The Doll

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  ‘Do you need a lift?’ Freyja gestured towards the bicycle rental place where she had parked. She didn’t feel like explaining to the police what she was doing there as it wasn’t supposed to be her job to go out looking for Rósa. Her role was limited to sitting in on the interviews and being there for the young people.

  The woman glanced at the policeman, who seemed on the point of heading in their direction. ‘Yes, please.’

  They walked quickly over to the car and got in. Freyja pulled away just as the policeman appeared between the stacks of timber. She hoped she was too far off for him to be able to read her registration plate. When she stole a peek in the rear-view mirror, she saw that he wasn’t making a note of anything. He was just standing there, watching them drive away, still with the old phone in his hands.

  The fridge was as bare as it had been that morning. It felt even barer, somehow. ‘What do you say, Saga? Would you like Cheerios for tea?’

  Saga seemed content with this. At least, her perma-scowl didn’t get any deeper. Molly, on the other hand, sent Freyja a look of disgust. The dog had a vested interest in the subject since a large part of what Saga ate landed on the floor, where Molly would be waiting to hoover it up.

  Freyja took out the milk and shook the carton. She was relieved to discover that there was enough in there for one bowl of cereal. She would have to find something else for herself. A tin of baked beans, perhaps. Her stomach grumbled in protest.

  The doorbell rang. The owner of the flat had chosen a loud peal of bells that would be more appropriate for a cathedral than a modern apartment block. The first time a visitor had come round after Freyja moved in, she had half expected to find the Pope on the doorstep, but it had turned out to be her friends, a group who had precisely nothing in common with His Holiness.

  This visitor was also from the lower end of the scale of human virtues. On the entryphone’s video screen she saw none other than Huldar, holding up a bag from a burger chain and a colourful children’s meal box. That was good enough for Freyja. She buzzed him in.

  Chapter 15

  Thursday

  The kitchen table was littered with packaging from the fast food that Freyja had wolfed down with embarrassing greed. Huldar, not to be outdone, had demolished two burgers and more than his fair share of fries, before embarking on the remaining burger that Freyja had declined on the grounds that one was enough. The only person eating like a diplomat at an official function was Saga, who took neat little mouthfuls and dipped her chips in the ketchup with her pinkie crooked. She only showed her true nature towards the end of the meal when she’d had enough and started chucking the leftovers into Molly’s gaping jaws, all refinement abandoned, as if the diplomat had overindulged in the complimentary booze.

  Now that the food was finished, Freyja started having regrets. Huldar was a policeman; her landlord a criminal. The expensive furnishings had no doubt been paid for with ill-gotten gains, and although Huldar was unlikely to cause trouble, the situation still made her uneasy. Still, at least he hadn’t come out with anything embarrassing yet. When he arrived, he had congratulated her on having found a flat and asked who it belonged to. Freyja had muttered something about a friend of Baldur’s but omitted to explain why the flat had been available. Huldar had asked no further questions and she had relaxed, apart from inadvertently glancing at the door of the snake’s room every few minutes. The thought alone was enough to make her eyes slide in that direction.

  ‘What’s in that room?’ Huldar jerked his chin at the closed door. Her frequent glances had not gone unnoticed.

  Freyja could feel her cheeks growing hot. ‘Oh, just some stuff belonging to the owner. I never go in there. It’s locked.’

  Saga pointed a fat finger at the door and emitted a long hissing noise. Freyja immediately regretted having played ‘What does the snake say?’ when they were looking through a picturebook about animals. She could feel her face glowing even hotter and, flustered, she began collecting up the wrappers on the table.

  ‘Aren’t you curious?’ Huldar’s eyes remained fixed on the door.

  ‘No. I’m not interested in someone else’s belongings.’

