The Legacy

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Karl’s mother was now dead, having eventually succumbed after suffering repeated strokes. Not long afterwards his father had been killed in a work-related accident. Since neither of them was alive to tell the tale, it had taken considerable effort to piece the story together. At first the police only had the names of Karl’s parents, which his lawyer had handed over without being asked. The man had been as shocked as Huldar and Ríkhardur by Karl’s collapse in the interview room and seemed eager to dissociate himself from the case. He had handed over his notes from the interview as well as several points he had written down while he and Karl were alone together. Huldar had glanced through these and thought there was little to be gained from them, not least since some parts were illegible, especially the comments the lawyer had scribbled down at the end.

  The mother’s name had led them to her brother who was alive and in perfectly good health. Eventually he had agreed to tell them the story as he knew it. His initial reluctance had been due to a sense of guilt and shame that he hadn’t taken in the little boy himself. He confided in Huldar that at the time he’d had enough of watching his loved ones die. Now that he was older, though, he realised that we’re all doomed to die in the end, regardless of our genetic inheritance.

  They learnt from him that in those days it had been impossible to tell whether Karl had inherited the gene and in consequence few people were willing to adopt a child with a fifty-fifty chance of dying before he was thirty. But according to Karl’s uncle, a woman who worked within the system had come forward and expressed herself willing to adopt the boy as long as his origins were kept secret. She didn’t want him to grow up knowing that he had a sword of Damocles hanging over his head. Huldar found her attitude understandable: not only was it uncertain whether Karl carried the gene but even if he did it wasn’t inevitable that he would have a stroke. They had verified that the paperwork relating to Karl’s birth had been destroyed. It transpired that this was not uncommon practice in the past, especially when the adoptive parents were social workers or otherwise well connected. Nowadays, however, a child’s right to know its origins was enshrined in the law.

  If Karl’s brother’s history was anything like Karl’s, you’d have thought he would be better off not knowing. But Arnar wouldn’t stop asking questions, so desperate was he to discover how Karl had unearthed his biological mother’s name. He had come to the station on more than one occasion to check if any papers had been found during the search of the house but unfortunately they couldn’t help him. He said the same thing every time he left: Ring me if you find something, whatever it is.

  Seeing Ríkhardur walk past the office, Huldar called out to him. After his phone conversation with Karlotta he had managed to lock away his guilt at the back of his mind. Well, perhaps not entirely, he still got a glimpse of it now and then, but enough for him to be able to behave naturally in Ríkhardur’s presence. For that he would be eternally grateful to Karlotta.

  Ríkhardur also appeared to be recovering. He had taken off his wedding ring and in time the white circle on his finger would fade or be covered up by a new ring. Perhaps his new girlfriend wouldn’t be as perfect or tailor-made for Ríkhardur as Karlotta, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

  Sometimes, when a couple were too alike, their relationship just didn’t work.

  Erla had destroyed her chances with him by shunning them both when they fell out of favour – if she had ever been interested. And a stubborn type like Ríkhardur would never forgive something like that, which made it all the more imperative that Karlotta’s adultery with Huldar should never come to light.

  Huldar wondered whether to suggest they hit the town together at the weekend, but on second thoughts it would only cramp his style. Beside the flawless Ríkhardur there was little chance he would pull. Perhaps he should make a last-ditch attempt to ask Freyja out instead. Up to now she had refused his requests for a date, initially with a snort of laughter, then wearily, and finally with a hint of pity. Now he could ring and say he wanted to invite her out to celebrate the fact that the case was closed and they wouldn’t be meeting again. That might work.

  Ríkhardur paused at the door as if afraid Huldar was going to dump some tedious chore on him. There were a few outstanding matters that needed to be tidied up.

  ‘Do you remember if Karl’s brother’s flying back to the States today or tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’ As ever, Ríkhardur had all the facts at his fingertips. ‘Were you planning to call him back in for interview?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s your last chance. I doubt we’ll receive funding to travel to America if it turns out we’ve forgotten something.’

  ‘No. If anything comes up, we should be able to deal with it over the phone.’ Huldar rested his gaze on the picture of the Reynisdrangar stacks and wondered if he should ask Ríkhardur to help him choose a place for it. Then he decided the picture would just have to go wherever it was easiest to bang a nail in the wall; not too high, not too low. ‘By the way, has anything turned up that could help him trace his parents?’

  ‘No. I’m going through the records that IT provided of Karl’s computer activity over the last few weeks but I still haven’t come across any clues. I’ve not actually finished, but I doubt there’s anything there. Perhaps Karl knew nothing about Arnar’s parentage.’

  ‘Well, don’t waste too much time on it. I doubt the guy’ll be any better off for knowing the information, in the unlikely event that it does turn up.’

  ‘No, perhaps not.’ Ríkhardur sounded unconvinced. ‘Still, one can understand why he’s so anxious to know. It may be his last chance. It’s clear now that the official documents about his background were destroyed, so it’s not as if he can find out by the usual methods.’

  ‘Even more reason to leave well alone. They won’t have destroyed the information simply to please his mother. She didn’t have that much clout. There must have been something in his history that people agreed would be better forgotten.’

