{"product_id":"frozen-assets-isbn-9781616950569","title":"Frozen Assets","description":"\u003cb\u003eTHE FIRST INSTALLMENT OF THE OFFICER GUNNHILDUR MYSTERIES SET IN ICELAND\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn unidentified body is found floating in the harbor of a rural Icelandic fishing village. Was the stranger’s death an accident or something more sinister? It’s up to Officer Gunnhildur, a sardonic female cop, to find out. Her investigation uncovers a web of corruption connected to Iceland’s business and banking communities. Meanwhile, a rookie crime journalist latches on to her, looking for a scoop, and an anonymous blogger is stirring up trouble. The complications increase, as do the stakes, when a second murder is committed.“Excellent debut ... Bates does a fine job with both Gunna and her town, her acerbic boss and an online blogger who keeps us abreast of events in Icelandic media and politics.”—\u003ci\u003eToronto Globe and Mail\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“British author and sometime Icelandic resident Bates embeds his well-paced mystery in this strange time, making (some) sense of it for American readers while introducing us to a heroine we could enjoy for the long haul. He doesn't skimp on the plot either, intertwining Gunna's investigation with the killer's movements and ratcheting up suspense as he brings it all together in a  rousing finale.”—\u003ci\u003ePortsmouth Herald\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eQuentin Bates lived in Iceland for ten years, during which time he got married, produced a family, and generally went native. He moved back to the UK with his family in 1990 and became a full-time journalist at a commercial fishing magazine. He and his wife frequently return to Iceland, where they have many friends, including several in the Reykjavik police.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTuesday, 26 August\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWater gurgled between the piles of the dock and the car’s tyres\u003cbr\u003ejuddered over the heavy timbers. Somewhere a generator puttered on\u003cbr\u003eboard one of the longliners tied up at the quay.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe driver turned off the engine and killed the lights before\u003cbr\u003estepping out of the car and taking a deep breath of fragrant summer\u003cbr\u003eair, still and laden with the tang of seaweed. He looked about him\u003cbr\u003ecarefully and walked along the quay, watching the boats for any sign\u003cbr\u003eof activity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSatisfied, he opened the passenger door. He lifted the passenger’s\u003cbr\u003elegs out and then stooped to drape an arm over his shoulders.\u003cbr\u003eGrunting with exertion, he hauled the passenger to his feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Waas goin’ on?’ the passenger slurred as the driver steadied himself,\u003cbr\u003eplanting his feet wide. He half supported, half dragged the passenger\u003cbr\u003ethe few metres towards the gangplank of the nearest boat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Come on. Almost there.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe passenger staggered against the driver. ‘W-w-where’s this?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Nearly there,’ the driver muttered to himself as much as to his\u003cbr\u003epassenger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe braced one booted foot on the heavy timber parapet running\u003cbr\u003ethe length of the quay, and quickly straightened his back as he\u003cbr\u003etipped the passenger headlong into the blackness below. The splash\u003cbr\u003ecompeted for a second with the muttering generator on board a\u003cbr\u003enearby boat and the driver stood still, listening intently. Hearing\u003cbr\u003enothing from below, he nodded to himself and padded back to the\u003cbr\u003ecar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA moment later the engine whispered into life and the car vanished\u003cbr\u003einto the night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe phone buzzed angrily. Gunna fumbled for the handset in the dark\u003cbr\u003eand barked into it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Gunnhildur.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Good morning. Sorry to wake you up. I did wake you up, didn’t\u003cbr\u003eI?’ asked a familiar voice as she cast about for the face that went with it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘You did,’ she yawned. ‘Who is this?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Albert Jónasson.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGunna stretched a hand to the curtain and twitched it aside to let\u003cbr\u003ein a glare of early morning sunlight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘And what can I do for you at this ungodly hour?’ she asked,\u003cbr\u003eknowing that Albert Jónasson was not a man to trouble a police officer\u003cbr\u003ewithout good reason, especially one who had arrested him only a few\u003cbr\u003eweeks before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Thought you’d be the best person to talk to. There’s a bloke down\u003cbr\u003eby the quay.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘You woke me up to tell me there’s a stranger by the dock?’ Gunna\u003cbr\u003egrowled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Yeah. A stranger who’s dead.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe snapped awake and swung her feet on to the cold floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Where?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘On the beach by the pontoons. Saw something in the waves and\u003cbr\u003ewent to have a look.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Right. Stay where you are. I’ll be right there.