‘Would you like some water?’ Huldar’s side ached from contact with Erla’s iron elbow. If her intention had been to turn him on, a gentle caress of his thigh would have been more apposite. The thought of sex that bore more resemblance to a combat sport, no doubt spiced with obscenities as well, did nothing for him. In fact it was a positive turn-off.
Sigvaldi declined the water. It could have done nothing to alleviate the mental suffering he had been describing.
‘Sigvaldi, I have to ask you something that may be painful. It’s important that you answer honestly.’ Huldar fixed and held the man’s bloodshot eyes with his own. ‘Is there any chance that either of you were having an extra-marital affair?’
The answer came back promptly, without pause for thought. ‘No. No, no and no. Not me and not her. Sure, there have been opportunities, for me at least, but since we got married I haven’t looked at another woman.’
‘How can you be so sure that the same applied to her?’ Erla’s question was a natural one; of course the man couldn’t answer for his wife with absolute certainty.
‘I just know. Elísa wasn’t the type. We were enough for each other. If you don’t believe me, talk to her friends. They’ll confirm it.’
‘We will be talking to them, and not only about that. It’s possible she may have confided in them about something she forgot or chose not to discuss with you. Important information can often be gleaned from incidents that didn’t seem particularly significant at the time.’ Huldar couldn’t actually call any examples to mind and hoped the man wouldn’t press him for any, but Sigvaldi merely stared vacantly at the wall behind them. ‘Moving on. Was Elísa involved in any disputes or altercations at work or outside it that you’re aware of? It doesn’t have to have been recent.’
‘No. Why would you think that?’ Sigvaldi sniffed. Though he hadn’t shed any tears during the interview, he might well be struggling to hold them back. ‘She was popular at work and among her friends. Everyone liked her.’
‘Yes, that’s consistent with the picture we’ve built up. Nevertheless, we’re compelled to ask you a number of questions that may sound absurd to you, if only to eliminate certain lines of inquiry. Just because her colleagues claim everything was fine, that doesn’t necessarily mean she’d have agreed. The same applies to the testimony of her friends.’
‘Elísa didn’t have any enemies.’
‘Not many of us do. Sure, people may envy or dislike us, but fortunately real enemies are few and far between. Anyway, leaving that aside …’ There was no point trying to persuade the man to rake up anything negative about Elísa. Right now he could only see her in a rosy glow. But everyone had their bad days and everyone made mistakes. There wasn’t a man or woman alive who was universally popular. Yet, in spite of intensive questioning, Sigvaldi’s interview still hadn’t provided any leads. It was looking increasingly likely that the murderer had selected Elísa at random. ‘How do you get on with your neighbours? Any tensions about noise or trees or blocking out light, that kind of thing?’
‘No. Nothing like that.’ The man looked as if a light had been switched on in his head, but he was blazing with anger not joy. ‘You think our neighbours might have been responsible? Which ones?’
‘We have no reason to think that. We’re simply trying to examine all the angles, as I explained. So your relations with your neighbours are OK?’
The light in Sigvaldi’s eyes dimmed again. ‘Yes, fine. The people one door down, at number sixty-eight, are quite good friends of ours. We chat to each other over the hedge and have the odd barbecue. Elísa and Védís saw more of each other than me and Helgi.’
‘So they were friends then?’ Erla scribbled down the question as she was speaking. There was no need since the interview was being recorded but it was a habit she had picked up. She took constant notes, during interviews, at the scene and on her computer at work. Although Huldar sometimes wondered if he should follow her example, he didn’t have the knack of writing at the same time as talking to people.
‘Yes. Védís’s second name is Gísladóttir, I think, and I’m almost sure Helgi’s is Magnússon.’ The pen skated deftly over the page as Erla noted this down. Huldar had grown so used to watching her write that he could almost guess the letters from her movements. When she had finished, he looked back at Sigvaldi. The man appeared to be mesmerised by her note-taking as well. He must have slept even less than Huldar over the last few days.
