The Absolution

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  The twenty-foot insulated shipping container stood in an enclosed paddock near a poultry farm on the outskirts of Mosfellsbær, a small town located thirteen kilometres north-east of Reykjavík. The land was registered as grazing, though there were no horses to be seen nor any sign that they had been pastured there the previous summer; the grass had been left to grow unchecked and there were no piles of dung visible under the thin layer of snow. By the time Huldar and Gudlaugur arrived, the police had tracked down the owner, one Eiríkur Gestsson, but when they got hold of him, it transpired that he had rented out the field the year before. The name of the tenant was all too familiar: Mördur Jónasson, Laufhildur’s father. How Erla had managed to control her face at that point Huldar couldn’t imagine. She had seen no option but to grasp at the lifebelt Freyja had thrown her earlier that day, claiming that she’d come across the name in connection with a notice at Stella’s school. She explained that she’d already sent Huldar and Gudlaugur to check out the man in question, so the team was awaiting their arrival with a degree of eager impatience they were quite unaccustomed to these days.

  Thanks to the contents of the letter, they didn’t disappoint anyone.

  Like Huldar, Erla had been unable to wait until she got to the station before reading it. She’d grabbed the envelope half hanging out of its evidence bag and stormed off to her car. The rest of the team had clustered around Huldar and Gudlaugur in the hope of illumination. Huldar decided to lighten the demoralised atmosphere by telling his colleagues that Mördur had confessed to the killings in his letter. When he saw how they brightened at this news, he was forced to disappoint them by adding that there was no way this could stand up: the man had been incapacitated at the time of the attacks. At this, the faces of those present fell again and with a dispirited air they drifted back to their allotted tasks.

  Huldar and Gudlaugur were left standing alone in the open, exposed to the biting wind, like the horses for whom the pasture was intended.

  ‘Shall we take a look inside?’ Gudlaugur spoke in a low voice, though they were alone out there. He surveyed the rusty container. Forensics had propped one of the doors open with a tripod. The dry stalks of grass poking up from the snow cast long shadows over the ground in the glare of the floodlights that had been set up inside.

  ‘You can, if you like. I can live without it.’ Huldar slapped his coat in search of cigarettes and felt the packet in his breast pocket. He’d have to go over to the fence to smoke so his ash wouldn’t contaminate the scene for Forensics. As far as he was concerned, the greater the distance between him and the container, the happier he’d be.

  Instead of heading for the open door, Gudlaugur dithered. ‘Who do you think will get a bollocking for failing to search it?’

  ‘No one in particular. You can hardly blame them. The container’s invisible from the road because the poultry farm’s in the way, so I doubt anyone noticed it. And I expect the smell from the farm would have confused the dogs if they had any with them.’ Huldar fiddled impatiently with his cigarette. ‘I don’t suppose they did more than a cursory search of the farm itself. There must be several people working there and they’d be unlikely to club together to hide a corpse. I don’t suppose the search party thought it was worth wasting precious time on it, any more than on other busy workplaces. Sadly. If they had, they might have spotted the container in time.’ Huldar didn’t mention that he himself had driven past and discounted the farm for precisely these reasons. But this wasn’t the only place he had overlooked and doubtless not the only one the search parties had ignored. The appeal to the public to check around their homes and workplaces had probably created a false sense of security.

  Huldar smiled at Gudlaugur with genuine warmth for the first time since Ásta had planted doubts about him in his mind. ‘But at least we’ve avoided a tongue-lashing for once.’

  Gudlaugur finally moved towards the container, looking slightly more cheerful now. But Huldar couldn’t shake off his depression, weighed down as he was with fatigue and sadness at Egill’s fate. When he reached the fence he lit his cigarette at last, leant his head back and blew a stream of smoke into the sky. He was still standing like that when Erla appeared beside him.

