‘Just a couple more things. Did you ever hear Mördur mention Stella or Egill by name? Or possibly a third teenager? In his sleep, maybe?’
‘No. He did nothing like that. Not in front of me or anyone else, as far as I know. Don’t you think I’d have told you if he had?’
There was a silence. Huldar was trying to digest what had been said and, more importantly, what had been left out. On the way there he had thought it possible that Ásta was Mördur’s accomplice. Now he wasn’t so sure. If she had been, surely she wouldn’t have thrown cold water on the idea that Mördur could have slipped out of the ward? She’d have wanted to make sure all the blame fell squarely on him. And she’d have claimed that he had his phone constantly in his hands. Her relief on hearing that they’d arrested a suspect didn’t fit with that theory either.
But if she was as innocent as she insisted, why was she so reluctant to answer questions about giving Mördur CPR in the car park? Her behaviour wasn’t consistent with what he was used to from those who had nothing to hide. It didn’t make sense.
Before he could decide what this meant, his phone rang.
Erla was on the line. He stood up as he answered and went over to Ásta as a sign that she should move. For a moment it looked as if she was going to block his way, then she stepped aside. He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with Gudlaugur, who had looked alarmed when he realised what was happening.
Out in the corridor he listened to Erla gabbling that they were to come back to the station immediately. She had started talking almost before he could say hello. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Snapchat has sent us the information about the usage on Mördur’s account. It seems they keep the records of customer accounts for thirty days after they deactivate them, in case they change their mind or they closed them by mistake. So they hadn’t destroyed the data, though everything Mördur sent or received has vanished as it had already been viewed. He had quite a lot of friends, all teenagers, apart from his brother. But on closer inspection one of the teenagers’ accounts appeared to have been set up under a false name. And guess what?’
‘What?’ Huldar heard stealthy footsteps from the corridor leading to the bedrooms and moved into the hall so he wouldn’t be overheard. He guessed that Ásta’s daughters had lost patience and sneaked out of their room.
‘One IP address associated with the account was assigned to Haukur Stefánsson. Adalheidur’s father.’ Erla paused for breath. ‘There’s a meeting in half an hour. I want you two there with your ears open. You’re not to barge in halfway through. Understood?’
‘But …’
‘Huldar. Listen to me. No bloody “but”s. That nurse is obviously of secondary importance. We’ll have plenty of time to talk to her later. Get your arse down to the station right now.’ She hung up. There was nothing to be done but obey.
Ásta’s daughters had taken up position outside the kitchen, face to face, ears pressed to the door.
‘Hey! What are you doing?’ They whipped their heads round, terrified, and Huldar pulled an angry face to heighten the effect. ‘Shouldn’t you be in your room?’
They didn’t answer, just stared at him with wide eyes, the elder squinting worse than ever, then fled past him down the hallway. When the younger girl bumped into him in passing, she left glitter on his trousers. Christmas was coming early this year.
Huldar tapped on the door in case Ásta was still standing on the other side. He didn’t want to knock her over. But she was by the sink with the tap running, a glass in her hand. He didn’t seem to be interrupting a conversation as he’d expected. His announcement that they had to leave brought her head round fast, and Gudlaugur glanced up equally quickly from the table. It was hard to tell which of them was the more delighted.
Once they had their shoes on and were walking out of the door, Ásta suddenly spoke from behind them. ‘Now I remember where I recognise you from.’ Unlike Gudlaugur, Huldar turned round. He waited for her to go on, a little taken aback by the spiteful look on her pretty face. ‘You were at that meeting, weren’t you? You sat next to me.’
Huldar nudged Gudlaugur who kept his face stubbornly turned towards the road. So Huldar asked: ‘What meeting was that, Ásta?’
‘The general meeting of the National Queer Organisation.’ She was speaking to Gudlaugur’s back. ‘When they held the vote about extending membership to the BDSM community, remember? At the time I wondered if you were gay or one of those BDSM guys.’ She leant against the doorframe. ‘Which is it?’
