The Absolution

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Dad dropped me off in the car and I smoothed down my dress before going into the shop. I thought it was a bit strange that there were so many customers in there but they all had their backs to me. But the moment I opened the door and caught my so-called friend’s eye, I realised something was wrong. She looked away, ashamed. I’d rather not go into what happened next but basically a bunch of kids from our school had turned up, ready to make fun of me for being so stupid as to believe that anyone would invite me to a party. They pushed me about and humiliated me. They laughed at my dress, lifted it up at the back and insulted me. They needn’t have bothered. I didn’t need anyone to tell me how crap I was. I was well aware of that already. I’d known for a long, long time.

  I got out of there in the end and went home on the bus. I couldn’t hide what had happened from Mum and Dad – my face was too swollen from crying. The sadness and anger in their eyes were the final straw. My existence was no good to anyone. All I did was make things worse at home, though they were bad enough already thanks to Mum’s illness.

  The decision was easy after that. I hope Mum and Dad will understand that the world will be a better place without me. I know where Dad keeps the key to his gun cabinet and I’ve already chosen the most powerful one. I’ve measured it against myself and although the barrel’s long, I should be able to get it in my mouth and still reach the trigger. I’ve chosen the time and place too. The car park behind the shop where my so-called friend works.

  I’m going to do it this evening, while she’s there.

  Finally, I want to ask my mum and dad to try and understand my decision. And to remember the important thing, which is that the world will be a much better place without me. I’m looking forward to the moment when everything goes black.

  Please take this letter to them after I’m dead.

  Yours,

  Laufhildur

  Chapter 42

  A new song was booming out as Freyja and Huldar entered the hall. She had left her coat on the rack outside; he was still wearing his jacket. She paused, surveying the room and breathing in a cloying smell of alcohol. Some of the guests appeared to have drunk more than others; those who had downed the most were reeling around the dance floor with a wildly distorted sense of the impression they were making. Most of the faces were familiar, though they looked more careworn these days and in many cases fleshier. Everyone seemed to be making a big effort to pretend they were having fun, as if afraid that otherwise the spell would be broken and grim reality would intrude. Whereas Freyja saw the hall and the guests for what they were with a sudden cold clarity. No longer cool. No longer smart. Just terribly ordinary.

  Huldar leant over and whispered: ‘Have we come to the wrong place?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Then why are we standing here instead of going in?’

  Before she could answer, she saw the old classmate she’d run into at the supermarket charging towards them. He was red in the face, his top button was undone and his tie was askew. In his haste he slopped his beer and Freyja shuddered when he paused to lick it off the back of his hand.

  ‘Wow! Great that you’re here. I was told you were coming but I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.’ The man stopped right in front of Freyja, ignoring her companion. She shrank back towards Huldar, away from those glazed eyes.

  ‘Come on, come inside. We’re all having a crazy time.’

  Freyja squeezed out a smile, her eyes scanning the room again. Unfortunately some of the others seemed to have noticed her arrival and faces were turned to the entrance, printed with surprise. The men appeared pleased, the women less so. This was the final confirmation, had she needed one, that she was looking good.

  ‘Are you ready to party?!’ The man lurched out of time to the music, slopping more beer from his glass. This time he didn’t even notice and Freyja was spared the sight of him sucking his sleeve. ‘Come over and join us. We’re all thrilled you could make it.’ He bellowed at the ceiling: ‘Let’s rock!’

  Freyja caught Huldar’s eye. He gave her a conspiratorial grin. As a policeman, he must have encountered more than his fair share of piss-artists. Looking back at her pickled former classmate, she discovered that she didn’t hate him, any more than she hated any of the other people there. What was the point? But that didn’t mean she felt any desire to embrace them. She hadn’t come here to vent her anger, but neither had she come to make up with anyone or forgive them. It was enough to put it all behind her. With this revelation it was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She smiled at the man, who beamed back. ‘You know what? I’d have cried with joy if I’d been invited to join you lot back in the day. But now I think I’ll pass. We’ve got somewhere else to go this evening.’ She turned to Huldar. ‘Shall we head off?’

