Heidrún went back into the kitchen to find that an ominous hush had fallen. She wondered if she should ask Siggi why he had done it but was immediately distracted by a much more pressing problem, far more serious to the children than the execution of a Barbie doll, the existence of a bad man, or the question of who would or wouldn’t be allowed to go home. There was no cinnamon sugar: the caterers had forgotten to include it.
Chapter 10
Thormar was at the restaurant already, his gaze fixed on the door. It was quarter past twelve and there was still no sign of his friends. The meeting had been his suggestion, as had the time and place. It was suitably dark in here and most of the clientele were foreign tourists. Far more sensible than meeting in the woods on Öskjuhlíd Hill, that classic spot for Icelandic skulduggery, where anyone who saw them was bound to be suspicious. At least there was no chance of any locals wandering in here.
The interior designers had pulled out all the stops to come up with a style that could best be described as ‘post-modern tourist trap’, featuring stuffed puffins, large framed posters of volcanic eruptions and mediocre paintings of the hot springs at Geysir. The staff had been forced into traditional Icelandic lopapeysa jumpers and Viking helmets with yellow plastic horns. The menu hadn’t escaped the designers’ attentions either and clearly wasn’t aimed at locals. The version Thormar had been given was in English. He got an odd look from the waitress when he asked if she had one in Icelandic. Apparently the answer was no.
Finally the door opened to admit Tómas, after which Thormar was no longer the only customer without a backpack. His suit, smart coat and thin scarf revealed that, like him, Tómas had slipped out of work to be there. He was an economist at the Central Bank, and looked like an ambitious young man on his way up – though for all Thormar knew he could have reached a plateau. It was the sort of thing you could only see in hindsight.
The door had barely closed behind them before it opened again to reveal Gunni, also in a business suit, looking, if anything, even smarter. He worked in finance and was always sharply attired, except on dress-down Fridays.
They were all here – all apart from Helgi, that is. But Thormar was fairly sure he wouldn’t be coming.
‘What the hell is this place?’ Gunni loosened his scarf and chucked it into the booth. ‘You can hardly move for top-class restaurants around here and you go and suggest this dump. What’s going on?’
Thormar didn’t want to explain. He was afraid they wouldn’t take the video seriously; afraid of looking like an idiot, a pussy. Instead of answering, he started passing round menus. This did nothing to lessen Gunni’s incredulity. ‘Jesus. Is there anything edible among this shit? A Viking burger? What the …?’
For once Tómas said nothing. He studied the menu with an intensity normally reserved for reading the sales contract on a house. This was so out of character that Thormar took it as a sign that he shared his fears. Unlike Gunni.
‘How did the birthday party go?’ Tómas put down his menu without saying what he was planning to order. ‘Dísa was completely knackered when she got home. So was Silla.’
‘Oh, fine, good.’ Thormar refrained from asking how the hell Tómas’s wife Silla could have been knackered when she’d done nothing all afternoon but sit on her arse gossiping and being waited on hand and foot. His daughter Dísa, in contrast, had torn around the flat like a mad thing, burning up more energy than a gym-goer in January.
Gunni, being childless, hadn’t the slightest interest in kids’ parties.
‘Mate, what are we doing in this shithole? Seriously?’ Having surveyed the other customers in disbelief, Gunni turned back to his companions.
‘Just because, all right?’ Thormar knew how absurd it would sound the minute he admitted that he was worried their conversation might be overheard or that they were being bugged. ‘It’s no worse than anywhere else and we’re less likely to be interrupted every few minutes by your mates.’ Gunni collected club memberships like nerds collect stamps. Golf club, hunting club, Round Table, cigar club, cookery club, wine-tasting club, running club, in addition to volunteer work for whatever political party he happened to be supporting at the time. He couldn’t move without bumping into a fellow member of one of these associations.
‘Well, I’m going to have the Glacier Sandwich.’ Typical Tómas. He always tried to avoid any kind of confrontation or unpleasantness. With this intervention he was hoping to prevent a row from brewing between Thormar and Gunni. If all else failed, he could be relied on to come up with a remark about the weather. ‘Aren’t you two going to make your minds up? The waitress looks like she’s heading our way.’
Gunni rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t want anything.’
A lopapeysa-clad waitress came to stand at the end of the table. Her helmet was on crooked and she straightened it, smiling shyly, seeming embarrassed to encounter other Icelanders while wearing this costume. Her pen and notebook poised, she asked what they’d like, then scribbled down their orders. Thormar wasn’t remotely surprised when, contrary to his declaration that he didn’t want anything, Gunni ordered the day’s special with a show of indifference. Nor was it unexpected when he asked for a large beer as well.
They watched in silence as the willowy girl walked away. When they turned back to each other, Thormar decided to broach the subject. If he didn’t do it now, he risked missing his chance. The moment the food arrived their attention would be distracted, and the lower the level of beer in Gunni’s glass, the less he would care. It was hard enough to get him to take anything seriously when he was sober. And the instant they finished eating, the others would be impatient to leave, so it would be pointless trying to raise the issue then. ‘Have either of you heard from Helgi?’ he asked.
