Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020)

by Sigurdardottir, Yrsa

  ‘Ta-da!’ Huldar straightened up, rubbing the small of his back. ‘This has got to be it.’ He handed Lína the torn pieces of an envelope on which part of Helgi’s name could be read. It was printed in a standard font. Perhaps it would just turn out to be mail from some institution that had annoyed Helgi enough for him to rip it up. ‘There may be something else there, but this is definitely what we’re looking for.’

  ‘Can we stop then?’ Lína looked like a child who knows the answer’s going to be ‘no’ but asks anyway.

  Huldar shook his head. ‘If we take this up to the office now they’ll chase us back down again to finish the job. So let’s get it over with.’ He glanced at the two remaining bin bags. ‘If our luck’s in, there won’t be any rotting food in them.’ Giving Lína an encouraging smile, he added: ‘Be grateful for small mercies: at least we haven’t come across any dirty nappies.’

  Lína didn’t look remotely grateful. She didn’t smile again until they had tossed aside the last piece of rubbish – a limp cucumber.

  Erla wrinkled her nose for the tenth time since Huldar and Lína had reappeared, clutching the letter and accompanied by a rotten miasma. Huldar deliberately stood as close to Erla as he dared without it being positively indecent. She deserved it.

  ‘I’ve had it up to here with this fucking case,’ Erla growled. ‘Isn’t there anything that can get things moving?’

  In front of her lay the scraps of paper, loosely pieced together to reconstruct the message to Helgi. The letter was short and perfectly legible, despite the gaps where the paper had been torn. ‘What the hell’s this supposed to mean?’

  ‘It looks like a complaint from a neighbour. Maybe he held too many parties.’ Lína picked up a biro from Erla’s desk and pointed carefully at the scraps while her boss looked on in impatient disbelief. ‘It’s impossible to read it any other way.’

  ‘Of course it’s a bloody complaint. We don’t need you to tell us that.’ Erla reached across her desk and snatched the biro from Lína’s hand. Huldar reminded himself to have a quiet word with Erla afterwards about treating Lína with more respect. With her innate air of authority, he wouldn’t be surprised if the girl ended up as police commissioner one day.

  Still, Erla could be forgiven for her impatience. Any idiot could see what the letter was about. It was an anonymous note addressed to Helgi, pointing out that he had done nothing about the noise coming from his flat at weekends. The writer referred specifically to the previous Saturday night, a week before Helgi died, saying that since Helgi obviously hadn’t taken any notice of his previous complaints, the writer had no choice but to resort to more drastic methods. Helgi was reminded that this could have been avoided and his attention was drawn to the rules of the building, which required residents to maintain quiet by midnight at weekends and 10 p.m. on weekdays.

  ‘This can hardly be linked to the murder.’ Huldar edged after Erla as she recoiled step by step from the smell, until she was backed up against the wall. ‘Disputes with neighbours can get nasty but I don’t believe that they’d lead to a man being hanged in a lava-field. That’s way over the top.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Erla scowled, either because the pieced-together letter hadn’t lived up to expectations or because of the suffocating odour. Or both, maybe. ‘It strikes me as a bit odd, though. Couldn’t the writer have knocked on his door and asked him to keep it down? Why send a letter?’

  ‘According to his immediate neighbours and the caretaker, he was a model resident. They didn’t say a word about parties. It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘There’s always one whinger who keeps their ear glued to the wall in the hope of finding something to moan about.’ This sounded unusually heartfelt from Lína.

  ‘I don’t think that’s the case here.’ In Huldar’s opinion, none of the neighbours he’d met from the adjoining flats had come across as the fussy type. ‘Of course, we can talk to them again, but I very much doubt they’d admit to it. The letter’s anonymous and now that the news of Helgi’s death has been made public, no one’s going to want to come forward and complain about him.’ It wasn’t done to speak ill of the dead, especially not of a murder victim. That was one of the few advantages of this form of death. It worked wonders for your reputation, acting like catharsis on most members of the public, if not on the police.

