Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020)

by Sigurdardottir, Yrsa

  ‘Fine. Whatever.’ Erla turned her attention back to her computer screen without another word. Huldar took the hint: Thanks. Now get lost. He exited smartly, giving Lína a sign to follow suit. Otherwise she was perfectly capable of standing there until Erla threw her out.

  Huldar’s eyes were dry from staring at the screen. After blinking a few times, he clicked on the next file. He’d been hoping to find what he was looking for in the footage from Helgi’s building before his next meeting with Erla, but it wasn’t looking promising. The problem was the sheer number of security cameras in the apartment block. No doubt this excessive coverage helped to give the residents peace of mind, but far from improving their security, it simply got in the way of processing the information the cameras contained. There were so many files that it took him ages to work out which area he was looking at, because they weren’t numbered according to any system he could understand. The employee from the security firm who was in charge of the codes wasn’t answering his phone and apparently no one else there could help.

  Nevertheless, Huldar had managed to find a clip showing Helgi leaving the building by the front door. Since they already knew what time his taxi had arrived, this had simplified the search. But nothing was known of Siggi’s movements, which made things much trickier. And to complicate matters still further, the building had three separate entrances, one at the front, one at the back and a third via the underground garage. Huldar had already fast-forwarded through the footage of the front door without spotting a single child. He had yet to locate the files relating to the other two entrances.

  The image of yet another corridor appeared on screen. They all looked identical to him: all furnished with those giant exotic plants that Huldar hadn’t seen for sale at any garden centre; they looked as if they’d been ripped up by the roots from some endangered rainforest. The residents did nothing to personalise their flats, either: they all had identical doormats and it was impossible to read the numbers on the discreet labels in this low-res recording. Huldar clicked on fast-forward in the hope that this was the right floor. He was beginning to despair when he saw a door open and a familiar face appeared in the gap. As far as he could tell, it was Helgi, though he looked a lot healthier than the man he’d seen on the pathologist’s table.

  Huldar paused the picture, rewound a bit and noted down the time when Helgi had appeared in the frame. It was just before half past seven, so presumably he was on his way down to the taxi that would take him to the restaurant. Helgi strode along the corridor, but instead of heading straight to the lift, he went in the opposite direction, towards a round hatch in the wall, which must be the rubbish chute. There he paused to tear a piece of paper to shreds, before opening the hatch and chucking in the scraps. He slammed the hatch, then opened it again, apparently in order to slam it even harder. His behaviour suggested that the piece of paper had annoyed him. Huldar rewound and enlarged the image in the hope of seeing exactly what Helgi was holding. He thought he could make out an envelope as well as a piece of paper, but couldn’t be sure. It was probably just some post that had got on his nerves, but you never knew. Anyway, at least this proved that Huldar had hit on footage from the right floor.

  Feeling pleased with himself, he double-checked the date, just to be on the safe side. After fast-forwarding for what felt like ages without any sign of the boy, his conviction that he was getting somewhere began to fade. Finally, though, Siggi popped up in the frame – at quarter past three on Sunday morning.

  Huldar slowed the playback and called out to Gudlaugur, keeping his voice as low as possible. The last thing Huldar wanted was the whole team breathing down their necks. Once Gudlaugur had come round the desk, he rewound a bit and together they watched as the boy was led to Helgi’s flat.

  Unconsciously, they both bent closer to the screen but it didn’t help: the face of the man holding Siggi’s hand remained hidden. He had his hood up and was wearing a baseball cap underneath. Only once did they catch a glimpse of his profile, only to realise that he had a cloth or scarf tied over the lower half of his face, like the baddie in a Western. At this point it dawned on Huldar why Siggi had put his hand over Helgi’s nose and mouth when asked to identify him from a photo. Obviously the man had been aware of the CCTV cameras and taken precautions to conceal his identity. Although Huldar knew it was unwise to leap to conclusions, he was fairly sure this wasn’t the first time the man had been there. He must have visited before to scope out the cameras.

