The Absolution

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Freyja had just put her maths assignment in the tutor’s pigeonhole when her phone buzzed. It was Huldar, asking her to come to the station later as they were interviewing some minors. So much for her plan to spend the day in the library. But luckily she’d be able to fit in her lecture first.

  Which turned out to be a complete waste of time. Freyja couldn’t begin to keep up with the PowerPoint slides as they flew by. Although her hangover was receding, she’d been unable to get her head round the graphs and lengthy definitions before they were gone. Right now she couldn’t give a damn about the impact of supply on demand and vice versa. The only demand she could think about was her own craving for a Coke.

  That bastard Huldar seemed to understand at a glance what kind of state she was in. Instead of the usual coffee, he had offered her just what she’d been dying for – a sugary Coke. How he knew was a mystery. Before going up to his floor, she’d popped into the loo to check her reflection in the mirror and touch up her appearance. She hadn’t done a good enough job, obviously. ‘Down it. You’ll feel better right away. I should know.’ Smiling, he handed her the bottle. ‘Good night, was it?’

  She mumbled an inaudible reply. He left her with Gudlaugur while he went to fetch the kids. The waiting was a little awkward; she drank her Coke and the young detective ventured some pointless small talk about the weather. Cutting him off mid-flow, she asked: ‘Who are the kids?’

  ‘Friends of Egill. One’s bringing his mother.’

  ‘Who’s Egill?’

  ‘Hasn’t Huldar told you?’ Freyja’s blank look answered the question. ‘Oh. Well, the case has taken a turn for the worse. All the indications are that Stella’s killer has now abducted Egill Pálsson, the boy who’s been reported missing.’

  Freyja hadn’t paid much attention to the news since yesterday afternoon but she had a vague memory of a headline and the photo of a missing teenage boy. She’d simply assumed he was one of those kids who’d got sucked into the world of drugs and kept running away from home. ‘Has the press got wind of the connection?’

  ‘Yes, but in the interests of the investigation, they’ve agreed not to publish anything until tomorrow morning. I doubt it’ll stay under wraps, though. Unfortunately, too many of his friends know. All it takes is one kid to mention it on Facebook or some other social media platform and the press will no longer feel bound by their promise.’

  ‘When did he disappear?’

  ‘Tuesday evening. But no one found out till yesterday morning.’

  ‘And he hasn’t turned up?’

  ‘No.’ Gudlaugur shook his head.

  ‘So he could still be alive?’

  He hesitated, then answered with little conviction: ‘Yes, theoretically.’

  Freyja’s queasiness returned at the thought of the violence the boy might have suffered; might still be suffering. ‘Were the same kind of Snaps circulated?’

  Gudlaugur nodded. ‘Just as brutal as the ones in Stella’s case. Though the attacker waited longer this time. We’re expecting more but we haven’t a clue whether there’ll be any because he doesn’t seem to be following the same pattern. Egill’s phone popped up on the network last night but it was switched off again immediately and we didn’t find him at the location. This time it was used to make a call, not send a Snap, but we’re still expecting a final message, if the perpetrator’s following the same M.O. as in the Stella case.’

  Freyja pushed away the images conjured up by her imagination. Huldar’s reappearance accompanied by three teenage boys and a woman – presumably the mother – proved a welcome distraction.

  It wasn’t immediately obvious which of the three boys was the woman’s son. She had chestnut hair and a hard face, with pronounced cheekbones and a sharp nose, unlike the childishly rounded features of the boys, who were all blond. One was noticeably taller than the others, but carried himself as if all these extra centimetres had arrived unexpectedly in the night. The woman stared grimly at the backs of the boys’ heads, deliberately ignoring her surroundings. Paying a visit to a police station was not on most adults’ wish list. But the boys turned their heads excitedly this way and that, exchanging whispers.

  Once they were all sitting round the large table in the meeting room, the boys’ excitement diminished. There was nothing of interest to see in there, just a single black screen on the wall, a recorder, a wireless keyboard and a tangle of computer cables leading to a small cupboard. The whitewashed walls and ceiling were bare and featureless.