  ‘What kind of fucking bullshit is this letter?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Huldar sent another cloud of smoke heavenwards. ‘According to the nursing staff, he was on the ward when both kids were attacked. Hooked up to monitors, so they’d have noticed if he’d gone AWOL.’

  ‘Where’s his phone? We need to get hold of it ASAP. Maybe he rang someone else after he had his heart attack and asked them to take care of the killings.’

  Huldar glanced down at her. ‘I don’t know what kind of people you hang out with but there’s no one in my address book who I could casually ask to take over a couple of murders for me.’

  ‘Not even one of your sisters?’ Erla reached out for his cigarette and took a drag.

  ‘Since when do you smoke?’ Huldar watched her exhaling amateurishly.

  ‘I don’t. Apart from the odd one when I drink. Or when I’m freaking out.’ She took another drag, though she didn’t appear to be inhaling. When she handed back the cigarette it was smoked down to the filter, which was glowing orange. ‘He mentions three murders. If it wasn’t for those bloody numbers we could have celebrated the fact he’d only managed to nail two out of the three. But no one kills in the order two, three, one.’

  ‘Why not?’ Huldar stubbed out his cigarette on a fence post. ‘Would that be stranger than any other aspect of this case? The man’s crazy enough to cut down kids in the flower of their youth.’

  ‘Oh Christ, don’t start getting poetic on me.’ Erla was gazing over at the open door of the container. ‘They’re about to bring him out. The poor kid.’

  ‘What does the pathologist say? Has he been lying there dead since Tuesday?’

  ‘No. He died less than twenty-four hours ago. They should have a more accurate time of death after the post-mortem, though just how accurate we’ll have to see. Anyway, that’s irrelevant since the pathologist is pretty confident the boy died of the injuries he received on Tuesday evening. He can’t find any signs of violence inflicted subsequently.’

  Huldar hastily interrupted to forestall a detailed description of the difference between old and new injuries. ‘Are you telling me he was lying there alive for forty-eight hours, maybe even calling for help?’

  ‘If he did try to make a noise, it wouldn’t have carried far. He was in a very bad way. Even I could see that. Anyway, it wouldn’t have done any good. No one could have heard him. The container’s too far away from the chicken farm. We’ve questioned the security guard and he insists he didn’t hear anything. He says the hens cluck all day long so you can’t hear anything else. As they’re layers, there are no windows in the sheds, which means none on the side facing this paddock and the container. Apparently, they control the hens’ sleeping and waking hours with artificial lights. In the evenings and at night, when the lights are off and they’re asleep, there’s not much to do, so no one has any reason to go outside. Of course we’ll talk to the staff who work there on the day shift but I think we can rule out the possibility that any of them heard Egill. There’s a chance someone might have noticed any comings and goings in the vicinity of the container, though.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Huldar doubted it. He’d learnt over the years that with some investigations everything went like clockwork and with others nothing went right. This case definitely fell into the latter category. Mördur’s death just before he and Gudlaugur arrived at the hospital was the clearest proof of that. ‘Do you want me to go to the hospital and find out what happened to Mördur’s phone? His daughter isn’t going anywhere and, apart from her, he’s got no family except a brother up north. I’m betting his stuff’s still unclaimed.’

  Erla appeared to consider this as she watched two men carrying a stretcher over to the container. They tapped on Gudlaugur’s back to get him to move out of the way,
then disappeared inside the steel crate. ‘OK. That’d be good. You won’t be any use here, if I know you.’

  It was a fair comment and Huldar didn’t protest. ‘What about Mördur’s flat? Is there any reason to delay searching it? I could help with that as well, if you like.’

  The wind turned and wafted over a throat-catching stench from the poultry farm. Huldar made a face but Erla didn’t react, her sense of smell dulled by the menthol cream she’d smeared under her nose before entering the container. ‘As soon as I’d read the letter I rang the clerk of the court on duty but he didn’t see any reason to drag a judge out of bed. Told me to wait till tomorrow morning; put a guard on the flat tonight. I tried to argue that it couldn’t wait but the jumped-up little prick wasn’t having any of it. But after I hung up, I started wondering if we actually need a warrant. He lived alone. And he’s dead.’