  Despite the disguise, the figure was unmistakeably a man. It should be possible to work out his approximate height relative to the boy. He was of average build, neither fat nor unnaturally thin. His clothes were similarly unremarkable: jeans, a mid-length anorak with a hood, and trainers. They could identify the brand of those, at least. However, none of this was enough to establish whether it was Helgi or someone else entirely. Perhaps the man’s face would be visible in other clips, as he entered the building or climbed the stairs, for example. But if he wasn’t a complete fool, he’d have hidden his features before entering the building.

  They watched the man pull a bunch of keys from his pocket and insert one in the lock. It took him a while because he was hampered by his thick gloves. While this was going on, they could see Siggi staring around with a dazed expression. His attention seemed to be caught by the large plant container, and he gaped at it for a while until, apparently bored, he yawned and turned back to his companion.

  The man managed to open the door, but instead of going inside, he bent down to Siggi and remained stooping for a moment. They couldn’t tell if his lips were moving because of the cloth, but, as Siggi nodded, it seemed likely. Then he straightened up and both figures disappeared through the door. Before Siggi vanished from sight, he glanced back and stared straight into the camera lens for a split second, as if looking Huldar and Gudlaugur in the eye.

  Huldar paused the recording. ‘What do you reckon? Is that Helgi?’

  Gudlaugur released the breath he’d been holding. ‘I just can’t tell. But those aren’t the clothes he was wearing when he died. If it is him, he obviously didn’t want to be recognised, which is a bit odd considering that he was taking the boy back to his own flat. Why didn’t he take the kid somewhere else if he didn’t want to be identified?’

  Huldar started uploading the file to the shared drive. He wanted to get it to Erla and let her know that he’d managed to pinpoint the time of Siggi’s arrival and Helgi’s departure, and that Helgi had thrown something away in an apparent fit of temper. ‘That depends on what the boy was doing there. I just can’t come up with any rational explanation. And neither can anyone else, from what I hear.’

  Gudlaugur hovered at Huldar’s side, showing no signs of returning to his own desk. Huldar, who was getting a crick in his neck from looking up at him, prompted: ‘What?’

  ‘Did Erla happen to mention who she wants to go through the CCTV from the city centre?’ The question sounded casual but Huldar knew his colleague well enough to realise there was more to it.

  ‘No. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason.’ Colour rose revealingly in Gudlaugur’s face.

  ‘Oh, come on. Out with it. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I was just hoping I might get the job. I don’t really feel like traipsing around the lava-field at Gálgahraun on a wild-goose chase, or having to rummage around in the dustbins at Helgi’s building.’

  ‘I see.’ Gudlaugur’s mention of Gálgahraun reminded Huldar of the state the young man had been in at the crime scene yesterday morning. ‘You weren’t by any chance out yourself on Saturday night?’

  Gudlaugur’s colour deepened, the flush reaching up to his hairline. ‘That’s not the reason.’

  ‘No, sure it isn’t.’ Huldar had hit the nail on the head, though he took no pleasure in the fact and had no wish to rub Gudlaugur’s nose in it. ‘We should be able to fix it for you to get the job. There aren’t that many of us left.’ The Chinese delegation hadn’t only created problems
regarding the discovery of the body, it had also caused a staffing shortage, since so many officers were needed for security duty. ‘Anyway, I thought your ankle was playing up?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, after you sprained it in the lava-field yesterday?’ Gudlaugur was being so slow on the uptake that Huldar was forced to spell it out for him. ‘Pity your injury will get in the way of you doing anything that requires a lot of walking. Maybe Erla could find you something to do here at the station. Like watching CCTV footage. You get me?’

  Gudlaugur nodded. The blood that had coloured his cheeks was beginning to recede. ‘Of course, yes, thanks.’ He set off with an exaggerated limp in the direction of Erla’s office.