  Huldar laid his hands flat on the table in front of him. ‘Right. I should probably begin by reminding you that you’re only here to help us with our enquiries. None of you are suspected of any involvement in Egill’s disappearance.’ He met the eye of the mother who was sitting at the other end of the table. The boy next to her was leaning as far away from her and towards the other boys as the arm of his chair would allow. Her son, presumably, mortified that his mother had insisted on accompanying him, when the other boys were allowed to come alone. ‘Freyja, here, is a child psychologist. She’ll make sure we don’t overstep the mark. She can offer you advice too, if you’d like.’ His gaze returned to the mother. ‘It would be best if you didn’t interrupt too much while we’re asking the questions, though of course we can’t stop you.’ He gave the woman an on–off smile and she looked down her nose disapprovingly.

  Huldar turned back to the boys. ‘How are you doing, lads?’ They mumbled something inaudible but it didn’t matter, the question was only an introduction to the more serious business that was to follow. Huldar proceeded to run through all the same questions he’d put to Stella’s friends. Once or twice he brought Freyja in to reassure the kids that it was perfectly normal in the circumstances to feel upset or frightened. But she didn’t ask any questions herself, leaving that side entirely to Huldar. Gudlaugur took no part, merely sat and observed. Freyja couldn’t work out his role. Perhaps he was just there as a witness, in case the mother or one of the boys made a complaint about Huldar.

  It took a while for the boys to get into gear but when they did finally open their mouths, it turned out they had little of interest to say. Their answers chimed more or less with those Stella’s friends had given. None of them knew anything of significance. Egill had no connection to anyone or anything that could explain his disappearance. They were keen to stress that he didn’t smoke and wasn’t on drugs. When Huldar asked if he drank, their answers became evasive and they swapped furtive glances. They would probably have been more forthcoming if the mother hadn’t been present. Two of them had seen the videos and the third seemed rather disappointed to have missed them.

  ‘If I say the number three to you, what’s the first thing that springs to mind?’

  The boys’ reactions made it clear that they were surprised by Huldar’s question. They started asking what he meant: three of something in particular or just three of anything? Huldar had to cut in and repeat his question. ‘What’s the first thing you think of?’

  ‘Er … left back. Er … a triangle. Er … Eric Bailly. Er … injury time.’ Apart from revealing their obsession with football, the answers weren’t very enlightening. Though for all Freyja knew, the question might refer to football. She remembered him asking her something similar on the phone, but surely that had been about the number two? She noticed that the mother was becoming increasingly restless and she checked her own impulse to steal a glance at her phone to find out the time.

  The mother snapped to attention when Huldar’s questions suddenly changed tack. Freyja pricked up her ears as well. ‘Egill was bullying a boy at your school called Davíd. Tell me about that.’

  ‘What?’ The boys looked even more surprised and confused than they had when he’d asked about the number three.

  ‘Egill’s mother received a complaint from the school about her son’s behaviour towards a boy in the year below you. As his best friends, you must have been aware of the bullying – maybe you even took part in it?’

  ‘My son’s ne
ver bullied anyone.’ Bristling, the mother turned on Freyja. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything? It sounds to me like my son’s being accused of something. We were promised that this interview was about Egill – about helping the police find him. I can’t see what this question has to do with his disappearance.’

  No one said anything after she’d finished, they just let the silence hang in the air; an effective response to bluster. Freyja had the hardest time holding out, since the woman had addressed her directly, but she managed not to cave in, and the woman didn’t insist on an answer, seeming content merely to glare at her. When Huldar eventually spoke, it was to the boys, as if he hadn’t heard the mother’s outburst. ‘What do you say, lads? How bad was it?’

  They shot sidelong glances at one another. In the end, it was the smallest of them who replied. ‘It was no big deal. It was only banter. You know, just jokes.’

  The mother shifted impatiently. ‘This is outrageous. Boys, you don’t have to answer.’

  ‘As your mother says, you don’t have to answer—’ Before Huldar could finish, the boy in the middle interrupted.