  ‘OK. Up to you.’ Concealing his surprise, Huldar turned to go, throwing the guy a nod in parting. The man was left standing there, apparently casting around for something to say that would make her change her mind. Freyja didn’t give him the chance but made her escape into the fresh air as fast as her heels would allow.

  ‘What just happened?’ Huldar pulled his thin jacket around him. ‘Please tell me that was an old boyfriend.’ He grinned at her.

  ‘No. Believe it or not, he thought he was too good for me.’ They were met by an icy blast of wind and she realised she’d forgotten her coat on the rack. With a sigh, she decided to come back for it tomorrow. There was a risk it would be spattered with vomit and reeking of smoke after someone had mistakenly grabbed it on their way outside for a ciggie, but anything was better than ruining the effect of her exit by scuttling back inside, shame-faced, to fetch it.

  ‘So, can I buy you a drink anyway?’ Huldar slapped his hands together, optimistic as ever. The offer was actually quite welcome; after all, she had good reason to celebrate. But his expression suddenly changed. ‘You forgot your coat. Want me to get it for you?’

  Freyja thanked him, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the biting wind. There was no way she could walk downtown like this. But when Huldar reappeared with her coat in his hands, something had changed. He was wearing his policeman’s face; frowning, eyes narrowed. ‘Look, would you mind if I dropped in at the hospital on the way? I promise to be quick.’

  She saw no alternative but to agree. The drink could wait.

  It was growing stuffy in the car by the time Huldar finally re-emerged from the exit by A&E. He was carrying a bulky, dark anorak with a leather collar, which he hadn’t had with him when he’d disappeared inside half an hour ago, saying he’d be back in five minutes. As he got into the car, she noticed that he was wearing rubber gloves of the kind surgeons use. ‘Sorry. It took a bit longer than expected.’

  ‘Do you usually leave your coat there? And where did the gloves come from?’

  ‘I got them from the ward. And the coat was Mördur’s, not mine.’ Huldar patted the pockets. ‘It suddenly hit me when you were standing there without a coat on that there was no anorak or jacket among his things when I collected them from the hospital. But the weather was freezing the evening he was admitted, so he must have been wearing one.’

  ‘What happened? Did they forget to hand it over?’

  ‘Not exactly. He was taken straight to A&E after his heart attack in the car park and they removed his coat there. Later, when he was moved to the ward, the anorak got left behind in A&E. By the time somebody noticed it, the shift had changed and no one knew whose it was, so they sent it to lost property. That’s why it took me such a long time. I had to go through a mountain of stuff to find it.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s the right one? Every other person in Iceland has a jacket like that, and just about every tourist too.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘How?’

  Huldar drew a socking great Rambo knife from the front pocket. ‘There’s no way this belonged to anyone else. I found the packaging from one of these in the kitchen bin during the search of his flat, but no sign of th
e knife itself.’ He turned the blade over in the glow of the ceiling light. ‘It looks unused.’

  ‘Why did he take a knife with him to hospital?’ Freyja stared, shocked, at the cold flash of steel.

  Huldar returned the knife to the pocket and continued his inspection of the coat. In the outer breast pocket he found a small bag containing a clump of pale-grey hair, torn out by the roots, and a scrap of paper that he held up to the light as well. ‘Looks like a car registration number.’ He replaced the hair and paper without further comment and continued his search. From an inside pocket he removed a folded piece of paper and carefully opened it to reveal a single large number printed in the middle: 1. ‘So … It looks like he wasn’t taking himself to hospital because of chest pains after all. He was on his way to kill his first victim, but the heart attack stopped him in his tracks. That explains why he was coming from such an odd direction.’

  ‘Who was the intended victim?’ Freyja tried to imagine what it would be like for the person in question to learn how narrowly they’d escaped and what it was that had saved them. She bet they wouldn’t be donating to the Heart Association again in a hurry.

