‘A big house like that is called a block of flats, Siggi. Are the other houses you can see blocks of flats too?’
‘Ummmm … yes.’
‘Can you see mountains as well?’
‘Ummmm … a little bit.’
There were a number of districts that would fit the boy’s description. Too many. Perhaps she could find out if the boy lived in one of the new suburbs. ‘Are there any building sites near your block, Siggi?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are there any cranes? Any big yellow machines or workmen? Any concrete mixers? Or houses that nobody lives in yet because they haven’t got any windows?’
‘No. They’ve all got windows.’
Freyja went on asking about any landmarks that the boy might recognise. About the zoo, burger stands, cinemas, kiosks, ice-cream parlours and playgrounds. He didn’t think any of these could be seen from his house. She also asked about local sports clubs but Siggi didn’t know any by name. At this point, having run out of ideas, she gave up asking about the area and hoped that the information Siggi had already provided would prove sufficient. She told the boy he could open his eyes.
‘Do your mummy and daddy have a car, Siggi?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know what kind of car it is?’
‘A white one.’
Freyja smiled. ‘Do you know what make it is?’
Siggi beamed, pleased that he had an answer. ‘A Yaris. It comes from Japan.’
Of course his parents would have the most popular make of car in Iceland. Freyja had learnt this fact during the countless hours she’d spent searching online for a vehicle of her own, now that her brother would be needing his old rustbucket back. But at the moment saving up for a flat was a more urgent priority. Work more, spend less. Not a very inspiring mantra. Which made it all the more vital that Baldur’s friend’s flat should turn out to be the answer to her prayers.
Realising that her mind was wandering, Freyja brought her attention back to the little boy. ‘Now, I’m going to ask you about the place where we found you, Siggi. You remember, don’t you? It was only a little while ago.’
‘At the man’s house.’
‘That’s right. At the man’s house. Had you been there before?’ Siggi shook his head. ‘Do you know the man who lives there? His name’s Helgi.’ Again he shook his head. ‘Does he know your mummy or daddy?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Has Helgi, the man who lives there, ever come round to your house or met you somewhere else with your mummy or daddy?’ The question was too long and Siggi looked confused. When Freyja broke it up into two shorter ones, he answered no to both.
‘Then tell me, how did you get into his flat? Who brought you there? Was it your mummy or daddy?’
‘No. It was the man.’
‘You mean Helgi? The man who lives there?’ Siggi shrugged expansively, so Freyja took out a photo of the murder victim that Huldar had given her. It was a typical business profile picture, showing only his head and shoulders. Apparently this was the best the police could come up with at present. The man in the photo was in his early thirties, and wore a jacket and shirt – presumably one of the ones she’d seen hanging in his wardrobe. He was average-looking, neither handsome nor ugly, but had an air of confidence, like someone used to being in command. Apart from that, he was clean-shaven, had a good haircut, and the expression on his face said ‘I’m too busy and important to waste time having my photo taken’.
‘Is this the man who took you to the flat?’
Siggi bent over the picture and studied it intently. Putting his hand over the lower half of the man’s face, he tilted his head to the right and left while considering it. ‘Yes. No. He didn’t have his party clothes on.’
Freyja ignored the comment about his clothes. She wished now that she had Huldar’s voice in her ear. What did the boy’s response mean? Was it a yes or a no? Had Helgi taken the boy to his flat, then afterwards been murdered? If yes, what questions should she ask? ‘Siggi, the man in the picture is called Helgi. He lives in the flat. Was it him who took you there?’
‘Maybe.’
Freyja didn’t want to put pressure on the child. Further questions were unlikely to do any more to clarify something he simply didn’t seem to know. ‘Did you go there by car?’
‘Yes. Not in our car. It was mucky. Our car’s clean.’
‘Where did you get into the car, Siggi? Did the man pick you up from your house?’
‘I don’t know. I woke up and I was in the car. In the back.’
Freyja was silent for a moment. ‘Did the man take you to the flat?’ Siggi nodded, and Freyja left it at that. She moved on to the next question: ‘Did he stay with you for a while?’
