As a smoker, he put a big question mark by the abandoned vape pens. Of course, he couldn’t know how much other equipment these people had had with them, but it looked almost as if they’d decided to start a new life, given up vaping, chucked all their worldly goods in the ditch and walked away as naked as the day they were born.
Huldar zoomed in again when he spotted a familiar logo on the shoe that was lying amidst the rubbish: the three Adidas stripes. He studied the shoe. It looked exactly like the one on the end of the leg bone they had fished out of the sea. Closing the photo, he rang Lína as he climbed the stairs. ‘Lína. Go back and stand guard by the ditch. We need to take a closer look at this.’ Then he added: ‘Well done. I shouldn’t have doubted your instincts.’
After ringing off, he made straight for Erla’s office. If she wasn’t willing to send Forensics out there, he’d go himself. It could be a coincidence, but the events of recent days had taught him that coincidences weren’t always what they seemed.
Chapter 30
Monday
Freyja said goodbye to Yngvi from the Child Protection Agency, and hung up. Her ear was red and sore from a conversation that had achieved little, despite lasting more than half an hour. She had told him about the latest developments in the Tristan case and they had discussed exhaustively what impact this could have, before ending their conversation in the same state of uncertainty as they had begun. Yngvi kept returning to the same question: Do you think he might change his mind again and revert to his original testimony? To which Freyja had replied: I honestly don’t know. Another question he kept repeating was whether Bergur would now be released from custody. Freyja’s answer to that was the same. There then followed speculation about whether the Child Protection Agency could be held responsible for depriving the care-home manager of his freedom, should he decide to sue. Would he have a right to demand reinstatement to his former position? Again, Freyja couldn’t answer this. In fact, she had hardly been able to answer a single question, as the situation was still up in the air.
It was a sign of how shocked Yngvi was by this news that he forgot to press her on the question of whether she was planning to apply for the position of police liaison officer. This was a relief as she still hadn’t made up her mind. She just hadn’t had time to give it any thought. Her job, Saga, the nits, Molly and the snake were already almost more than she could handle. But Baldur was due back in town the following day, and after that she would have more opportunity to think about her future. If her brother got held up in the highlands with his tourists, she would simply have to toss a coin.
Following Tristan’s shock announcement, she had waited with the others for the boy to come back with his lawyer. After an hour, she had begun to have her doubts and twenty minutes later she had given up. Since they still hadn’t bothered to sort out a workstation for her in CID, she had told Huldar she was going down to the Children’s House until the situation was resolved. He’d promised to keep her informed but she hadn’t heard from him yet.
Freyja leant back in her chair, her eyes on her screensaver, which featured stunning scenery in some exotic country that she would never visit. The image changed regularly and every time it did, she felt a pang that she didn’t travel more. It wasn’t as if she’d chosen her current existence. She reminded herself firmly of her three ground rules for sorting out her life: enjoy what every day has to offer, don’t set your goals too high, and relax in your search for a man. There were only a few days left of her self-imposed period of abstinence, and seeing as she had done so well on that, the rest shouldn’t be a problem. To her chagrin, she realised that her musings on this subject had led her thoughts inevitably to Huldar.
There was a knock and Elsa, who had taken over from Freyja back in the day as director of the Children’s House, stuck her head round the door. ‘How’s it going?’
Freyja forced a smile. ‘So-so. Slowly getting there.’ In point of fact, this was a lie. Freyja was as clueless about Tristan’s case now as she had been when she was assigned to it. And she was even more in the dark about Rósa’s story and how it could have ended in tragedy.
‘I hear there’s been a spot of bother about Bergur.’
Freyja made an effort to hide her anger. How leaky could the system get? Had Yngvi got straight on the phone to Elsa after they’d talked? She had repeatedly stressed that their conversation was confidential; the case was at a delicate stage and more surprises were likely. ‘Oh? Where did you hear that?’ she said, trying to sound casual.
‘Bergur’s sister is my cousin’s best friend. She rang me after his sister got in touch, over the moon because Bergur’s lawyer had told her the case might be dropped. Is that true?’
Little Iceland syndrome. Freyja derived great satisfaction from nipping this juicy piece of gossip in the bud, even if it meant treating the truth in a rather cavalier fashion. ‘I don’t think anything like that’s on the cards,’ she said. ‘At least, not as far as I’m aware.’ Bergur’s lawyer had demanded that his client should be released on the spot. Once Tristan had retracted his accusation, there was little to justify keeping Bergur in custody. But Hafthór from Sexual Offences had put his foot down, saying that such an action would be premature given that Tristan might well change his mind again. It wasn’t unusual for people who brought accusations in sexual abuse cases to become disheartened during the process. More often than not, they subsequently found the courage to stick to their guns, as the lawyer was well aware.
‘Oh, right. I thought it sounded a bit strange.’ Elsa showed no sign of leaving. She fiddled with the big wooden beads round her neck. ‘Do you know when you’ll be free to come back to us?’
‘No. But I expect it’ll be soon.’ Freyja wondered if her boss had got wind of the fact that she might be handing in her notice. Probably not. She imagined Yngvi had kept it to himself. ‘These investigations have to end sooner or later.’
