Then there was the child on his lap. Even a master of the bedroom arts like him couldn’t see how he was supposed to seduce Freyja with Saga in the picture. Still, according to Freyja, the little girl would be going back to her father tomorrow and after that his way would be clear.
‘Why are you smiling?’ Freyja was dangling the last chip over Molly’s gaping jaws.
‘Oh, sorry, my mind was wandering.’
Freyja dropped the chip and Molly’s jaws snapped shut. ‘Anyway. If someone was offered a job with the police, would you recommend that he or she take it?’
‘Him, yes. Her, I don’t know. It’s harder for women. At the moment, anyway. Why don’t you ask Lína? She could give you a better answer than me if it’s a woman you’re asking for.’ It didn’t occur to Huldar to suggest talking to Erla. The less contact she and Freyja had, the better. ‘Who are you talking about, by the way?’
Freyja dropped her gaze and got to her feet. ‘Oh, no one you know.’
Huldar doubted that. He had developed an instinct for when people were telling the truth and when they were lying. This was a half-truth, at best. But he didn’t press her. He didn’t want to risk annoying her and sacrificing his newfound popularity for someone who had nothing to do with him. He just hoped she wasn’t asking on behalf of her brother, Baldur. He had no chance of getting a job with the police, with a criminal record like his. Though, on reflection, maybe the police should relax their criteria, because Baldur and his associates must have an unrivalled inside knowledge of the underworld that would come in extremely handy, particularly now. ‘One question, Freyja: do you think Baldur might have heard of Brynjólfur and maybe even know who he was selling drugs for? I don’t believe for a minute that he was capable of importing them and organising the distribution himself.’
‘Baldur? He’s never been involved in dealing. He’s working as a guide these days.’ Freyja broke off, apparently regretting having said this much. ‘Well, he’s recently got a job as a tourist guide.’
‘In spite of that, I’m sure he knows more about the market than many people do.’ Huldar chose his words carefully, wary of the prickles that had risen a little at the question about her brother. ‘Not because he’s in the business himself.’
‘Yes, maybe.’ Freyja sounded hesitant. ‘I do need to ring him, actually.’
‘It would be brilliant if you could ask him. The Drug Squad’s completely stumped.’ Huldar’s eyes dropped to Saga’s dark head. Her hair looked different from how he’d remembered it; it was standing out in a halo of static. He stroked it flat but it sprang up again. ‘But maybe it’s not a good idea to discuss it while … you know who … is listening.’ He jerked his chin at the fuzzy little head.
‘I can go into the other room.’ Freyja ran a hand over her own hair and Huldar now noticed that it was full of electricity too, though not as bad as Saga’s. He wondered if there was something in the air of the flat but when he touched his own head, his hair felt normal. Realising it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to comment on it, he lowered his hand and waited for Freyja to come to a decision about whether to call Baldur. Finally, she made up her mind and took the phone into the bedroom hallway, leaving Huldar alone with Saga and Molly.
He could hear the sound of her voice but, to his relief, couldn’t make out the words. While he was waiting, he and Saga took it in turn to throw the dinosaur for Molly to fetch. The results were very different but Saga seemed oblivious to the fact and clapped enthusiastically every time she managed to throw the soft toy beyond her own toes, but never clapped for Huldar, even when he lobbed it to the other end of the flat.
After yet another long throw by Huldar, the dinosaur landed by the door to the room Freyja had said the owner was using for storage. Molly bounded after it but instead of snatching it up in her jaws and bringing it back, she stopped by the door, flattened her ears and growled.
‘What’s in there, Saga?’ Huldar pointed to the door. Just like last time, Freyja had kept darting glances in that direction while they were eating. But whenever he himself happened to look over there, she had made some remark at random, in a rather high, strained voice, as if to distract him.
‘Ssssss. Ssssssss.’ Saga opened her eyes wide in an exaggerated expression of fear.
Was she trying to say, ‘Shhh’? Why did they have to be quiet? Surely there couldn’t be someone in there? Huldar dismissed the idea as absurd but remained perplexed. He was still groping for a possible explanation when Freyja returned. ‘What did he say?’ he asked.
Freyja blew out a breath. She was still holding the phone. ‘Right. So, according to Baldur, Brynjólfur didn’t start dealing until recently.’
‘How does he know that? Is he sure?’
‘I have no idea how he knows. All I know is what he told me. If you need more details, you’ll have to ring him yourself, though I’m pretty sure he’ll hang up on you. I had to prise every word out of him. He doesn’t like leaking information to the police and I had a nightmare trying to talk him into it. Eventually, he spilled the beans, but only after I’d told him Brynjólfur was dead, so he wouldn’t be getting him into trouble by telling us what he knew.’
‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘Anyway. Apparently, Brynjólfur recently popped up as a dealer. He’d been a user for years and a heavy drinker too, but he’d never sold so much as a gram of weed. Baldur doesn’t know who he was selling for and said that a lot of people had been wondering about that. A man like Brynjólfur wasn’t exactly a reliable person to entrust your stock to. He only sold opioids, not dope or cocaine or MDMA or amphetamines. Only prescription drugs.’