  Huldar grinned. ‘If you say so.’ When he still couldn’t tear his gaze away, Freyja grew nervous that he would get up and press his ear to the door. Or even pull a skeleton key from his pocket and start picking the lock. To distract his attention, she asked the question that had occurred to her when he’d appeared at the front door, only to be driven out of her head by the sight of the food. ‘How did you know where I live?’ She wasn’t registered at this address. Even the rental contract hadn’t been committed to paper: Baldur’s friend had sealed the deal by giving her a high five, which he had considered quite sufficient to complete the formalities.

  ‘I’m a cop.’ Huldar winked at Saga.

  The little girl tried to copy him but couldn’t do it. She kept blinking both eyes simultaneously.

  ‘I can find anyone,’ he added.

  ‘What about Rósa?’ Freyja retorted before standing up to take the packaging to the bin.

  ‘Anyone except her.’ Huldar didn’t sound remotely offended. ‘But we’ll find her in the end. Gudlaugur’s on the team and promised to ring if they track her down tonight, regardless of the time. It’s getting pretty urgent.’

  ‘So there’s no news?’

  ‘Nope. Next to nothing. We’re still gathering evidence and taking witness statements in connection with the murder on Grandi. We should hopefully have a clearer picture by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘You don’t have any suspects?’

  ‘Yes, we do, as a matter of fact. One of the neighbours had blood on the soles of his shoes and was arrested after being questioned at the station. The blood was sent off for analysis and turned out to belong to the victim. But I don’t buy the neighbour as the killer. There’s too much that doesn’t fit. Mind you, having said that, I’m fairly sure the victim was killed by someone he knew. Someone drunk or totally off their head. Why else would anyone want to murder the guy? Maybe it was the neighbour, at the end of the day. Anyway, my bet is that it was just one of those messy killings that happen almost by accident. Nothing more complicated than that.’

  ‘So that’s all there is to it?’

  ‘Yeah. Probably.’ Huldar rose to his feet. Saga immediately reached both arms up to him and he lifted her out of her high chair. No one needs an interpreter to understand a child’s body language. He sat down again with her on his lap and, apparently contented, she started fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Luckily she was extremely clumsy and failed to undo them. A little ketchup got smeared on his shirt in the process but Huldar didn’t seem to mind. As a police officer, he must be used to getting all kinds of muck on him. ‘We may never know exactly what happened. But you can bet we’ll find his killer.’

  Freyja told him about the woman she had encountered on Grandi. She had given her a lift down to Lækjartorg Square, where the woman had said she would catch a bus home. Freyja hadn’t asked where she lived. If the woman had wanted to share that information, she would have done so. They hadn’t exchanged names either. Their paths were unlikely ever to cross again and there was no need to get sentimental and pretend they would. But her ignorance of the woman’s name didn’t alter the fact that Freyja sincerely hoped she would manage to stay on the wagon.

  ‘According to this woman, she bumped into Tristan and Rósa – well, probably Rósa – when she visited Binni about a year ago. She didn’t know why they were there but she got the idea they might be dealing or making a delivery. I don’t know if she was right. According to the paperwork I’ve seen, Rósa’s never tested positive for drugs. I suppose that’s irrelevant, though. She could have got involved for the money. Or just gone along because of Tristan. Do you know if he’s got a history of using drugs? He looks squeaky clean from his file.’

  Huldar pinched Saga’s nose and she screwed up her eyes with enjoyment. ‘No. He’s not an addict. Not as far as I kn
ow. I haven’t heard any rumours about him dealing either. But then I don’t know much about him. They’re planning to talk to him this week, so maybe it would be an idea for me to sit in on his interview, on the grounds that he had a link to the murder victim. It wouldn’t hurt for me to ask.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’ Freyja fetched a clean cloth, wet it and began to wipe Saga’s fingers. The little girl resisted so vigorously that Huldar had to tighten his hold to prevent her from tumbling off his lap. It was inevitable really that during the struggle Freyja and Huldar should touch and that it should trigger flashbacks to the night they had once spent together. Turning a little pink, Freyja backed off before all Saga’s fingers were done. Only by sternly reminding herself that Huldar’s expertise in bed was the result of a great deal of practice with any woman who was willing could she get a grip on herself.

