‘Oh?’ Freyja watched Huldar stick a finger under the aluminium ring on his beer can and pull it up. Then he filled his glass until the froth was in danger of overflowing down the sides.
‘Bergur says he paid one of his former charges to do it. The boy in question is dead, so we’ll probably never know if the theft of the doll was connected to Rósa’s mother’s death. Or how the doll ended up in Brynjólfur’s possession. At that time he was hanging around with drug addicts and alcoholics of all ages, so it’s possible he bumped into the person who stole the doll, recognised it and was allowed to have it. You never know, he may have intended to come clean about the little girl one day. He’d kept Thröstur’s blood-stained clothes, after all. The doll and the clothes would have been guaranteed to make people sit up and listen.’
‘And Brynjólfur’s murder? Who was responsible for that?’
‘We still don’t know. Fjalar flatly denies having anything to do with it and Bergur’s definitely innocent because he was in custody at the time. We’re fairly sure Fjalar must be guilty. Bergur claims that Fjalar insisted they add Binni to the sales team when he thought Bergur’s kids weren’t doing a good enough job. It’s not unlikely that Binni made big inroads into the goods himself and that Fjalar decided to get rid of him. Bergur managed to get a consignment to Iceland this summer, to replace the one that had been lost in the spring, but Fjalar had still taken a big hit on the previous deal, both in outlay and in terms of lost sales revenue. So it stands to reason he wouldn’t have been happy about any further losses. We’re going over CCTV footage from the business premises on Grandi in the hope that Fjalar’s car will turn up somewhere. Of course, it’s possible he arrived on foot, in which case he could have approached the containers unseen, but I’m not worried about that. We’ll find a way of proving it.’
Freyja drank some more wine. She needed Dutch courage to listen to the next bit. ‘What about Rósa?’
Huldar evidently felt the same. He took a long swig of beer before embarking on the tale. ‘That’s an ugly story. Establishing what happened there was the hardest of all. But this morning Fjalar finally cracked after realising that he’s not going to get away with it. We found biological traces from Rósa at his house. And in the boot of his car.’
‘In the boot?’
‘Yes. He took her body up to Lake Hafravatn. Hid it in the boot of his car.’
‘But who killed her and why? She can’t have been mixed up in the drug business, can she? Unless … Did Bergur use her to deal for him?’ Freyja considered herself a peace-loving person, so it was uncomfortable to experience such a powerful desire to push Bergur off a cliff. A desire that had been growing stronger every time Huldar opened his mouth.
‘No. She wasn’t involved. She ran into Fjalar by pure bad luck. She lost her key in Smáralind and seems to have thought she was locked out. We know this because the key turned up in lost property at the shopping centre. Anyway, Rósa decided to go and wait for Fridrik outside his brother’s house in Hjallahverfi. That’s why she jumped out of the bus on Dalvegur. Apparently Frikki never stayed long at his brother’s parties but she couldn’t have known that he’d already left by nine. Presumably she didn’t realise he’d driven there either, since he was going to a party where the drink would be flowing. But in the end she got bored of hanging around, so she decided to knock on the door and ask to speak to Frikki. We don’t know why she did that when the police had advertised that she was missing and her face was all over the internet. Perhaps she assumed she could get away with it because she seemed able to go wherever she wanted without anyone noticing her, as if it was enough to change her clothes and comb her hair into a different style.’
‘You mean Fjalar killed her in the hall with a house full of party guests?’
‘Not quite. But not far off. He went to the door and unfortunately for Rósa he recognised her straight away, in spite of the changed clothes and hairstyle. He said he’d taken a good look at the missing-person notice because Bergur had warned him back in the spring that Binni had half a mind to tell Thröstur’s daughter everything about how her parents died. He’d already told her something but couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said. Fjalar recognised the danger she represented. And Binni too.’
‘So what did he do?’