‘He went away.’
‘Did he hurt you or do anything to you? In the flat or in the car?’
Siggi hesitated, apparently searching his memory. ‘No.’
Freyja was relieved. She could feel her shoulders untensing, but resolved nevertheless to call in a doctor once the interview was over. The boy would have to be given a medical examination. It was possible that he didn’t want to talk about what had happened or had been told to keep his mouth shut. ‘How long were you in the flat before we came along?’
‘I don’t know. A very long time.’
‘Did you get there this morning or after lunch?’ Freyja rephrased the question. ‘Had you already eaten your lunch or only your breakfast?’
‘I didn’t have any lunch or any breakfast. It was night time.’
‘You came to the flat at night?’
‘Yes. Then the daytime came. But it was late because it’s winter. In summer it’s always daytime.’
‘That’s right.’ Freyja considered what to ask next. Yet again she regretted not having put in the earpiece. A prompt from Huldar would have been welcome right now. Today’s interview was absolutely crucial, because kids Siggi’s age were quick to forget. By tomorrow his memory of the events would already have shifted or become scrambled. But the trouble was, she knew nothing about the circumstances of the murder, no specifics about when, how or where Helgi had met his end. ‘Why didn’t you leave the flat and go and look for help, Siggi?’
The boy hesitated again and started fidgeting before eventually answering, ‘I wasn’t allowed to. The man said so.’
Remembering how long she and Didrik had stood outside the flat, Freyja asked: ‘You mean you weren’t allowed to open the door?’
‘No. The man said I mustn’t open the door until the alarm clock rang. I had to wait with the clock until then. But I was allowed to sleep. And to drink the orange juice. I did a wee-wee in the toilet too. I was allowed.’
‘What did the man say would happen if you didn’t do what he told you?’
‘I had to do what he said. Or Mummy would hurt herself. Mummy mustn’t hurt herself. Not now.’
Without meaning to, Freyja blurted out: ‘Why not?’
‘She’s got a baby in her tummy.’ Siggi held his short arms out in front of him as far as they would go. ‘Her tummy’s this big.’
Assuming this wasn’t an exaggeration, the boy’s missing mother must be on the point of giving birth. Perhaps that was why nothing had been heard from her or the father. But unless she was lying in a delivery room, in the middle of her labour, this was bad news. Very bad news indeed.
A small hand tugged at Freyja’s sleeve. She met the child’s grave look. ‘He’s a bad man. Very bad.’ He tugged her sleeve again, harder this time. ‘You must find my mummy.’ Then he let go and his head drooped. ‘I don’t want her to die.’
Chapter 7
The caretaker met Huldar and Gudlaugur at the door of the exclusive block of flats where Helgi had lived. He was a thin man in his fifties, still with a full head of hair, though his face was beginning to sag a little. He shook them both by the hand and, speaking in hushed tones, asked them to call him Doddi. At that moment a woman emerged from the lift, laughing loudly, a phone pressed to her ear. T
he caretaker shot her a dirty look as if taking exception to her cheerfulness. Perhaps he thought a funereal atmosphere would be more appropriate in the circumstances. But for now Doddi was the only person in the building who knew Helgi was dead. It had been necessary to tell him, and to bring home the seriousness of the matter by explaining that Helgi’s death was being treated as murder. Since no keys had been found in Helgi’s pocket, they needed the caretaker’s cooperation to enter the flat and retrieve the recordings from the building’s CCTV system.
When the woman had gone, they took the lift up to the top floor where Helgi’s flat was located. They ascended in silence, all three keeping their eyes firmly fixed on the illuminated sign showing which floor they were on. At the top, a bell rang, the door opened and they got out. Instantly their awkwardness melted away and they found their tongues again.
‘So you’re not aware of any break-in?’ Huldar had already asked this downstairs but felt it wouldn’t hurt to repeat the question. ‘I’m assuming the building has several entrances?’
‘None of the doors have been damaged and there’s no sign that any of them have been tampered with. The door to Helgi’s flat hasn’t been forced either.’