  ‘You missed two.’ Huldar took the cloth from Freyja and finished the job. Saga sat there docilely letting him wipe her fingers clean. The little traitor.

  Freyja hid her pink cheeks by turning to the kitchen sink and pretending to rinse it, though this was unnecessary as it was as sparkling clean as when she’d moved in. The owner couldn’t have used it much; presumably he had lived on takeaways that he ate straight out of the carton. That would explain why the dishwasher looked as pristine as if it had just been installed and the kitchen cupboards had been practically empty when Freyja took over the flat. Apart from one coffee cup and two forks, the contents had mainly consisted of wine glasses. Now the cupboards were full of IKEA kitchenware that Freyja had picked out in fifteen minutes flat during a whirlwind visit to the country’s only labyrinth. The stuff didn’t exactly match the décor in the flat but it did the job.

  Once she reckoned her face had recovered its normal colour, Freyja turned back to the kitchen table. ‘However hard I try, there’s one thing I can’t get my head round.’

  ‘Just one? You’re lucky – I can hardly get my head round a single aspect of this case. Or cases, rather.’

  Ignoring his interruption, Freyja persisted: ‘If Rósa didn’t visit this Binni to get hold of drugs, what on earth was she doing there? It sounds as if she went there more than once too. That behaviour just doesn’t fit with anything else I’ve read about her. I suppose you’ve visited the scene?’ When Huldar nodded, she went on: ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was exactly a desirable hangout for kids who aren’t on the scrounge for drink or drugs.’

  ‘No. I agree.’ Huldar pinched Saga’s nose again, then blew in her face. The little girl gave every indication of being on cloud nine. ‘Nevertheless, she was obviously drawn to the guy, so it stands to reason he must have had something to offer, even if we can’t figure out what it is.’

  Freyja didn’t immediately reply. She was trying yet again to imagine what the attraction could have been. But it was as futile as searching for poetry in the wording of a website’s privacy notice. ‘Is it possible that she was related to him?’ Although undesirable personality traits could destroy friendships or attraction, family ties were different. Blood was thicker than water and all that. Never mind what your relatives did, you couldn’t change the fact you were related to them. ‘If so, that might have been what took her to see him. People can forgive a lot when it comes to family members.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t heard of any relationship, so if they were, I’m guessing it would be very distant.’ Huldar furrowed his brow. ‘At least, I assume I’d have got wind of it. I suppose it’s possible we didn’t check, beyond looking up his next of kin to inform them of his death. I just don’t know.’

  ‘What’s the man’s history? Is there anything there that could explain the link? Interests, quirks, anything else that could have brought them together?’

  ‘His history? It’s no secret and it’ll come out in the obituaries. Of course, that’ll be the edited version and you’ll have to read between the lines, but his life story should be there for all to see.’

  ‘You know I’m bound by professional confidentiality, Huldar,’ Freyja said, her voice rising in exasperation. ‘I shouldn’t have to repeat that every time I ask you something. It applies to all the information that emerges while I’m assisting the police, not just the stuff relating to the kids.’

  Huldar looked hurt. His eyelids drooped a little and so did the corners of his mouth. ‘Even though this is social, not a work meeting?’

  Freyja sighed under her breath. She had two choices, either to hurt him even more by saying that, as far as she was concerned, this was strictly a work meeting. Or to soften the blow. She chose the latter course. ‘Yes, Huldar. Even though this is a social visit.’ She stressed the last word to underline that this visit couldn’t by any stretch of the imagination be described as a date. For both their sakes. She had every intention of sticking to her vow of celibacy. She had only just over a week left of the thirty days she had set herself and there was no way she was breaking her vow for Huldar.

