‘Why didn’t Mördur call a halt?’ Freyja could feel her jaw sagging in disbelief. ‘When he realised his plan had gone wrong. Couldn’t he have warned the men?’
‘Yes, he could.’ Huldar pretended to grab at the bat and Saga snatched it perversely away. ‘He took the answer to that with him to his grave. Personally I reckon he realised he wouldn’t be leaving the hospital alive. But he didn’t want to die without seeing his plan through, so he abandoned Adalheidur’s father to his fate. Presumably the other killer too, though we’ve yet to catch him. Haukur says he began to suspect something was wrong when he got a Snap ordering him to stick Stella’s phone through the letterbox of the nurse I told you about. He was to use it first to send a picture of Stella taken at the cinema, presumably by her attacker. Anyway, dumping the phone like that that hadn’t been part of the plan. Originally, Haukur was supposed to send a Snap, then leave the phone by her body in the car park. We’ve no idea why Mördur changed his mind but hopefully things’ll be clarified shortly.’
‘Where did Haukur get Stella’s phone from, if he didn’t kill her himself?’ Freyja watched as Huldar pretended for the fourth time to snatch the bat away from Saga. She hoped he realised the little girl was capable of playing this game for hours on end without getting bored.
Huldar made a disappointed face when he missed the bat again. ‘He fetched it from the place where he was supposed to leave Egill’s phone – a small polystyrene box hidden under the shipping container. That was agreed beforehand. The box was at the scene where we found Egill’s body, but we didn’t know if it had any connection to the case. It was empty by then, of course. And phones don’t leave biological traces.’
‘But hang on a minute – wasn’t Adalheidur’s father outside the school when the phone was dumped? How could he have driven from there to the Mosfell district, then to the nurse’s house and back again before the meeting ended? It’s not like it lasted long.’
‘He’d already fetched the phone earlier that day, on Mördur’s orders, so he didn’t have to drive all the way out of town. Ásta lives quite close to the school and there wasn’t much traffic, but even so he says he only just managed to make it back in time after chucking the phone through her letterbox. Then, as soon as he’d dropped Adalheidur off at home, he drove all the way back to the Mosfell district to fetch Stella’s body from the container and dump it in the car park behind the shop. He hadn’t dared to fetch it by daylight or risk keeping it in the boot of his car until after dark.’
‘I still don’t get why the bodies were removed from the scene after the attacks. Surely that just made the logistics more difficult and created all kinds of extra risks?’
Huldar gave up on the bat and started bouncing Saga up and down on his knee as he continued the story. She had to hang on to the toy for dear life so as not to drop it on the floor where Molly was lurking, waiting for her chance to seize it and make off with it to some quiet corner where she could chew it up. Like Saga, the dog was indifferent to cute teddies, showing interest only in the black bat with its little white fangs.
‘Mördur wanted it that way,’ Huldar explained. ‘While the entire country was gripped by the drama, he meant to turn the spotlight on bullying. He didn’t explain to Haukur in any detail, just said he was going to send some material to the newsdesks, starting with a blog designed to promote a debate about the repercussions of bullying. He was going to make it clear that the letters were connected to the abduction of the kids and that the victims’ fates depended on the pieces being published. Which wasn’t true, of course – it was just a ploy to get the media to run them. But it didn’t happen. Maybe because he didn’t have his computer with him in hospital, only his phone. Either he was too ill to send the letters to the press or he had no way of sending them that couldn’t be traced.’
‘And Adalheidur’s father didn’t suspect anything when no letters appeared?’
‘No. He just assumed the press had refused to publish them and forwarded them to the police instead. We’ve got them now. They were found at Mördur’s flat. Though I doubt they’d have been published even if he had sent them. The text’s far too abusive. No better really than the stuff I’ve seen in cases of cyberbullying. The man doesn’t seem to have grasped that his sick quest for revenge reduced him to the level of the very people he wanted to punish. Made him much worse, in fact.’