As Gudlaugur continued to ignore her, Huldar realised that he’d been led into a trap, following Ásta’s script as if he were her puppet. He’d have done better to shut up and keep walking. Angrily, he turned away from her malicious smile, nudged Gudlaugur and headed for the car.
It wasn’t until he’d pulled out of the street that he unleashed his fury on his partner.
Chapter 39
Huldar and Gudlaugur made it to the meeting just in time, their colour still heightened. They’d had a blazing row in the car, which had continued until they were forced to abandon their quarrel and race inside to avoid a reprimand from Erla. Huldar hadn’t a clue whether he’d managed to get across what he’d wanted to say – that he couldn’t give a toss who Gudlaugur chose to love or how he got his sexual kicks.
It was the secrecy that he found unforgivable.
That’s what really stung. The implication that Gudlaugur had Huldar down as one of those cops who only ever mentioned homosexuality to mock it. He felt he was better than that, and he was hurt and insulted that Gudlaugur hadn’t just told him the truth, sparing him all that irritation and anxiety about what exactly had been going on between him and Ásta. In hindsight, though, Huldar saw that he’d gone too far and he was now longing to prod his partner in the shoulder and apologise. Instead, he had to wait impatiently for the meeting to end, his thoughts in such a turmoil that he couldn’t concentrate on the finer points of Erla’s briefing.
But he did grasp that the plan was to bring in Adalheidur’s father, Haukur Stefánsson, for questioning. Erla’s theory wasn’t that far-fetched: that Haukur and Mördur had struck a deal whereby Haukur would get his revenge on his daughter’s tormentor and Mördur would take the blame. He was dying anyway, so he had nothing to lose. But his heart attack had put a spanner in the works and the plan had gone wrong. What exactly was in it for Mördur nobody knew; perhaps money for his daughter, or a promise that she would be taken care of after he died. Huldar thought the latter a more likely motive. It wasn’t as if money would make much difference to Laufhildur’s wellbeing, and Adalheidur’s father was unlikely to have much to spare.
The only snag was that Haukur had an alibi for the evening of Stella’s attack: his three friends had confirmed that he’d been with them at football practice and in the pub afterwards. The police had initially regarded their statements as sufficient but now things had changed and they would have to speak to every single member of the team. If they all insisted that Haukur had been present, it would be necessary to consider other possibilities, including whether his wife, or a friend or relative, could have carried out the attack. It was thought unlikely that he would have involved his daughter but sooner or later she would have to be questioned as well.
Now they were waiting. The entire team were at their desks, killing time with tasks that required little concentration. All their thoughts were preoccupied with the message that had been sent via Mördur’s reactivated Just13 account to Haukur’s fake teenage Snapchat account after the meeting. The message was simple: a short text asking if he was the suspect being held in custody. There had been some heated discussion before they’d arrived at this decision. People had disagreed over the wording and whether it was strong enough to incriminate Haukur if he answered.
In the end, Erla had got her way, arguing that the other suggestions ran the risk of making the recipient suspicious. ‘Have you disposed of the body?’ was shot down on these grounds. You only had to
look at the online news to know the answer to that, so the message was bound to sound a warning bell for Haukur. Equally, Erla thought it a bad idea to ask about victim number one.
To complicate matters, they had no idea how the two men had communicated, whether it was via private text messages, video clips or photos with captions, for example. They decided to send an image that was as neutral as possible but unequivocally linked to the murders. There were as many suggestions for the photo as for the text, but in the end they went with one showing the three numbers, using the same font as in the notes found in connection with the attacks on Egill and Stella.
The message was sent off and everyone crossed their fingers.
That was almost half an hour ago now and there was still no sign of an answer. Every minute that passed increased the chances that Haukur had seen through their trap. At least that appeared to be the consensus of those present, judging by how often they glanced at the clock. Just as often – if not more often – their eyes turned to Erla’s office, where she was sitting with a member of senior management. Mördur’s phone lay on the desk between them and neither seemed able to take their eyes off it. The rubbish that had covered her desk before was now piled in messy stacks on the floor, so nothing would distract them.