  He cheered up again and gave her a brief summary of Binni’s life. The man had been forty-six years old at the time of his death. He had been born in the town of Húsavík in the far north-east of Iceland and grown up there, before moving to Reykjavík with his family in his teens. He had gone to sixth-form college there, then to university to take Business Studies with Accountancy. After graduating, he had started working for a large shipping company, got married and had two children in short succession with his wife. So far so good, and no sign that he was about to fall off a preci-pice. Yet this is what had happened. His drinking, which had started off as purely social, had gradually got out of control, until he ran on alcohol the way a car runs on petrol. He had twice gone to rehab but the effects had only lasted for the time it took him to drive to the state off-licence on his way home from the clinic. In the end, his drinking had cost him his job, and after that he had spiralled into serious alcoholism, until one day, about ten years ago, he had walked out of his house and taken to living rough. His wife and children hadn’t been able to compete with his addiction. Once on the streets, he was able to drink without a guilty conscience or having to put up with recriminations or exhortations to turn his life around: a fettered form of freedom, if you like. Understandably, he’d had only intermittent contact with his family during the remaining years of his life. And the situation hadn’t improved when he began using drugs as well. At first glance, there was nothing in this brief biography that could possibly link him to Rósa. Nothing other than the desire for escape. But she was unlikely to have sought him out for his advice on that since she seemed more than capable of absconding on her own.

  Huldar had begun to fidget. Following his gaze past the open-plan kitchen to the balcony door at the far end of the living room, it dawned on Freyja what was wrong. ‘You can smoke on the balcony, if you like. I think there’s a chair out there.’ She hadn’t gone outside herself yet. The weather hadn’t exactly been tempting since she’d moved in. There seemed to be a perpetual gale blowing, so it wasn’t as if the smoke would bother her neighbours. ‘I can lend you a pot as an ashtray.’

  From the gratitude on Huldar’s face, you’d have thought she’d just given him a generous Christmas present. Freyja relieved him of Saga and put the little girl down on the floor. She made a beeline for the glass door to the balcony, with Molly hot on her heels, and pressed her face against it. They both stood there watching intently as Huldar leant over the rail, savouring his cigarette. Saga began to mimic him, raising her fingers to her lips and puffing. If the child ever took up smoking, it would be Huldar’s fault. The same applied to the dog.

  Before Huldar could finish his cigarette, he glanced down, then reached into his pocket where his phone was obviously ringing. He took it out and alternately listened and made brief comments. The door, which was triple glazed to keep out the traffic noise, prevented Freyja from hearing a word of the conversation. It was like watching TV with the volume on mute. She watched him anyway, trying to guess what it was about. He appeared relaxed but serious, as if discuss
ing an important matter with someone he knew well. Perhaps he had a girlfriend who was asking why he hadn’t turned up for the supper she had lovingly cooked for him. It would be totally in character. Yet he gave no sign of being in bullshit mode as he talked, so that probably wasn’t it. Perhaps it was one of his mates, discussing their team’s performance in the latest match. But Freyja had the feeling it was to do with work.

  When he came back inside, accompanied by a strong smell of smoke, Saga and Molly, undeterred, greeted him like the prodigal son. He patted them both on the head and took care not to trip over them on his way across the living room as they repeatedly got under his feet.

  Freyja was dying to ask him about the phone call, but their relationship gave her no right to demand information like that. Besides, she told herself, she was only interested in case it related to Rósa.

  ‘I have to go, I’m afraid.’ Huldar smiled a bit sheepishly. ‘Duty calls.’ He didn’t elaborate.

  ‘Is it connected to Rósa?’ Freyja blurted out. ‘Has she been found?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t been found.’ This only answered her second question but Huldar gave her no opportunity to repeat the first. He took his jacket from the back of the chair and hovered awkwardly for a moment, as people tend to at the moment of parting. Everyone wants to say the right thing, which suddenly seems so elusive. Freyja was equally embarrassed, though she did at least have the presence of mind to thank him for the food. Saga, however, wasn’t remotely shy. She said goodbye to Huldar by bashing him on the calf with a big yellow Duplo brick. Huldar was apparently used to this sort of treatment as he didn’t even wince, and the blow had the effect of dispelling the momentary awkwardness. He went to the door, said goodbye and was gone.