  Erla seemed to agree, though she didn’t admit it. Instead, she pushed the scraps of paper into an evidence bag, using the biro she’d snatched from Lína, then sealed it. ‘This is bullshit. It has bugger all to do with his murder.’

  ‘Have I remembered wrong?’ Lína was staring at the bag in Erla’s hands. ‘Wasn’t Helgi abroad that weekend? Didn’t he fly home the Thursday before he was killed?’

  Erla and Huldar were both silent. Lína was absolutely right. Helgi had been in America the weekend of the alleged disturbance. ‘Does anyone else have keys to the flat?’ Erla asked by way of reply.

  Lína was quick to answer, having memorised every detail of the investigation. Before the age of computers, this talent would have made her indispensible. ‘No. Everyone agrees that no one else did. There was a spare bunch in his flat. But since the building has a key system, they can confirm that there are no other copies.’

  ‘What about the master key?’

  ‘The master key? What’s that?’ Lína asked, revealing her youth and inexperience.

  Erla grinned for the first time since they’d entered her office. ‘Go away and google it.’

  As Huldar was about to leave with Lína, Erla stopped him. ‘Talk to the caretaker again. If someone’s been holding parties at Helgi’s place, they must have either borrowed the key directly from him or got hold of the keys from the caretaker. They’re the only alternatives – assuming the caretaker hasn’t been holding parties there himself, which I find hard to believe from your description. I suppose you can never be sure, though. Go and have another word.’ Meeting Huldar’s eyes, Erla grinned nastily and added the stinger: ‘When you’ve finished watching the porn.’

  ‘One thing before I go. Did the bed turn out to be at Helgi’s summer house?’

  ‘Nope. It’s not there. The guy supervising the search just called to say they’re on their way back to town. They found nothing of interest. No bed like the one in the videos, no computers or cameras. No signs of a struggle, or drugs or anything else suspicious.’

  ‘Is there any other evidence that Helgi owned further properties here in Reykjavík?’

  ‘No, not yet. The estate agents claim not to have sold him any flat apart from the one he bought when he relocated from New York. Of course, it’s possible he invested in property through one of his shell companies but it’s proving tricky trying to unravel his business affairs and so far nothing’s cropped up.’ Belatedly, she cottoned on. ‘You mean this letter might not be referring to the flat he was living in?’

  ‘It crossed my mind. If he turns out to own another flat, he could have used it as a party pad, to avoid pissing off his neighbours at the luxury place. Or a shag pad, maybe. A flat where he could invite women back whenever he got lucky. Perhaps he didn’t want to bring them home with him in case they were the type who are impossible to get rid of afterwards – you know, pestering him for a relationship. Either way – party flat or shag pad – there’s every chance the noise disturbed his neighbours.’ The moment he’d said it, Huldar could have eaten his words. The bit about women being impossible to get rid of was bound to hit a sore spot with Erla, given their history. But it was too late to take it back, so he went on quickly: ‘Maybe the whingeing neighbour knew he lived somewhere else and sent the letter to his home address.’

  Erla nodded slowly. ‘Maybe. But that doesn’t alter the fact that Helgi wasn’t in the country on the weekend in question.’ She waved at Huldar to leave. ‘Anyway, the porn’s waiting. Once you’ve finished that, go and see the caretaker. Take Gudlaugur with you. But for Christ’s sake, change your clothes first. You stink to high heaven.’

&n
bsp; Chapter 23

  Huldar arched his back, running his hands through his hair. He badly needed a cigarette but it wasn’t long since his last fag break so it would have to wait.

  Watching sex videos hadn’t sounded like much of an ordeal, so it had come as a surprise to him to discover that he hated every minute of it and found the footage anything but titillating. The experience just made him deeply uncomfortable. The naked women on screen had never intended these intimate moments to be shared with anyone and he was acutely aware that watching them was a violation. Even reminding himself that he was doing it in an official capacity didn’t help much. He realised that part of his discomposure stemmed from the knowledge that he hadn’t been exactly straight in his own dealings with women over the years. Of course, he hadn’t secretly filmed anyone, but his behaviour had been underhand and frequently dishonest. And much like Helgi he had never had a lasting or meaningful relationship with a woman. Although he thought of himself as basically a good guy, maybe he and Helgi weren’t really as different as he would have liked to believe.

