Chilled to the Bone

When Sergeant Gunnhildur Gísladóttir of the local police force is called in to investigate the death of a man found tied to a bed in one of Reykjavík's nicest hotels, she finds no sign of criminal activity but suspects there may be more to the case than meets the eye. Could the death of the shipowner be related to a local gangster's recent return to Iceland after many years abroad?

 

What begins as a straightforward case for Gunnhildur soon explodes into a dangerous investigation, involving a discreet bondage society that ruthless men will go to violent extremes to keep secret. Praise for Quentin Bates

"Required reading for anyone who wants a sense of how calamitious Iceland's meltdown was-and what just might be in store for American police procedurals next."-Kirkus Reviews

"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."-Toronto Globe and Mail

"In Gunna Gísladóttir, Quentin Bates has created a character who appeals both on professional and personal levels."-Examiner.com Quentin Bates lived in Iceland for ten years before moving back to the UK in 1990, where he 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 Reykjavík police.
Thursday

 

Gunna stamped the snow from her boots and flinched as the overpowering heat of the hotel's lobby hit her like a slap in the face. The door whispered shut behind her as she looked around, spying a man wearing a grey suit and a worried look by the reception desk. He immediately hurried over to her.

'You're from the police?' He asked in a voice laden with drama but kept so low as to be almost a

murmur.

'That's me. Look like a copper, do I?' Gunna replied brightly, shooting out a hand for the man to grasp and shake limply. 'Gunnhildur Gísladóttir. And you are?'

'Yngvi Jónsson, I'm the duty manager. Where are the rest of you?'

'Only me to start with. Can you show me what's happened?'

Yngvi wrung his hands as he scuttled towards the lift that opened in front of them.

'Of course we've had guests who have had problems before, and even people who have...' he gulped. 'Passed away on the premises. But never anything like this.'

'You know who the man is, I take it?'

'Of course. He's stayed here a good many times in the past and he has always been a real gentleman. It's been such a shock...'

'And his family? He has a family?'

'I haven't contacted anyone except the police. The staff are in the canteen, waiting for you.'

Gunna nodded. Yngvi continued to wring his hands and the lift played muzak until a soft voice

warned them that the third floor was approaching.

'This way, please,' he said needlessly, stepping out of the lift and hurrying along the corridor with Gunna striding at his heels. He swiped a card through the electronic lock of a door, looked left and right along the corridor and pushed the door open.

'There,' he said, and Gunna stepped inside, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves as she did so.

The room was silent and dark. She carefully used the butt of a ballpoint pen to switch on the lights at the switch by the door and surveyed the room in front of her and the naked man stretched across the kingsized bed.

'Who's been in here?' Gunna asked, calling over her should and sensing Yngvi standing in the doorway.

'The cleaner who found him, me, and the doctor.'

'Which doctor was that?'

'Sveinn Ófeigsson, his name is. He's retired, but he's staying here at the moment and as he was in the bar, I asked him to come up with me. I don't know if that was right or not, but it seemed quicker than calling out an ambulance right away.'

Gunna went along the side of the bed and crouched by the man's head, lolling at an unnatural angle, his mouth blocked by a bright red ball held in place