  Chapter 9

  Heidrún folded the newspaper and pushed it away. As usual, there was nothing of interest. A recent poll showed that support for the various political parties had shifted by a small number of percentage points; tourists caught short by the lack of toilet facilities continued to scandalise the Icelanders by doing their business on private property, and China’s foreign minister was enjoying his visit in spite of the weather. Apart from that it was nothing but press releases masquerading as news. This was probably just as well since she only had time to scan the headlines. The demands of her job meant she couldn’t immerse herself in the papers any more than she could surf the net.

  For now, the four children in her care seemed perfectly content playing with the worn old toys scattered across the floor. They made do with the faded wooden bricks, the Barbie doll with the hopelessly matted hank of hair, and the toy road with its badly fitting pieces. That’s all there was. The usual toys had all been sent off to be sterilised after a boy had been diagnosed with measles. He was now in hospital and Heidrún hoped this would bring it home to his mother how foolish it had been to refuse to get her son vaccinated. It was ironic, since she seemed perfectly happy to expose him to rampant drug abuse at home. But Heidrún doubted the message would get through.

  The official care home had far exceeded its maximum capacity of twelve children and, since there was no sign of the new accommodation supposedly in the works, social services had resorted to renting this flat to house the overspill when necessary. Although not particularly large, it could accommodate up to six children, but the funding only stretched to cover a single carer on duty. Not only did this make life difficult when there were more than two charges, but Heidrún missed having adult company when she did her shifts here. Still, the situation was only temporary, like the placements themselves.

  Heidrún watched the children play. The differences in their ages meant there was no apparent logic to their game. The only girl in the group, who, at seven, was the oldest, had appointed herself as mediator, handing out the toys as she saw fit and making sure they were regularly rotated so none of the younger kids got bored or jealous. She was clearly used to the role, for the sad reason that her mother was an addict. According to the social workers’ reports, she did everything she could to make the situation at home look better than it was, in order to give the impression that her mother was coping. Once, when social services knocked on the door, they found that she had picked a dandelion in the garden and stuck it behind her unconscious mother’s ear. She had only been four years old at the time. From her child’s point of view, the flower had made her mother look pretty, clean and sober, like other mothers: capable of looking after her, in other words. But the social workers hadn’t been fooled and the little girl had become a regular guest in care. The tragedy of it was that Heidrún had been working in the city’s care homes for long enough to remember the girl’s mother at the same age, in the same heart-rending predicament.

  The four children playing on the floor were recent arrivals. It was often like that over weekends. The girl had been brought in on Saturday lunchtime after her mother had overdosed on Fentanyl and been taken to hospital. As the child’s extended family were no more reliable than her mother, temporary care was the only answer. The two brothers, one two, the other five, were in much the same situation. They’d been brought in later on Saturday afternoon when no other solution could be found. Their parents were alcoholics rather than junkies.

  It was obvious that the fourth child, Siggi, came from a very different background. His clothes were clean and it hadn’t been necessary to start by washing him, combing the tangles out of his hair, cutting his nails or dressing him in borrowed clothes. He was trusting, looked you straight in the eye and ate the food that was put in front of him without protest. He even put the lid down on the toilet after he’d been for a pee. According to the man who had brought the boy in, he had been taken into temporary care because they were unable to track down his parents. Nothing more was said but it was clear to Heidrún that if the parents were addicts, they must be very unusual ones.

  The children were showing signs of growing bored. The younger brother started bashing Barbie’s head on the floor and the girl tried in vain to stop him, upset by the violence. Seeing that she was becoming more distressed with every blow, Heidrún stepped in. ‘Right, kids. You must be getting hungry. How would you like something to eat?’ It was still ten minutes until lunch but it would take them a while to help her lay the table and get seated. By the time they’d done that, hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before the food arrived.

  Heidrún got to her feet and scooped up the younger brother, who was still holding the Barbie and now started bashing her with it. She had to prise off his fingers one by one before she could get it away from him. As the doll dropped to the floor, he started bawling but calmed down when Heidrún carried him into the kitchen. By the time she had settled him in the high chair at the kitchen table, Barbie had been forgotten.

