Frozen Assets

So just how much public money goes across Mundi Grétars’ bar, and how much of it makes its way back again? Skandalblogger hears that there’s a surprising number of our elders and betters who find their way to Scaramanga now and again, and some of these fine gentlemen are so concerned about the young ladies’ well-being that they send after-hours taxis to drive them home. .

A little bird whispers to Skandalblogger that several of our respected public servants, including a gentlemen’s club of highly placed law enforcement officials, have repeatedly torpedoed civic plans to withdraw Scaramanga’s licence. One of these guys, so we’re told, has formed a frequent and meaningful relationship with a young lady who dances. We’re sure his missus would be delighted if she knew. .

We’re the soul of discretion. .

Bæjó!

‘You know either of these guys, Geiri and Gústi?’ Gunna asked as she parked the car outside the block of flats in Breidholt among everything from wheelless wrecks perched on blocks to shiny SUVs.

‘Gústi’s an old favourite. Goes back a long way, assault, dope, the usual.’ Sævaldur grinned. ‘It’ll be interesting to catch up with him again. Ágúst Ásgeirsson, his name is. Didn’t you come across him when you were on the city force?’

‘You mean Gústi the Gob? Remember him well, a right creep he used to be. Wonder if he’s mellowed since we last met?’

The outside door was wedged open and Sævaldur stepped inside to peer at the mailboxes. He wrinkled his nose at the sour smell in the block’s lobby.

‘You’ve forgotten what fun it is going to places like this, eh, Gunna?’ he said grimly as they ascended the bare concrete stairs.

‘Not having to deal with slobs like these is one of the perks of being a country copper. Maybe you should try for a transfer to Skagaströnd?’

‘Bloody hell, no. I don’t know how you manage with all those yokels. Right, this should be it,’ he said, hammering on the door.

There was silence. Sævaldur hammered again.

‘Gústi! Open the bloody door, will you? It’s the law!’

An eye appeared at the peephole and after a moment the door inched open to reveal a stubbled face, puffy with sleep.

‘What do the coppers want with me?’ he growled.

‘So you do remember us? How nice. Open up, we need to talk.’

‘Got a warrant?’

‘Don’t talk crap. I said talk, not search.’

The little two-room flat was bare. A full-barrelled snore could be heard from the flat’s one bedroom. Sævaldur and Gunna took kitchen chairs while Gústi sat back on the sofa, flexing generous biceps and letting the towel he was wearing slip open, and leering at Gunna.

‘Who’s the bird, Sævaldur?’ he demanded. ‘I like big strong girls.’

Gunna ignored the question and held up Einar Eyjólfur’s picture. ‘Seen this guy?’

‘Dunno,’ Gústi replied without looking.

‘He’s dead.’

‘Poor bloke,’ Gústi said flatly.

‘He was in the Emperor on Monday evening, probably around or shortly after midnight.’

‘Shit, that was days ago. How should I know?’

Gunna pretended to consult her notes, looking down at the paperwork in front of her as Gústi spread his knees a little wider.

‘Ágúst Ásgeirsson,’ she muttered as if speaking to herself, and looked up sharply. ‘This could well be a murder investigation, and you’re one of the last people to see this person alive. I can see you’ve had convictions for assault in the past, according to your record. I’d like to be able to rule you out as a suspect, but with this in front of me, I could have doubts.’

Gunna was amused to see a brief look of fury in the man’s eyes, quickly replaced with irritation and finally with concern at the realization that not cooperating would do him little good.

‘Yeah, I seen him.’

‘When? On that night?’

‘Dunno. A few nights ago. Got into a ruck with some bloke in the bog. Must have trod on his toe or something.’

‘And what happened? Who was he arguing with?’

‘Don’t know. Don’t care,’ the surly mountain of a man replied, clearly not used to being overawed by the police. Gunna eyed him frostily, and scribbled notes in silence for long enough for Gústi to start fidgeting with the errant towel.

‘Tell me more.’

To Gunna’s relief, Gústi closed his knees and sat up as his confidence ebbed away.

‘I heard a racket from the Gents and went to check it out. Happens all the time, two drunks having an argument, and one of them was him,’ he said, suddenly cooperative and pointing at the dead man’s photo. ‘That’s all. Told ’em to pack it in or get out. End of story,’ he added lamely.

‘And the other man?’

‘Dunno. Big bloke. Foreign. That’s all.’

‘Time?’

‘Dunno. Early. One-ish.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Dunno. Wasn’t any more trouble, so they must have packed it in or fucked off out.’

‘As for this foreign bloke. Description?’

‘Tall. My height. Hell, it was dark, y’know?’

‘Thank you,’ Gunna said smoothly, rising to her feet as Sævaldur hauled himself upright. ‘You’ve been a great help.’

‘That’s all right. Always happy to help police ladies,’ he replied with a grin, before shooting a scowl towards Sævaldur.