  Mercifully, Erla had provided him with a private office after he complained that he couldn’t concentrate properly with his colleagues breathing down his neck all the time. This had been done, not out of consideration for him, but for the sake of the young women writhing around naked on screen, one minute underneath, the next on top of Helgi. Iceland was a small country and the fewer people who saw the videos, the better. You never knew when someone might spot a friend or relative.

  Like now.

  Thank God, the woman sending a lust-filled gaze in his direction wasn’t one of his five sisters or the woman from the canteen or anyone else he regularly associated with. She couldn’t even be called a friend. He’d spent a night with her once, two years ago. Ordinarily, he doubted he’d even have recognised her, but the circumstances had triggered a memory and then there was no mistaking her. The file name fitted too: she was called Ugla.

  ‘Oh, fuck no.’ He’d spoken aloud, the words sounding ridiculous in the empty room. He breathed out heavily. What now? Should he go and alert Erla? Or keep quiet and hope he’d recognise one of the girls in the two remaining videos from somewhere other than a one-night stand? The purpose of watching them was to find someone who could tell them about the circumstances in which the videos had been made. To that end, one of his tasks was to crop the frames to produce images of the women’s faces that would help identify them. So far he had managed to create four usable headshots, though this had been easier said than done as their poses were not exactly what you’d get in a passport photo: wild hair, eyes shut, mouths open in a coital grimace. To make matters worse, they rarely faced the camera and when they did, their features were often obscured.

  His mind cleared. Of course he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. He would have to tell Erla that he’d managed to dig up the name of one of the women. He scrolled through the contacts list on his phone. Yes, there was her name and number. He’d meant to call her but never got round to it, if he remembered right. That wasn’t the end of the world, as she’d taken his number too and never got in touch. Not wanting to pursue a closer acquaintance after a one-night stand was normal enough. So it shouldn’t be embarrassing to talk to her – if the job fell to him. Perhaps it would be delegated to one of his colleagues, he thought hopefully.

  Huldar selected the best screenshot he could get of the woman’s face and printed it out. Laying it aside, he wondered how best to account to Erla for his acquaintance with Ugla without telling a bare-faced lie. After all, Ugla might ask how they’d traced her and in that case the story would have to be convincing. Best to say they’d met in a bar, had a long chat and exchanged phone numbers, which was true as far as it went. He couldn’t face telling Erla that he’d gone to bed with the woman. If he did, he could guarantee that she would dispatch him immediately to interview her. She wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, aware from personal experience of his modus operandi when it came to one-night stands. She had every reason to want him to get his comeuppance.

  Huldar stood up. Best get it over with. But Erla’s office was empty and she was nowhere to be seen. Choosing to interpret this as fate telling him to postpone his announcement, he fetched his coat and went outside for a smoke. It would give him a chance to think.

  With his lungs full of smoke and nicotine pulsing through his veins, everything seemed simpler. Of course, he would ring Ugla. That would be much less awkward than talking to her face to face or sitting there imagining the worst if his colleagues were sent round instead. Christ, the job might go to Jóel and it would be intolerable if that prick got wind of the fact that he was linked to one of the witnesses in this way. Huldar couldn’t be sure the truth would emerge, but he didn’t want to take the risk.

  He got out his phone, found the number, took a drag, then pressed ‘Call’.

  Ugla answered after only one ring, causing Huldar to choke on the smoke that he had just inhaled. As a result, the conversation didn’t begin as planned and things only went downhill from there.

  It took the woman a while to work out who he was. ‘Huldar. Remember me? We met in a bar about two years ago. During the Winter Lights Festival, I think.’

  Ugla ummed and ahhed until finally she seemed to place him. ‘Oh. You.’