‘Did you know Helgi at all?’ Huldar watched as the caretaker pulled out a bunch of keys and flipped through them.
‘No, not really. But I used to bump into him in the corridor and I provided assistance when required.’
‘Did he cause any problems?’
Shaking his head, the caretaker inserted a key in the lock. ‘No, far from it. He was the quiet type, like most of the residents here.’ The door opened and they stepped inside. The flat had been immaculate when Huldar had seen it earlier that day, but now it was a different story. Everywhere they looked they could see traces of fingerprint powder left by Forensics, and the furniture had been pushed aside, spoiling the overall design. Death had no respect for the departed.
‘Did he get a lot of visitors?’ Gudlaugur was looking around, his mouth slightly open. Huldar imagined that he himself had worn the same startled look the first time he’d set foot in here.
‘I don’t tend to notice that sort of thing. I’m a caretaker, not a doorman.’
Gudlaugur flushed slightly. ‘Of course.’
The caretaker, who was not a doorman, realised that his answer had been a little brusque and tried to make up for it. ‘I did meet him on his way in or out with other people from time to time. So he did have visitors. I just don’t know how many.’
‘Were they women? Men? Children?’ Huldar walked further into the room and noticed that the birthday present had vanished from the kitchen table. No doubt Forensics had taken it back to the station along with any other items that warranted closer examination.
‘Mainly men. The occasional woman.’
‘What about children?’
‘No.’ The man thought for a moment, then added: ‘Actually, yes. I once saw him leaving the house with a man carrying a child.’
‘A boy?’
‘No, a girl. A toddler, no more than two years old.’
Huldar went over to the glass wall. Part of the reason for their return visit was that Forensics had forgotten to check whether the curtainless flat was overlooked by a nearby tower block or by any of the neighbouring flats. A quick glance established that it wasn’t. They also needed to pick up the recordings from the building’s CCTV system and to grill the caretaker for details of the deceased’s lifestyle. ‘Did he always live alone here?’ Huldar asked, walking back over to the others. ‘No girlfriend? Or boyfriend?’
Doddi shrugged. ‘He’s lived alone since he moved in. I know nothing else about his private life and I’ve no interest in prying.’
‘When did he move in?’
The man furrowed his brow, thinking. ‘About eighteen months ago, I think. No, less. Just over a year. Something like that. I can look it up afterwards, if you like.’
‘Yes, please.’ Huldar glanced up at the ceiling. ‘Are there any security cameras in the flat?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. But I’m not responsible for that sort of thing. I just look after the general maintenance and day-to-day running of the place. It’s quite possible Helgi had them installed himself. It would have been a bit pointless seeing as we already have a very comprehensive security system. But of course it’s up to the residents what they do in their own homes.’ The caretaker’s gaze travelled over the ceiling and down the walls. ‘It doesn’t look like there’s anything in here, though I suppose he could have had hidden cameras.’
If so, Forensics hadn’t uncovered any.
‘We need to pick up the CCTV files. I’ve got a warrant for them.’ Death might be no respecter of persons but judges, on the other hand, were great respecters of death. In cases like this, the police were almost invariably granted the warrants they applied for without a murmur.
‘You won’t need a warrant.’ The caretaker had remained standing just inside the front door, apparently unwilling to step any further into the flat. ‘You won’t meet any opposition from me or the residents’ association when it comes to providing assistance.’
Huldar smiled, privately hoping they wouldn’t have to rely on the residents’ association to solve the case. ‘Thanks.’ He looked around again before asking the next question. ‘It wasn’t you who rang the police to say there was a child in here?’
The caretaker shook his head. ‘No. I’d have knocked on the door first if I’d heard anything strange. Helgi was a nice guy, so there’d be no reason to report something like that without checking with him first.’
‘Do you know how he got on with the other residents? Any reason to think they wouldn’t have shared your good opinion of him?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had any complaints and his name’s never come up at any of the residents’ meetings. If anyone had wanted to raise an issue, that would have been their chance, as Helgi never attended himself. But then, hardly anyone does.’