  ‘Isn’t it just that he’s inherited the stroke gene as well?’

  ‘I doubt it – from what I understand the brothers aren’t related, so it would be an extraordinary coincidence if he had. No, it must be something else. Maybe an illness, maybe something to do with his parents.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you want to know? I would.’ Ríkhardur smoothed down his shirt. ‘However sad it was.’

  ‘Luckily for me that’s not something I have to think about.’ Huldar thought he knew what was behind this: Ríkhardur wanted to be granted permission to continue the search. After all, Arnar was a man after Ríkhardur’s own heart; highly educated and preternaturally calm considering the situation – no tears, no messy emotions. In other circumstances they could have become best friends, if men like that were capable of such a thing. Were Ríkhardur and Arnar to go out clubbing together, it would certainly be a lot harder for women to choose between them than if Huldar went along. ‘As far as I’m concerned you can hunt for the information as long as you like. Finish going through the computer files, then take a look at the few documents we found at the house. Karl threw away almost every single scrap of paper so it shouldn’t take long. I’ve leafed through them myself but couldn’t see anything of interest.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Ríkhardur appeared pleased, as Huldar had guessed he would. Before he left, Ríkhardur glanced at the picture on the floor and asked if he was going to hang it up.

  ‘Yes, it’s probably safe to now.’

  Ríkhardur evidently didn’t understand this reply and walked away looking thoughtful.

  Huldar got up to fetch a hammer and nail. The inquiry was now focusing on matters of such secondary importance that surely nothing else could go wrong. It was highly unlikely he would be thrown out of his office any time soon.

  When it came to it, though, Huldar hesitated about hitting the nail into the wall. He still wasn’t quite satisfied and decided to deal with the last few loose ends first. The humiliation of having to take t
he picture down again and carry it back to his old workstation was too great a risk. He was expecting to sign off on the case by the end of the day and the picture would surely survive on the floor till then. It wasn’t as if he had many visitors; some of the team had already been transferred to other cases and Erla was avoiding him, apparently ashamed of the way she had betrayed him. He meant to seek her out and reassure her that it didn’t matter and that he quite understood. Well, sort of. But that could wait, like the picture. The nail in the wall and reconciliation with Erla would mark the end of his first big case.

  He pulled over the lawyer’s notes and began to read them for the second time. After this they would be sent to the archives, scanned and saved in digital form as part of the case file, and probably no one would ever look at them again. There would be no need. The interview had been recorded and the notes contained nothing new. The only part that might be of interest was what the lawyer had written down at the end when he and the suspect had tried to scrape together anything that could possibly improve his position.

  Huldar came across a word he couldn’t decipher; it appeared to begin with an H or a B and end with a Y. In between were what might be an L, a U, an A or O and possibly an N. It was followed by several question marks. Instead of pushing the pad away, Huldar decided to ring the lawyer. That way, if the investigation was reviewed in-house, he wouldn’t be left looking like an idiot but could claim to have thoroughly acquainted himself with every detail.

  The lawyer was disappointed when he realised who was on the line. He had probably been hoping it was a defendant seeking a solicitor. Unless he had had his name taken off the list of defence counsels as he had threatened to after the debacle of Karl’s interview. His name had cropped up frequently in the media storm sparked by the near-death of a suspect in police custody. Attempts had been made to question his conduct. One headline had read: Lawyer’s meteoric fall from grace. This had misfired after the media coverage took a different direction and afterwards perhaps he was even tickled at having for once in his life been described as a ‘star lawyer’.

  ‘Burglary. It probably says burglary.’ The lawyer had told Huldar there was no need for him to scan the relevant page and e-mail it to him; it was engraved on his memory, alas.

  ‘What burglary?’

  ‘Karl said they’d had a break-in shortly before his mother died. He thought the burglar might have stolen the soldering iron. I can’t say I found it very plausible but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to look into it.’

  ‘I see.’ Huldar pushed aside the hammer and nail. Why hadn’t this emerged after Karl’s arrest? He’d lived at the same address all his life, so the incident should have been immediately obvious on the police database. Perhaps no one had run a search on his address. They’d had other things on their mind. Karl’s guilt was not in doubt and the team was busy trying to discover a motive for the murders and to link Karl to the purchase of a helmet and duct tape, to no avail. No one had wasted a minute on checking whether Karl could conceivably be innocent; the evidence to the contrary was too compelling. Far too compelling. Why the hell was he even thinking about this now? So what if there had been a break-in at Karl’s house? How could it possibly be linked to the killings? The answer was simple: there was no link. It was just that he couldn’t accept that the case had been solved. It had occupied all his thoughts for too long for him to be able to let it go.

  That must be the explanation.

  Suddenly his phone rang. He stared at the screen, wondering what the Children’s House wanted with him. Perhaps they were drafting an invoice for him to approve. You have one large bill waiting in the system. But that could hardly be the reason; no settlement of that type would be necessary between two state institutions, any more than he would send an invoice to the victims’ families for the cost of the inquiry. He cheered up when he heard who it was. Perhaps Freyja had been thinking along the same lines as him about celebrating the closure of the case. But her tone of voice suggested otherwise.

