The Absolution

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  The dog closed her eyes and turned away sulkily. She’d obviously interpreted Freyja’s tone as meaning that the promised walkies would be cancelled. Freyja was flooded with a familiar sense of guilt. It went with having a dog, this constant feeling that you were failing in your duties – to take her out more often, give her better food … But it was dictated by affection really, because although her relationship with Molly wasn’t perfect, she did care about her.

  ‘Actually, I won’t be able to make it for another hour. Is that OK?’

  The teenage girls looked totally out of place at the police station. There were five of them, so similar in appearance that Freyja immediately forgot their names. Long blonde hair, wide blue eyes thickly framed with mascara, and unnaturally black eyebrows. To make it even harder to tell them apart, they seemed to have coordinated their outfits: dark skinny jeans, white trainers and waist-length jackets in similar colours. They all had their hands buried in their jacket pockets and, as a finishing touch, they all wore virtually identical scarves draped over boyishly skinny bodies that barely betrayed so much as a swell of the hips. Freyja knew this was the last year they would still be teetering on the edge of childhood, or would be so uniform as a gang. Come the autumn they would go to sixth-form college and start developing their own individual tastes; a stage of development Stella had been denied, if Huldar was right about her fate. She was doomed to remain forever an adolescent in the memories of family and friends.

  Freyja had been given a quick briefing when she arrived, but it hadn’t added much to what had already appeared online, apart from the detail that the police believed Stella was dead and the fact that the killer had been caught on film dragging her body away. Huldar had asked her to keep this information to herself and her nod was good enough for him. They’d worked together in similar circumstances before, so he knew she could be trusted.

  ‘Right,’ said Huldar, once Freyja and Gudlaugur had taken their seats on either side of him, with the five girls lined up in a row facing them across the conference table. They had huddled their chairs as close together as possible, almost as if they wished they could pile onto each other’s laps.

  Freyja studied Huldar discreetly. He was looking good, much better than the last time she had seen him. The black circles had almost gone from under his eyes, he was clean-shaven and his hair had recently been trimmed. He was in fantastic shape, too. Too bad he was such an idiot. She was glad she’d taken the time to put her make-up on after walking Molly. It would have been infuriating to have to sit next to him, conscious that he was looking better than her. As it was, she reckoned they were pretty evenly matched.

  ‘Did you all get the Snaps sent from Stella’s phone last night?’

  Three of them nodded, one said yes and the other raised her hand, then quickly lowered it when she realised she was the only one.

  ‘All of you, in other words.’ Huldar pushed a pen and pad of paper in Gudlaugur’s direction. ‘Would you mind taking notes?’ Gudlaugur nodded and scribbled something down. Huldar turned back to the girls. ‘Which of you watched them?’

  This time the girls weren’t so ready with their answers. They shot glances at one another, either too shy to take the initiative or silently agreeing on how to reply.

  ‘I’d like an answer, please. Did you see them?’ Huldar leant forwards over the table, smiling thinly.

  The girl who had grabbed the middle seat answered first. ‘Yes. I did.’ Although she had been the boldest of the five, her voice came out barely above a whisper, as if she were admitting to having watched porn.

  Huldar looked at the rest and prompted: ‘What about you lot? Yes or no?’

  One after the other they muttered, ‘Yes.’ The girl who had answered first spoke up again. ‘I didn’t know what it was. Stella was always sending Snaps. If I’d known, I’d never have watched it.’

  ‘So you only looked at the first one?’ Freyja knew the answer to that already. Before the interview, she’d learnt from Huldar and Gudlaugur that the girls had watched every single Snap. As Stella’s best friends, they had been among the first people the police contacted in an attempt to get hold of phones on which the messages hadn’t yet been viewed. They were too late, though, as the first girl to see them had immediately rung round the others to tell them to watch.

  ‘No. Yes. I mean … No.’ The girl lowered her eyes to the table. ‘I watched them all. First I thought it was, like, a joke and kept waiting for the funny bit? Then I realised it was serious but by then I couldn’t stop. I wanted to know how it was going to end.’

