Free Frozen Assets by Quentin Bates

their parents to hand in at the station, or tried to find the owner, or just kept it, I suppose. But no, they knocked on my door and gave it to me, because they all know where Gunna the Cop lives and it didn’t occur to them that I might be off duty.’
    â€˜Is this a problem for you?’
    â€˜Not at all. It’s just part of being on the force in a rural area. It’s part of the package. But it’s the same in town to some extent. Your neighbours are always going to know you’re in the force and they might treat you slightly differently, or they might not.’
    Skúli wrote hasty notes on his pad.
    â€˜So. Young man. Tell me, why Hvalvík?’
    â€˜Don’t know really. It was partly my idea, I suppose, and Reynir Óli said it might make a good feature.’
    â€˜Who’s Reynir Óli?’
    â€˜My editor. It was all set up through the police PR department. I asked the lady there for somewhere rural to go to, but not too far from the city, so she called back the next day and suggested Hvalvík or somewhere up in Snæfellsnes.’
    â€˜So you chose Hvalvík.’
    â€˜Yup. Closer to town,’ Skúli said, delicately wiping the detritus of hot dog from his chin. ‘And it sounded a bit more interesting as well,’ he added sheepishly.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Well, one of my colleagues said it might be a better feature because there are so few women in the police.’
    â€˜You what?’
    â€˜He reckoned it might make a good story because there aren’t many female police officers of your experience.’
    â€˜You mean all the policewomen you see are these young ones who’ve been in the job for five minutes and you might get something more out of an old bag like me?’
    â€˜Um. Yes.’
    Gunna grinned. ‘Good answer. When being questioned by the law, just tell the truth. And who told you this?’
    â€˜Jonni Kristinns, the political editor.’
    â€˜I know Jonni well enough from when I was in the city force. He’s a friend of the bloke who was my partner at the time.’
    â€˜Your husband?’
    Gunna looked sourly across the table at Skúli. ‘No. My police partner when I was on the city force. You work together a lot of the time and I suppose in many ways your partner is someone you get to know better than a husband or a wife.’
    â€˜Is this guy still in the police?’
    â€˜Bjössi? Yeah. But he moved out of the city as well, and out of uniform. He’s in CID in Keflavík now.’
    â€˜What’s his name?’
    â€˜Björn Valsson, known as Bjössi. I haven’t seen Jonni in years. He was on TV as well, wasn’t he?’
    â€˜I think so, a while ago. He’s one of those old guys who can’t keep away from paper.’
    Skúli was acutely aware that he had asked few of the questions he had lined up, but had again ended up doing most of the talking while Gunna asked the questions.
    â€˜How long have you been in the police?’ he asked finally.
    â€˜Sixteen years, with a break in the middle.’
    â€˜What for?’
    â€˜You know, children, all that stuff.’
    â€˜So you’re married?’
    â€˜Not any more.’
    â€˜Is it long since you split up?’
    Gunna gave Skúli a sharp look. ‘Is this really necessary? The last thing I want to see is my private life splashed across Dagurinn on a Saturday morning.’
    â€˜No, it’s not for print. It’s just, you know, for me to build up a picture of you,’ Skúli gabbled. ‘I don’t want to put in too much personal stuff, but people like to see it.’
    â€˜All right,’ Gunna said unwillingly. ‘I have a son from a relationship when I was in my teens. Gísli’s nineteen now. I have a thirteen-year-old daughter with my husband, who died eight years ago in an accident that I don’t want to discuss. Is that enough for