Huldar turned back to his computer. It showed nothing of interest. There were more productive ways of using the wait than trawling through the last two years’ worth of Mördur’s credit card transactions. He stood up, looking over at his partner who was pretending to be absorbed in examining bank transfers. ‘Gudlaugur … Gudlaugur.’ The young man didn’t react. Huldar didn’t dare risk raising his voice since the last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of his colleagues. For once, though, he’d probably get away with it since they were entirely focused on waiting for an answer to the Snapchat message. Gudlaugur would have to march through the office at the head of the Gay Pride parade before anyone noticed him.
‘What?’ The young man finally snapped. His colour was still high and he was frowning. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss it any further.’
‘I understand. I just wanted to say sorry. Look, I couldn’t give a toss about how you live your life. I was just angry that you thought I would. I hope we can be friends again, and I promise not to say another word on the subject if you don’t want me to.’ He didn’t make the mistake of repeating what he’d blurted out in the car about being in the closet. The comment had caused Gudlaugur to go completely apeshit. If Huldar hadn’t been so worked up himself, he’d have taken in what Gudlaugur had been saying. But it was only during the meeting that his words had sunk in: Gudlaugur didn’t see himself as in the closet just because he chose not to discuss his sexuality at work. As he pointed out to Huldar, none of his colleagues found it necessary to state their sexual preferences, so why the hell should he have to make a declaration about his? Especially given the macho atmosphere in the office. He didn’t want people whispering and laughing the moment he turned his back.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to apologise,’ Huldar struggled on. ‘I overstepped the mark when I said you should have confided in me. It won’t happen again. How you choose to live your life is entirely up to you.’
‘Up to me?’ Gudlaugur gave him a weary look. ‘It’s not something anyone chooses, if that’s what you think.’
‘No. I realise that. I put it badly. You know I’m no good with words. Assume I mean well, even if it doesn’t come out that way.’ Huldar smiled at him but his smile wasn’t returned. ‘And I’m not prejudiced.’ During the meeting he had been hastily reviewing his behaviour over the last eighteen months or so, since Gudlaugur started work there. Had he ever told a gay joke or made a disparaging remark about homosexuality? It wasn’t like him, and after racking his brain he was fairly sure he hadn’t. Though the same couldn’t be said of certain other members of the team. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to have to listen to that kind of crap, day in, day out, with no chance to respond. Personally, he knew he’d have lost his rag more than once.
Before Huldar could flounder any deeper into the mire, Gudlaugur turned away. Not to his computer but to look across the office. People were moving. Some were on their feet. It wasn’t only the lower ranks who were looking excited. Erla and the senior officer were both standing up too, Erla with the phone in her hand, both their eyes glued to the small screen. Then they locked glances and exchanged a few words.
After this, Erla came out and informed the department that a reply had been received and that Haukur Stefánsson was to be brought in for questioning.
No one could fail to notice when Haukur arrived in the company of two police officers. Conversations broke off, people removed their headphones, dropped their papers, let go of their computer mouse or hurriedly ended their phone call. No one wanted to miss this.
Huldar watched the man stumbling along between the two policemen, cutting a pathetic figure. When he first came in, he scanned the office nervously, but seeing the interest his arrival had attracted, he lowered his eyes and continued with bowed head to the interview room. He almost oozed guilt.
The door closed behind him. Erla disappeared through the same door a moment or two later, accompanied by that bastard Jóel. Huldar feigned indifference but it was no good. He hadn’t dared leave the office to get changed in case something happened in the few minutes he was gone; the suspense had been too great. Perhaps the glitter on his trousers, jacket and shirtsleeves had ruled him out. It was important to be able to intimidate the interviewee, but a disco cop wouldn’t exude much menace. The upshot was that he had to wait like everyone else while Jóel enjoyed a front-seat view.
The waiting was as hard as the wait for an answer to the Snapchat message had been. Only the most dedicated smokers stepped outside and even then Huldar noticed that these trips were more widely spaced than usual. People restrained their coffee cravings for longer too. He himself tried to pass the time by concentrating on the credit card transactions, with mixed success. Mostly his thoughts were on the interview.
