Frozen Assets

‘Some bastard’s stolen my truck,’ Ágúst Vilmundsson announced bitterly, as if the day hadn’t been miserable enough already.

Sightings of Hårde trickled in, with each report filled and passed over to Gunna’s team. By late morning they had chased up a dozen leads, liaising with police in Reykjavík to coordinate inquiries in and around the city.

‘No, that’s perfectly all right. Thank you for your help.’ Gunna heard Snorri finishing a call and swearing under his breath the moment the receiver was on the hook.

‘What was that?’ she asked as Snorri scrawled ‘No further action’ across the report sheet in big letters.

‘Ach, you know how it is when there’s an appeal on the TV. That was an elderly lady in Húsavík. It seems there’s a Polish fishworker living in the flat above her who she thinks might be Hårde. The guy’s been living there for the best part of a year, he’s short and fat with a black beard, but as he’s foreign she thought it might be him in disguise.’

‘Sure you don’t want to check it out?’ Bára asked sweetly.

‘Please. .’ Snorri said as the phone trilled again.

Bára followed Gunna outside to the smoking spot by the back door and watched as Gunna lit up, frowning.

‘If you were in a strange country and needed to stay out of sight for a while, what would you do?’ Bára asked her.

Gunna inhaled deeply and thought. ‘I’ve no idea off the top of my head. What about you?’

‘I reckon either somewhere very unobtrusive, right off the beaten track, or smack in the centre of things. If I was trying to stay out of sight and didn’t have to worry about cash, I’d book into the smartest hotel I could find. You remember how snobby and unhelpful they were at Hotel Gullfoss?’

Gunna nodded. ‘You’re quite right, although I can’t see our boy checking in there somehow. But it fits. The man does have a certain style,’ she admitted.

Gunna ground her half-smoked Prince beneath a heel and they walked back towards the incident room where Snorri was watching his computer screen while carrying on a conversation through the headset clamped to one ear.

‘Thank you, yes. We’ll follow that up. Goodbye,’ he said, hanging up.

‘Anything useful?’ Gunna demanded.

‘Petrol station attendant on Hringbraut. Reckon he sold Hårde a hot dog and a bottle of mineral water last night. Worth a visit, d’you reckon?’

‘Definitely. You’d best get on with that right now and check on that report from the girl in Hafnarfjördur who saw him this morning while you’re at it. But first, Snorri, tell me something.’

‘Chief?’

‘If you were on the run and wanted to keep a low profile, what would you do? Come on, let’s think about what one of us might do in Hårde’s position.’

‘Me?’ Snorri said slowly. ‘I’d just live in the car for a couple of days, park up here and there, keep moving around. Maybe find a shed or something to lie low in, or maybe a boat somewhere. There’s plenty of decommissioned boats around that aren’t going anywhere. It depends how long,’ he finished.

‘That’s just it. It depends how long for,’ Gunna mused. ‘People get noticed around harbours now that they’re so quiet. I’m inclined to go along with what you said, Bára.’

‘Which was what?’ Snorri asked.

‘Do it in style. Check into the priciest hotel in town. Bára, as it was your idea, you’d better see to this. Go round all the hotels within spitting distance, do all of them.’

Bára nodded and went to her desk to pick up the phone as Snorri pulled his jacket and squared his cap on his head.

‘Bára, you can ask Sævaldur — sorry, tell Sævaldur we want three or four of his people to help out with this and see if you can get round the whole lot before midnight. Organize it for lateish this evening, so it takes in people checking into hotels tonight as well. All right?’

‘Yup,’ Bára said, looking up as Snorri stepped out of the room, holding the door wide for Vilhjálmur Traustason accompanied by the brooding form of Ívar Laxdal.

‘Progress, Gunnhildur?’ Vilhjálmur asked gently, while the National Commissioner’s deputy cast his eyes around the room.

‘Bugger all, actually. Hårde’s been seen in practically every part of Iceland in the last twenty-four hours, and most of them we can discount entirely once we’ve spoken to the person calling in. A couple of sightings in Reykjavík and Hafnarfjördur, one from a petrol station on Hringbraut that sounds convincing, and then there’s a girl who works in a coffee shop in Hafnarfjördur who says she sold him a couple of Danish pastries. That’s convincing as the girl’s from Estonia and said the way the man spoke sounded familiar. Snorri’s on his way to interview her and see if there’s any relevant CCTV footage anywhere. That’s it for now. We’re organizing a sweep of hotels this evening in case he’s booked himself in somewhere.’

‘You think that’s likely?’ Ívar Laxdal asked forbiddingly.

‘I’m not convinced,’ Gunna admitted. ‘But I think we have to check. I feel it fits in with the man’s character. He does things in style.’