‘He says he got a bad shock. His immediate thought was that Binni must have blabbed before he died and that she had come to have it out with him. He hadn’t a clue about her connection to his brother because Fridrik had kept very quiet about it, understandably enough. Fjalar didn’t want his guests seeing her so he grabbed her by the arm, dragged her into the garage with him and closed the door behind them. He said she didn’t scream or struggle. Maybe she was paralysed with shock. We’ll never know. The guests didn’t notice anything as they were all outside in the garden, enjoying the rare spell of good weather.’
‘Did he kill her in the garage?’
‘Yes. First he shook her and tried to force her to tell him what Binni had said. At first she didn’t seem to know what was happening, then it slowly dawned on her that he must have had something to do with her parents’ deaths. He says it was a terrible mistake, because by the time he eventually realised that she had no idea who he was, it was too late. He’d betrayed himself. He was left with no choice but to get rid of her. But first he’d managed to force her to tell him why she’d knocked on his door, and that’s how he learnt that she’d been staying with Frikki. At that point she still believed he was going to let her go. But instead he throttled her.’ Huldar took another mouthful of beer. ‘He put her body in the boot of his car which was in the garage, waited until his last guest had left, then drove up to Hafravatn and dumped her body in the lake. He didn’t dare go out on the fishing boat for fear the police would make the connection between the discovery of the bones and Rósa’s death.’
‘What a disgusting monster. What kind of man would do something like that?’ Freyja shuddered. She wanted to get in the shower and wash herself, as if she had been tainted by what she’d heard. But since there was no chance of that with Huldar there, she would have to rinse her insides instead. She took another big gulp of wine.
‘This is the man who invited his brother to supper on Sunday evening to make sure he was out while one of his addict lackeys broke in to Frikki’s place and searched Rósa’s belongings for a diary, notes or a computer – for anywhere she might have written down what she knew. He didn’t find anything, though, because there was nothing to find. Rósa kept the little she knew in her head.’
‘What about the bodies in the sea? How did she know about those?’
‘Bergur thinks she must have been eavesdropping and heard Fjalar telling him about it. He’d come by the care home to speak to Bergur the day after he’d dumped the British couple in the sea. Rósa and the other kids were supposed to be at school, but after Fjalar had left, Bergur realised that she had come home sick after her first class. He said she hadn’t behaved at all strangely when he discovered that she was in her room, but that she was a good actor. The only explanation he could come up with was that she must have been listening at his office door, then made herself scarce before he opened it. He didn’t think she could have seen Fjalar, though, because he was wearing a baseball cap with his hood over it.’
Huldar seemed to have finished. Freyja was relieved but then couldn’t stop herself from asking two questions that were tormenting her: ‘What about Rósa and the evening Binni was murdered? Did she turn up on CCTV?’
‘No. There was no sign of her, though she could have approached on foot without being caught on camera. We’ll never know.’
‘And Tristan? I got the feeling he was lying when he said he’d been at home that evening.’
‘No. He was telling the truth. His mother confirmed his alibi and although she is not the most reliable witness we have nothing concrete that contradicts her statement. Neither Rósa nor Tristan seem to have been anywhere near Grandi that evening. The girl the half-blind neig
hbour saw had probably just come by in search of drugs. She must have left in a hurry after seeing all the blood, leaving footprints as she went.’ Huldar grimaced. ‘It was a horrific sight.’
After this description and the conversation that had preceded it, there was no question of tucking into the cheesecake. The blood-red cherry sauce covering it would have had unfortunate associations in the circumstances.
‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘No, thanks. I’m happy with beer.’
Freyja smiled. She didn’t want coffee either.
A second bottle of red stood open on the coffee table, empty beer cans surrounding it like pawns defending a queen in some booze-based game of chess. Which Freyja was losing. She was feeling drunk, a lot drunker than she’d have liked, especially as it was 11 p.m. At midnight her thirty-day stint of celibacy would officially be over and beside her sat Huldar Jónas, a man who was always up for it. Usually this was a source of extreme irritation to her but now it seemed a positive advantage. Her woozy brain registered the inconsistency but chose to regard it in the same light as … as people who do card tricks. Normally you don’t want them at your parties but they’re great when you need a children’s entertainer. In other words, flaws can be virtues, in the right circumstances.