‘So Baldur had no idea who could have supplied him with the drugs?’
‘Nope, none. I asked him specifically about that – if it could have been a doctor, for example – but all he’d heard was a rumour about the drugs coming from Spain.’
‘That figures.’ Huldar was bursting with questions but he didn’t want to risk wearing out her patience.
‘He also said that whoever was behind the business must have been a complete amateur if he was using someone like Brynjólfur to circulate the stuff for him. In fact, Baldur was pretty gobsmacked by the idea.’
‘Was he acquainted with Brynjólfur then?’
‘No. Not personally. But he immediately knew who I was talking about, and that Brynjólfur lived in the container colony on Grandi. Apparently, the man used to go back and forth between the Hladgerdarkot treatment centre and the refuge at Kumbaravogur, and possibly hung out at the halfway house in Vídines as well. Baldur insisted that he couldn’t have been dealing much at any of these places as they’re all in the arse end of nowhere. His words, not mine. Actually, he was surprised that Binni had managed to get himself moved, because apparently people are fighting over the small amount of accommodation that’s available in the city. It’s understandable, when you think about it, because homeless people and addicts rarely have cars, so it’s no fun for them living out in the sticks. But that’s how social services get them out of sight – they sweep them under the welfare carpet, so to speak.’
‘Can I interrupt a minute?’ Huldar didn’t want to lose the focus on what Baldur had said and it sounded as if the conversation was veering off track into a debate about the ills of society. He was afraid she might forget something her brother had told her if she got distracted. When Freyja nodded, Huldar went on: ‘Had Baldur heard any rumours about who could have killed Brynjólfur?’
‘No. Nothing. He was up in the highlands with a group of tourists when the murder took place – he’s still there, actually. But he was sure it must have been the person who supplied him with the drugs. Committed in a fit of rage, probably, because he’d discovered that Brynjólfur had stolen the pills for his own use. Or spent all the money. Baldur couldn’t imagine why anyone would have wanted to get rid of him otherwise. Except maybe rival dealers.’
‘That’s not impossible.’
‘Then he added that murders don’t always
have a motive.’ Freyja fell silent and folded her arms.
Huldar wasn’t about to disagree with this. ‘It’s not uncommon for drunk people to get into fights that end in disaster. Over some trivial nonsense that they wouldn’t even have thought worth raising their voice over when they were sober.’
‘Ssssss. Ssssss.’ Saga tugged at Huldar’s trouser leg and pointed to the door of the mysterious storeroom.
Freyja clapped her hands. ‘Coffee! Who wants coffee?’
Huldar accepted a cup. While Freyja was making it with an unnecessary amount of clatter, he couldn’t stop wondering what was behind the closed door.
As if he didn’t have enough mysteries to deal with just now.
Chapter 32
Tuesday
Erla surveyed the group in the meeting room. There were more people present at today’s briefing than there had been for weeks, as those officers still in the country had been recalled from their summer holidays. Naturally, the mood was despondent, given the gravity of the situation, but the sourest faces of all belonged to those who had been prematurely dragged back to work. The only times their scowls disappeared were when they were replaced by looks of bemused incomprehension. Huldar was glad he’d been involved from the start or he would be looking as bewildered as they were: skeletal remains and a doll on the seabed, a murdered teenager, a murdered homeless man, drug dealing, and the shock retraction of a sexual abuse allegation.
A simultaneous meeting was taking place in the Sexual Offences Unit, where the mood was probably even more disconsolate. There they were discussing the latest twist in the abuse case and considering their next steps, including how to handle Tristan during his interview that afternoon. Freyja was due to attend that meeting. Hopefully she would be able to advise them as they must be at their wits’ end.
Erla looked at the projector screen, then back at her team: ‘As you can see, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Regarding the skeletal remains, I want us to prioritise finding out how and when the British couple travelled to Iceland. They didn’t swim here and since there are no transactions on their accounts to show the purchase of tickets with a plane or a ship, we’re left with only two alternatives: either someone else bought the tickets for them or they were given a free lift on a boat. If we can find the answer to that, we’ll probably be able to nail the person who put them at the bottom of the sea. The tent that turned up on the south coast proves they camped here, and although that doesn’t rule out the possibility that they later fell overboard during a boat trip, it’s also plausible that they were pushed, whether alive or dead. Bear in mind the blood-stains on the tent that are currently being analysed. From the amount of blood, they’re unlikely to have cut themselves on a tin opener.’ The large photo that now flashed up on screen, showing the dark stains on the inside of the tent, removed any doubt where that was concerned.
Lína stuck her thin arm straight up in the air and started waving it back and forth when Erla pretended not to notice. The Sexual Offences Unit hadn’t requested her return after she’d finished going through Binni’s boxes, but Erla hadn’t complained as she was only too grateful for an extra pair of hands at a time like this, especially when it was Lína who had got the case moving. This didn’t make Erla feel any more kindly towards her, however. ‘What?’ she snapped, her voice as frigid as if she had breathed out the word in dry ice.
‘Are there any signs of stab wounds on the bones?’ Lína lowered her hand.