‘Right, I’m going to show you some drawings by your daughter.’ Huldar took a clear plastic sleeve from the pile of documents on the table. ‘We gather that Margrét drew these pictures after seeing a man watching your house from the road and, on at least one occasion, from inside your garden.’
Sigvaldi carefully lined the drawings up in front of him and studied them. It was difficult to interpret his expression and Huldar and Erla had no choice but to wait patiently until he had finished. Without a word, he suddenly collected the pictures together and raised his eyes. ‘These could be Margrét’s. It looks like her style. But then I don’t have any pictures by other girls her age to compare them to.’ He pushed them back across the table. ‘I’ve never seen them before, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘That’s not what I’m asking.’ The man’s reaction had put Huldar on the alert. In the circumstances he would have expected Sigvaldi to ask about the man in the picture. ‘We’re interested in learning whether she mentioned this to either you or Elísa and, if so, whether you have any idea who the man was.’
Sigvaldi seemed at a loss for an answer. They watched him lick his lips and run his left hand through his untidy hair. He sighed and slumped even lower in his chair.
‘Take all the time you need.’ Huldar gestured to the uninspiring refreshments on the tray. ‘Would you like some water now? Or a coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’ There was a puzzled note in Sigvaldi’s voice as if he had never heard of these drinks before and didn’t know if it was safe to try them. He swallowed and his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Then he cleared his throat again and straightened up a little. ‘Margrét’s a child. Kids view the world differently from us. They have a tendency to imagine things.’
‘Imagine things?’ Huldar found Erla’s tone a bit brusque considering that the man was the girl’s father. Apart from Margrét’s comment, there was nothing to link him to the murder. The description Sigvaldi had given of his marriage was consistent with the testimony of everyone they had interviewed and all the evidence they had uncovered so far. In the absence of any other information, they were to treat the man like a grieving husband, though of course they still had to question him about his injuries.
‘Could you explain for us?’ Huldar gave him a friendly smile. ‘I haven’t spoken to your daughter but I’ve seen her and she appears to be a perfectly ordinary little girl in extraordinary circumstances. The psychologists at the Children’s House didn’t dismiss these pictures as imaginary.’ Margrét was seven, old enough in Huldar’s opinion to know the difference between reality and make-believe, though she wasn’t his child. He had about as much desire to have children as he had to sleep with the masculine Erla. ‘Has Margrét been diagnosed with learning difficulties?’
‘No, quite the opposite. She’s doing well at school. Maybe she doesn’t have as many friends as we’d like but she’s not being bullied. Margrét’s just like other children except that she’s got an unusually fertile imagination. She imagines stuff; sees things that aren’t there.’
‘Invisible friends and so on?’ Huldar couldn’t disguise his disappointment. Perhaps the man in the drawings was a figment of the child’s imagination. Their only lead might turn out to be no more real than Father Christmas, who, come to think of it, the girl had also mentioned. He pictured her white, china-doll face and unruly red hair. Was it possible that she hadn’t actually been under the bed when her mother was attacked? Could she have hidden there in the morning after finding Elísa’s cold, stiff body? After lock
ing her own door behind her? Could she have made up all the details about the events of the night? No, impossible. ‘What form does her imagination take?’
‘She doesn’t have visions or see figures or anything like that. But she has a tendency to think something really happened when she only dreamt it. It’s actually not that uncommon among children.’
‘And you’d put this in that category?’ Huldar pointed to the drawings.
‘I don’t know. She never mentioned any man to me or Elísa – as far as I’m aware. Where did you find the drawings?’