  ‘And the rest of you? Same story?’

  The other four nodded. Their eyes shot to the girl in the middle, who Freyja took to be the leader. Given how unconfident she seemed in the role, Freyja guessed that Stella had been the queen bee. This girl must have been Stella’s best friend, since the others seemed to take it for granted that she would take over the role.

  ‘It’s all right, girls. You haven’t done anything wrong.’ Huldar leant back again. ‘We didn’t get you in because you watched the videos. We called you here because we’re hoping you can help us find the person who did this to your friend. OK?’

  They all nodded in unison and Huldar continued: ‘Can you think of anyone who might have had it in for Stella?’ This time there was a concerted shake of the head. ‘Quite sure? No secret boyfriend? Someone older than her, maybe?’

  ‘She’s got a boyfriend. He’s older than her. He’s got a driving licence and everything.’ Again it was the girl in the middle who spoke up. Cue more nods from the others.

  ‘You mean Hördur? Hördur Kristófersson?’

  ‘I don’t know. She calls him Höddi. She hasn’t let me meet him yet so I’ve only seen a photo. And he was only half in the picture.’ The girl made a face. ‘Stella said he hated having his picture taken. Maybe he’s, like, you know, a bit of a weirdo.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Was it him?’

  ‘No. Höddi’s not a suspect. What about someone else, someone older? Not necessarily a boyfriend – maybe a man who was interested in her, who sent her messages, that kind of thing?’

  They all shook their heads again.

  ‘Would Stella have told you if there was someone?’

  The group hesitated, exchanging quick glances, lowering their eyes.

  ‘Yes or no? Did she talk to any of you about private stuff?’

  ‘Yes. Me.’ The girl in the middle sat up straighter as she said this. Freyja was pleased that her instinct had been correct. ‘But she never mentioned anything like that. We’re all, like, really careful about not accepting friend requests from strange men on Facebook? They’re all paedos. Stella knew that. If a creep was stalking her, she’d have told me. Definitely.’

  ‘Are you absolutely positive about that? She didn’t let you meet her boyfriend. So it’s possible she kept other things from you as well, isn’t it?’ Huldar’s voice was cold.

  The girl glared at him, in a sudden foreshadowing of what she’d look like as an adult. ‘She was going to introduce me to Höddi. But, you know, she was busy. Like, she was always working? At the cinema.’

  ‘All right.’ Huldar changed the subject. ‘I’ve looked through Stella’s computer.’ The girls’ eyes popped at this and they seemed to stop breathing. The ringleader’s expression went from annoyed to alarmed. Freyja prodded Huldar’s thigh under the table in case he’d missed their reaction. She knew from experience that interpreting other people’s feelings wasn’t his strong point. ‘And what do you think I found there?’

  The girls stared at him dumbly, their eyes round. Huldar smiled again. ‘Nothing.’ The girls’ shoulders relaxed. He went on: ‘Nothing exciting, anyway. Half-finished homework exercises. A load of photos, mostly selfies. Illegal downloads of films and music. You lot get up to that as well, do you?’

  They blushed guiltily, each muttering ‘No,’ in turn.

  ‘Good.’ Huldar’s gaze raked their faces. ‘But judging by your reactions, I reckon I should take an
other look, because I get the feeling I’ve missed something. Maybe you could give me a clue what I should be looking for? Or just tell me straight out?’

  None of the girls spoke. Their apprehension was obvious. Huldar, sensing they weren’t going to open up, changed tack and started bombarding them with questions about Stella: what sort of person she was, her likes and dislikes, what she did after school, who her other friends were, both male and female, and other details about her life. Gradually the girls’ tongues began to loosen.

  Nothing of interest emerged, as far as Freyja could tell. Stella appeared to have been a singularly boring, if popular, teenage girl, interested in pop music, celebrities, boys, make-up and fashion. The more her friends told them, the more Freyja was inclined to think that Stella had been a bit of an air-head. But maybe that was unfair, maybe in time the girl would have blossomed and developed into a person of more substance.