‘Do you know any card tricks?’ Her voice slurred as she tried to enunciate this, but Huldar understood.
‘Me? No. Do you want to see a card trick?’
‘No.’ No, she was after something quite different.
When Freyja awoke it was to a headache that she had expected to avert by forking out for a more expensive bottle than usual. Snatches of memory from the night before started hitting her like shrapnel. Some were hazy, others all too clear.
She raised her head with extreme caution from the pillow. Her tongue was furry and she felt a desperate need to crawl to the bathroom, put her mouth under the tap and turn it on full. Only when she had achieved a sitting position did she manage to turn her head to see the other half of the room. Realising there was no one there, she couldn’t help laughing, though the pain in her head throbbed in accompaniment. How could she ever have dreamt that Huldar would change? But then her eye fell on the note lying on the bedside table and she reached for it with all the speed of a geriatric sloth. It came as a surprise to her that she could even read. The message confirmed what she had long known: that she could never keep a secret when she’d been drinking.
Had to go to work. I dare you to apply for the police liaison job. Will be in touch and come by later. With burgers. And a hamster for the snake. Yours, Jónas.
Freyja put the note down and laid her aching head back on the pillow. Although her physical state left much to be desired, she felt good. And with the feeling of contentment came boldness. She would apply for the job. Why not? A change could only make things better.
She closed her no doubt bloodshot eyes and smiled. Good things lay ahead. She was sure of it.
Chapter 36
September
The choppy sea did its best to upset Berglind but failed. She was aware of the cramps in her tender stomach and the dull ache in her head, but that was nothing. She wanted to screech at the waves, how dare they think she couldn’t handle a bit of seasickness? Compared to withdrawal symptoms, this kind of discomfort was no worse than mild period pain.
She was freezing but she couldn’t wrap her coat any more tightly around herself because the lifebelt was in the way. It was the only one on board and Tristan had insisted she wear it. He could swim; she couldn’t. Frikki, the boat owner, had become terribly embarrassed when she put it on, and started apologising for the fact it was so dirty. Berglind wanted to tell him not to worry, she’d seen worse, but she stopped herself. She had an idea that Tristan wouldn’t want to be reminded of her past at that moment. He deserved to be allowed to forget it, even if it was only for a few hours.
Despite the raw cold, the afternoon was turning out to be a success. So far nothing had gone wrong. She hadn’t said anything stupid to Frikki, and Tristan appeared to be enjoying the fishing, even though they had caught very little. He kept inviting her to join in, but she preferred to stay out of the way and watch.
Frikki turned from the gunwale and looked at her doubtfully. He was constantly apologising, apparently worried that she was bored. ‘I wish I’d ordered better weather,’ he said.
She smiled with her lips pressed together, as she did when she wanted to hide the state of her teeth, but didn’t say anything, wishing he would just concentrate on his fishing.
They had met him at the funeral of Tristan’s friend, Rósa. Apart from the teenagers filling the rows at the back – Rósa’s school friends, presumably – there were very few mourners in the church. Just an elderly couple and a smattering of people Berglind took to be relatives. There was also a handful of social workers who had got to know the girl while she was in care, but since they were attending the funeral during working hours, on full pay, Berglind didn’t feel they counted. Then there were some cops she recognised from when she had accompanied Tristan to the police station for his interviews. They were in plain clothes but she recognised them anyway. No one can be an addict for twenty years without being able to spot a cop at a hundred metres.
And then there was Fridrik.
