‘Oh?’ The woman’s eyebrows shot up. The change in her manner since the previous evening suggested that Ásta had given the police a less than flattering report after Huldar had left. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Mördur Jónasson. We understand he’s a patient on this ward.’
The woman’s expression didn’t soften at this. ‘May I ask what exactly’s going on?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. Well.’ She unfolded her arms. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you but Mördur’s no longer with us. And since there’s nothing more I can do for you, I’ll have to ask you to leave. We’re rushed off our feet.’
Huldar controlled his frustration with considerable effort. ‘We’re aware of that. If you could just let us know where he’s gone, we’ll get out of your hair.’
‘I’m sorry but I couldn’t tell you.’ The woman didn’t appear in the least sorry. ‘Except that wherever he’s gone, it’s either uncomfortably hot or a much better place than here. He died’ – she consulted the watch pinned to her breast pocket – ‘an hour and fifteen minutes ago. You’re just too late.’
Huldar was blindsided by this news, but Gudlaugur took over. ‘What happened?’
‘Cardiac arrest. There was nothing we could do.’
Neither Huldar nor Gudlaugur knew what to say to this. The nurse, interpreting their silence as a criticism of the hospital, became instantly defensive. ‘These things happen. He was suffering from heart failure as a result of chemotherapy and complications caused by an infection following his heart attack at the weekend. On top of that, he had advanced lung cancer. His time was up. We did all we could but it wasn’t enough. It’s not the fault of the treatment he’s received here, if that’s what you think.’
‘We didn’t mean to imply any such thing.’ Huldar forced himself to answer politely while inwardly cursing their bad luck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why the hell couldn’t they have got hold of his name earlier? ‘Was he conscious this morning?’
‘Yes and no. He’s been in and out of consciousness ever since he was brought in.’
‘When was that?’
‘Last Friday evening.’
‘And he’s been here the whole time since then? He never left the hospital at any point?’
The woman smiled. ‘No. Believe me. He couldn’t even get out of bed to go to the toilet. We’re talking about a very sick man.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, I’m quite sure. No one leaves here without our knowledge.’ She waved at the large screens Huldar had noticed the previous evening. ‘The patients are all hooked up to monitors and their readings are displayed here. If they pulled out their tubes and wandered off, we couldn’t fail to notice.’
Huldar was silent, his mind working furiously. How the hell could this man or his daughter be connected to Stella or Egill – if they were connected? ‘Did Ásta look after him at all?’
‘Yes. As did the other nurses on the ward. He wasn’t her particular responsibility, if that’s what you mean. Though, given the circumstances, she may have been more invested in him.’
‘The circumstances?’
‘She saved his life on Friday evening.’ The woman regarded Huldar in surprise. ‘I told you that yesterday, didn’t I?’
‘I don’t remember.’ He had a vague memory of her going on about how great Ásta was but couldn’t recall any of the details. ‘What exactly happened?’
‘Ásta gave him CPR. Out in the car park. She kept him alive until someone heard her calling and fetched help. Like so many people, he’d sensed something was wrong and driven himself to A&E. It was sheer luck that he didn’t collapse behind the wheel – and that Ásta saw what was happening. If she’d left a few minutes earlier or later, the man would have died alone in the car park. It’s not unusual for people – especially men – to react foolishly to the first signs of a heart attack. They don’t like ringing for an ambulance in case it’s a false alarm. As if anyone would care about that.’
‘Did they know each other?’
‘No, not at all. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. But they talked, didn’t they? After he was brought in here?’
‘No more than anyone else. Like I said, the man was mostly out of it, and Ásta’s not the only nurse around here. If anything, she had less to do with him than the rest of us.’
‘Oh? Why was that?’
‘He kept making such a big deal about thanking her for saving his life that she got fed up with it. Every time he came to, he would ask for her. He didn’t seem to remember that he’d already thanked her repeatedly. It all got a bit much for Ásta and the rest of us, because we’re extremely busy, as I said, and don’t really have time to stop and chat to patients, especially if they insist on endlessly rambling on about the same stuff.’ The woman checked her watch again. ‘And the same applies to the police. If there’s anything else, I’ll have to refer you to Ásta and request that you talk to her outside the hospital.’
Huldar and Gudlaugur were obliged to step aside as a bed was wheeled past containing a patient whose grey face suggested he didn’t have long to live. They were silent while the group went by, unsure what was appropriate in the circumstances. As they turned to watch the bed’s progress down the corridor, the nurse grew visibly impatient.
‘Right, are we done here? Can I get back to work?’
‘One last question. Did his daughter come to see him? Or any other visitors?’
‘No, not that I remember. But I don’t keep track of all the visits as I’m not always on duty.’ She looked at them both in turn, then, relenting slightly, said wearily: ‘I suppose you’d like me to check for you?’
Huldar thanked her and prepared to wait while she consulted her colleagues. But the nurse said she wouldn’t be talking to anyone until the staff gathered later to prepare for the handover, so they would just have to be patient. She asked for a phone number and after Huldar had given her his card, almost shoved them towards the exit.
Huldar turned just before they reached the doors. She was still standing there as if to make sure they were really leaving. Her expression, when she saw him coming back, was distinctly frosty.