‘Hmm.’ Elsa looked doubtful. She knew as well as Freyja did that inquiries could drag on for months, until eventually the investigators gave up, closed the files and stuck them on a shelf somewhere.
‘I’ll let you know as soon as I have any idea.’ Freyja could see that this didn’t satisfy her boss. ‘I should find out shortly.’
‘Yes, let’s hope so.’ Elsa hovered in the doorway. ‘The summer’s nearly over and, as you know, we’ll start to get busy soon. If you’re still going to be tied up with this special assignment, I don’t quite know how I’m going to manage the staffing here.’
Freyja couldn’t enlighten her, and since she was no longer in charge herself, it wasn’t her problem. ‘I don’t know what to say. But Yngvi asked me to do this, so if it drags on, you’d better to talk to him. Perhaps he has a spare psychologist who could stand in for me temporarily.’ Or permanently, if she went ahead and applied for the new job.
‘Yes. That’s true.’ Elsa heaved a world-weary sigh. Some people loved problems, especially when this gave them a chance to make everyone around them aware of the great burden they had to bear.
‘By the way,’ Freyja asked, forestalling any further complaints, ‘do you know Bergur at all? Have you come across him in a professional context?’
‘Me?’ Elsa gripped her wooden beads more tightly. ‘Not much. But I have had some contact with him. I’ve had to request reports from him several times about the kids in his care. They were always thorough and gave me no reason to have any doubts about him – though I have to say, his spelling left a bit to be desired. When cases go to court, it doesn’t look good to hand in documents littered with mistakes.’
Freyja wasn’t remotely interested in Bergur’s ability to spell. ‘What does his sister say about the case? Have you heard?’
‘She’s stunned. In total shock. According to my cousin, she hasn’t dared to look at the papers or online news since the interview appeared, for fear they’d publish a picture of Bergur. The moment that happens, he’s done for, regardless of how the case turns out. He can change his name but not
his face. And my cousin told me something else I found interesting: Bergur’s sister has never been worried that he was interested in children or teenagers. Apparently, it was the mothers she was more concerned about. She’d got the impression he might be a bit too interested in them. Though, of course, that could have been a smokescreen to hide his real inclinations.’
‘Sorry, but did his sister tell your cousin that Bergur might be going after the mothers of the kids in his care?’
‘Yes. Though there may be nothing in it.’
‘But what if it’s true – wouldn’t that be against the rules?’
Elsa twisted the beads on her necklace faster and faster, clearly regretting ever having brought up the subject. ‘I don’t think it occurred to anyone to put that in the carer’s contract. But I imagine it would be frowned on.’
So it should be. The mothers of children who ended up in care tended to be extremely vulnerable themselves, due to mental problems or substance abuse. Many of them were easy prey for the unscrupulous. Freyja immediately thought of Tristan’s frail mother, who had looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away. Was it possible that Bergur had tried it on with her? Maybe even used her, then dumped her? Could that be why the boy had invented his story? If Bergur’s conduct wasn’t against the rules, there would be little Tristan could do to get formal justice for their relationship. And even if such relationships had been prohibited, the only consequence for Bergur would have been a written warning.
‘Do you know if Tristan’s mother’s name came up when Bergur’s sister was talking about her concerns?’
Elsa let go of her beads and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think she was aware of any specific instances. And her worries may have been groundless, if what the boy claims is true. Though there are some men who’ll go after anything that moves when it comes to sex. It’s rare but not unknown.’
Freyja merely nodded. Whatever the truth, she was fairly sure that Tristan hadn’t lied just for the hell of it, to get an innocent man in trouble. If Tristan was telling the truth, Bergur was the worst kind of sexual abuser. If the boy was lying to get revenge for Bergur’s treatment of his mother, then the man was a predator who went after vulnerable women. His job offered him the perfect opportunity for contact with any number of potential victims when they were at their most defenceless, when their children had been taken away from them, either temporarily or for good.
‘Anyway, I must get on.’ Elsa sighed heavily again to emphasise how many important tasks she had waiting for her and what immense pressure she was under. But Freyja, who knew the director’s role from personal experience, was unimpressed by her martyred tone. The job had to be done conscientiously, like any other. It wasn’t as if many people were just sitting around, twiddling their thumbs at work. ‘I’m absolutely swamped,’ Elsa said in a long-suffering voice. She gave Freyja a ‘we’re all in this together’ smile, received an insincere one in return, and took herself off.
Once she was alone, Freyja found herself thinking that maybe she should take the plunge and apply for that police liaison job after all. Elsa was perfectly OK as a boss. She was a decent director of the Children’s House, certainly no worse than Freyja had been. In fact, there was nothing in her manner or behaviour to justify the irritation she inspired in Freyja. If she were being honest, Freyja knew that it was because she missed being director herself, though she was perfectly aware she’d never get the job back. Did she really intend to continue coming in here year in, year out, still aggrieved that she had messed up? No. That would be a very bad idea. Far better to go and work at the police station and let Erla get on her nerves instead.