  ‘No idea.’ Huldar searched the pocket for anything else and discovered a bundle of pages, which he unfolded to reveal a densely written text. He read it through in silence, then, telling Freyja to grab some latex gloves from the glove compartment, he handed the pages to her. ‘It’s Laufhildur’s suicide note.’

  Freyja recognised the text almost immediately. ‘I’ve seen this before. When I was searching online for material about bullying a blog page came up, which featured a scan of this letter.’ She leafed through the pages. But I only saw part of it; the last pages hadn’t been posted.’ She read them, then handed them back to Huldar. ‘Well.’

  ‘Well, indeed.’ Huldar put the pages back in the anorak pocket and took out his phone. While Freyja gazed unseeingly at the illuminated hospital reception, he made a call. Freyja could hear the surprised reaction of the person at the other end, who seemed to think Huldar had been sent on leave. Judging by how quickly Huldar cut him off, this couldn’t be a reference to overdue holiday. Huldar asked him to look up the owner of the car registration number he’d found, but the man at the other end refused as Huldar was officially suspended. Huldar snapped at him to put him through to Erla then, and there was silence at the other end.

  They waited.

  Huldar got out to smoke, the phone still clamped to his ear, while Freyja looked down ruefully at her party dress and shoes. She hadn’t got all dolled up to spend the evening hanging around in a hospital car park. Outside, Huldar was now engaged in a heated argument.

  When he got back in, he broke it to her that her dress wasn’t going to a bar after all.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go back to the station. I’ve been suspended.’ It was impossible to read from his expression what he felt about this. He seemed preoccupied above all. ‘But they told me the identity of the car owner. It’s a woman who’s mixed up in the case. She works here at the hospital. The only plausible explanation is that Mördur was on his way to meet her. She was almost certainly supposed to be victim number one.’

  ‘The nurse?’ Freyja tried to cover up her disappointment at missing out on their drink. Still, the trip to the bar would almost certainly have ended in disaster. No way would they have stopped at one drink. And after that it was a foregone conclusion that they’d end up in bed. ‘I thought Mördur had it in for school bullies. Teenagers.’

  ‘Maybe I’m wrong, but she’s around the same age as Laufhildur. She could have been the ringleader of the kids who bullied her. Or the friend who betrayed her. At any rate, one thing’s clear: we need to get hold of her ASAP and grill her until she comes clean.’ Huldar brightened a little. ‘By the way, that psychologist, Kjartan, has been released. Apparently Mördur was one of his clients and offered to design a program to help him keep track of his appointments. Our IT guys reckon the program may have contained a code that allowed Mördur free access to the man’s hard disk. Anyway, he’s no longer on the list of suspects.’

  Freyja didn’t react. She wouldn’t have minded if Kjartan had had to spend a night in the cells. ‘What about Davíd’s father? Do they think he was involved?’

  ‘Yes.’ Huldar smiled at her, clearly relieved. ‘He’s on the point of signing a confession to Stella’s murder. The news of Mördur’s illness knocked him sideways like it did Adalheidur’s dad. He saw that the writing was on the wall. Though Erla tells me he’d already started panicking before he was brought in. Apparently Egill was still alive when he came to fetch his body from the container. And he got nervous when none of the material Mördur was supposed to send to the press was mentioned in the news. To make matters worse, there appeared to be only two victims, not three as planned. It was him who rang the Red Cross to make sure we heard about Laufhildur, in case Mördur had changed his mind about taking the blame for the whole thing.’ Huldar let out a long breath. ‘So the pieces are all falling into place now.’

  He started the car and prepared to back out of the space, but catching sight of her as he turned, he suddenly paused. ‘I still owe you a drink. What about tomorrow evening?’