She had immediately noticed that he seemed as eager to skulk in the background as she was. He had hung his head and lowered his eyes when the police appeared, and gone out of his way to avoid the family members after the service. Perhaps that was why he had got talking to her and Tristan on the steps of the church. All three of them felt like outsiders among the weeping teenagers and sombre adults who came out following the coffin. As the brother of the murderer, Fridrik was even more unwelcome than Berglind. She wasn’t used to having anyone below her in the pecking order – not in the company of sober types, anyway. As a result, when he’d asked if her son was Tristan, instead of simply nodding she had introduced herself and asked who he was.
Afterwards she had withdrawn a little to let Fridrik and Tristan talk. The man was keen to tell her son how well Rósa had spoken of him and how important his friendship had been to her. Tristan had replied in monosyllables, unable to return the favour. Since her son had tearfully poured out the whole story of his friendship with Rósa, Berglind knew that the girl had never said a word to him about Fridrik, either good or bad.
Tristan had opened up to Berglind about a number of things, including the fact that the man he had accused of abusing him had never done anything of the kind. What he had done was sell drugs. And he had killed both Rósa’s parents. Berglind had stiffened on hearing this but she hadn’t said anything, just let him go on with his tale.
Tristan told her that Rósa had overheard the man talking to some mate of his about dealing and also about two drugs mules whose bodies he’d dumped in the sea. Tristan had wanted to go to the police but Rósa had told him there was no point. She knew because she’d tried before.
There was nothing Tristan hated more than drug dealers, as Berglind knew only too well. He blamed them for the state she was in, not without some justification. Without drugs, there was no question that her life would have turned out differently. Because of his corrosive hatred, Tristan had refused to accept that they could do nothing. Instead, he had come up with the idea that they should accuse the man of sexually abusing him. The man wouldn’t escape unscathed from an accusation of that kind, whether or not Tristan and Rósa were believed in court.
They had put their plan into action. Tristan had gone to the police with his complaint. Rósa was supposed to back up his story later by swearing that she’d witnessed the man assaulting him. The kids knew their names wouldn’t be made public unless they chose to come forward, so they had nothing to lose. But when time dragged by and his complaint wasn’t acted on, Tristan had got in touch with a newspaper and given an interview, on condition that it was anonymous. After that, things had finally started moving and seemed to be going exactly according to plan. Rósa wa
s supposed to run away, then later reappear and support his claims. That way, the kids had thought there was less of a risk it would look like collusion. They would probably have got away with it too.
But Rósa’s murder had changed everything. Tristan hadn’t felt capable of carrying on without her. Not only had he lost his best friend but he had found himself alone, facing the police and an army of lawyers.
Berglind had stroked her weeping son’s hair and told him to withdraw his accusation. He was to say that he’d heard cases like that never ended in prosecution and that he couldn’t face having to rake up all the bad memories for nothing. The police would try to make him change his mind but he would just have to stick to his guns. He had frequently shown her that he could do that. She had phoned a lawyer who had often helped her out when she was in trouble, and persuaded him to take on Tristan’s case for next to no fee.
Tristan leant away from the side of the boat, looked round and smiled at her. She smiled back. His face was free of the worries that habitually clouded it whenever he looked at her. Usually, when she met his big blue eyes, they were overshadowed by an anxious frown, but now his whole face was glowing with happiness.
It was a good day and she was pleased with herself for having accepted Fridrik’s offer of a boat trip, once he’d eventually managed to stammer it out. She didn’t know what had prompted it but guessed he wanted to do something, however small, to help compensate Tristan for the loss of his friend. After all, it was Fridrik’s brother who had murdered Rósa. Fridrik had told them that he would probably have to sell the boat as neither he nor his father or uncle could afford to buy his brother out. And he assumed his brother would lose everything now that he was facing a long prison sentence: apparently all his assets were encumbered by sky-high debts. But Fridrik intended to go out fishing as often as he could until the day came when the boat had to be sold. If she and Tristan wanted to come along, they’d be more than welcome. Tristan had immediately said yes, but Berglind had hesitated, then given in, as it was easier than objecting. Throughout her life, she had almost invariably chosen the path of least resistance.
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