your bloke still got his little hobby going in the cellar, or has he given that up?’

Tóta looked away from the TV for the first time and glowered.

‘You’re not going to make trouble for an old man, are you? What difference does a bottle of moonshine here and there make?’

‘Hard to say. I might not look too closely here and there. Depends how helpful you are. Where’s Matti?’

‘Dunno. He went out yesterday. Paid his rent and was gone. That’s all.’

‘All right. So now you’re sure it was yesterday. Early? Afternoon? Evening?’

‘Morning,’ Tóta said. ‘Morning-ish. I don’t know.’

‘Any idea where he went?’

Tóta didn’t even shrug, just spread her hands wide. Gunna levered herself thankfully from the chair.

‘Right. I need to see his room.’

‘Upstairs.’ Tóta pointed vaguely towards the door.

‘Show me.’