No lawyer had appeared. And only once was there a development, when Erla came outside, leant against the wall, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then went back in, totally ignoring all the enquiring faces turned her way. Huldar hadn’t a clue what this meant but assumed it didn’t bode well.
Since then, more than half an hour had passed.
In the meantime Huldar had run out of things to do. He had scrutinised every single transaction on Mördur’s credit card in search of any link to the case. Having dismissed hundreds, he was left with only four possibilities. A purchase at a toy shop that could have been the Darth Vader mask, another at a DIY shop, the third at a sports shop and the fourth at a shop selling outdoor gear. Apart from that, the transactions recorded business with petrol stations, supermarkets, ice-cream parlours, pizza places, cinemas and monthly direct debits to utility companies, the lottery and that sort of thing.
Huldar stood up and stretched. Gudlaugur was still sulking. He hadn’t given him so much as a glance since the conversation Huldar had been hoping would clear the air. Since he was obviously useless at making up with people, he decided not to bother trying again but to resort to the back-up plan, which was to let time heal the wound. Though, he had to admit, this method had proved singularly unsuccessful during his short-lived relationships with women.
Without warning, the door of the interview room opened and Erla and Jóel emerged. Huldar lowered his arms mid-stretch and tapped Gudlaugur’s monitor to alert him. Erla and Jóel walked over to her office without exchanging a word. She closed the door behind them and they had a brief conversation, after which Jóel came out again, crimson in the face and fuming. As he stormed back to his desk, Erla let her gaze travel round the room. It paused on Huldar and she beckoned, without giving any indication of whether he should be pleased or alarmed. He decided to be pleased.
Erla told him to sit down and explained that she wanted him to take Jóel’s place. In spite of the dark shadows under her
eyes and the limp hair, she radiated a renewed vigour and had no problem summoning up the familiar look of contempt. ‘The guy’s totally fucking useless. I don’t know who he thinks he is. He keeps taking over the interview, butting in and throwing his weight about like he’s in charge. I’ve half a mind to send him out to Miklabraut to count the drivers using their phone at the wheel.’
‘He can’t count that quickly or that high.’ Huldar rolled up his sleeves, feeling the adrenaline start to course through his veins. ‘So, what’s the situation? Has Haukur admitted anything?’
‘Not yet. I haven’t got to the Snapchat message, just asked if he knows anyone called Mördur. He denied it but he flinched when he heard the name. I haven’t told him Mördur’s dead either, or asked him straight out about the murders of Stella and Egill. But he knows exactly how serious it is, though we’re still tiptoeing around the big questions. It was only by some fucking miracle that Jóel didn’t give the game away. That’s why I wanted to get rid of him; I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. Management was clear that the moment we confront him or reveal what we’ve got on him, I’ll have to inform him he’s under arrest. Then he’ll insist on a lawyer and that’ll delay the whole process. I want to wear him down first. I reckon it won’t take long. He’s simmering nicely. Maybe he’s already cooked through.’
‘Got you.’ Huldar was chafing at the bit to get stuck in. It was a role that suited him but he would have to be careful not to tread on Erla’s toes when things heated up. He didn’t want to get thrown out like Jóel.
‘One more thing before we go in: management are pretty pissed off about you entering Mördur’s flat. For some reason they’re all jittery about the search-warrant business. The judge who got dragged out to OK it has complained. He doesn’t seem to have swallowed the story we cooked up for the clerk about why you went in. I tried to argue with them but I’m afraid you can expect a slap on the wrist. Nothing major, just enough so they can claim they’ve taken measures.’ Erla tried to look upbeat but was clearly on edge. Yet again Huldar was being expected to take one for the team. When he didn’t react, she added hastily: ‘But no one’s twigged about the DNA profile and Laufhildur, thank Christ. They still haven’t seen through the story about the notice at the school. If they do, there’ll be a real shitstorm – for the pathologist. We owe him big time.’
The Absolution Page 30
