Erla took a drink of water and banged her glass down on the conference table. ‘I’m not releasing Thröstur till he tells us where those kids are. I’m prepared to sit over him all night if need be.’
‘I’m with you.’
They hurried out but didn’t get far before the senior officers flagged Erla down for a word. Huldar stood aside impatiently. He studied Æsa, the children’s mother, who was sitting, head drooping, exhausted from weeping. She had called the emergency number while they were bringing Thröstur in to the station, out of her mind with terror, and reported that her children had been abducted. The emergency services had sent a police car to pick her up since the woman had been dumped by the roadside in Hvalfjördur, without her phone or handbag, and was calling from a nearby farm.
When she reached the station she had gone completely to pieces, one minute sobbing, the next screaming at the police to find her children. She had ugly grazes on one cheek and both hands, and blood was oozing from the back of her head. But she didn’t complain, didn’t even seem aware of her injuries.
When finally they managed to calm her down and heard what she had to say, the whole office was thrown into confusion. Suddenly the order of priorities had changed; they were in a race against time to find two little children before something terrible happened. The murderer had already shown that he was capable of the unthinkable and it would be naive to imagine that the children’s youth would give him any pause. The police immediately attempted to reach their father, Thorvaldur, and when they failed, concluded that he had been abducted as well since, according to his ex-wife, the perpetrator was in possession of his car and phone.
Æsa said she had been tricked into entering her ex-husband’s car. She had put the children in the back seat and been hit on the head while she was fastening their seatbelts. When she regained consciousness the car was racing through the darkness. Her hands and feet were bound and she had a balaclava pulled down over her face, back to front, so she could see next to nothing. The driver, realising she was coming round, stopped the car and dragged her out onto the road, then sped away. She couldn’t give any description of her assailant, though she thought the person who bundled her out of the car had been a woman – either that or a man with small hands. For now, they were working on the assumption that it was Sigrún. Although she didn’t have a licence it was conceivable that she knew how to drive, and her gentle, timid manner might mask a very different person underneath.
Erla finally came away from her bosses, rolling her eyes. Together she and Huldar strode downstairs without a word, their faces set in determination, to the room where Thröstur was waiting. Erla flung open the door, stormed in and yanked out one of the chairs opposite him with a loud screech. ‘Now you’re going to tell us everything. You’ve got no choice.’ She slapped down a photocopy of the letter he had written ten years before. ‘Who’s who on this list of yours? Let’s start with that. Who’s still in danger?’
Huldar slipped into the seat beside her and watched Thröstur. He looked tired, all sign of cockiness long gone, his shoulders sagging, shadows under his eyes.
‘Can I have a drink of water?’
‘No.’ As well as instructing the guards to keep Thröstur awake, Erla had banned them from giving him anything to eat or drink. He hadn’t been allowed to go to the toilet either.
‘You can’t leave me to die of thirst. I need water.’
‘You’re not having anything to drink. Complain to Amnesty if you don’t like it.’ It was an ugly trick, but necessary in the circumstances. There were other, still harsher methods they could use to pressurise him to start talking, and they might yet have to resort to these. ‘While you’re remembering the names, you can tell me where your sister took the children. If you do that, you can have some water. If you don’t, you can’t.’
Thröstur looked up and stared at Erla. His astonishment was obvious. ‘What children?’
‘Thorvaldur Svavarsson’s children. Your sister’s abducted them and gone to ground somewhere.’
‘I’ve already told you I haven’t a clue who Thorvaldur Svavarsson is. I’m telling the truth, I swear. And Sigrún hasn’t abducted them. She’s just gone off somewhere – she disappears from time to time when she’s feeling down, but only for a long walk or something. I swear she hasn’t made off with any kids.’
‘We weren’t born yesterday, Thröstur.’ Reaching across the table, Erla grabbed him roughly by the chin. ‘We know how these people are linked to you and your sister; we know they failed you both when you were young. That was bad, but your sick campaign of revenge is totally insane. You two are no better than the people who hurt you.’ She released him so abruptly that Thröstur’s head rebounded. ‘Where are they?’
