Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020)

by Sigurdardottir, Yrsa

  Thormar pressed ‘Replay’, pretending not to notice the glare his wife Sigrún was directing at him. He’d promised to help with the party. Promised to stay away from his phone and computer for the duration. He was allowed to turn on the TV, but only to put the film on for the kids. But when his phone had bleeped to alert him to a message on the forum, his wife’s orders were temporarily forgotten. At first he’d taken the precaution of turning his back to her, but after he’d worked out what the video was showing he was so shaken he forgot to hide what he was doing. Sigrún was glowering at him but right now that didn’t seem to matter.

  Just then, a little girl with two pigtails tied with pink ribbons and a smudge of icing on her upper lip came charging into the room, mouth open wide, squealing at the top of her voice, and collided violently with Thormar’s legs. He yelped, almost dropping his phone, and only just managed to stop himself grabbing the girl and giving her an earful. Venting like that might provide temporary relief but it would be extremely unwise. Sigrún wouldn’t like it and the girl’s mother would be even less impressed. There was no point asking why the mother was doing nothing to restrain her overexcited daughter, since the woman’s indifference seemed to be par for the course. Once the mothers had made themselves comfortable in the sitting room with cups of coffee and plates of cake, they seemed to have put their offspring completely out of their minds. When a child hurt itself and came running to its mother’s arms, the woman would look momentarily bemused before, after a second or two, recalling that this grubby, squawling brat was hers. After a perfunctory ‘There, there,’ the child would be returned to the fray.

  The only woman not sitting down was Sigrún. Instead, she was busy rushing around after the children, trying to stop them swallowing house keys, throwing glasses at each other, knocking things over and fighting over the most coveted toys. She’d spent half an hour making herself presentable before the guests arrived but now looked as if she’d been hit by a tornado. This was doing nothing to improve her mood.

  Thormar had helped out as best he could, wondering all the while why she didn’t just get her teenage son, Fannar, to lend a hand. The kid was glued to the computer in his room as usual, but it wouldn’t kill him to help. Thormar knew better than to say anything, though. He was only the boy’s stepfather and they weren’t that close. It was hard to have any sort of relationship with someone who spent most of his time shut away in his room.

  Thormar glanced furtively at Sigrún. Seeing that she was bending down to untangle a lollipop from a little girl’s hair, he grabbed his chance. He had to watch the video again. Perhaps this time he’d be able to spot something to confirm that it was a hoax. It couldn’t possibly be real. He tilted his phone to avoid the glare from the ceiling light.

  The recording was dark, as if it had been filmed at night. Even so, Thormar could tell that the man was his friend Helgi. He was wearing the coat from last night’s pub crawl, but now there appeared to be a white napkin on his chest that Thormar didn’t remember seeing. They’d lost track of Helgi during the evening, so he must have got it after they’d separated. The rope around his neck certainly hadn’t been there before.

  But it wasn’t the rope or the napkin – if that’s what it was – that had shocked and disturbed him. It was what happened next. Thormar held the phone as close to his face as he could without losing focus.

  A gloved hand appeared in the frame and pushed at Helgi. His eyes and mouth formed wide Os of astonishment as he fell over backwards and disappeared. The camera panned out to show the dark shape of a man dangling in mid-air. His legs were kicking in the void, his hands scrabbling frantically at the noose around his neck. The flailing of his limbs grew ever more spasmodic until finally they stopped moving altogether. His arms dropped limply to his sides, his legs hung straight down. The man spun gently one way, then the other. Then the recording ended.

  Thormar exhaled a long breath. The comments his friends had posted underneath mirrored his own thoughts exactly.

  Is this supposed to be funny? Which one of you posted it?

  I thought this forum was for a different kind of movie, heh heh heh. Not sure this really does it for me.

  Thormar considered adding a comment himself but couldn’t think of anything else to say. Besides, if he started tapping on his phone there was a real risk that Sigrún would tear it from his hands and hurl it out of the window. No, it could wait.