  Huldar regarded her in surprise. ‘Er, yes. I’m pretty sure we do.’

  ‘Really? Do dead people have a right to privacy? Can’t we just go and search the place? It’s not like he’s going to care now.’

  Huldar pushed himself upright from the fence and turned to face her. ‘Had enough of being a manager, have you?’

  ‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’ Erla was still looking at the container, avoiding Huldar’s eye. ‘I’m sick of all the petty bureaucracy. Like now – just when things are finally moving, some twat of an official throws an obstacle in my path. I’ve had it up to here with that kind of crap.’

  ‘If you’re not sure you want to wave goodbye to your job, you’d better forget that idea p.d.q. From what I remember, the law makes no distinction between the living and the dead when it comes to privacy.’ Of course Erla knew this as well as he did, if not better. Lack of sleep over the last five days must be taking its toll. ‘Post a guard so no one can get inside tonight and we’ll apply through the right channels in the morning. If we go in without a warrant, they’ll crucify you. The circumstances don’t meet the criteria of imminent destruction of evidence, so you can’t hide behind that excuse. The man’s dead, after all. Incidentally, I recommend you apply for a warrant to search Laufhildur’s room while you’re about it. She’s big and strong enough to have been the perpetrator in the CCTV footage. The staff at the group home may claim she never goes out, but she has her own entrance. I don’t know how she’d get around without attracting attention, but she may have found a way. After all, she’s got a Darth Vader mask and for all we know she may have a blood-stained anorak rolled up in her cupboard.’

  Erla took time to digest this, her gaze still fixed on the container. ‘No clerk of the court is going to bother a judge for a warrant to search a group home for the disabled at this time of night. He’ll just tell me to wait till tomorrow.’

  Huldar had to be satisfied with that, though personally he would at least have tried. But he was in no position to go over her head.

  ‘The person who killed Stella and Egill must be alive,’ Erla went on. ‘If the information from the hospital is correct, it can’t possibly have been Mördur. So right now I’m more worried about his flat. There’s a risk the killer, whether it’s his daughter or someone else, will go round and remove any incriminating evidence.’

  ‘So put a guard on the flat as the clerk suggested.’

  The container creaked as both doors were pushed fully open to make room for the body to be brought out. They watched in silence. Neither would be attending the boy’s funeral, so this was the closest they’d come to paying their respects. Mourners tended not to appreciate the presence of the police, seeing them as nothing but an uncomfortable reminder of the horrific events that had led up to the funeral. The stretcher-bearers walked slowly, taking care not to stumble on the rough ground in the dark, under the watchful eyes of the team who’d been working on the corpse. The technicians clustered around the entrance to the container, silent like Huldar and Erla. Gudlaugur, still standing outside, was quiet too. As the stretcher passed them, Huldar stared at the white shape under the sheet, struck by how slight the boy had been, how far off adulthood. All that was visible was one white hand protruding from under the sheet. Erla appeared to be transfixed by the sight. Once the stretcher had passed, she broke the silence. ‘He was clutching some hairs in his fist. Just like Stella.’ She said nothing further and Huldar didn’t ask any questions. They waited until Egill had been loaded into the ambulance. When the slamming of the rear doors had stopped echoing in their ears, Erla turned to Huldar and picked up where they’d left off. ‘What if the first victim’s at Mördur’s flat? Possibly still alive?’

  Huldar heaved a sigh. She wasn’t going to let it go, so it was up to him to save her from herself. However strained their relationship was, the prospect of a new boss held no appeal for him. Christ, it could be Jóel, for all he knew, and then he might as well start clearing his desk. ‘Say I go and fetch Mördur’s belongings from the hospital and they just happen to include his house keys.’ Erla’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then say I happen to take a swing past his place on my way home and think I spot a light and movements in the window. I suppose I’d have to check out the situation to make sure it wasn’t another victim or the perpetrator come back to dispose of the evidence. Wouldn’t that be convenient?’ He paused, and meeting her eye saw a glint that hadn’t been there for ages. ‘Just an idea.’