  ‘She’s not our mum. She’s his.’ He jerked his thumb at the boy sitting next to the woman.

  ‘Thanks.’ Huldar turned to the boy in question. ‘What’s your name again, son?’

  ‘Uuuh … Thorgeir. Thorgeir Atlason.’

  Huldar picked up a sheaf of papers from the table in front of him and began leafing through them under the boys’ wary gaze. Finding what he was looking for, he read out: ‘Die, you piece of shit. Hang yourself, or I’ll do it for you.’ Huldar raised his eyes to meet those of the boy who had turned bright red. He carried on reading: ‘How about I shove a broken bottle up your arse?’ He looked back at the boy who had dropped his gaze. ‘Does that sound like “only banter” to you?’

  The mother slapped her hand on the table. ‘What the …? How dare you read out that disgusting stuff in front of my son? And his friends?’

  Huldar looked up. ‘Oh, I’ve hardly got started.’

  ‘I’m speechless. And you …’ The woman looked daggers at Freyja. ‘What kind of child psychologist do you call yourself? Or are you just here for decoration? I insist you put a stop to this. May I remind you that they’re only fourteen and fifteen years old!’

  ‘If they’re old enough to write it, surely they’re old enough to hear their words read aloud?’

  ‘What are you on about?’ The woman was wrong-footed. ‘Who wrote that?’

  ‘Your son, Thorgeir.’ Huldar’s gaze moved on to the other boys. ‘I could read the same kind of messages from you two to this Davíd. He’s a year younger than you. Prefer to pick on the little kids, do you?’ None of the three answered or dared meet his eye. The mother sat there open-mouthed, trying to work out what was going on. ‘I’m waiting for an answer.’ Huldar lifted up the papers as if to go on reading. It was enough to prompt Thorgeir to speak.

  ‘Don’t keep reading it out. It sounds really bad when you do that. It’s, like, totally different on screen.’ He stole a glance at his mother, who ignored him.

  Freyja decided to dive in at this point. ‘I don’t agree. It’s no better reading messages like that on screen, alone in your room.’ She stopped herself, afraid of breaking into a long, angry rant and saying a lot of things she’d only regret later. She was here as a representative of children’s services, not on behalf of the teenage girl she once was. Her own emotional baggage was unimportant in comparison to the urgent hunt for a missing boy – and a murderer. ‘I recommend you answer the police’s questions without any more evasion. You’ve been given a chance to make up for your appalling behaviour. I’d grab it, if I were you.’

  ‘Do you send messages like that to girls, too? A girl called Adalheidur, for example? Are the messages anything like the ones you’ve been sending Davíd? “It’s a shame you’re too ugly to be raped.” Oh, or this one: “Hope you get AIDS and die, you stupid twat.”’

  ‘That’s enough!’ The mother unhooked her bag from the back of the chair with trembling hands. ‘I’m not listening to another word of this. It has nothing to do with Egill’s disappearance. There’s something else going on here.’ She rose to her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘Thorgeir, you’re coming with me. It’s up to your friends what they do.’ The boys didn’t wait to be told twice. They almost tripped over each other in their haste to push back their chairs from the table and stand up.

  The most confident of them hesitated a moment as his friends hurried out after the woman. He mumbled quickly, without meeting anyone’s eye: ‘That Davíd’s dad’s a weirdo. I’d arrest him if I was you. I bet he’s taken Egill.’ He darted after his friends before they could ask him any further questions, only to pause again in the doorway. With his back to them, he added: ‘I’m sorry about the Davíd stuff. We didn’t really mean it. It was just bants, you know.’

  He left.

  They sat there, aware that, wherever he was now, Egill was unlikely to be laughing at his friends’ banter. He was unlikely ever to laugh again.

  Chapter 24

  The atmosphere in the meeting room was no better now that Erla was sitting there in place of the mother and the three boys. Huldar felt a certain satisfaction, though. He took the fact that she’d expressed a wish to talk to Freyja as a sign that she must be thawing towards her. He had decided to sit in, on the grounds that it would be better to have a third party present to keep things civilised. Erla may have been thinking along the same lines, as she had brought along Jóel, who was now lounging in his chair, eyeing Freyja up – much to Huldar’s chagrin.