‘I swear, I know nothing about any kids. I don’t know any Thorvaldur. He’s not on the list.’
‘Is that so?’ Erla leant back in her chair. ‘Well, who are these people? And what the hell is this list? We know the judge Yngvi was among the victims, but he’s not here. And what about Thorvaldur? Were they a later addition? Can we expect more of those?’
Thröstur was staring down at the paper. ‘No children were supposed to be snatched. That wasn’t supposed to happen.’
Huldar reached over the table to point at the initials. ‘Who are they, Thröstur? If you help us now, you’ll be treated more leniently. But if the children are harmed, your life is as good as over. You’ll go to jail and be branded for life. Just like your father. Do you want to follow in his footsteps?’ Huldar drew back his hand. ‘These are young kids. It isn’t their fault that you were treated badly by the system. If you have a shred of honour, you’ll tell us where they are.’
‘I’ve already told you a hundred times, I don’t know. I simply don’t know.’
‘OK. Let’s say that’s true. But you know who took them.’
There was a silence. Huldar and Erla studied the top of Thröstur’s head as he pored over the list. Then he sat up. ‘BT is Benedikt Toft. He studied law with that bastard, my so-called grandfather. He agreed to rush the case so the prosecution would be a total fiasco. Did it as a favour to an old mate who couldn’t face the scandal of being associated with a paedo. K is for Kolbeinn. I couldn’t remember his patronymic when I wrote this. He worked for Hafnarfjördur Council and made sure the social services’ report on our home was good. In return, Granddad pulled strings to get him a better job at an accountancy firm he had a stake in. S is Sólveig, I can’t remember her patronymic. She was the psychologist who betrayed Sigrún; she told the court my sister had an overactive imagination, though she knew it was bullshit. She’d done the same thing to me earlier. Her reward was a big fat contract with the town council. The thing that pisses me off most is that she hasn’t been bumped off. She’s such a disgusting bitch.’ He glanced up as he said this, his expression leaving them in no doubt that he meant it. Then he carried on. ‘I is for Yngvi, the judge.’
‘Yngvi isn’t spelt with an I. It starts with Y.’
‘So what? It’s not a spelling test. That piece of shit betrayed me and my sister in return for Granddad putting in a good word for him about his application to be a Supreme Court judge. A great deal for him; not so good for me and Sigrún. And Vaka. Let’s not forget her.’
‘No. We haven’t.’ Erla pointed at the photocopy. ‘What about OV?’
‘Valdi. Officer Valdi.’
‘And who is Officer Valdi?’
‘A cop I went to see, to ask for help.’
‘When did you ask him for help? We were told the matter came out when Sigrún talked about it at school.’
‘Before that. Long before. When Sigrún was four and I was eight.’ Again Thröstur lowered his eyes. ‘When our creep of a dad started showing an interest in her. He’d got bored of me.’ He broke off, breathed in slowly, then sniffed. Neither Erla nor Huldar dreamt of interrupting him; they were too busy trying to take in the full horror of events they had thought they understood, though now it seemed that they had
n’t had any idea. ‘I decided to go to the cops. They’re supposed to arrest criminals. This was in December, the day before school broke up for the Christmas holidays. I walked down to the station, scared shitless but determined to save Sigrún. The cop I talked to introduced himself as Officer Valdi. He took me aside and I told him the whole story. For the first time in my life I told someone what had happened to me. He listened and I thought the two of us would go home in his police car and arrest my dad. But that’s not what happened. He said they’d have to investigate first and asked if there was anyone who could come and collect me. I gave him my granddad’s name because of course I didn’t want my dad to come, or Mum. Granddad came and he and Valdi went off and had a chat. Then Granddad drove me home and told me I should learn to hold my tongue and not spread lies about the man who’d done nothing but be a good father to me. He told Dad everything. That evening I had the shit kicked out of me worse than ever before. I never heard from Valdi again, never heard anything about an investigation. Granddad told me later that he’d talked the cop round and made sure he’d keep quiet. He was studying law at university and Granddad promised to fix him a good job once he’d qualified. He must have done that, because Valdi never said a word. Not at the first trial or at the second. So much for my attempt to save Sigrún.’