‘You don’t happen to have someone listed as next of kin, do you? Someone to be contacted in case of emergencies? We’re trying to get hold of his daughter’s phone number. If you could check for me, I promise we’ll leave.’
The woman let out an exasperated sigh but did as he asked. When she came back, the number she gave them was Mördur’s brother’s. It was better than nothing. Perhaps he would be able to put them in touch with the elusive Laufhildur. Huldar was beginning to wonder whether she’d moved abroad without informing the authorities. Maybe changed her name too. It also crossed his mind that she might have returned to Iceland recently, for reasons that might not bear examination.
The three of them were sitting in a car behind the police station, Erla in the driver’s seat, Huldar beside her and Gudlaugur in the back, leaning forward between them, his elbows resting on their seats.
Erla was reluctant to discuss Mördur and Laufhildur in the office. She still hadn’t come up with a plausible excuse to explain her interest in them to the rest of the team and had decided that meeting in the car like this would be less likely to arouse suspicion. Huldar disagreed but kept his mouth shut. Although it was only 5 p.m. it was pitch dark outside and as Erla had switched on the light in the car, the three of them were on display like goods in a shop window. The moment someone stepped outside for a smoke they could be sure tongues would start wagging – possibly about a threesome this time.
‘And you say he was positive he didn’t know Stella or Egill and that, as far as he was aware, his brother didn’t either?’ Erla’s eyes were fixed on the windscreen and she was gripping the steering wheel.
‘He was adamant. Of course, he couldn’t be a hundred per cent certain that Mördur didn’t know them, but he’d never heard him mention their names.’ Huldar could have done without having to make t
hat phone call to the brother. It turned out that the hospital hadn’t got round to informing him of Mördur’s death, so Huldar had been forced to break the news.
‘Were they close?’
‘According to him they were. But how close can brothers be if they live on opposite sides of the country? He lives in Akureyri and Mördur lived here in Reykjavík. Apparently they rarely met up but they talked on the phone once a month. Does that count as close? Anyway, the brother was pretty upset to hear Mördur was dead. Said he’d had a tough time of it. His wife had been diagnosed with MS when their daughter was little and had gone progressively downhill until she was completely incapacitated by the time she died.’
‘And he said there was no point talking to the daughter?’
‘No. None at all. He was reluctant to discuss her. All he said was that she’d had a serious accident in her teens that had left her unable to speak. Mördur cared for her at home until it became obvious that he was losing his battle with cancer. In the end he admitted defeat and got her a place at a group home for the disabled. He thought it was the best solution as he’d still be around for a while to help her adapt to her changed circumstances. According to his brother, she moved in there fairly recently. Incidentally, I did learn one interesting fact from our chat. He never once called her Laufhildur but referred to her the whole time as Laufa.’
‘Laufa?’ Erla frowned, not following him. Then the penny dropped. ‘Laufa – Lauga!’
‘Bingo.’ Huldar would have held up his hand for a high five if the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious. ‘Is there any chance that our mystery caller said Laufa, not Lauga?’
Erla thought for a moment. ‘Maybe. I’d need to listen again. But it’s possible.’
‘Doesn’t that solve our problem, then?’ Gudlaugur brightened up. ‘Now we can say we want to check her out as a result of the tip-off. No one’s going to cast doubt on the importance of that phone call for the investigation.’
Erla threw him a withering look. ‘Yeah, great. Why don’t you take it to management? Explain that we can’t find any Lauga or woman whose name ends in -laug but we have managed to dig up the only woman in the country called Laufhildur. She happens to live in a group home and can’t talk but we’re convinced she’s relevant to the case.’
Gudlaugur had no reply to this. Erla took up the thread again. ‘So what next?’ She moved the wheel inadvertently and the snow crunched under the tyres. ‘Hadn’t you better visit the home? Did the brother know what it was called?’
‘He said it didn’t have a name. Apparently they’re not allowed to give these places names any more. He’d heard the address but couldn’t remember it.’
‘Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.’ Erla let go of the wheel and ran her hands through her hair. ‘The only problem now is how I’m going to explain our interest in this woman.’ She looked at Huldar, then twisted round to search Gudlaugur’s face. ‘Any bright ideas?’ They shook their heads. ‘Shit.’
‘Want me to ask Freyja? She should be able to access the social services database. Laufhildur ought to be registered there if she’s living in a group home. We wouldn’t need to fill Freyja in on the background, just ask her to do the search discreetly.’ Huldar braced himself for the inevitable shitstorm. He knew it was a brilliant solution; the only question was whether that would be enough to outweigh Erla’s antipathy towards Freyja.
Erla stared out of the windscreen again, her face hard. ‘No. Let Gudlaugur do it.’ She twisted round to the back seat again. ‘Got that?’
Gudlaugur nodded. He could hardly have failed to hear in the cramped confines of the car. Turning back to Huldar, Erla told him to stay within reach in case she needed his help with interviewing Arnar Björnsson. The plan was to start the next round of questioning the moment the lawyer showed his face. The poor sod hadn’t exactly picked the cream of the crop when he pointed to a name at random on the list he was shown. The lawyer in question was approaching retirement and rumoured to be getting a bit forgetful these days. He could hardly be trusted to keep track of what his clients had been accused of. However, since this was extremely convenient for the police, no one had commented on Arnar’s choice.