  The girl and the older brother trailed into the kitchen after Heidrún but Siggi stayed put. Heidrún interpreted this behaviour as further evidence that the boy came from a good home. He took it for granted that he would be fed when he was hungry, so preferred to carry on playing now he had all the toys to himself. Whereas the other children, afraid of being forgotten, clung to her heels.

  ‘What’s for lunch?’ The girl stared at the bare kitchen table, the disappointment on her face revealing that she didn’t hold out much hope of getting anything to eat. The poor kid was so thin, it obviously wouldn’t be the first time she’d gone without a meal. Heidrún had needed to take in the elastic on the tracksuit bottoms the little girl had borrowed.

  ‘Rice pudding.’

  The girl cheered up but then, worry shadowing her face again, asked if there would be cinnamon sugar. When Heidrún said yes, it was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She even started humming a tune as she took the bowls to lay them on the table. Heidrún, judging the older brother too young and clumsy to be entrusted with anything breakable, handed him the plastic beakers for their milk and four spoons. When the children had finished, the table looked as if there had been a minor earthquake: everything was more or less in the right place, but a little askew.

  Heidrún called Siggi, who appeared a moment later and took his place at the table. He seemed a little dejected as he stared into the empty bowl in front of him. ‘I want to go home,’ he said dolefully.

  The girl, who was sitting next to him, put a hand on his shoulder, leant over and said kindly: ‘You can go home soon. We always go home again, but sometimes not for a little while.’ The older brother, who was sitting opposite, nodded vigorously.

  Heidrún was about to change the subject, before the children could become too downhearted, when the bell rang. She had to go and open the door for the delivery, and by the time she got back, it was too late. The older children were looking tearful and even the smell of food didn’t cheer them up. Their chatter broke off as she entered the room.

  ‘What were you talking about, kids?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the older three answered in unison, while the youngest banged his plastic beaker with his spoon and stuck out his tongue. ‘Oh, really? I thought I could hear you talking.’ He
idrún took the rice-pudding container out of the bag and began serving up. ‘Is it a secret?’

  The older brother couldn’t restrain himself. Squirming in his seat, he said in a rush: ‘Siggi says his mummy’s lost. He says the bad man’s taken her.’ A pause for breath, then he went on, just as insistently: ‘So he can’t ever go home, can he?’

  ‘Eat your food now,’ Heidrún said. ‘You shouldn’t be saying silly things like that. Of course Siggi’s going home again, just like the rest of you.’

  ‘But he said the bad man kills people.’

  ‘Now, now. There is no bad man.’ A familiar ringtone sounded from the playroom and Heidrún hurried out to fetch her phone, hoping the children wouldn’t carry on this conversation while she was out of the room. It turned out to be her sister, wanting to know if she’d received an invitation to their brother’s ex-wife’s fortieth birthday party. While she listened to her sister’s exclamations of disapproval, Heidrún’s wandering gaze alighted on the Barbie. She cut short the conversation, promising to call back later.

  Having pocketed her phone, she went over to the clothes airer standing by one of the windows. This morning she had hung two dishcloths and a threadbare towel over it, but now these had been joined by the doll. She was dangling just above the floor, her tiny plastic feet, shaped to fit high heels, pointing downwards as if they were desperately scrabbling to reach the parquet floor. A piece of string, taken from the car that the youngest children liked to tow around, had been wound round her neck and tied to the clothes airer. Only Siggi could have done this since he had been the only one left in the room.

  Although he couldn’t have meant to, it looked as if the little boy had deliberately hanged the poor old Barbie. The effect was oddly disturbing. Heidrún untied the string and the doll fell to the floor. Silly as it was, she felt better after that, and even more so once she’d unwound the string from around Barbie’s long neck. Having tidied her away in the toy box, Heidrún tucked the string into her pocket. The little girl, who was understandably over-sensitive when it came to any kind of violence, would be upset if Siggi repeated the game.