Freyja looked round her little office. Although she had done nothing to make it cosy, she felt at home here, as she did in the Children’s House generally. Perhaps she wasn’t that ready to jump ship after all. She sighed.
Her phone was lying silent on the desk. She picked it up to check she hadn’t forgotten to unmute it after Tristan’s abortive interview. But the sound was on. Neither Huldar nor anyone else had rung, texted or emailed. Clearly, there was no news.
Freyja decided to pass the time by reading what they had on Tristan’s mother. Her appearance had suggested she was an addict, so there must be reports on her fitness as a parent. Since Freyja had access to Tristan’s records, presumably she ought to be able to access his mother’s too. The USB stick hadn’t contained any specific information about the parents; their circumstances had only been mentioned when relevant to the reports on the children.
The mother’s name was Berglind Sigvaldadóttir. It didn’t take Freyja long to track down her records. She’d had Tristan young, when she was just sixteen. By then she’d already started doing drugs but had managed to come off them during her pregnancy, apart from cannabis, which she freely admitted to having smoked several times. A bit like other pregnant mothers admitting that they allowed themselves a sip of champagne on New Year’s Eve.
The boy had apparently been a healthy and robust baby, in spite of all his mother’s joints.
But parental responsibilities had proved tough for Berglind. Not only was she very young, but her drug habit had arrested her development. As a result she had been more than usually reliant on her own mother, who was also single; certainly more than was appropriate when it came to forming a connection with her son. Thanks to this security net, Berglind had gradually slid back into her old ways. During Tristan’s first year she had vanished for the odd night or two; by the time he was four she was going missing for a week at a time, and by the time he was ten she had been known to disappear for a month or more. But Tristan’s grandmother was always there to come to the rescue – right up until the day she died, when Tristan was eleven. It was then that things had taken a turn for the worse because there was no longer anybody to cover up for Berglind.
At first, left alone with her son, with no one there to bail them out, Berglind had got a grip on herself and showed a genuine willingness to clean up her act. She’d started turning up to interviews with social workers, and had done repeated stints in rehab. This may have been partly due to the fact that she had been on hard drugs for more than ten years by that point and the gloss had long since worn off the lifestyle; her fellow users were starting to lose their teeth, and the drugs no longer gave her the same buzz. She was growing tired.
However, as Berglind learnt the hard way, it was one thing to go to rehab, another to stay clean after you got out. The longest she managed to stay off drugs was six months. According to all the expert opinions recorded in her files, she loved Tristan and wanted to succeed as a parent. But the experts also agreed that her ability to do so was not consistent with her desire, and even when she was clean she had trouble meeting her son’s basic needs. It was almost as if their roles had been reversed: the boy looked after her, rather than vice versa.
The authorities had decided to take the boy into temporary care for twelve months to give Berglind the opportunity to get her life back on track. It was her last chance. If she didn’t pull herself together, children’s services would start exploring permanent solutions for her son.
This was the point at which Tristan had ended up in Bergur’s care. He was supposed to be at the home for three months while waiting for a temporary foster home to be found. But although he was a good, well-behaved boy with no drug issues, this had proved surprisingly difficult. The upshot was that Tristan had spent the entire twelve months with Bergur. His mother, initially taking seriously the threat of his permanent removal, had quit drugs, started attending AA meetings and got a part-time job through an organisation that helped people who had been out of work for long periods. Berglind’s last employment before that had been a summer job in the city parks department when she was fourteen. Freyja assumed, from her limited knowledge of the drugs scene, that since then, Berglind had probably earned cash in hand from time to time – on her back. But of course that sort of thing was unlikely to show up on someone’s CV.
Six months after Tristan ha
d been removed from his mother, Berglind had gone spectacularly off the rails. She had started turning up for visits doped out of her skull, trying to act sober. She missed interviews and didn’t answer her phone when attempts were made to contact her. But around the time a permanent care order was looming, she had managed to pull herself together again, and the temporary solution was extended. The decision about permanent removal of her son had been postponed for another twelve months. There was still hope.
Tristan, then thirteen, was sent to another temporary home. There he had met Rósa who was twelve and had only recently found herself in the clutches of the system. They spent four months together before Rósa was removed into foster care, from which she had subsequently absconded. Tristan, on the other hand, remained at the home until mould was discovered on the premises, after which he was moved and spent the last three months of his second year in care with Bergur.
In the end, Berglind had managed to quit the drugs again and Tristan, then just fourteen, had been allowed to go back to live with her. But that wasn’t the end of the story. There had followed periods of differing lengths when his mother had lapsed, then gone into rehab, and he had again been placed in temporary care, more often than not with Bergur.
His last spell in care had been when he was sixteen. His mother had slipped up, but pulled herself out of the gutter unbelievably fast and had been allowed to have her boy home again. Since then they had struggled on, though the social workers were under the impression that Tristan covered up for her when she went off the rails. Still, he would soon be eighteen, after which he would no longer be the responsibility of children’s services. There were more than enough younger children who required their care; children for whom there might still be hope.
The Doll Page 30