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGunna drove past the half-dozen longline boats tied up at the quay\u003cbr\u003eand slowed down as the car rumbled on to the black gravel that made\u003cbr\u003eup the track leading to the small boat dock. She could make out a\u003cbr\u003esolitary figure standing next to the only boat there, a bearded bear of\u003cbr\u003ea man in orange oilskin trousers pacing the pontoon dock next to a\u003cbr\u003espotless fishing boat that puttered with its engine idling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe parked at the top of the dock among the fishermen’s pickup\u003cbr\u003etrucks and Albert Jónasson strode to meet her, pointing at a bundle\u003cbr\u003elying among the waves lapping on the black sand of the beach a few\u003cbr\u003emetres away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Down there,’ he said grimly, following behind as Gunna trod\u003cbr\u003egingerly, wary of disturbing anything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Have you been down here, Albert?’ she called over her shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e‘No fear. Leave well alone, I thought.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘You haven’t had a look? How did you know it was a body?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘I got here a bit late. All the others were away before daybreak. I was\u003cbr\u003ejust starting up and saw something floating, so I had a look with the\u003cbr\u003ebinoculars and saw what it was. So I thought I’d better give you a call.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGunna ripped a pair of surgical gloves from the pouch on her tool\u003cbr\u003ebelt and snapped them on before she squatted by the bundle and\u003cbr\u003egently smoothed matted red hair back from a face that looked peaceful\u003cbr\u003ebut lost. She pressed the button on her Tetra communicator and spoke\u003cbr\u003einto the tiny microphone on her collar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Nine eight four one, nine five five zero. Are you there, Haddi?’\u003cbr\u003eShe retreated and pulled her phone from her pocket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Albert, are you going to sea today?’ she asked as the dialling tone\u003cbr\u003ebuzzed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘I was going to.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘All right. Ah, Haddi, that took a while,’ she said, switching her\u003cbr\u003eattention to the phone. ‘Look, shelve everything, we have an\u003cbr\u003eunidentified body floating in the small boat dock. You’d better get the\u003cbr\u003ecavalry out.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlbert watched Gunna nodding as she paced back and forth,\u003cbr\u003eadmiring her solid frame inside the uniform that didn’t do it justice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘No,’ she continued. ‘Ambulance and the technical division,\u003cbr\u003ediscreetly if that’s at all possible. Get Bjössi over from CID in Keflavík\u003cbr\u003eif he’s not too busy with the Baltic mafia. OK?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe ended the call and looked over to where Albert was waiting\u003cbr\u003epatiently for her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Am I all right to go to sea today, then?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘When will you be back?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Three. Four, maybe.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Go on then. But I’ll need you to make a statement when you’ve\u003cbr\u003efinished landing your fish.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘No problem,’ Albert said gratefully, already making his way along\u003cbr\u003ethe pontoon and throwing off the boat’s mooring ropes in the process.\u003cbr\u003e‘See you later, Gunna,’ he called out as the boat surged from the quay.\u003cbr\u003eAnd I’ll stay here and wait for the professionals to turn up, Gunna\u003cbr\u003ethought, opening the squad car’s boot to get out a roll of tape to\u003cbr\u003ecordon off the area. She wondered if the tape had ever been used\u003cbr\u003ebefore in Hvalvík, a village where a speeding ticket or an uncooperative\u003cbr\u003edrunk were the most serious crimes she or Haddi normally\u003cbr\u003ehad to deal with.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e26-08-2008, 0944\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSkandalblogger writes:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou can’t keep a good blog down!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo, we’re back and once again the Icelandic scandal blog has a\u003cbr\u003ebrand-new home! We’ve been tarred and feathered and run out of\u003cbr\u003etown on a rail one more time, so this time we’re back stronger than\u003cbr\u003eever in a delightful part of the world where they respect the power of\u003cbr\u003eMr Visa to overrule the pathetic attempts of those-who-run-things to\u003cbr\u003esilence free speech. Hurrah for the Tiger economies! Free speech is\u003cbr\u003ethere for those willing to pay for it!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaking friends and influencing people!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut anyway, folks, and we mean that most sincerely, our favourites\u003cbr\u003eare still up to their old tricks. Gunni Benedikts at the trade ministry, no\u003cbr\u003edoubt after a looong lunch with his old chum Óli at agriculture, has just\u003cbr\u003edecided to block imports of New Zealand lamb to our fair country.\u003cbr\u003eNow, some of you may find this a bit hard to stomach, what with all the\u003cbr\u003eclaptrap these guys have been spouting over the years about free\u003cbr\u003emarket economics, going for the most competitive bid, and all that\u003cbr\u003eshit. But let’s remember which party holds trade? And agriculture? Of\u003cbr\u003ecourse, it’s our old friends the Progressives, and we can’t go upsetting\u003cbr\u003ethe farmers, or at least the half-dozen who are still in business and\u003cbr\u003ewho vote for them, just by letting them be undercut by cheap foreign\u003cbr\u003eimports. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(Private) Power to (a few of) the People!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs for everyone’s favourite minister . . . ! Bjarni Jón, now just who\u003cbr\u003eare your new friends? And we don’t mean the guys at InterAlu, it’s\u003cbr\u003etheir friends from further east we’re interested in this time. From what\u003cbr\u003ea little bird whispers in our ear, these are oil people. Energy people.\u003cbr\u003eMoney people. Powerful people. Watch your back, BJB, and when\u003cbr\u003eyou’ve shaken hands with them, you’d better count your fingers, just\u003cbr\u003eto make sure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe’ve heard the rumours circulating around environment and trade,\u003cbr\u003eand the PM’s office, and we’re not going to believe it, as we know what\u003cbr\u003ea great guy you really are. We’re absolutely certain that you’d never\u003cbr\u003esideline the National Power Authority by inviting a foreign company to\u003cbr\u003ebuild and run a private power station to sell electricity to InterAlu. So,\u003cbr\u003eplease, BJB, tell us it ain’t true?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWatch this space, there’ll be more tomorrow!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBæjó!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHaddi firmly believed that a whirlwind of unwarranted attention had\u003cbr\u003edescended on Hvalvík and its tiny police station. By mid-morning the\u003cbr\u003estation’s older, but junior, police officer would have preferred to be\u003cbr\u003emaking his accustomed tour of the village in the station’s better Volvo,\u003cbr\u003etaking in coffee, gossip and a doughnut or three with the lads at the\u003cbr\u003enet loft or maybe with one of his cousins in the saltfish plant’s canteen.\u003cbr\u003eInstead he found himself fending off a flood of questions through the\u003cbr\u003ephone and from the huddle of newspaper and television people\u003cbr\u003eoutside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOutside on the grass verge a serious young woman in a thick parka\u003cbr\u003eover a smart city suit presented take after take with the little harbour\u003cbr\u003eand Hvalvík’s pastel-painted houses in the background, as if to make\u003cbr\u003esure that Reykjavík viewers understood this was a report from outside\u003cbr\u003etheir city limits.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTeams from Morgunbladid, DV, Fréttabladid, state TV and radio,\u003cbr\u003eChannel 2, Channel 3, and a few more that Haddi had never heard of\u003cbr\u003ehad all demanded information, been told there was no statement yet\u003cbr\u003eand they’d just have to wait. Haddi was putting the phone down from\u003cbr\u003etelling the local paper the same thing when a young man with a mess of\u003cbr\u003egelled fair hair that appeared to defy both gravity and the breeze outside\u003cbr\u003epushed his way through the door into the station’s reception area.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Yes?’ Haddi asked brusquely, arms folded on the counter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Er. Hi. I’m Skúli Snædal from Dagurinn.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHaddi rolled his eyes ceilingwards. ‘Look, son, I’ve told all of you\u003cbr\u003ethat there’ll be a statement this afternoon. Yes, we have found an\u003cbr\u003eunidentified person. No, I can’t tell you where. No, I can’t tell you\u003cbr\u003eany more than that.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘But I’m—’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Sorry. That’s all I can say right now.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘But that’s not what I’m here for. I’ve come to see Gunnhildur. I’m\u003cbr\u003eshadowing her for a while. For Dagurinn,’ he added.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHaddi took a deep breath ‘So you’re not here because of the body?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘No. What body?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Never you mind. The chief’s not here right now, and I don’t\u003cbr\u003esuppose she’ll be back for an hour or two.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Couldn’t you call her up? I’m expected.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHaddi pulled his glasses down from among his curls and peered over\u003cbr\u003ethem.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘If it was something important, then I could call her up,’ he agreed.\u003cbr\u003e‘But on a day like today, then it would have to be something more\u003cbr\u003ethan usually important.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSkúli tried again. ‘It’s all arranged. I can call the press representative\u003cbr\u003eat police headquarters and confirm with them again.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Sorry. Not now. Look, we have a very serious incident to deal\u003cbr\u003ewith, so I’d appreciate it if you’d call Reykjavík and sort it out with\u003cbr\u003ethem. We’re a bit busy right now. Hm?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHaddi’s frown and raised eyebrows made it plain that this was not\u003cbr\u003ea matter for discussion and the young man appeared to concede defeat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘All right then. But do you know when she’s going to be back?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Normally, about now. Today . . .’ Haddi shrugged his shoulders.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe young man nodded glumly and made for the door. The look\u003cbr\u003eof disappointment on his face aroused a sudden pang in Haddi’s heart\u003cbr\u003eand he called across as the young man had the door half open.