Freyja nodded. People had an unbelievable ability to rationalise the most appalling actions. Everyone was guilty of this to some extent, though not usually with quite such lethal consequences. Not many of us are capable of facing up to our own imperfections, dishonesty, unreasonableness or foolish mistakes. It’s far easier to blame other people or circumstances beyond our control. ‘Why didn’t Mördur kill the kids himself? Or do you think he did actually kill Stella? Is that why you haven’t arrested anyone for her murder?’
‘No, he definitely didn’t kill her. He was in hospital at the time. And according to Haukur, even before the heart attack, Mördur would have been too weak to do it himself. The bodies would have to be dragged some distance and he didn’t have the strength. Though maybe that was just an excuse. Maybe he was secretly afraid that when it came to the crunch he wouldn’t be able to go through with the brutal acts he’d been fantasising about. Though, having said that, it’s clear he didn’t have second thoughts when he came face to face with his own mortality in hospital, because he went on sending messages to Adalheidur’s father from his deathbed.’
‘So you believe there’s another murderer still on the loose, maybe even more than one, planning further attacks? Couldn’t Haukur shed any light on their identities?’
‘He claims not to know. One possibility’s Ævar, the father of the boy Egill was bullying. We’ve interviewed him and I have to say I’ve met gentler characters. He’s down at the station now. But we didn’t find any clues at Mördur’s flat about the identities of the other members of his sick little club. He was careful about that. We do have the names of the people who rang the number he put on his notice and we’ll be talking to each of them individually. When I left the office they’d also hauled in a psychologist for questioning. I rang Gudlaugur just before I came out and apparently it’s Kjartan Erlendsson, the guy you recommended to Adalheidur’s father.’
Huldar didn’t seem to notice that Freyja had turned pale. So that was why Kjartan wasn’t answering his phone. Struggling to appear normal, she cleared her throat and asked in rather a high voice: ‘How’s he linked to all this?’
‘Mördur had files belonging to him on his computer. Confidential patient records. We still don’t know whether he handed them over to Mördur voluntarily, maybe for money, or whether Mördur broke into his computer and stole them. But Kjartan’s being questioned as a suspect. So far he’s refusing to talk, insisting he’s bound by confidentiality. He’s demanded a lawyer, so he’s being held in the cells until one turns up. Of course, until Kjartan agrees to talk, he’s also a possible candidate for one of the killings. He’s an expert in bullying. Maybe he’d had it up to here with the scale of the problem and thought he could do something more drastic to tackle it than sitting on his arse listening to the victims.’ Huldar fell silent for a moment, then asked awkwardly: ‘Is he by any chance a friend of yours?’
Freyja managed to control her face. ‘No, God no. Nothing like that. I hardly know him.’ A simple no would have been more convincing but she couldn’t help herself. There would be no question now of any reference to him in the report she was intending to finish tomorrow. She coughed. ‘How did he get mixed up with Mördur?’
‘No idea. But we’ll find out eventually – if he was mixed up with him. He may just have had his files stolen. Gudlaugur says they’re suspicious because all the files contain references to aggressive tendencies of one kind or another. In other words, they weren’t chosen at random. For example, they found notes on Adalheidur’s father in which it’s clear the man was struggling with violent thoughts as a result of his daughter’s situa
tion and might be capable of anything. They believe Mördur approached Haukur as a result of this information. There’s also stuff about Davíd, the boy Egill was bullying. At one point the notes mention that his biggest worry was that his father might attack his main enemy – Egill. The boy describes his fear that this would only make the situation worse. Anyway, regardless of how these records ended up in Mördur’s hands, it looks as if he didn’t just rely on his notice but also hunted through the files in search of potential accomplices. It was quite a smart move since people are more likely to open up to therapists. The big question now is whether the psychologist himself is an innocent dupe or a cold-blooded killer.’
Freyja didn’t trust herself to say a word. Although Kjartan had proved to be a real slimeball, she found it hard to picture him planning a murder. He seemed too smooth somehow.