  Freyja shook her head with a faint smile. ‘Sorry. Just drop me home and we’ll call it quits. The drink wasn’t a very good idea anyway.’ It wasn’t just fear of ending up in bed with Huldar that was putting her off. She simply wasn’t in the mood any more, haunted by the thought of the suicide note and the way life had treated Mördur’s family. Of course it didn’t for a minute justify what he’d done, but at least it made it easier to understand.

  For once Huldar didn’t try to hide his disappointment. He drove her home in silence and said a curt goodbye without pestering her to change her mind, as she’d expected. He was angry, perhaps with her, but more likely with someone else.

  As she stood watching his car depart down the street, she felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman he was on his way to interview. She certainly wouldn’t be getting the kid-glove treatment.

  Ásta tucked the duvet firmly around her daughter, kissed her on the forehead, then reached for the lamp on the bedside table. The eye patch was hanging from the pink lacy lampshade, the stark contrast oddly charming.

  ‘But …’

  ‘No buts. It’s long past bedtime.’ Ósk had waited up for her, no doubt worried about what her mother was doing at the police station so late in the evening. She had been woken by the knock on the door and was terrified when Ásta was told she would have to go with the two police officers. One was that Huldar who wouldn’t leave her alone. He seemed pleased about dragging Ásta away, though his pleasure had faded a little when Ósk appeared.

  ‘Close your eyes. You can’t go to sleep if they’re open.’ Ásta brushed her fingers softly over Ósk’s eyelids. She still had her coat on, having come straight in to see the girls after spotting her daughter at the window. ‘Follow your sister’s example.’ Sól was fast asleep on the other side of the room, lying as if she was playing at being a starfish, with the duvet kicked down at her feet. The girls didn’t have to share a room but had chosen to themselves, preferring to keep the other as a playroom. It wouldn’t be long before that changed, though, as the age gap was beginning to show. They quarrelled over what to hang on the walls and Thórey’s suggestion that they each choose a wall had ended in a fight over who got which one.

  It was such a relief to be able to worry about this kind of trivial everyday problem again. The past week had been pure hell but the nightmare was finally coming to an end. Ásta hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything, either at work or at home, but there was no chance of faking illness when you had a doctor in the house. Anyway, Ásta hadn’t dared to risk it in case Mördur resorted to doing something drastic if he discovered that she was deliberately avoiding him. The man was utterly ruthless. If he had no qualms about killing kids, he wouldn’t have hesitated to ruin her life. He’d have taken pleasure in it.

  The cu
rtain billowed out and fell back. Remembering that a storm was forecast, Ásta closed the window. As she did so, she peered outside, still feeling the need to reassure herself that no one was lurking in the shadows. It would take a while for the fear to die down, now that she was safe. If she was safe. Until the news got out that Mördur was dead, one of his henchmen might still be after her, as he’d threatened.

  Ásta dropped the curtain and turned back to Ósk. Her daughter hurriedly closed her eyes but wasn’t quick enough. Ásta caught a glimpse of blue irises, one in the middle, the other pointing off to the side. But she pretended not to notice, just leant against the wall and decided to wait for the little girl to fall asleep. Her concern at her daughter’s wakefulness was only a pretext; really, she was just putting off the moment when she got into bed with Thórey. Her wife was bound to wake up and start interrogating her about what the police had wanted. Ásta was dreading the inevitable confrontation. She was prepared to sleep on the sofa if that would put it off until morning.

  She would have to make a clean breast of things to her wife – just as she’d been forced to with the police. She hadn’t lied; she’d told them the truth as far as it went, hard though that had been. It had proved even harder than she’d imagined when rehearsing what to say in the car on the way there, but then she doubted anyone would enjoy having to show themselves in such a negative light. During the taking of her statement, she had avoided the eye of that detective Huldar. He had done nothing to hide his opinion of her for her role in Laufhildur’s fate. The policewoman in charge of the interview had been a little more understanding. Though not much.

  Anyway, she was free of the police now. For good. She’d confide in Thórey about what she’d told them and hope she’d encounter more understanding in her eyes than she had in theirs.