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Not from round here, are you?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘No. Reykjavík.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘D’you know Hafnarkaffi?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘What’s that?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘It’s the shop down by the dock. It’s getting on for lunchtime and odds\u003cbr\u003eare that’swhere the chief’ll be. But you didn’t hear that fromme, all right?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe young man grinned in delight. ‘Thanks. That would be great.\u003cbr\u003eHow do I recognize her?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Gunna? Can’t miss her. She’s a big fat lass with a face that frightens\u003cbr\u003ethe horses.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHafnarkaffi stands between the fishmeal plant and Jói Ben’s engineering\u003cbr\u003eshop. Originally a shed used for storing tarred longlines through\u003cbr\u003ethe summer, Hafnarkaffi has grown gradually since it was turned into\u003cbr\u003ea drive-in kiosk thirty years ago, then expanded into a shop and had\u003cbr\u003ean extension built to add a small café for harbour workers and\u003cbr\u003efishermen. The final addition was the petrol pumps outside, but by\u003cbr\u003enow hardly anything of the original corrugated iron shed is to be seen\u003cbr\u003eand the place has become an enduring nightmare for council planners\u003cbr\u003ewho have visions of it spreading across the road.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSkúli looked through the steamed-up glass panels of the door and\u003cbr\u003emade out figures sitting at tables. Pushing it open, he ventured in,\u003cbr\u003ethought for a moment and decided that he really was hungry anyway.\u003cbr\u003eAt the end of the long counter he collected a tray and pushed it in\u003cbr\u003efront of him, picking up bottled water on the way and stopping before\u003cbr\u003ethe row of steaming steel bins.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Fish or meat?’ a grey-faced woman behind the counter asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Er – what do you have?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Fish or meat.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘What sort are they?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘It’s Tuesday. Salted fish or salted meat.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSkúli’s heart sank and he began towish he hadn’t botheredwith a tray.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Saltfish, please,’ he decided, knowing that he would regret it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe woman ladled fish and potatoes on to a plate. ‘Fat?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Sorry? What?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘D’you want fat on it?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Oh, er, no. Thanks.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe dropped the spoon back into the dish of liquefied fat and\u003cbr\u003epointed to a pot. ‘Soup?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Oh, no thanks.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘It’s included.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘No, thanks anyway.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Up to you. It’s there if you change your mind. Coffee’s included\u003cbr\u003eas well. That’s eight hundred. Receipt?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSkúli handed over a note and received change and receipt. He\u003cbr\u003escanned the room and quickly located a bulky figure in uniform at the\u003cbr\u003efar side, hunched over a table. At a distance it wasn’t easy to see if the\u003cbr\u003efigure was man or a woman, but Skúli hoped he had found the right\u003cbr\u003eperson. He edged between tables, forcing a row of blue-overalled\u003cbr\u003eworkmen to haul in their bellies and chairs for him to pass, before\u003cbr\u003eplanting his tray on the table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘May I sit here?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe figure looked up and Skúli saw that, in spite of the broad\u003cbr\u003eshoulders, the solid woman with the short fair hair was not the bruiser\u003cbr\u003eHaddi had given him to expect. Although she would never be a\u003cbr\u003ebeauty, she had an angular, handsome face that radiated authority. He\u003cbr\u003ewondered briefly if this was natural, or the product of a police career.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Help yourself,’ she said, between spoonfuls of colourless soup.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘You must be Gunnhildur?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe nodded, scraping the bottom of the soup plate. ‘Known to\u003cbr\u003eevery man and his dog as Gunna the Cop,’ she corrected. ‘And you\u003cbr\u003emust be the lad from Dagurinn. I suppose Haddi told you I’d be here,\u003cbr\u003edid he?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSkúli picked at the saltfish on the plate in front of him. This kind\u003cbr\u003eof traditional food had never been on the menu at home and he wasn’t\u003cbr\u003eready for the overpowering salt flavour of the first forkful.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘So. Now that you’re here, what is it you’re after?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Nothing special, really. The idea is a series of feature articles in the\u003cbr\u003eSaturday magazine about the work of rural police. I’m not looking for\u003cbr\u003eanything out of the ordinary – just the opposite, actually.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Not because of what’s been going on this morning?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘No . . .’ Skúli said slowly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘So you don’t know,’ she said with slow satisfaction and a broad\u003cbr\u003esmile that lit up her face. ‘Well, you must be the only reporter in\u003cbr\u003eIceland who hasn’t heard that an unidentified corpse was found just\u003cbr\u003eround the corner this morning. You must be the only one, because\u003cbr\u003epractically every other hack in the country has either turned up here\u003cbr\u003eor else phoned the station to demand a statement. Poor old Haddi’s\u003cbr\u003ebeen going spare.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Oh. I see.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSkúli dropped his cutlery and dived into his coat pocket to bring\u003cbr\u003eout a mobile phone. He switched it on and within seconds it was\u003cbr\u003ebuzzing angrily with a series of voice and text messages.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Shit. I forgot to switch it on when I left this morning, and I didn’t\u003cbr\u003eeven have the radio on in the car,’ he admitted. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know\u003cbr\u003eanything.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Anyway, now that you’re here, I suppose you’d better have a story\u003cbr\u003eto take back with you.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘That would be . . . great.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘You mean it would save your sorry arse from being fried?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Er, yes, probably.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘There’ll be a statement this afternoon, so you can have it half an\u003cbr\u003ehour before it comes out officially. I don’t suppose that’ll do any harm.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Thank you. That’s brilliant.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Right. But you’ll owe me a favour there straight away. How old\u003cbr\u003eare you?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Twenty-five.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘What are you on this paper, then, a junior reporter, or what?’\u003cbr\u003e‘No. I’m the crime editor.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘What? There’s a whopping story here and you didn’t even know\u003cbr\u003eabout it, Mr Crime Editor?’ Gunna asked with a second sly smile.\u003cbr\u003eSkúli shuffled fish about on his plate. ‘Actually I’ve only been the\u003cbr\u003ecrime editor for a week. And that was because someone put the\u003cbr\u003eby-line as a joke on something I wrote about a woman who had been\u003cbr\u003ecaught shoplifting from the shopping centre at Kringlan. It stayed in\u003cbr\u003eby mistake, so I’m the new crime editor.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘How long have you been working for Dagurinn?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSkúli was starting to resent Gunna’s quickfire questions, reminding\u003cbr\u003ehimself that he should be the one asking. ‘A couple of months.\u003cbr\u003eDagurinn only started up in January.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘What were you doing before that?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘I finished my master’s last year and then I was at Jyllands Posten as\u003cbr\u003ean intern for a few months until I came home.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Denmark. Where?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘In Århus. How long have you been in the police?’ he asked, trying\u003cbr\u003eto wrench the conversation around so that he could ask the questions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Far too long. And who are your people?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘The Snædal family.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Oh. Top people, I see.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘My uncle was in the government years ago.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘I know. I might even have voted for him.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘That’s nice to know. I’ll tell him.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘I’m not quite that old,’ Gunna replied coldly. ‘Now, get that down\u003cbr\u003eyou and we’ll make a start. I have masses of things to do and if you’re\u003cbr\u003egoing to tag along you’ll have to keep up and preferably keep quiet.\u003cbr\u003eAll right?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘That’s fine,’ Skúli replied, laying down his knife and fork with a\u003cbr\u003epremonition of failure. He realized that, for a reporter, he had asked\u003cbr\u003eno questions and found out almost nothing about the person he was\u003cbr\u003esupposed to be profiling, while she had found out practically\u003cbr\u003eeverything about him. ‘We can go, if you want. I don’t really like\u003cbr\u003esaltfish,’ he admitted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Then you won’t grow up to have curly hair. Come on then,’ she\u003cbr\u003esaid with a grin, rising to her feet and pulling a phone from her jacket\u003cbr\u003epocket as it began to chirrup.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Hi, sweetheart, just a moment,’ she answered it in a gentle tone.\u003cbr\u003e‘You’d better take your tray back to the counter, and you can take\u003cbr\u003emine while you’re at it. I’ll see you outside in a minute,’ she instructed\u003cbr\u003eSkúli, marching towards the door with the phone at her ear. Skúli\u003cbr\u003ewondered who she could be addressing as sweetheart.","brand":"Soho Crime","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300130476261,"sku":"NP9781616950569","price":15.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781616950569.jpg?v=1767727765","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/frozen-assets-isbn-9781616950569","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}