‘Didn’t you speak to anyone else? Your teacher, doctor, your mother? Another adult?’ Huldar was careful to keep his voice neutral. This wasn’t the right moment to betray any pity for the poor lad, though it was hard not to.
Thröstur looked up. The fury and hatred were back. ‘Hey, I was eight years old. Stupid enough to think the cops were the people to turn to for justice. After they betrayed me, I had nowhere else to go. Mum was totally useless, under the heel of that violent bastard and unwilling to face up to what was going on. I kept trying to tell her but she wouldn’t listen. Just told me to shush and looked around shit-scared in case Dad heard us. So I took what I thought was the only way out. I ran away with Sigrún.’
‘I don’t suppose you got far.’
‘We made it a bit beyond the aluminium factory. I was trying to get to Keflavík. I thought we could get on a plane and go and live abroad. But it was freezing and the wind picked up and it started snowing. We nearly died of exposure. Sigrún got frostbite on her fingers because I didn’t have the sense to bring gloves. Someone spotted us through the snow flurries and rescued us. It was too late, though. Two of Sigrún’s fingers had to be amputated. She was taken to hospital and Granddad came to fetch me. In the car he belted me so hard that my eye started bleeding. But no one asked me what had happened. I was sent to a psychologist – to that bitch Sólveig – and she spent most of the time trying to persuade me that I’d imagined the whole thing or was making it up. I came from a good family and should be grateful.’ He stopped speaking to grind his teeth. Then continued, growling now in his fury: ‘I hate her and I wish she’d been first, not got off scot-free.’
‘She won’t get away with it.’ Huldar could understand the hatred now, even the violence and brutality of the murders. That didn’t make the siblings’ crimes forgivable but it was better than if they had been motivated by pure sadism. ‘She’ll be made to answer for it, I promise you that.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Thröstur shook himself. ‘I believe you. Not.’
‘We’re just going to step outside for a moment.’ Erla stood up. ‘We won’t be long.’
They left Thröstur sitting there. Huldar was half expecting to have a strip torn off him for making promises he couldn’t keep, but not a bit of it.
‘Officer Valdi must be Thorvaldur,’ Erla said. ‘When those feet turned up in his garden, I looked into his background and he started working for the Prosecutor’s office straight after graduation, which is pretty unusual. While he was at university he temped for the police, in Hafnarfjördur among other places. That’s how he’s connected to this, not through the Prosecutor’s office.’ She frowned. ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. Thröstur was very convincing when he swore he didn’t know any Thorvaldur Svavarsson; the man to kill was Officer Valdi. So he can’t have taken part in the attack on him.’ Apparently she wasn’t expecting an answer because she continued, sounding increasingly exasperated: ‘It just doesn’t fit. What the fuck do we do if it turns out he isn’t involved? I couldn’t give a shit about Thorvaldur but I want to find his kids. Safe and sound.’ Two deep creases had formed in her brow. When her phone rang, she glanced at the number, then answered. Huldar could hear a man’s voice and Erla’s curt replies. She hung up. ‘Sigrún’s been found.’
‘Where?’
‘The police who were watching their house saw her come home. She’s been arrested and is on her way to the station. Claims she’s been at the cinema. Went for a long walk, dropped in at a bookshop, then went to see some film.’
‘Is she telling the truth?’
‘That’s yet to be confirmed. I don’t like the look of this. Not one bit.’ She blew out slowly, then pulled herself together. ‘Get him some water, then let’s press on.’
Huldar did so without protest, finding the largest glass in the kitchen and filling it up. When he returned, Erla had resumed her seat opposite Thröstur. She started talking the moment Huldar walked in. ‘So now we know what’s behind these atrocities. But the question remains, where are Thorvaldur’s children? Officer Valdi’s children?’