  ‘I hope I’m not ringing at a bad time.’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Huldar instantly regretted having been so quick off the mark, afraid that she would picture him with his feet up on the desk, whistling idly. ‘I’m just tying up some minor loose ends relating to the investigation, but they can wait. I’m hoping it’ll be formally signed off later today.’

  ‘Actually, that’s why I called. Did you have anything particular in mind in connection with the end of the inquiry?’

  ‘How funny – great minds think alike.’ Huldar smiled broadly. His repeated attempts seemed finally to be paying off: she wanted to celebrate with him and he didn’t care if it was only out of pity. It was a start.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She sounded astonished.

  Huldar closed his eyes. Damn. ‘Sorry, I misunderstood. Go on.’

  ‘Do you need a report from us?’

  Huldar opened his eyes and shook his head, cross with himself. ‘Yes, that would be great. Presumably you’ll describe the interviews and what emerged from them?’

  ‘Yes. We have a fairly standard form. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add a section on Margrét’s welfare. It might have an impact on our future collaboration if the police can see in black and white just how important our services are for the children who end up in this sort of situation.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ He wasn’t about to disillusion her by pointing out that no one but him would read the report. He knew his colleagues. And he himself would only read it because he was obliged to as head of the inquiry.

  ‘As I already know Margrét quite well, it was decided that I should assess her need for further therapy. She’s been to see me several times.’

  ‘And?’ Huldar wasn’t sure where this was leading but clearly it wasn’t out for a drink with him.

  ‘There’s an issue I wanted to run by you. I don’t know whether to leave it out or include it in the report. You see, it might be embarrassing for you.’

  ‘Embarrassing for me?’ Huldar’s curiosity was piqued. The vision of the two of them alone together in a quiet bar evaporated.

  ‘Yes. A bit. At least, I think so.’ She paused, then continued. ‘Margrét is adamant that you’re the murderer.’

  ‘Me?’ Huldar burst out laughing. ‘What on earth gave her that idea? What about the photo? Wasn’t she satisfied that it was Karl?’

  ‘She retracted. Now she’s claiming she was confused. The man just happens to look a bit like the one she saw and anyway she didn’t get a good view of him.’

  ‘She can hardly think I look like the man in the garden?’

  ‘She won’t be drawn on that. I was going to have another go at getting her to explain and wondered if you’d like to come along and observe. She’s due for an appointment with me later today and I could hold it in the interview room if you like. You’d have to make sure you arrived first so there was absolutely no chance of her seeing you.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘It’s at three. In two hours’ time. Hopefully it’ll either clarify things or I’ll manage to talk some sense into her. Margrét can’t possibly go back out into the world in the belief that her mother’s killer is not only still on the loose but, to make matters worse, is a policeman.’

  ‘I’ll be there at half two.’ Huldar hung up. Clearly that picture wasn’t going to be hung today.

  In the meantime he would concentrate on the report about items missing from the property office.

  It made for more interesting reading than he had expected.

  As did the details on the police database about the burglary of Karl’s mother’s house.

  Not to mention the report on Halli’s illegal downloads, which Huldar had only skimmed before but now read right the way through.

  Chapter 34

  Huldar understood now what it meant to see red. He felt as if his eyes were bleeding; everything appeared to him through a pink haze. His thoughts were boiling and churning in his head.

  But he had to
swallow his rage and force himself to sit still and watch Freyja. For some time now she had been chatting to Margrét about how she was feeling, without once referring to the murder. Although he was well aware that the questions had to follow a certain pattern and were gradually increasing in seriousness, his impatience was killing him. Under the table his foot twitched up and down, its tempo increasing with every irrelevant question.

  Margrét’s father was sitting across from him. This time it was Sigvaldi who had accompanied his daughter to the Children’s House. According to Freyja, the little girl was more or less reconciled to his presence again.

  Huldar couldn’t really object but he was cross with himself for failing to foresee this. What had he thought? That Margrét would come alone on the bus?

  Last time they met, Sigvaldi had been distraught, angry and grieving, trying to come to terms with his wife’s death. Now he seemed chiefly put out at having to share a room with Huldar and was no doubt cursing himself for not having accepted Freyja’s invitation to remain in the waiting room. He could have sat there drinking coffee and reading the papers instead of awkwardly shifting further and further away from Huldar by rocking his chair backwards, an inch at a time, after his initial attempt at small talk had been met with nothing but an angry hiss from Huldar.

  If Huldar didn’t concentrate there was a risk he would lose track of what was being said on the other side of the glass. It was too easy to become distracted by his fury with everything and everyone, but chiefly with himself for having missed so much and been made to look such a fool. He had to keep his head if he was to see his plan through and close in on the person he now believed was guilty.

  While Margrét was replying to a question about how she was getting on at school, Huldar’s thoughts wandered, in spite of himself, to the discoveries he had made in the last two hours. All that was lacking to complete the picture was Margrét’s testimony. Everything else fitted in with his new theory – and not one shred of evidence pointing to Karl’s guilt would stand up to scrutiny.