  ‘Thormar!’

  He looked up, closing his phone smartly as he met his wife’s incensed gaze. She was holding a lollipop covered in hairs.

  ‘Take the girls more coffee, will you?’

  It took him a moment to realise she was referring to the mothers rather than the swarm of children, though the women had little right to be called girls any more. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he obeyed.

  He fetched the jug of freshly made coffee and absentmindedly refilled the cups as they were held out. The women barely even registered him but carried on gassing away as if he were a waiter rather than one of their hosts.

  Once he’d completed this task, Sigrún ordered him to wash the hands of a little girl who had smeared chocolate icing from the birthday cake all over the newly decorated wall in the entrance hall. He took the wet cloth his wife handed him without protest, tracked down the child and wiped her short, sticky fingers. Then he nipped into the loo, aware that Sigrún would grow suspicious if he spent too long in there. Taking out his phone, he selected Helgi’s number. He wanted to hear what the hell he’d meant by that sick joke. But all he got was the standard recorded message:

  The phone is switched off or cannot be reached at the moment. Please try again later.

  Chapter 6

  Siggi was sitting at a table in the Children’s House, eating a hot dog. It was all he could do to get his small hands round the bun, let alone his mouth. In the end he gave up and started nibbling at bread and sausage in turn. After eating two thirds, he put it down on the plate Freyja had given him and said loudly and clearly: ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ This further evidence of the boy’s good manners proved that he had been well brought up, which made it all the harder to understand why no one seemed to have noticed his absence. The police insisted that no one had called to report him missing, and emergency services told the same story. Freyja wondered if the phone call from his distraught parents could have got lost in the system. But she was assured that this was impossible.

  ‘Where’s Mummy?’ Siggi looked around the small coffee room, as if expecting to see her hiding there.

  ‘She’s not here. We’re looking for her.’

  ‘Is she lost?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Sometimes we look for people who aren’t lost.’

  Siggi made a puzzled face. ‘Why?’

  Freyja smiled at him. ‘Well, that’s the thing. Sometimes you just think people are lost because you can’t get hold of them. But I’m sure she knows where she is.’

  ‘My mummy isn’t lost.’

  Freyja said nothing; she wasn’t at all confident that he was right. His mother might not be lost according to a child’s understanding – standing at a crossroads somewhere, scratching her head – but the risk was all too real that something bad had happened to her. It didn’t bode well that Siggi had been found in the flat of a man who had died in suspicious circumstances. Neither Freyja nor Didrik had been entrusted with any details of the case, merely told that the owner of the flat was dead and the death was being treated as murder.

  Huldar put down the cup of weak coffee that Freyja had given him. She’d had to make do with a glass of water herself as there hadn’t been enough coffee for a full pot. Judging by the faint grimaces on the men’s faces as they sipped it, the scrapings at the bottom of the tin hadn’t been enough to stretch to two cups either.

  ‘Right. The question is, should we start … you know …?’ Huldar caught Freyja’s eye. She knew what he meant. The moment Erla had got back to the police station with Huldar a
nd the young redhead in tow, she had ordered Freyja and Didrik to take Siggi away, adding that Huldar should go with them and make sure they got some information out of the boy. Huldar hadn’t seemed too displeased, until it became clear that Didrik would be accompanying them. But his objections had been over-ruled on the grounds that Siggi was officially the responsibility of Reykjavík children’s services until his legal guardian could be found. As Freyja was only a casual employee of the Child Protection Agency, Didrik’s presence was required, and that was that.

  Up to now, Huldar had at least managed to be civil to Didrik but Freyja knew him well enough to see that it was an effort. She awarded him brownie points for his self-control, although this mainly consisted of behaving as if Didrik wasn’t there, and never addressing a word to him unless spoken to first.