  When their descriptions started getting repetitive, Huldar asked about the weekend instead; about when they had last seen or heard from Stella. It turned out none of them had laid eyes on her since they’d said goodbye after school on Friday. The girl in the middle had chatted to her on the phone and online, but Stella hadn’t wanted to meet up because she was working at the cinema on Friday evening, all day Saturday and Sunday afternoon until late in the evening, when the attack had taken place. The girl added that Stella had been moaning about her hair, which was why she didn’t want to go out on Saturday night. None of this sounded as if it would provide the police with any leads.

  An hour or so after they’d entered the meeting room, Huldar brought the interview to a close. The girls were visibly relieved. They zipped up their jackets and buried their hands in their pockets again before scurrying out of the room. Huldar, Gudlaugur and Freyja watched from the window as they left the police station and gathered in a knot outside, apparently engaged in a heated discussion. Then they peered around and one of them stole a quick glance up at the building. Freyja and Gudlaugur recoiled from the window but Huldar stood his ground and waved at her with a chilly smile.

  He turned back to the others. ‘Well, what do you reckon? What are they hiding?’

  Freyja shook her head. ‘Who knows? An older boyfriend, perhaps. You should also consider the possibility that Stella was having sex for money. It’s not unheard of, as I’m sure you’re aware. Judging by their reactions, it’s something bad. Mind you, what looks bad to them may seem trivial to us in the circumstances. But what really struck me was something else.’

  ‘What?’ Huldar studied her face.

  ‘It’s less than twenty-four hours since they learnt that something terrible’s happened to their friend, yet not one of Stella’s so-called mates showed any signs of grieving. Not one of them had the red-rimmed eyes, puffiness or blotchy cheeks that you get from crying.’

  Chapter 4

  Freyja took a big mouthful of coffee and felt a little better. She’d tasted worse, though the barista’s clumsy attempt to draw a leaf in the milk froth looked more like a child’s idea of a Christmas tree, stripped of all its needles. It wasn’t a café Freyja usually patronised; she’d wandered in after leaving the police station, in dire need of a caffeine boost. Once the girls had left, Huldar had shown her the Snaps and CCTV footage, which had turned her stomach. She understood now why he was referring to Stella in the past tense. But she couldn’t give him any insight into the man’s motives, or read anything from his actions, other than to say that the police were dealing with an insanely violent individual. Which Huldar was perfectly capable of working out for himself.

  Coming face to face with Erla on her way out had done nothing to improve her day. The look she’d sent Freyja would have caused most people to quicken their pace, but Freyja had reacted with studied nonchalance, deliberately smiling and saying a friendly hello. It had the desired effect. Erla’s face darkened and Freyja didn’t envy Huldar when she summoned him with an angry bark the moment Freyja had turned her back. Although the brief encounter had left a bad taste in her mouth, it did at least feel like she’d won a small victory in their pissing competition. How it had started was still a mystery to Freyja. Erla had taken an instant dislike to her the first time they’d met and Freyja had been quick to reciprocate. Ironic that the two people who really rubbed her up the wrong way should work at the same place. Come to think of it, it was appropriate that Huldar and Erla should have ended up in bed together, though she hated to think what their offspring would be like if they ever reproduced.

  If Freyja was honest, her craving for coffee wasn’t all down to the encounter with Erla or the sickening videos: the interview with the teenage girls had stirred up ghosts from her own past. Looking down at her cup, she realised that it was nearly empty. By tipping her head back she managed to coax a few more drops out of it. For her, the taste of coffee was the taste of adulthood. It reminded her that she was a grown-up, nominally in control of her own life, and that, whatever happened, she’d never be a child again.