  ‘Do I understand you correctly that there are no precedents for an adult using extreme violence against a minor in connection with bullying?’ Erla was forced to tone down her sneer in order to get the words out. As a result, she looked almost like her normal self. ‘In that case, why should we even consider the possibility?’

  Huldar jumped in before Freyja could speak. He was feeling sorry for her. He’d clocked at once that she was suffering from a bad hangover, and knew from experience that this could make it hard to answer succinctly. ‘Because all else has failed,’ he said quickly. ‘All our other leads have turned out to be dead ends.’

  As he’d expected, Erla flared up at this. ‘I was talking to her, not you. She’s supposed to be our go-to expert.’ She turned back to Freyja, who was looking pale.

  ‘The fact there are no precedents doesn’t mean it can’t happen,’ she replied. ‘But it’s up to you whether you investigate this angle. It’s no big deal to me either way. I just felt it was right to draw your attention to the possibility, especially given what the headmistress had to say about the father of Adalheidur, the girl Stella was victimising.’ Freyja’s chin jutted briefly, then lowered again.

  ‘Are you implying that every dad who loses his temper with his kid’s headteacher is a potential murderer?’ This was beneath Erla but Huldar knew there was no point telling her so.

  ‘I don’t see how you manage to interpret my words like that.’ The blood flooded into Freyja’s pale cheeks, making her appear suddenly healthier. ‘But the answer’s no. Of course not.’ She licked her lips and, out of the corner of his eye, Huldar caught Jóel’s leer. ‘Anyway, I included all the information you’re asking about in my two e-mails. Perhaps you haven’t seen them yet. I was under the impression they’d been forwarded to you.’

  Erla unfolded her arms and pushed the printouts towards Freyja. ‘I read them but I can’t say I was too impressed. When we shell out our limited resources on a consultation, I expect a proper report, not a couple of scrappy e-mails.’

  Huldar could sense the chill emanating from Freyja even without looking at her. She answered before he could leap to her defence again. ‘Excuse the misunderstanding but I thought it was urgent, so I decided to update you immediately, rather than keep you waiting for the final report I’ll be delivering in due course.’

  ‘Anyway.’ Huldar picked up the thread the moment Fr
eyja stopped talking. ‘Leaving aside reports and e-mails, isn’t the question we’re all longing to ask: what do we do now?’

  There was a lengthy silence while the two women got a grip on themselves. Jóel had started pointedly clearing his throat when Erla put an end to the awkwardness. ‘We looked up Adalheidur’s father on our system.’

  She paused again, as if intending to withhold the results of the search. Huldar guessed this meant they’d found something. ‘And?’

  ‘It threw up an incident.’

  ‘What kind of incident?’ So that was why Erla was interested in hearing what Freyja had to say.

  ‘A complaint from a neighbour.’

  ‘What about?’ Huldar tried to control his impatience. Why couldn’t she just spit it out?

  ‘Noise. Shouts and howling. The person who rang thought someone was being murdered. Two uniforms went to the address but there was nothing to see. No bodies, no victim.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Just over a month ago.’ Erla’s lips tightened. She added that she’d show him the report after the meeting; this wasn’t the time or place to go into details. Huldar didn’t object, though he was itching to hear more. Instead, he sat quietly while Erla interrogated Freyja, politely for her. She was mainly interested in the perpetrator’s probable state of mind and the type of behaviour that could be triggered by chronic stress, in the worst-case scenario. Freyja answered all her questions like a true professional – namely, with endless provisos that diluted the content to such an extent that in the end all she’d really said was that anything was possible. Despite this, Erla and Jóel didn’t look too disappointed. They hadn’t been expecting her to stick her neck out and express an opinion as to who could have attacked the teenagers or why. The most she could do was provide them with a new avenue to explore, even if it proved to be another blind alley.