Thin Ice: An Inspector Gunna Mystery (Gunnhildur Mystery Book 5) (8 page)

‘I think you could be right.’

Magni lifted the hand that had been behind his back.

‘How’s this?’

Tinna Lind’s face broke into a slow grin as he placed the bottle on the table and produced a couple of glasses from behind his back.

‘And where did you get that from?’

‘The bar’s empty, so I thought I’d have a snoop around. Found this in the manager’s office at the back of the filing cabinet.’

He glugged two fingers of whisky into each glass and offered her one. Tinna Lind put the glass to her nose and breathed deep.

‘A pretty decent single malt,’ she said.

‘Yep. Good, isn’t it?’ Magni raised his glass and admired the deep amber tone of the fluid. ‘Cheers.’

They clinked glasses and settled back on the sofa.

‘What do you do when you’re not running round the country with a bunch of criminals?’ he asked.

Tinna Lind giggled. ‘I don’t make a habit of this.’

‘You a student, or what?’

‘Do I look like a student?’

‘Hell, I don’t know. The combat trousers and the weird hair make you look like a student to me.’

Tinna Lind sighed. ‘Well, I guess you’re right. I’m a sort of student at the moment.’

‘Which means what?’

She sipped, holding the whisky in her mouth and letting it roll over her tongue.

‘It means I’m a student as far as university and my parents are concerned, but in reality I don’t do a lot.’

‘No job?’

‘Not really.’

‘So how do you earn a few shekels to keep yourself in clothes and whatnot?’

‘A bit of this and a bit of that.’

‘Which means what?’ he asked, topping up both glasses and then reaching behind the sofa to drop the bottle out of sight. He left his arm draped along the back of the sofa.

‘Hiding the booze, are you?’

‘Fuck, yeah. If Össur knew it was there he’d neck the lot in two seconds flat. Haven’t you seen him start to get the shakes yet?’

‘No. Does he get it bad?’

‘Yeah. Tomorrow night, I reckon.’

‘So, tell me about yourself,’ Tinna Lind said, cradling her glass in her hands and leaning slightly into the arm that had dropped casually off the sofa onto her shoulders.

‘Me? You know all about me already.’

‘No wife, no family?’

‘Not at the moment.’

‘But there was?’

‘Two so far,’ Magni said, and looked up at the ceiling. Something creaked overhead. ‘Someone creeping about?’

‘Might be the old lady going to the toilet.’

Tinna Lind leaned into Magni’s side and rested her head on his shoulder.

‘So what do you do to keep yourself busy? A lady of leisure?’

She gurgled with laughter. ‘I worked for a travel agent for a couple of summers while I was a student and now I do some waitressing at Borgarkaffi. That’s about it at the moment.’

‘I’ll come and have a meal at Borgarkaffi one day and be waited on hand and foot.’

‘Not after some kind of special service are you?’

‘Depends what you mean by special service, doesn’t it?’

‘Play your cards right, big man, and we’ll see,’ she said in a husky voice and huddled deeper into the crook of Magni’s arm.

Ívar Laxdal was in the car park about to disappear into the dark recesses of his Volvo when Gunna parked the unmarked Golf next to him.

‘Finished for the day?’

‘I am, and so should you be,’ he replied. ‘What’s the story with your disappeared women?’

‘No sign of them,’ Gunna said, shutting the car door and shivering in the cold wind. ‘I have alerts out all over the country, checked flights, passed the word to the taxi companies for their drivers to look out for Erna Björg Brandsen’s car, and I’ve had patrols scour the roads around Thingvellir and beyond in case they’ve just broken down somewhere or are stuck in a ditch.’

‘Everything short of a full-scale search, you mean?’

‘Yep, ads on TV and radio, and a missing persons announcement on Facebook.’

Gunna nodded and zipped up her coat. She looked upwards at the low cloud that appeared to be lurking just beyond rooftop height.

‘I’d have an air search if I could.’

‘Not in this visibility, I’m afraid.’

‘And I’m not convinced by the Thingvellir location,’ she said and watched Ívar Laxdal think over her remark.

‘Really?’

‘It’s too neat. I get the feeling we might be being lead astray. My feeling is to concentrate on the family for the moment.’

‘Something close to home?’ Ívar Laxdal asked. ‘Domestic violence, possibly?’

