Cold As Hell, page 19
He set off, dragging the suitcase behind him, cursing every step, as each rewarded him with only a few centimetres of progress. The gravel underfoot was coarse and the canvas caught on every jagged edge. But in the lava field itself the going was easier, as the case slid along more smoothly over the hard surface of the rock. He had hauled it a metre or more when he noticed that the case left a trail of blood that was clearly visible, so he had to use precious energy to turn the case over. Then he sat for a while on the cold rock at its side and rested, the sadness echoing a steady tone inside his head, and the dark bloodstain on the suitcase a clear symbol that his life would never be the same again.
He finally got to his feet and dragged the case further, more by force of will than muscle power, and managed with an extraordinary effort to shove it over the edge so that it tumbled into the fissure, making dull thuds as it collided with the walls. He was too weak to stand, so he lay on his belly at the edge of the ravine and peered down. The grey case hadn’t fallen alongside the red one that contained Ísafold’s remains, but had dropped on top of it, so that only the grey case could be seen. For a moment Grímur wondered whether to climb down and push the grey case aside so that it would slide further down, but decided against it. It was better left as it was. Grey was less visible from a distance than red, in the unlikely event that anyone were to come this way and peer into this gap in the lava. And anyway, Ísafold was long gone, so she would hardly mind. Her soul, with its feelings and joy, and the beauty that was inside her, had forsaken this deep, dark hole long ago.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered to her, all the same, before he got to his feet and made his way back to the car. Ísafold’s soul would be somewhere free and beautiful, maybe here above the lava field, or higher up, above the clouds, where the sun always shone. Wherever she was, he felt it was right to ask her forgiveness for dishonouring like this the last resting place of her earthly remains.
He sat in the car, took the engagement ring from his pocket, unhooked the chain around his neck and threaded the ring onto it. He hadn’t been able to withstand the temptation to take the ring from Björn’s pocket, before smashing his kneecaps so that he would fit in the suitcase. On his way to eternity, Björn had no use for this ring. On the other hand, Grímur would treasure the feeling of keeping the jewel Ísafold had worn close to his heart.
92
Áróra steered the trolley the waiter had brought to the room and placed it like a coffee table between the two chairs. It was arrayed with a coffee pot, a milk jug, a sugar bowl, two cups and a bowl of pastries, along with a little vase containing a single tulip, everything beautifully arranged on a white cloth. She had dressed early that morning, and since then had nervously paced the room, rehearsing what she would say to the representative of the German bank who was on the way to deliver her fee.
Her nerves were making her fingers tremble, and she could feel the sweat collecting under her armpits when the knock on the door finally came. She was always like this on the home straight. The stress would always take hold of her, and she wouldn’t believe that things were going to work out until she finally spread the cash on a bed and rolled in it. That would be the moment when she knew that the money was actually hers.
For whatever reason, she had assumed that the bank’s representative would be a man, so she was taken completely by surprise when she opened the door to see a woman outside, holding a briefcase and a vast bouquet of flowers – a woman she recognised.
‘Congratulations,’ Agla said as she walked into the room. ‘And a pleasure to do business with you.’
She held out the bouquet, and Áróra took it, speechless with amazement. She had no idea why Agla was here, or what she meant by congratulating her, or where she should put the bunch of flowers. It was in a vase, but it was so big that the bedside tables were far too small for it and the table by the wall that she had been using as a desk was full. Flustered, she placed it on the floor by the window. None of this appeared to take Agla by surprise; she sat in one of the chairs, picked up a cup and poured herself coffee.
‘Help yourself.’
‘Just ten drops,’ Agla said, filling her cup, reaching for a pastry and dunking it in her coffee so that it spilled onto the white cloth.
Áróra took a seat facing her and looked into her eyes.
‘You’re the German bank’s representative?’ she said, once she had marshalled her thoughts.
‘Of course,’ Agla laughed. ‘Why did you think I was congratulating you? You did a fine job. Great to do business with you. I’m working for Hákon’s largest creditors. It has been a long process – a few years, to tell you the truth. I had to invest in his hotels in order to get into the books and figure out where he keeps all the money he’s pumping into the company. But he’s cautious when it comes to me and my people, so we had to find another way to find the pot of cash.’
Áróra sighed. So that was the situation, she thought to herself. Of all the possible scenarios she could have imagined concerning Agla’s involvement with Hákon’s business affairs, this one hadn’t even occurred to her.
‘So you turning up was manna from heaven,’ Agla said. ‘The right person, in the right place and at the right time. Now everyone will get what’s theirs. The bank gets a decent chunk of what’s owed, and the taxman will take some as well. His accounts are being frozen right now.’
‘Not forgetting me,’ Áróra said, glancing at the briefcase, and Agla handed it to her.
‘Richly deserved,’ she said. ‘Can I ask what your background is?’
‘Didn’t you say that you know who I am?’ Áróra asked.
‘I did some research about you when you first appeared on the scene. I found out that you’re a skilled bloodhound when it comes to money, but I don’t know how you got into this business, and I’m curious about your background.’