‘In her room.’ Huldar couldn’t be any more specific. The officers who had been first to examine the girl’s bedroom couldn’t remember where the pictures had been before they had ended up scattered everywhere for Freyja to find. One had a feeling that they had been in a drawer in the wardrobe, but both agreed that they hadn’t been anywhere conspicuous, and the photos taken before they’d set to work confirmed this. Since her father didn’t know about them, there was no telling whether the girl had hidden them or her mother had been aware of their existence. Hopefully Margrét would be able to enlighten them herself. ‘I’m not entirely satisfied with your dismissal of this as a figment of your daughter’s imagination. The pictures suggest that someone was watching your house, so we need to know if they’re pure fantasy. Is that your considered opinion?’
‘God. No. Yes. I don’t know. I’m just too confused to know what I think about anything.’ Sigvaldi sighed heavily. ‘Why should anyone have been watching us? Isn’t it obvious that the murderer got the wrong house or chose it at random? There’s no way Elísa could have been killed for any reason connected to us. We’re not that sort of people. There can’t have been any man outside. It just doesn’t make sense.’
Further discussion of Margrét’s drawings seemed unlikely to prove productive. The best course would be to have a psychiatrist assess the reliability of the girl’s statement.
‘Has Margrét spoken to you at all about the night her mother died?’ Huldar would have liked to ask Sigvaldi straight out why Margrét blamed him for her mother’s death, but reminded himself that they needed to handle him gently. For now.
‘No.’ Sigvaldi looked bewildered. He gazed at Huldar and Erla in turn. ‘She won’t talk to me. She refuses to be alone with me and won’t even look at me when we’re in company. I have no idea why. God knows, she has no reason to be angry with me or frightened of me.’
Huldar nodded. Clearly the girl hadn’t forgiven her father. It was time to wrap this up. ‘Incidentally, what happened to your hand?’
Sigvaldi glanced down at the scruffy bandage, which obviously wasn’t the work of a professional. ‘I tripped over my suitcase in my hurry to pack. I was in such bad shock that I wasn’t paying attention.’
Huldar nodded again. ‘Did you get it looked at?’
‘No.’ Sigvaldi hesitated, then added: ‘I had other things on my mind.’ There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his hoarse voice.
‘There’s no mention of any injuries in the report of your first interview. Did you trip over the suitcase afterwards?’
‘No. It happened when I was emptying my hotel room. I was in a hurry to leave for the airport after I got the news, obviously. It wasn’t until I got home from the interview that I realised I’d hurt myself. I was met at the airport and brought straight here. That’s why I didn’t mention it, and the police didn’t notice because there was nothing to see then. The black eye only developed after I lay down.’
‘I see. We can help you jump the queue at A&E. You ought to have it looked at.’
‘No, thanks. There’s no need. I’m a doctor, so I know it’s nothing serious. I’ll recover.’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go to A&E. We need a medical certificate confirming the nature of your injuries.’ Huldar didn’t smile. He glanced at the clock. ‘We’d better call it a day. You’re not planning to leave town any time soon, are you? We’re sure to need to talk to you again shortly.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. Except to A&E.’
Huldar slapped the table so hard that his hand stung, then stood up. ‘Right. That’s it then. Unless there’s anything else you want to tell us, or think we ought to know.’
Sigvaldi shook his head. ‘No, nothing I can think of. You’ll keep me in the picture, won’t you? No one cares more than I do about seeing this sick monster caught. No one.’ He lowered his eyes, then rose to his feet. Huldar escorted him all the way to the main entrance. Neither of them spoke. Then, as they stood staring out through the glass that separated them from the bitter north wind, Sigvaldi turned and held out his hand.
‘Good luck. I’ll be waiting by the phone.’ Then an odd look crossed his face, as though he’d forgotten something upstairs. ‘I couldn’t give a damn if Elísa was having an affair. I just want you to find the man who killed her. Then, for all I care, you can kill him.’ He headed to the electronic doors, which opened with a sucking sound. The icy air poured in but Huldar didn’t move. He stayed there, watching thoughtfully, as the man walked over to his car, climbed in and drove away.