‘I’m not sure. I need to push the husband a little harder, and I’m meeting another of Erna’s acquaintances in the morning, as well as some of the daughter’s friends. I need to get a better picture of them and their relationship. If there’s nothing that rings alarm bells, then I’ll be more inclined to look harder up-country.’

Ívar Laxdal rolled his shoulders, lifting his collar higher around his neck as he settled deeper into his coat.

‘Up to you, Gunnhildur. I’ll leave it to your discretion,’ he said, getting into his car. ‘Let me know tomorrow, will you?’

She shivered and had to force her teeth to stop chattering with fear. Every step was an ordeal. The floor creaked and she tried to step as slowly and lightly as possible, placing her feet toes first, then heel, then moving her weight forward as gradually as she could. She could hear the indistinct burble of noise from the television in the room and a band of light slashed across the wall at the end of the corridor.

Erna inched closer, fists clenched, breath held as long as she could as she took each step, exhaling and taking a few deep, slow breaths before taking the next step. The television became louder the closer she got to the half-open door. Finally close enough to peer inside, she fought back the urge to walk smartly back down the corridor to the room she had taken as hers and bury herself under the duvet. Erna told herself that whatever happened, sooner or later she would have to confront these men and make sure that something happened, while Tinna Lind seemed happy enough to go with the flow, apparently unafraid of the two thugs. The beefy young man with the muscles and the reddish hair was all right, she had decided, probably a decent enough lad and not too proud to make himself busy in the kitchen. But the skinny man with the eyes that never stayed still was another matter. There was something about him that sent shivers of fear coursing up and down her spine every time he opened his mouth. He was a man with no values and no morals other than making a quick buck and unconcerned at whatever the cost might be to anyone else.

She eased her head around the door frame and looked inside, then breathed a sigh of relief. The television was blaring out some foreign music programme in a language she didn’t recognize, with pneumatic young women bouncing to a band playing some smooth seventies-style rock, punctuated by squealing guitar solos. Össur was spreadeagled across the bed, his chin pointing at the ceiling. She could see the grey stubble sprouting on his chin and the top of an old, blurred tattoo that snaked up past the neckline of his grubby shirt and into the hair behind one ear.

She stood for a moment, transfixed at the sight of the man, then reached slowly behind to pluck the knife she had lifted from the kitchen from the waistband of her trousers. It scared her. The young man had sharpened it with slow, easy strokes on the steel until it was sharp enough to carve meat with virtually no effort, and she imagined it plunging into the skinny man’s neck.

Erna leaned forward and lifted the knife, then gasped as one angry eye opened and glared at her. Össur’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. The other hand snatched a handful of hair close to the scalp and hauled her face to within an inch of his, eyes smouldering with fury.

‘Going to give me a surprise, were you?’ he hissed, and the stench of his breath made her want to retch. The hand buried deep in her hair held her head secure so that she was unable to move away; she didn’t dare close her eyes. The other hand was firmly around her wrist, keeping it locked as he forced her arm behind her until she could feel the point of the knife pricking her back.

‘Please . . .’

‘Please, what, you fucking evil bitch? You were going to stab me, weren’t you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘What, then? You don’t carry a blade unless you’re going to use it.’

The little man’s sheer strength took her by surprise. She had not imagined that someone so thin and small would be able to exert such a powerful grip and she could feel her wrist going numb. At the same time, she was bent over him where he lay on the bed, her nose almost touching his.

‘Or after something else, were you?’

‘No, not at all. Definitely not.’

‘Drop the blade. Throw it on the floor. So I can hear it fall.’

‘I can’t,’ Erna gasped. ‘You’re holding my hand too tight.’

His grip relaxed for a moment. She let the knife clatter to the floor by the bed and Össur jerked her head forward, hauling her bodily onto the bed on top of him.

‘That’s what you need, is it?’ he mocked. ‘You didn’t want to do me any harm, did you? Just wanted a man for a bit of fun, didn’t you?’

‘No, absolutely not. Not in a million years!’

Erna writhed and one knee caught Össur sharply inside the thigh, making him hiss with pain.

‘You’re nasty bitch, you are,’ he winced, sitting upright and pushing her away as he did so, but still holding onto the handful of hair so hard that tears began to blind her.

‘Let me go, please. I didn’t mean it.’

‘Didn’t mean it? Came in here with a blade and you didn’t mean it?’

‘I . . . I just wanted to talk, and you scare me. That’s why I brought the knife.’