  Huldar could tell from her voice that she hadn’t formed too high an opinion of him. ‘I gave you my number,’ he said in mock rueful tones, ‘but you never called.’

  There was a brief silence, then the woman answered coldly: ‘You gave me a number that didn’t exist.’

  ‘What?’ Huldar closed his eyes like the women in the videos, but from frustration rather than pleasure. How could he be so unlucky? He didn’t often fob women off with a false number, so the odds had been on his side. He attempted to retrieve the situation. ‘It wasn’t deliberate. I must have been totally wasted.’

  ‘You were driving.’

  Again there was a heavy silence. Huldar couldn’t think of anything to retrieve the situation. The fact was he’d behaved like a shit and no words or excuses could make up for that. He closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Fate kept contriving to force him to confront the truth about himself and his past behaviour. He couldn’t say he particularly enjoyed this flash of insight.

  But when Ugla spoke again she sounded suddenly more cheerful. ‘Never mind. You’re calling now. Better late than never.’

  ‘Yes, er, right. Actually, my call’s work related.’ When Ugla didn’t say anything, Huldar ploughed on: ‘Presumably you’ve seen the news about the murder inquiry. Well, I’m working on that and there’s something I need to ask you.’

  ‘What?’ This time her tone was icy enough to freeze Huldar’s ear off.

  ‘The murder victim was called Helgi Fridriksson. You may not have twigged, since it’s a common name, but I think you were acquainted with him. The man was an investor and I have reason to believe that your paths crossed a bit under a year ago.’

  ‘I’d already worked that out.’ Ugla fell silent again, apparently determined not to make Huldar’s life easy. He couldn’t blame her.

  ‘I see. May I ask if you had a long relationship?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was it only the one night, maybe?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  The cigarette had almost burned down to his fingers. The woman’s answers were so curt that he didn’t have time to take a puff. ‘Two nights? Longer?’

  ‘Does it matter? Surely you don’t think I killed him?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t think anything of the sort. And you’re right that it doesn’t matter how often you met him. What I’m trying to find out is where you went on the night or nights you spent with him.’

  ‘Where we went?’

  ‘Yes.’ Huldar tried to think of a way of phrasing his question without having to say the word bed. ‘I’m not talking about a restaurant or a bar or a cinema or anything like that. I’m talking about a fl
at or apartment block that you might be able to help us find.’

  ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘It must sound a bit odd but, the thing is, we’re trying to find a property that we think Helgi had at his disposal. I have reason to believe that you visited him there and can help us locate it.’

  ‘Why the hell would you think that? Because I made the mistake of going home with you that one time?’

  Huldar dithered. Ugla had a right to hear the truth. It was a question of how to break it to her. It would be no joke to learn that you appeared in a sex video that was being used as evidence in a criminal inquiry. ‘No. That’s not the reason. Absolutely not. Look, we’ve got hold of some video files of Helgi’s that seem to have been filmed in a bedroom.’ He paused, hoping she would say something, but she didn’t, so he was forced to go on. ‘They’re recordings. Let’s just say that we suspect the women involved may not have been aware of the camera.’

  ‘Recordings?’ Ugla’s mouth sounded as dry as if she’d just crossed the Sinai Desert without a water bottle.

  ‘Yes. Recordings. Hopefully I don’t have to spell it out.’ Huldar guessed she understood from the fact that she didn’t answer. ‘Let me stress that we’re very conscious of how extremely delicate this is. The videos will only be seen by a select few, when it’s strictly necessary for the investigation.’

  She didn’t sound remotely reassured. ‘And you just happened to see it by chance?’

  ‘No, not by chance. I was given the job of going through the material. You’re not the only woman to have been filmed like this. We recovered a number of other video files from Helgi’s computer. The only coincidence is that I recognised you.’

  There was silence at the other end and Huldar grabbed the chance to take a drag before his cigarette burned right down to the filter. ‘I take it you had no knowledge of this.’

  ‘How could it even cross your mind that I’d have consented to something like that?’