‘We’ll be tying up the loose ends over the next few days. Mördur had the names of ten victims of serious bullying but I don’t believe for a minute that he’d have entrusted ten parents with the plan. We’re working on the assumption that he started with a longer list and whittled it down to those who were most likely to carry it through, then dismissed the rest. There’s a good chance that the person who was supposed to do away with victim number one simply lost their nerve. We’ll soon find out.’
‘So Adalheidur’s father, Haukur, is the man you’ve arrested?’
Huldar smiled and started bouncing Saga, who was getting bored, again. ‘No, actually. That’s Arnar Björnsson, the man who tried to pay for sex with Adalheidur. It turns out Stella sent him round to her house and her father answered the door. The stupid sod mistook him for her pimp and unsurprisingly Haukur beat the crap out of him. He’ll be released and his case will be referred to the State Prosecutor’s office. I hope he’ll be charged with attempting to pay for sex with a minor, but sadly I doubt anything’ll come of it.’
Freyja nodded, not knowing what to say. The case was so sordid. Her own problems seemed trivial in comparison. Huldar was silent too; he seemed to have run out of things to say. He had stopped bouncing Saga on his knee and was gazing at Freyja. From the smile playing about his lips it seemed he liked what he saw, but then she had made an effort to choose an outfit that really suited her, accentuating all her best features. Not for Huldar, but out of a determination to out-glam all the other women at the reunion. From their profile pictures on the Facebook reunion page, that shouldn’t be too much of a stretch. Still, never mind. Nothing must ruin the message she wanted to convey: eat your hearts out, bitches – you peaked too early.
The doorbell rang. Freyja buzzed Saga’s mother in and, while she was on her way upstairs, took the little girl back from Huldar. As she bent over, he gave in to the temptation to peer down her low-cut dress. He could feel his cheeks flaming and couldn’t understand why; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her breasts before. Had had a much better view of them, in fact.
Freyja hurried to the door, encumbered by Saga and a pair of vertiginous heels. She let Fanney in, having given up trying to conceal from her how she lived. Fanney had grown so dependent on Freyja’s help that, apart from turning up her nose and casting disapproving glances around her the first time she saw the place, she’d carefully refrained from any comment. And by now she knew better than to react to anything she saw in the squalid block of flats, even when she’d entered the house at the same time as another resident who was so high on drugs that he mistook her for an angel. Afterwards she had kept dusting down her coat where he had repeatedly stroked it on their way up the stairs.
‘Gosh, you look smart.’ Fanney took back her daughter so Freyja could dig out the child’s outdoor clothes. ‘Sorry I’m so late.’
‘That’s all right.’ Freyja rummaged around among the coats on the rack, searching for Saga’s other glove. She found it lying on top of a pile of shoes, soaking wet – no doubt from Molly’s slobber, as the dog had a habit of chewing the child’s socks and gloves like gum and spitting them out when she got bored. Freyja handed the disgusting object to Fanney.
Saga’s mother made a face as she took the soggy wool gingerly between finger and thumb but next minute her face broke into a radiant smile. She had spotted Huldar who had just appeared in the doorway. ‘Hello!’
‘Hi, I’m Huldar. I just wanted to say goodbye to Saga.’ He grinned at Fanney, then bent down to the little girl. Saga shook his hand with a grave expression. He patted her on the head, then straightened up, said goodbye to Fanney and vanished back into the living room. Freyja couldn’t help noticing when he bent over that there was something sparkly in his hair. To her horror, she realised it was glitter. What on earth had he been thinking?
Freyja smiled coldly at Saga’s mother who was expressing her approval of Huldar by raising her eyebrows and giving a thumbs up. Not a word about the black eye or sparkly hair. At least that boded well for the impression he’d make this evening. Freyja wasn’t planning to stay long anyway, certainly not long enough to give Huldar a chance to reveal his true nature.
