Cold Comfort by Quentin Bates Page A

buttons on her phone to send Laufey a message as she walked quickly from her car back to the house, and by the time she was by the garage’s side door, Sigmar and the serious young woman with him were both wearing the all-in-one white coveralls that she could hardly imagine Sigmar without.
    “It’s going to be a long job, this one,” he announced morosely as if accusing Gunna of playing a practical joke on him.
    B JARTMAR A RNARSON TOOK the news impassively. Gunna wondered if this was determination or indifference. Discreetly taken aside at passport control and led to an interview room, he constantly rolled an iPhone that chimed and throbbed at intervals between his fingers.
    “What happened, then?” he asked finally, having brushed aside sympathy from Gunna and the two airport police officers in the room.
    “We still don’t know,” Gunna admitted. “This only happened a couple of hours ago. Your wife has been injured in a fire at your home and we believe it wasn’t accidental.”
    Bjartmar shrugged. “Who would want to harm Unnur?”
    “I’m hoping you might be able to shed some light on that.”
    “Are you insinuating something?” he asked silkily. “If you are …”
    “I’m asking, not insinuating,” Gunna tried not to snap back.
    “Can one of you get me some water?” he demanded suddenly. “It’s hot in here and it’s been a long flight.”
    One of the airport officers left the room, shutting the door silently behind him.
    “What I need to know initially is if there has been anything unusual that your wife may have noticed recently. Any odd activity, if someone may have been following her, if she’s been involved in a dispute of any kind, anything of that nature?”
    Bjartmar’s mouth opened and he was about to answer when his iPhone buzzed just as another ringtone could be heard, a basic chime like an old-fashioned desk telephone. He looked at the iPhone with annoyance and put it down, at the same time pulling a bulky old-fashioned mobile phone from his jacket pocket.
    “Yeah?” he grunted into it before his voice softened. “No, just a hold-up with baggage. I need to speak to some people before I clear immigration. No, it’s not a problem. I’ll be right with you. Ciao.”
    The airport officer who had gone for water reappeared with a small bottle and placed it on the table within reach of Bjartmar, who glared truculently at Gunna.
    “Look, how long is this going to take?”
    “Not long,” Gunna replied. She had taken an instant and deep dislike to Bjartmar and his indifferent attitude. The man showed no shred of interest in his wife’s state of health and was again fiddling with his iPhone. She tried to glare at him, but Bjartmar appeared not to notice. “If you don’t mind …” she ventured in an acid tone.
    Bjartmar looked up and stared back. “Sorry. Business.”
    “Anyone who might bear a grudge against your wife?”
    Bjartmar shrugged. “Undoubtedly. You don’t become wealthy without making enemies.”
    “All right. Anyone in particular?”
    “Almost anyone who worked for her. Everyone was sacked sooner or later. There were always a few outstanding court cases for wrongful dismissal in the works.”
    “What’s her business?”
    “It’s very smart, so I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it. It’s a restaurant called ForEver.”
    Gunna took the jibe in her stride.
    “As it happens, I’ve been there,” she said smoothly. “Who runs the place? I take it your wife doesn’t spend her time waiting on tables?”
    Bjartmar stifled a yawn. “Don’t know. Last I knew there was a manager, but she may well have walked out since last week. The chef’s the guy who keeps everything going and the only one Unnur doesn’t want to upset too often.”
    “When did you last see Unnur?” Gunna asked.
    “The week before last. When I left to go to the States.”
    “Was there anything about her then that struck you as unusual? Anything odd?”
    Bjartmar’s teeth smiled