‘If you’d let me continue, I was just getting to that.’ Erla clicked on the next slide, which was a composite of several from the first and second bone finds. Erla explained that only one of the bones had shown signs of knife damage. This was the ulna – one of the forearm bones – from the female. Once the bones had been cleaned, another cut had been revealed, similar to the one they had already observed. The conclusion of the expert who had examined them was that the incisions had been made by a sharp knife, probably with quite a short blade. In his opinion, the injuries would be consistent with the subject raising her arms in self-defence. Erla then added that they would not have been the cause of death. Fatal stab wounds were usually made to the front or back of the torso or neck, but unfortunately no bones from these parts of the body had been recovered from the seabed.
This was followed by a grisly description of how the limbs and head tended to break away from the torso, which would then float up to the surface due to the accumulation of gas caused by bacterial action during decomposition. The torsos were thus assumed to have drifted further out to sea where birds would have pecked at them until the gas was released, after which they would have sunk again. There was no point searching for them at this point, since the sea was vast and there was no way of guessing where the torsos would have ended up.
‘To recap, the urgent priority now is to find the person who enabled them to travel to Iceland. Frustratingly, the couple had no known connection to this country, so it won’t be easy. But we do know that the person who rented the bikes they were using had paid for them anonymously, in cash. There was no name on the booking either. Apparently, an inexperienced member of staff let himself be tricked into accepting just the booking number. He was sacked when the bicycles weren’t returned. We’re going to bring him in and see if we can create an identikit of the person who paid for them. Hopefully that’ll happen today or tomorrow. He’ll also be asked to confirm that the British couple were the people who turned up with the printout of the booking to pick up the bikes. We’re sourcing photos of them and other people for comparison, to do it by the book. But the first step, as I said before, is to find out how the hell they got to Iceland. With any luck it was by plane, because in that case it should be relatively easy to trace how the tickets were paid for.’
‘Could they have been smuggling drugs?’ The questioner didn’t bother to raise his arm. He was an old hand who still couldn’t get used to the idea of taking orders from a woman and dealt with the situation by behaving at times like a naughty school kid. To make matters worse, he was one of those who had been brought back early from their holidays, which had put him in an even nastier mood than usual.
Erla’s eyes rested on him with an expression of distaste, as if she’d spotted a rotten lettuce leaf at the bottom of her fridge. ‘If I could speak without constantly being interrupted, we’d get through this a lot quicker. I was just coming to that.’ Erla looked back at the others and carried on: ‘According to the Spanish police, there’s evidence to suggest the couple were acting as drugs mules – mules who changed their minds and ditched the dope. But there’s no indication that they had ever been linked to drugs before. This would have made them ideal for the job, of course. As for their motive – we know they were skint. So the answer to your question is, yes, they may well have been smuggling drugs. We can’t be sure they threw the whole lot away, though it’s hard to see why they should only have offloaded part of the consignment. Unless they didn’t have room for all of it.’
Erla paused a moment, then returned to the agenda: ‘We need to find out who supplied Brynjólfur with the drugs he’s rumoured to have been selling. So far we haven’t been able to dig up any other obvious motive for his murder, though it’s possible that it could have been a senseless attack by someone under the influence of alcohol or drugs. His neighbour has been released from custody as it seems unlikely he was involved, and Brynjólfur’s family also appears to be in the clear. Who knows? Perhaps the person who killed Brynjólfur is also the one who killed the British couple. After all, a knife was involved in both murders.’
Erla changed the slide and a huge picture of the doll flashed up on the screen. ‘Turning now to the most serious case we’re dealing with, we’ve got CCTV footage from Smáralind and the bus that confirm the main points of Tristan’s story. He and Rósa first appear in the shopping centre at ten to seven; they buy themselves burgers, then go to a film that started at eight and finished at quarter past ten. They can be seen wandering unhurriedly around, then leaving the
building, and are next caught on camera at eleven minutes past eleven as they climb aboard the number twenty-four bus. They sit down, talk a bit, then Rósa starts fiddling in the pockets of her coat. She gets up and jumps out at the stop on Dalvegur, calling something to Tristan on her way out. We know nothing about her movements from then until her body was discovered at half past nine on Saturday morning. The time of death is estimated at just after midnight.’
Again Erla fell silent, but this time only to reach for a glass of water and take a long drink. The room was so quiet that they could all hear her swallow. She resumed: ‘We’ve received a list of former colleagues of Rósa’s mother, Dísa. It appears that only one of them is registered as living in Seljahverfi. His name’s Fridrik Reynisson and he’s the man who took the mother and daughter out on his boat five years ago when they caught the doll in the net. Later that night Dísa died and the doll vanished, only to turn up again, all these years later, in Brynjólfur’s storage unit.’
Lína’s hand shot up again. Erla, realising the young woman would go on waving it until she got her attention, nodded irritably.
‘If you believe that Rósa was hiding at his place, why not search it?’ Lína squared her shoulders and added: ‘If you do, I’d like to offer my services.’
Erla rolled her eyes. ‘When and if we conduct a search of the premises, you will not be involved. May I remind you that you’re only a summer temp.’
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