Huldar tried to make small talk in the car but received so little response that in the end he gave up. Freyja used the opportunity to check her appearance in the mirror, reapplying her lipstick and making sure not a single hair was out of place. She was grateful she wasn’t driving herself as it would have ruined her entrance to turn up in her brother’s rust-bucket.
Huldar switched off the engine outside. He studied her, seeming to pick up on the fact that something was wrong. She was sitting rigidly upright, her eyes fixed on the community centre. The muffled sound of a pop hit from her early teens floated out to them. The song hadn’t improved with time. ‘Something wrong?’ Huldar peered out at the building as if he expected to see flames rising from the roof. That wasn’t so far off the mark: her teenage hell awaited her inside.
‘Want me to drive up to the door?’ He gestured at her shoes. ‘I’m not sure I’d get far in those.’
‘No, this is fine.’ Freyja still couldn’t bring herself to open the door. She turned from the ugly building to Huldar. He gave her an awkward smile and for a moment she considered telling him why she was rooted to the spot. The moment passed. She pulled the sun visor down again, met her own gaze in the mirror, then slammed it up.
Then she nodded at Huldar, opened the door and got out. Ready for battle.
Chapter 41
Photocopy of a handwritten letter, entry no. 4 – posted on blog.is by a blogger going by the name of Laufa.
In the end the other kids at my school realised they weren’t getting under my skin like they used to. So they changed their tactics. They started sucking up to my friend, the friend who was everything to me and nothing to them. It started so gradually that I didn’t see where it was going. The most popular girls started talking to her from time to time, while I hung back at a safe distance, watching and waiting patiently for her to return to me. I never asked what they’d been talking about or what she thought of them. I knew they were way cooler, way more fun than me. It started happening increasingly often, and lasting longer each time, and my friend got more and more excited when they appeared. Little by little she began to withdraw from me, had less to say when we stood together during break, kept darting glances over at the group of girls who seemed to be having a much better time than we were. I spoke less and less. The only times I could relax with her were when I dropped into the shop where she worked two evenings a week. The shop was in her old neighbourhood, so there was no risk of any our classmates turning up there. I hung around by the counter, listening to her talk and agreeing with everything she said but adding little myself.
Nothing I had to say mattered.
It was as boring and pointless as I was.
Then one day it was all over. I was left standing alone in the corner of the school playground again, just like in the old days. She didn’t come over to join me after a quick chat with the other girls as she usually did.
Instead, she went off with them.
I never took my ey
es off the group, so I couldn’t fail to notice when they all turned round as one and stared at me, saying something that was obviously bitchy, then giggling and turning away again. The first time, my friend was careful not to smile and kept her eyes lowered. But the more often it happened, the more she copied the crowd and in the end she became one of them. She was no longer on my side. I was alone again.
Too pathetic even to be able to hold on to one friend.
Now that I’d finally learnt what companionship was like, I felt even more miserable than before. But things were about to get worse. At the end of yet another horrible day at school, my former friend came up to me as I was putting my books in my bag deliberately slowly, to be sure I’d be the last to leave. She started talking to me while the other girls waited out in the corridor. By then she’d been ignoring me for about a week. I didn’t suspect anything, just cheered up and felt stupidly happy. She invited me to come round and see her at the shop that evening and said she was sorry for being so unfriendly – she’d make it up to me. She added that I should dress up because we’d be going to a party afterwards with some of her old school friends.
It was the first and last time I was ever invited to a party.
I got Dad to leave work early and drive me to Kringlan so I could buy a dress. The woman in the shop helped me pick one out because I had no idea what was in fashion. I thought my reflection looked so cool in the changing-room mirror. I borrowed some of Mum’s make-up and she watched me putting it on, advising me from her wheelchair. By then she’d lost the strength in her right hand so she couldn’t help me. But after a few failed attempts the end result was OK. Like me, my parents were happier than I’d seen them for years.
The Absolution Page 32