  The saucer clattered as she put down the big cup more heavily than she’d intended. She didn’t like dwelling on the past. It never did any good. She and her brother Baldur had had an unconventional upbringing at the hands of their God-fearing maternal grandparents, which had left them with few happy memories except when it came to each other. Freyja’s teens had been particularly difficult. It wasn’t the shortage of money so much as her grandparents’ rigidly old-fashioned views on how to bring up kids. The commandments by which she and Baldur were supposed to live their lives would have been familiar to Moses’ offspring. OK, she hadn’t actually been forced to dress in a habit and sandals, but her clothes had been conspicuously unfashionable compared to those of other kids her age. Even her packed lunches had been different.

  No wonder she’d had trouble fitting in, forbidden as she was to own the same toys and clothes or get up to the same sort of things. As a result she couldn’t really relate to the in-crowd, to kids like Stella’s friends. On the other hand, she’d had plenty of practice in watching cliques like theirs from the outside. She could easily identify the leader and her deputy, and the girl who was on the verge of being ejected, who lived in terror of saying or doing the wrong thing, which would pitch her out into the cold. And she recognised the girl who was there as padding, who laughed in the right places and missed no opportunity to flatter the queen bee.

  But this didn’t bring her any closer to guessing what it was that Stella’s friends were concealing.

  The waiter took her cup and asked if she wanted a refill. Although she could easily have downed two more, Freyja said no thanks and asked for the bill.

  The café was heaving and the only place she’d been able to find a seat was right at the back. As she was squeezing her way out between the tables she couldn’t help noticing that all the other customers were foreign tourists. Maps or brochures were spread on every table, backpacks hung from the chairs and everyone was better equipped for the great outdoors than your average Icelander. She moved faster for fear of being asked what country she was from or if she’d mind taking a photo or, God forbid, performing the Viking football chant.

  Outside, the sky was the same unrelieved grey as it had been when she arrived, but then she hadn’t been there that long. She wrapped her coat more tightly around herself and wished she had a scarf like the girls earlier. She could do with one inside the car too: the heater had stopped working again but she’d already had it repaired twice and felt that taking it back to the garage for a third time would be a waste of money.

  Her phone rang as she was walking. It was the director of the Children’s House to inform her that they were lending her services to the police for the next few days. Freyja stopped dead in astonishment. The woman went on to say that Freyja needn’t come in for the rest of the week. The police needed a child psychologist on call while they were interviewing juveniles in connection with the girl’s disappearance, and she was the obvious choice as she had already attended one interview and they’d
rather not have to share sensitive information about the case with anyone else. A likely story, Freyja thought: this had Huldar’s fingerprints all over it. But her pleas for mercy on the grounds of coursework and lectures fell on deaf ears. By the end of the conversation she found herself committed to being on standby for the rest of the week.

  By the time she reached her car, Freyja’s anger had largely evaporated. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. She could still attend her classes as long as she kept her phone on the desk, ready to slip away if summoned. And when she wasn’t helping the police, she could focus on her studies, something she couldn’t normally get away with at the Children’s House where work required her undivided attention. Perhaps this would enable her to make up some lost ground. She could start by going home and trying to make sense of her maths exercises.

  But Freyja had no sooner formed this intention than her plans were thwarted. Her phone rang and this time it was Huldar, demanding to know if she was far away because her presence was required again. He couldn’t hide his pleasure.

  The teenagers had piled into the rows of seats at the very back of the assembly hall, as if expecting a flamethrower to be trained on them from the stage. It seemed nothing had changed since Freyja’s day. The aim was still to sit as far as possible from the grown-ups. Only a few scattered individuals sat near the front, mostly adults, who Freyja took to be teachers, and four pupils. Two boys, one obese, the other weedy enough to look as if he’d wandered in from the local primary school by mistake, and two girls who, in contrast, looked very ordinary, their brown hair tied back in ponytails, their shoulders drooping like players who’ve just scored an own goal in a cup final. All four kept their eyes carefully lowered and looked as if they hardly dared breathe. Freyja recognised that posture: she herself hadn’t sat up straight until she went to college. It was surprising she hadn’t developed a hunch.