‘I swear I don’t know.’ Thröstur reached for the glass of water but Huldar drew it back.
‘You can do better than that. Who took them? Sigrún?’
‘No. Not Sigrún and not me. This isn’t a list of people I was going to kill. Let alone of people she was.’
‘What the hell is it then?’ Erla snatched up the sheet of paper and shook it in Thröstur’s face.
‘They’re the people Vaka’s parents are going to kill.’ Thröstur stared at the glass of water. ‘Can I have that drink now?’
Huldar pushed it over to him.
Chapter 33
Freyja’s phone had run out of memory. She had taken countless photos of Saga for her brother in the hope that at least one of them would be OK, but the little girl had a peculiar knack of turning away or closing her eyes just as Freyja snapped a picture. It didn’t help that in the only photos that weren’t blurred the perma-scowl was in place.
Freyja had taken Saga down to the lake on the pretext of feeding the ducks, though the real purpose was to bump into the handsome single father again. He hadn’t shown up but there had been no shortage of other fathers with children in buggies and bags of bread. Obese ducks swam around in the hole in the ice, hoovering up the endless supply of food. They wouldn’t starve as long as there were toddlers in Iceland.
Molly flopped down heavily by the sofa where Freyja was lying. She had just gorged herself on mince. It was supposed to last for two meals but Freyja had felt so guilty for leaving the dog alone all weekend that she had poured the whole lot into her bowl.
As usual on a Sunday evening, there was nothing happening. Her friends were busy posting status updates of breathtaking tedium: banal quotations about happiness or the importance of good values, photos of their supper or of themselves in such convoluted yoga positions that they must surely be faked.
Perhaps her bad mood stemmed from having no one to cook for but Molly. She snapped the laptop shut and grabbed her phone instead. She still had the single father’s number but the timing wasn’t ideal. Like her, he would have been entertaining a small child all weekend and was bound to be shattered. Better to wait.
In that instant her phone rang, a number she didn’t recognise appearing on the screen. Could it be him? ‘Hello?’
‘Hello. Is that Freyja? The psychologist?’ She didn’t recognise the voice.
‘Yes. That’s me. Who am I talking to?’
‘Sorry, my name’s Orri. You gave me your card outside the police station.’
‘Oh yes. Hello.’ Freyja sat up. ‘I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to call you.’ She could hear him breathing, but just when she thought he’d changed his mind about talking to her, he continued: ‘I know it’s Sunday evening and all that, but I’m in a terrible mess and I don’t know where to turn. It involves mental illness, so after a lot of thought I decided to get in touch.’
‘That’s fine. Are you in a bad way?’ She tried to recall the names of any colleagues who treated adults and would be prepared to take on an emergency case outside office hours.
‘I’m in a bad way all right but that’s not what this is about. It’s my ex-wife, Dagmar. I’m afraid there’s something seriously wrong.’
‘Is she there with you now?’
He seemed affronted, as if Freyja was implying that he had a lunatic frothing at the mouth in the bed beside him. ‘No. Good God, no.’
‘Where is she then?’
‘I don’t know.’ Orri hesitated as if having second thoughts about the wisdom of ringing her. ‘But I have my suspicions.’
‘OK. Leaving that aside for the moment, are you afraid she might harm herself?’
‘Can I come round?’ he blurted out.
Freyja glanced round the room at the mauled sofa, the dog hairs and the mess she had been intending to tidy up all weekend. ‘No, I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
‘Oh. I see. Then could you come to my place … or meet me somewhere? I feel very uncomfortable discussing this over the phone.’
Freyja thought. What else did she have to do? Spend her evening on social media, bored out of her mind? ‘Can it wait till morning? You could come over to the Children’s House and I could help you find a psychologist who specialises in adult cases. How urgent is it?’
Orri gave a dry, mirthless laugh. ‘If my suspicion proves right, it would be hard to imagine anything more urgent.’
‘It sounds like she needs to be committed. I’d advise you to call the psychiatric department at the National Hospital. I can’t be of much help in a situation like that.’
The Reckoning Page 31