  Despite the urgency of the interview, Freyja had insisted on feeding Siggi first. Huldar had made the mistake of buying him a pizza with mushrooms on it, to which Siggi had reacted by wrinkling his nose, shaking his head and clamping his mouth shut. Most four-year-olds would have to starve for a lot longer before they’d eat something as disgusting as a mushroom. So they’d stopped off at a kiosk to buy a hot dog on the way to the Children’s House. Although this had created another delay, Freyja knew she’d have better luck getting information from the child if he had a full stomach. If he was hungry, he’d only fidget and have difficulty concentrating on what she was saying. The interview would be tricky enough anyway. Children his age were too young to fully grasp the situation they were in, let alone work out how they had ended up there. To them, life simply flowed along, carrying them with it. There was no point memorising the things they encountered along the way, unless they happened to be of particular interest, like cats, dogs or ice-cream parlours.

  ‘How would you like to come and sit with me, Siggi?’ Freyja smiled at the boy. He had ketchup at the corners of his mouth, and sticky fingers. ‘It would be really great if you could talk to me for a bit.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Oh, this and that. It might help us find your mummy.’

  The boy thought for a minute, then nodded. Freyja led him into the small interview room where she parked him on the squashy sofa and handed him the cuddly teddy with the missing eye. It held an unaccountable fascination for children, especially when they were distressed, and Siggi proved no exception. While he was inspecting the toy, Freyja showed Didrik and Huldar into the room next door, where they could observe the conversation via a two-way mirror and speakers. At least in this instance, she thought, there was no danger of the two men chatting and disturbing her concentration.

  She switched on the sound system, donned the microphone, then went back in to join Siggi. Under normal circumstances she would have put in an earpiece too, so she could relay questions from the police, lawyers or judge observing in the next room. In those cases she had to use her expertise to couch the questions in simple enough terms for a child to understand and answer honestly. She had to be careful not to put words into their mouths or pose leading questions. Kids had a tendency to tailor their responses to please adults. But this time she would be the one asking the questions. The boy was still such an enigma that any details she could elicit would count as fresh information.

  So far, the only facts they’d established were that his name was Sigurdur and that he was called Siggi for short; his mother was known as Systa and his father as Sibbi. Less helpful nicknames would be hard to imagine. Siggi had told them he lived in Reykjavík but couldn’t be more precise about the street or the area. They were hoping he would turn out to know more, but at the police station he’d been so distracted by the exciting surroundings that it had been impossible to get him to concentrate. There was always a chance that information would come pouring out once they’d got him into a less stimulating environment.

  ‘So, Siggi, do you like the teddy?’ Freyja took a seat next to him, her gaze on the mirror facing the sofa. She assumed Huldar was watching her.

  ‘Where’s his eye?’

  ‘It fell off. But it doesn’t matter because he can see perfectly well with the other one. Did you know, spiders have eight eyes, so they probably wonder how we manage with only two.’

  ‘Eight?’ Siggi sounded impressed.

  Freyja nodded and began to edge the conversation round to the point. ‘Have you got a teddy bear at home, Siggi?’

  ‘I’ve got a rabbit. But she’s only got two eyes. Not eight.’ Siggi stared at the bear for a bit longer, then put it down in his lap.

  Freyja didn’t pursue the subject of the rabbit. One advantage with children this young was that they didn’t notice non-sequiturs. ‘What’s your mummy’s name, Siggi?’

  ‘I told you. She’s called Systa. But I always call her Mummy.’

  ‘Do you know what a nickname is?’ When the boy shook his head, Freyja explained. He seemed to follow what she was saying, so she continued: ‘I think Systa’s a nickname. Have you heard people call your mummy a different name?’ She was itching to suggest some but stopped herself. The woman could be called pretty much anything – ‘Systa’ only meant she was someone’s big or little ‘sis’ – and there was a risk the boy would simply jump on one of her suggestions at random.

  ‘No. She’s called Systa. Systa’s a nice name.’