‘Like fuck you did,’ he hissed, and dropped her wrist, lifting his hand to deliver a slap across her face that made her shriek.

Gísli looked flustered as he let Gunna in. His clothes were spattered with paint and there was a streak of blue in his hair.

‘
Hæ
, Mum. What brings you this way?’

Kjartan Gíslason wailed from the next room and Gunna could hear Drífa cooing to him.

‘Simple enough. I’m on the way home and I have to drive right past, so it seemed a good idea to see my grandson. All right, is he?’

‘Yeah, he’s fine. Drífa was just feeding him and he doesn’t want to burp.’ There were pots of paint on the kitchen table and brushes were soaking in a jar in the sink. ‘The living room’s painted, so when it’s dry and I’ve been round the edges, we can move downstairs while I smarten up the rooms upstairs.’

‘You don’t know how long you have the place?’

Gísli shrugged. ‘Haven’t a clue. Old Bryngeir said we could stay as long as we wanted it.’

‘Fair enough. You’re not tempted to buy it?’

‘I would be if it was for sale, but I’m not sure it is, and anyway, we couldn’t afford it right now. The only thing that worries me is if Bryngeir pops off. I’m sure his children would have the place on the market before he’s even cold.’

Gunna nodded and poured herself a coffee. ‘And is he on his last legs?’

‘Not as far as I can see. He was here this afternoon and he seemed lively enough.’

‘Think about it in the new year when you’re back at sea. You’d get the loans easily enough, wouldn’t you?’

‘Well, yeah,’ Gísli said, his mind elsewhere and a thumbnail rasping the stubble along the line of his jaw. ‘At the moment I’m just happy to be renting something that isn’t breaking the bank. It’s a nightmare out there, you know, Mum. It really is.’

‘Spoken to Soffía recently?’ Gunna asked, dropping her voice.

‘Yesterday. Why? Have you?’

‘I have. She’s worried.’

‘About what? Maintenance? Come on, I’m looking after my end of things and she can’t complain I’m not having Ari as often as I can, but it’s not easy.’ His chin lifted and his eyes went to the ceiling and the sound of Drífa’s footsteps pacing back and forth. ‘It’s sensitive. You know?’

‘I know. Of course it’s sensitive.’

‘So what, then?’

Gunna took a breath. ‘Soffía has applied to do a master’s degree in Sweden. She’s concerned that you might not agree to her taking Ari out of the country.’

Gísli shook his head. ‘For crying out loud, Mum. Why would I object?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘If she was talking about moving to Argentina permanently, then I might have something to say about it. But a year or two in Sweden’s not going to hurt anyone, and I guess she’d be running back and forth anyway.’

Gunna patted Gísli’s hand. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart. That’s what I told her as well.’

‘So what’s she worried about?’ Gísli’s voice had risen and Gunna noticed that the sound of Drífa’s footsteps upstairs had stopped. ‘That I’ll bite her head off and stop her taking the boy to Sweden because she threw me over?’

‘With reason, maybe? And calm down, I’m just delivering a message.’

‘She can speak to me herself, can’t she? Shit!’ Gísli swore and shook his head. ‘We were together for three years and now it’s like I’m some kind of stranger.’

‘You’re not the same person you were during those three years any more than Soffía is. You’re not the easy-going character you used to be, you know.’

‘I know,’ Gísli admitted, deflating, his shoulders slumping. ‘Tell her it’s fine by me, and she can speak to me about more than just who’s picking Ari up and when.’

‘No, Gísli,’ Gunna said, squeezing his hand. ‘You tell her.’

Tinna Lind’s lips parted and presented themselves for a kiss. Her hand had already curled under Magni’s shirt and he had half lifted her to lie across his lap. Magni felt his excitement growing and knew that she had to be feeling the bulge in his trousers, which he was confident wouldn’t disappoint her. Their lips touched; she pulled back for a second and then lifted her head, seeking him out. Her tongue explored his lips just as the shriek from upstairs pulled them from each other.

‘What the fuck . . .?’

Magni was on his feet in a second and pounding up the stairs. Tinna Lind was close behind as Magni shoved the door aside and glared at Össur sitting calmly on the bed, cleaning under his fingernails with the razor-sharp kitchen knife. Erna was huddled on the floor, her back to the wall and her face streaked with tears. A red wheal covered half of her face.