Huldar nodded, guiltily conscious that he hadn’t made it to a single residents’ meeting in his own building. ‘There aren’t many flats that would be affected, are there? I’m guessing the sound insulation’s pretty good here.’
‘The kid would have had to scream his head off for the sound to carry. And even if he had, it would only have been heard in the flats on either side or on the floor below. But I happen to know that there’s been nobody downstairs for the last couple of weeks. The owners are abroad.’
‘Could they have lent out their flat?’ Gudlaugur had got over gawping at the furnishings and turned his attention back to Huldar and the caretaker.
‘No. They asked me to water the plants and keep an eye on the place. No one’s been in there since they left. But I can take another look if you like, to make sure nothing’s changed.’
Huldar handed the man his card. ‘No rush. Just next time you get a moment, if you could let me know.’
They went back out into the corridor and knocked on the doors of the flats on either side. The occupants denied all knowledge of any phone call to the police, and said they didn’t recognise Siggi when shown a photo of him. In the picture, he was sitting in Huldar’s chair, gaping at the camera lens open-mouthed, as though he expected a unicorn to pop out of it. Despite this, it was a good likeness.
The neighbours echoed the caretaker’s opinion of Helgi: perfectly pleasant, never caused any trouble. Wasn’t at home much and didn’t have many visitors. None of the people they talked to had noticed anything unusual over the last twenty-four hours either.
Huldar gave them all his card, in case they remembered anything later, and deflected their curiosity with the comment that it wasn’t possible to say anything more at present. One man from further down the corridor wanted to know if their questions had anything to do with the child his wife had seen being taken from the flat, but he was fobbed off with the same response. If he’d been expecting to be given preferential treatment because his wife had witnessed the day’s events, he was
disappointed.
After interviewing the neighbours, they went down to the underground garage where Doddi showed them Helgi’s cars. Both were in their spaces: a black Range Rover and a dark-blue Audi, parked side by side. The Range Rover had a thin layer of dust on it, which was consistent with the caretaker’s comment that he didn’t think Helgi used it much. Nothing of interest could be seen through the windows of either vehicle, except for a pair of leather gloves on the passenger seat of the Audi. They looked as if they belonged to a man, presumably Helgi himself.
‘If you want to take a look inside them, I’ve got spare keys to both vehicles. Lots of the residents opt for that arrangement.’ The caretaker had clearly meant it when he said he was willing to help. Huldar accepted his offer and once the car doors had been opened, pulled on a pair of latex gloves and set about searching the various compartments, the ashtrays, underneath the seats and in the boot. This resulted in nothing but two vehicle registration certificates, which he put back where he’d found them. There were no traces of cannabis in the ashtrays, no small white envelopes or bags of dope in any of the glove compartments.
Once Huldar had handed back the keys, the caretaker led them to the basement storeroom that went with Helgi’s flat. When he opened the door, it was empty. Huldar noticed Doddi’s look of puzzlement.
‘I’ve never seen that before,’ he said. ‘Usually these storerooms are full to bursting with boxes and other junk, unless the flats are vacant.’
‘Do you think it could have been cleaned out?’ Huldar asked.
Doddi shrugged, unable to answer this.
The three of them walked back through the garage to the caretaker’s office where the computer that stored the CCTV recordings was kept. As they passed one swanky vehicle after another, Huldar tried to tot up their value in his head but abandoned the attempt by the time he’d got to well over a hundred million krónur. He hoped the fact that the residents were so wealthy meant that the caretaker was well remunerated, but knew there was no guarantee of this. Especially not on the evidence of his office, which, in striking contrast to the rest of the building, turned out to be a windowless rabbit hutch containing an ugly old desk that had probably been bought for peanuts online. Apart from that, there was a dull-green filing cabinet that looked as if it dated from the sixties, and basic wall-mounted shelves full of folders. The ceiling was made of the same raw, exposed concrete as the garage. In comparison to this, Huldar’s workstation in the corner of the CID offices looked like a managerial suite.
Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020) Page 6