  ‘Very nice.’ Freyja hid her disappointment. ‘What about your daddy? Has he got another name as well as Sibbi?’

  ‘No. He’s just called Sibbi.’

  Again, Freyja resisted the impulse to supply him with some men’s names. ‘Have you got a granny and granddad, Siggi?’

  ‘Yes.’ The boy sat up, suddenly enthusiastic. ‘I’ve got two grannies and one granddad. I’ve got a dead granddad too. He’s not alive any more because he got very old and died.’ No hint of sadness, so presumably the loss hadn’t been recent.

  ‘What are your granddads called?’ Freyja asked. Perhaps the police could use their names to track down the parents.

  ‘I don’t know. Granddad. My dead granddad hasn’t got a name. He’s just dead.’ Siggi frowned. ‘Don’t you want to know what my grannies are called?’

  Freyja smiled and said yes she did.

  The boy sat up again, proud at having influenced the course of the conversation. ‘One of my grannies is called Sísí and the other one is called Granny.’

  Freyja could feel her smile becoming increasingly strained. ‘I see.’ Names were obviously a dead end. Sísí could be short for anything. ‘Tell me a bit about where you live, Siggi. I know it’s in Reykjavík but can you tell me where in Reykjavík?’

  ‘In Reykjavík.’ Siggi seemed hurt that Freyja wasn’t satisfied with this.

  ‘All right. Then tell me something else. Do you know what your street is called?’ Siggi shook his head; his dismay at being found wanting was obvious. Freyja quickly asked something she was fairly sure he would be able to answer. ‘Where do you go to nursery?’ Children of Siggi’s age didn’t necessarily know their own address but they all knew the name of their childminder or nursery school.

  ‘I don’t go to nursery. Mummy says I can go in the summer.’

  Freyja could imagine Huldar groaning out loud at this answer. Didrik too, no doubt. This wasn’t going to be straightforward. If they failed to track down the boy’s family, it would be Didrik’s job to arrange an emergency placement, with all the hassle that involved. Freyja decided to digress a little and ask the boy some general questions that he would be able to answer easily. By the end, she had established that his favourite food was spaghetti, he could cycle with stabilisers, he’d been to the zoo loads and loads and loads of times, and could count up to fifteen, though once he’d managed to get all the way up to twenty. Having answered all these questions without once having to stop and think, the little boy had cheered up considerably, and Freyja was able to direct the conversation back to his family. ‘What does your daddy do for a job, Siggi?’

  ‘Daddy’s a lectrishan.’

  ‘Wow, an electrician!
That’s cool. Do you know where he works?’ Freyja hadn’t been expecting him to, so she wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. ‘And what does your mummy do?’

  ‘She’s a teacher.’

  ‘Gosh.’ Freyja opened her eyes wide to please the boy. ‘Do you know the name of the school where she teaches?’

  ‘No. She doesn’t go to school. But she’s going to teach at school when I go to nursery.’

  So his mother wasn’t currently employed. It seemed they’d hit a brick wall with his parents. Freyja moved on. ‘What can you see when you stand outside your house, Siggi? It might help if you close your eyes and imagine you’re standing there and looking around.’

  Siggi squeezed his eyes shut. Evidently feeling that this wasn’t enough, he raised his hands from his lap and put them over his face. ‘I can see cars.’

  ‘What else? Can you see Hallgrímskirkja – the big church with the tall, pointy tower?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you see the sea?’

  Siggi thought about this, then shook his head. ‘No. Just cars.’ Then he brightened up, took his hands from his eyes and opened them again. ‘And houses!’ he exclaimed happily.

  ‘Do you live in a house, Siggi, or in a block of flats?’

  The boy closed his eyes again before answering. ‘A house. A big house.’

  Freyja wasn’t sure he’d understood the question. ‘Do other people live in the house too? Not just you and your mummy and daddy?’

  ‘Yes, lots. It’s a big house.’