  She grinned at him. ‘Get your arse over to the hospital. I’ll delay posting that guard on the flat.’ She gave him a matey slap on the shoulder, rather harder than necessary. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’

  Huldar knew the way to the cardiology ward like the back of his hand by now. As on his previous visits, no one paid him any attention when he walked in through the A&E entrance, but perhaps that was understandable this time. He strode in like a man who knows exactly where he’s going.

  All was quiet on the ward apart from the usual irritating bleeping. The corridor was empty and the lights were out in the rooms. He didn’t recognise the nurse on duty and couldn’t decide if this was good or bad. The woman he’d dealt with last time would probably have raised objections, fed up with the constant interruptions. But at least he’d have been spared the necessity of explaining why he was there. This wasn’t easy as he was limited in how much he could reveal, but luckily the nurse turned out to be one of those rare creatures who still trusted the police implicitly and accepted what he said without question. He had to suppress a smile of triumph as she disappeared into a storeroom in the corridor, then reappeared with an unmarked plastic bag. It took all his self-discipline not to look inside until he was back in the car.

  Once there, he pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and tipped out the contents on the passenger seat, having first spread plastic over the seat to prevent contamination. He had bags laid out ready for each piece of evidence. This wasn’t quite by the book: he should have taken Mördur’s property straight down to the station and handed it over to Forensics. But it wasn’t the first time a detective had interpreted the rules rather loosely and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Mördur’s clothes made up the bulk of the contents: jeans, vest and shirt, socks and underpants. Huldar felt the trouser pockets but they were empty. So was the breast pocket of his shirt. He crammed the clothes into two bags and sealed them. There was a wallet, too, but it didn’t contain anything of interest: a thousand-krónur note, credit card, debit card, a new, unused strip of bus tickets and several credit card receipts. When he unfolded them, they appeared to be perfectly innocent; the sort of thing Huldar carried in his own wallet. Groceries, petrol, fast food. The only difference was that Huldar’s wallet was also stuffed with receipts from the bars of Reykjavík.

  After he’d replaced the contents of the wallet and sealed it in a plastic bag, there was nothing left on the seat but a new-looking mobile phone and a bunch of keys. The phone had run out of battery. Huldar turned it over in his hands. He had a charger that would fit it and could have plugged it into the car socket but decided against the idea. Forensics would be able to d
etect that he’d tampered with it and such behaviour would be hard to justify. So the phone went into a bag as well. Apart from the keys, there was nothing left on the seat.

  There were five keys on the ring. One was recognisably a car key, and there was another small one that looked as though it would fit a padlock, possibly the one on the shipping container. The other three appeared to be house keys. No two were the same, so one could conceivably fit a storeroom, workplace or other space the man had access to. They’d find out in due course. Before replacing the bunch on the seat, he tried locating the man’s vehicle in the hospital car park by pressing the fob. There was no sound of beeping. Not even when he got out and held the key up to his chin to use his head as an aerial, which was supposed to double its reach, and pointed it in different directions. Still no joy.

  Not a sound, not a flashing light anywhere.

  He drove up and down the car park with his window open, repeatedly pressing the fob. Either it had run out of juice like the phone or the car was parked out of range.

  Frustrated, Huldar set off for Mördur’s flat. Erla must be getting impatient for news. Yet there was something niggling at him, something connected to his visit to the hospital. Perhaps it was just the worry about having to explain to management how he had happened to be passing a flat all the way out in Breidholt while ostensibly driving the short distance from the hospital to the police station. He’d just have to hope the matter was never raised or that people were so relieved about the case being solved that they were prepared to overlook this minor detail.