‘Does that mean you only want one of us to go to the group home, then?’
‘We’ll see. I’ll let you know.’
When it became clear that no one had anything else to contribute, Erla switched off the ceiling light. They got out and the empty yard echoed with the slamming of car doors.
Chapter 33
From the living-room window Freyja watched her neighbour reeling across the road. His shabby anorak was unzipped, revealing a T-shirt emblazoned with fruit that would have been better suited to drinking cocktails on a tropical beach than a can of beer in the middle of a snowy Reykjavík street. The man skidded on the icy ground, slopping his drink. Freyja half expected him to fling himself down on his hands and knees and start eating the snow where the beer had landed but instead he paused halfway across, emptied the can down his throat, then chucked it on the ground. Freyja wasn’t bothered about the litter; before long one of the other occupants of the building would be out there, scavenging the can for the deposit. It was that kind of place.
Earlier that morning she would have been filled with gloom by this reminder of how she’d come down in the world but now she simply took it as yet another incentive to do something about her life. Something realistic that didn’t involve a complete career change and a new start. It needn’t be that drastic. She was healthy, she’d got the education she’d always wanted and did a job that suited her and that she was good at. This was a sound basis to build on, so there was no reason why she shouldn’t be happy with her lot. The problem was that she’d allowed her life to fall into a rut, from sheer laziness. But things were going to change. Her mission now was to find herself a flat that suited her better than this dump, throw herself into her work and recover her former position. When Baldur got out, she would take him under her wing and help him find his feet. For Saga’s sake, she was even prepared to share a flat with him at first, to make sure he didn’t take the fast track back into the gutter. Then he could sell this place or rent it out to tourists. There must be foreigners out there desperate enough for a bargain that they wouldn’t turn their noses up at it.
She fully intended to reassess her love life too. Shelve her search for a good man and let him find her. Hunting for a mate was probably like trying to remember something: it wasn’t until you stopped trying that things started to happen. Desperation was a turn-off. Thank God she’d been spared from making a terrible mistake with that idiot Kjartan. Up to now she had managed to stick to her principles about not sleeping with married men.
She hadn’t picked up when he’d called; hadn’t felt like talking to him, though she had every intention of ringing him in due course to give him a piece of her mind. But first she wanted to prepare what she was going to say, and maybe run through it a few times, just to make sure she didn’t end up swearing or hurling insults at him. She still hadn’t got the wording quite to her satisfaction and was beginning to think she shouldn’t even mention his lie about getting a divorce. Surely it would be more devastating to his ego to say she’d heard on the grapevine that he was a bit disappointing in the sack, so she felt she could do better? Then leave him to fret over where she could have heard this. She didn’t for a minute believe that she was his first attempt at adultery.
The really galling part was that the bastard had tricked her into saying she’d go to the class reunion with a plus one. Humiliated by the thought of having to either turn up alone or announce at the last minute that she couldn’t go, she had resorted to inviting Huldar along. On the face of it, the solution was a satisfactory one: he was a good-looking guy and those who didn’t know any better might even think she was lucky. But on second thoughts the plan hadn’t been so clever after all. Her invitation was bound to have been interpreted as flirtation. She’d done her best to make it crystal clea
r that this was a one-off but she feared it would only encourage Huldar to start bombarding her with phone calls and messages again.
It just showed how heavily the past still weighed on her. She was prepared to do anything to show her former classmates – though show them what? If she turned up with Huldar on her arm, they would at least realise she was capable of attracting a man. But that was pathetic, as well as being far from the truth. She would do better to show them that she was comfortable in her own skin. And that they could get stuffed. But that was a harder message to convey, especially since she was afraid she would be too ill at ease in their company to make the desired impression.
Freyja heaved a sigh. At least she wasn’t going to turn up with Kjartan and run the risk of bumping into someone who knew his wife. Then she would really have sunk to new depths in their eyes.
Turning away from the window, she contemplated her open laptop. Up on screen was a draft of the report she had promised Erla. The contents were still very sketchy; in fact, all it consisted of were half-finished introductory sentences for the sections she intended to include. It didn’t help that the bulk of the information was derived either directly or indirectly from Kjartan. Being constantly reminded of him ruined her concentration. It also bugged her that she’d recommended him to poor Adalheidur’s father. If Kjartan was that dishonest, he could hardly be a good therapist – or so she tried to persuade herself. The thought that his lies were bound to affect his professionalism made her feel a little better. But it couldn’t be helped; she could hardly ring the girl’s father and retract her recommendation.
Freyja went over to the coffee table and closed the overheated laptop. The fan seemed to groan with relief at no longer having to cool the clapped-out machine. It probably wouldn’t be called on again until tomorrow morning as Freyja didn’t think she would achieve any more tonight. She had gone over to the window to see if the weather was good enough for her to take Molly out, in the hope that the bracingly cold air would wake up her brain, but now she realised it would be pointless.
The Absolution Page 24