‘That’s simple,’ Áróra replied. ‘I don’t have any training. I worked for an accountancy firm for a few years as a secretary, punching in numbers, and wanted to train as an accountant. But I gave up on the course when I found out how boring it was. Then I wanted to go into the theatre but found that I’m too big to be an actress. By coincidence, I was helping a friend who was going through a difficult divorce. Her husband took all their savings and hid the lot, and I managed to find it. That’s how it started.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ Agla said. ‘There’s plenty of work for you in Iceland. Nobody here knows who you are, and you don’t have any baggage, so it would be easier for you to get close to people.’
‘I’m not planning on staying,’ Áróra said. ‘I have a personal errand to finish, and when that’s done I’ll be going home.’
She felt her throat tighten as she said the words. There seemed to be no immediate likelihood that Ísafold would show up, so there was no telling how long she would be in Iceland.
‘Let me know,’ Agla said, getting to her feet. She slid a hand into her jacket, took out a business card and placed it on the trolley. ‘Get in touch if you’re looking for work.’
She vanished through the door, and for a moment Áróra sat numbly staring at the space in front of her. Then she jumped to her feet and leapt out of the door, just as the lift hissed open in front of Agla.
‘What’s in it for you?’ she called after her. ‘What do you get out of it? I reckon I must have just taken your fee for finding the money.’
‘I own a majority share in the largest hotel in Akureyri, and I can sell it,’ Agla said. ‘At a sizeable profit, as far as I can see. Hákon has done a fine job making the accounts look so fantastic that its value must have gone through the roof.’
93
‘Use this. Cut your hair using the shortest setting,’ Grímur told the Arab boy, handing him his beard trimmer. ‘Then you need to shave as close as you can. And put these clothes on. Pack only what you absolutely need into one small case and come back downstairs to my place as quickly as you can.’
He pushed the bundle of clothes he had pulled at random from Björn’s wardrobes into Omar’s hands, along with a blazer and a mustard-yellow scarf. They were top-quality clothes, expensive designer stuff, and much smarter than anything Omar could have ever been used to wearing. The boy left, clearly upset, and the look on his face brought both exhilaration and fear. Grímur waited until the door had closed behind him, snatched up the keys, hurried up the stairs and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves before he went into Björn’s flat. He tiptoed through the living room, picked up the laptop from the coffee table and made his way quickly back to the door, where he hesitated. He turned back and went into the bathroom, where he picked up a jar of make-up from the little cosmetics bag that lay on the half-empty shelf. He left, silently closing the door behind him, and lost no time going back down the stairs. He didn’t dare stay too long in the apartment, as someone might come.
In his own flat, Grímur opened the laptop, and to his delight found there was no password. This was amazing, considering Björn used this computer to co-ordinate his dealing activities. It was one more example of the man’s arrogance: how secure and untouchable he considered himself to be. Grímur opened Björn’s wallet and took out his credit card. He checked that the computer was still connected to the router in Björn’s apartment before he tapped in the web address. He booked a return flight to Canada in Björn’s name, checked him in online and added all the required information.
None of this had been thought out, but Omar, Olga’s Arab boy, fitted in perfectly. He was stuck here in Iceland without a residence permit, and Olga seemed to be worrying endlessly about him being sent back to Syria. Nobody but he and Olga knew he was here, so nobody would miss him, and Olga wouldn’t go to the police.
He was just finished on the computer when the boy returned, his hair cropped close to his scalp, clean-shaven and wearing Björn’s clothes. Grímur told him to sit still and then opened the jar of make-up. He wondered what he could use to apply the cream to his face, and reflected that there was probably some tool in the make-up bag designed for just that, but to save time, he used his fingers. He hooked a blob onto one finger and put some on each cheek and in the centre of his forehead. Then he rubbed it in and stood back to check out the results. At a distance, it was convincing. The boy’s skin looked considerably lighter, and he was satisfied with this crop-haired, paler-skinned version.
94
Olga started to get worried when she had been home from work for a while and there was still no sign of Omar. He had gone out after their conversation yesterday morning, saying that he was going to the gym, and after that she’d not seen him all day. She was sure that she had heard the door open and close again during the night, but as she had taken a sleeping pill, her head was heavy and her thoughts came slowly, so she couldn’t be sure if it had been a memory or a dream. In the morning the door to his room had been shut, so she assumed he was asleep and quietly went out without waking him. But now she thought about it, he should have been awake before her, as usual, preparing their morning coffee. If everything had been as usual.
But it wasn’t. It was more than likely that yesterday’s conversation had changed things. She felt that it had gone well; she had seen the sincerity in his eyes and had believed him. He seemed to have accepted the situation and hugged her before going out. Thinking back, maybe something had upset the balance of the relationship they had shared before she had known who he really was. Not that she had the slightest idea now, but at least she knew who he wasn’t. She could be sure that his name wasn’t Omar, anyway. Perhaps she had pushed him too hard by asking about the murdered man in Istanbul? He could have some history that he preferred her not to know about. Maybe, in spite of everything, and in contrast to what her instincts told her, he really did have something to hide.