Chapter 13
Karl didn’t really know why the car got on his nerves so much. His friends weren’t complaining, though Halli’s knees were jammed against the glove compartment and Börkur kept shifting around in the back seat in a vain attempt to make himself more comfortable. They were in no position to make a fuss, after all; neither owned a car, so they had to make do with the one Karl had inherited from his mother.
In spite of this, Karl simply couldn’t reconcile himself to the vehicle. He might as well face it: almost every detail of his existence sucked, yet he hadn’t been parachuted into someone else’s life by mistake; he was trapped in his own. Ugly house, crap car, substandard friends. This was his world and he had better accept it. No father and now no mother. How ironic that his only ‘close’ relative should be the emotionally – and now also physically – remote Arnar. Could life be any more of a downer? Everyone else at least had a family – or a girlfriend. But even if the woman of his dreams were to fall out of the sky into his arms, chances were she wouldn’t hang around, so there was no point chasing girls. His life sucked. The sooner he accepted it, the better. Nothing was going to change any time soon.
He could start by learning to live with the car – only it was impossible. You’d have thought the goal had been to manufacture a vehicle to meet the minimum possible requirements: bodywork, chassis, four wheels, seats and a steering wheel. Nothing to enhance the driving experience or provide any comfort for the passengers. He also felt inexplicably irritated at the thought of the pride his mother had taken in it, the way she had cleaned it inside and out every week, and taken it for regular services as if it were an aircraft.
Shortly after she died, Karl had checked online to see how much he could get for it, only to be disappointed. The dealer he rang said it made no difference that the car was in perfect condition and that you’d never have known it was eight years old. The only advantage of its being in good condition was that it would speed up the sale. Then he had yawned hugely, as if the vehicle were beneath contempt. Karl had the impression the man was relieved when he said he would have to think about it. Of course, there was no chance of flogging the car anyway. Like the house, he’d have to split the proceeds with Arnar, and his share would only cover the cost of an even crappier model, if such a thing existed. In fact, he’d be lucky to buy a decent bike for that amount.
‘Try ringing the bell.’ Börkur grabbed hold of the headrests and shoved his head forward between the front seats. Karl leant back and his view of the house was blocked by Halli’s head. ‘Just go and ask to speak to the woman.’
‘Then what? What am I supposed to say to her?’ This was the worst idea so far this evening. Not that the others had been much better. ‘Hello. Are you Elísa? I heard your ID number on the radio.’
‘Yeah, why not?’ Börkur looked from the house to Karl. ‘Wouldn’t you be curious if someone knocked on yo
ur door and told you something like that?’
The back of Halli’s head waggled slightly as he spoke. ‘Personally, I’d think he was mental. Some kind of headcase.’ Now and then there was a grain of common sense in Halli’s contributions. ‘She might call the cops. Or freak out and beat you up.’
Karl lost it. He felt an urge to tear down the string of beads that hung from the rear-view mirror and lash Halli over the head with them. ‘What the fuck? Do you really think I’d let some old bag hit me? You might, you fucking pussy. Not me.’
Halli stared at him, flabbergasted by this violent reaction. Karl’s anger evaporated, leaving behind a sensation of emptiness, and he wondered what had made him fly off the handle like that. Halli hadn’t meant any harm, any more than he ever did with his gormless comments. Karl simply wasn’t himself these days; the shortwave broadcasts had unsettled him and his disquiet showed no signs of fading. In fact, it was growing worse.
No doubt it was part and parcel of the existential crisis he had been going through lately. He was dissatisfied with chemistry, dissatisfied with his home, dissatisfied with his friends and dissatisfied with himself.
He had just turned twenty-three and had to face the fact he was a failure. And he couldn’t see how to turn his life around. But losing his temper wasn’t the solution, whatever had brought it on – general depression or his anxiety about the shortwave broadcasts. None of this was Halli’s fault. Karl tried to retrieve the situation: ‘Just kidding.’ It was hard to tell from Halli’s expression whether he believed him; he turned back to the window without a word.
The Legacy Page 14