She picked up the toaster and put it on the kitchen table, plugging it into the socket that was normally used for the little kitchen radio. She put two slices of bread in it and reached for butter, cheese and jam from the fridge. As the two slices popped up, she immediately put two more in. It was a long time since she had done this. When she was younger, and Jonni was trying her patience, this was how she had sought solace, with endless rounds of toast. Sometimes she had lost count, only noticing when half a loaf had disappeared. She buttered the slices generously and added cheese right away so that it would soften and start to melt on the hot toast, and then she would take a bite, leaning forward so that the liquid butter would drip onto the plate in front of her and not down the front of her sweater.
She mulled over the possibilities while she chewed. She couldn’t call the police to ask about Omar – whether he had been arrested – as that would reveal that he hadn’t left the country. Calling the movement wasn’t an option, as that would tell them that she had broken the rules and allowed Omar to stay with her for far too long. And the news that he had travelled to Iceland on a murdered man’s papers would definitely exclude him from any future assistance from them. The only structure NDM seemed to have was that it chose carefully who would be helped and who wouldn’t. Apart from that, it didn’t seem to concern itself with how people passed from one household to the next. Omar had just been given a list of people on a sheet of paper of people willing to offer shelter to refugees, and after that it was up to them to look after themselves, so that nobody higher up in the movement would be in the position of having to lie to the police. It also stated on the piece of paper that people were recommended to stay no longer than two to three weeks in one place; and, as a further security measure, that refugees shouldn’t say where they would be going next. Olga had feared this day would come, that one day Omar would pack up and leave, and that she would have no idea what had become of him. But that couldn’t be what he’d done; she’d looked in his room, and as far as she could see, all his stuff was still there. Surely he hadn’t left her, taking with him nothing but the clothes he wore?
She took the next two slices from the toaster and looked at them on the plate before her. She had only eaten one, and had another buttered and ready. She knew that these two freshly toasted slices wouldn’t be enough to put her mind at ease over Omar, so she took two more and dropped them into the toaster. She would eat until she felt calm again.
95
In the hallway Grímur kneaded a thin layer of make-up onto the backs of Omar’s hands and onto his neck, telling him to take care not to scratch his face and scrape a hole in the new pale skin that would open the gateway to the promised land.
‘Icelandic passport holders with a valid ETA – that’s an electronic travel authorisation – are exempt from giving biometrics when entering Canada, so you won’t be photographed or have your fingerprints taken. So when you arrive there, if you avoid the automatic gates and go for a border control desk with an actual officer, it will all depend on whether he or she thinks you look like Björn.’ He opened Björn’s passport and compared his photo to Omar. ‘And you kind of do look like him, now you’ve got rid of the hair.’
He handed him Björn’s passport, his wallet and printouts of his travel documents: the bus ticket to the airport, tickets for the flight to Canada and a completed ETA travel pass, all of them in Björn’s name.
‘Use the time on the plane to memorise Björn’s full name and date of birth. If border control asks you what you are doing in Canada, you are a tourist on holiday. If they do realise you’re not Björn, you tell them loud and clear that you are asking for asylum in Canada. Then they will put you in the refugee system there.’
‘Do you think this will work?’ Omar´s voice was low, almost a whisper.
‘I think you have a fifty-fifty chance,’ Grímur said. It was the honest answer. ‘In any case you will be in Canada. And the biggest hurdle refugees face when trying to get to Canada through Iceland is actually getting out of Iceland. The outer borders of the Schengen area are very hard to cross, but you, my boy, you have an Icelandic passport this time, so that makes life easy.’
He inspected Omar one more time, and opened the hall cupboard, where he rummaged until he found a cap that he placed on his head. It didn’t do any harm to cast a little shadow over his face. He wasn’t convinced by his own efforts as a make-up artist.
‘I’ll drive you to the bus station,’ he said, and when he saw the boy hesitate, he repeated the speech he had given him that morning. ‘Olga must still be at work, so send her a message when you get to Canada. It’s better for her if she doesn’t know about this, because if you’re caught, she’ll be guilty as well. You don’t want her to be guilty, do you? After everything she’s done for you?’
Omar shook his head and looked downcast, like a scolded child.
He followed Grímur out to the car, walking stiffly, and Grímur told him to put his case in the boot. There was a towel over the back seat, which was still wet from being cleaned. He had finally gone to a car wash and used a high-pressure washer on the seat after he had soaked it with detergent. The bloodstain was no longer visible, but it would take a long time to dry out. On the way to the bus station, he lectured Omar on how he should behave in Canada.
‘Only use the credit and debit cards to buy stuff for small amounts, less than five thousand Icelandic krónur, so you don’t need to use a PIN. It’s enough to just put the card quickly into the reader, like I showed you. Buy as much as you can of food and necessities over the first couple of days, and then get rid of the cards and the passport. You can give the cards to someone who’s homeless. That’ll lay a false trail for the police when they come looking for you. And take the SIM card out of your phone now and throw it away. Buy yourself a new one in Canada.