Neither of them had, though it transpired that they’d both tried to get hold of him. Thormar had been expecting this, but he was still disappointed and could feel his anxiety growing. ‘Do you think it could have anything to do with the video?’
Gunni spluttered into his glass. ‘Are you crazy? That was just some hoax. Something off the internet.’
‘The man looked like Helgi to me. He was the spitting image of him.’ Thormar had meant to leave it to one of the others to point this out. He didn’t want to risk being called gullible. ‘Did neither of you notice?’
Tómas shrugged and answered noncommittally: ‘At first I thought it was him, but then I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t exactly high-definition. Wasn’t it just some hoax, like Gunni said? Something Helgi posted because it looked like him? Wasn’t that the whole joke?’
‘Then why isn’t he answering his phone?’
Gunni rolled his eyes heavenwards again. ‘Are you kidding, man? You know Helgi’s always abroad. He’s probably on a plane with his phone off.’
‘In that case, where can he be flying to? SpaceX hasn’t started offering commercial flights yet. Helgi’s phone’s been switched off for at least thirty-six hours, so he’d have landed by now if he was travelling anywhere on Earth. I started calling him at lunchtime yesterday and I tried several times overnight as well.’ Thormar read in Tómas’s eyes that he shared his concern, though he wasn’t admitting to it. But seeing that Gunni wasn’t convinced, he persisted: ‘He didn’t mention anything about going abroad either. In fact, he said he was going to drop off a present for Hallbera before the party yesterday, but he never turned up.’
Silence fell. After a few moments it was broken by Gunni. ‘It is a bit strange, but there has to be some explanation.’
‘Well, what is it, then? It’s not funny and I can’t see the point of the post. We didn’t set up the forum for shit like that.’
Tómas seemed to have given up hope that the conversation would move on to the footie. Putting down his knife and fork, he took out his phone. ‘I tell you what I found odd …’ He paused, fiddling with the screen, then held it up to them and asked: ‘Who’s this administrator who uploaded the video?’
The phone was passed round. Gunni barely glanced
at it before handing it on to Thormar and taking a mouthful of beer. ‘We’ve all got admin status,’ he pointed out. ‘It must have been Helgi, like I said. Some kind of sick joke.’ He drank again, then wiped the froth off his upper lip.
‘But why Helgi?’ Tómas said. ‘It could just as well have been one of us. Like you say, we’re all registered as administrators.’
They all talked over each other in their haste to deny responsibility. Thormar was still staring at the screen. ‘Tommi’s right. How come the post is by an administrator? If Helgi or one of us was responsible, our username would have appeared. It shouldn’t be any different from the other stuff we post.’
He held out the phone and Gunni took it, frowning. Finally it seemed to be sinking in that something was wrong. They watched him tapping the screen, then he looked up and his usual careless air had vanished. ‘What’s going on?’
‘What?’ Tómas was the first to grab the phone. ‘Jesus.’
Too impatient to wait, Thormar demanded: ‘What? What is it?’
‘There are five users registered on the forum. Us three, Helgi, and someone with the username administrator.’ His face drained of colour, Tómas passed the phone to Thormar.
Thormar stared at the screen. There it was, in black and white, on the admin page: five people had access. But that wasn’t right.
‘When did this extra user turn up?’ There was a tremor in Tómas’s voice but none of the others were surprised: they shared his anxiety.
Thormar searched the editing interface and licked his lips nervously. ‘Just over a year ago. You wouldn’t notice unless you checked the admin page and I haven’t looked at it since we set up the forum. How long ago is that? Ten years?’
‘Something like that. I’ve had no reason to check the admin page either. How can it have happened?’ Tómas reached for his phone but Thormar held it away so he could keep looking. Tómas asked again, sounding angry. ‘Who granted this guy access?’
‘Guy? It could be a woman.’ For an instant a knot of cold fear constricted Thormar’s stomach. Surely Sigrún or one of the other wives hadn’t found out about the site? A moment later common sense kicked in, telling him there was no way she would have stayed silent about it for a whole year if she had. He searched for information but couldn’t find it, which was hardly surprising since the page had been deliberately set up to protect the users’ anonymity. ‘There’s no indication as to who gave him – or her – access. No name, email or anything else. But whoever it is has been lying low for a whole year. They haven’t posted anything except this video.’
‘What about viewing stuff, though? Have they been looking at what we’ve posted?’ Tómas voiced the question that was on all their lips. The forum was strictly for their eyes only.
‘I can’t tell.’ Thormar gave up and handed the phone back to Tómas. ‘But whoever it is must have seen our posts. It goes without saying.’
None of them could speak. They were all thinking the same thing; all mentally reviewing the material they’d uploaded. For the entertainment of their friends – absolutely no one else.
Thormar’s fear about what had happened to Helgi had been replaced by fear for himself. If the forum went public, he was done for. Both professionally and personally. The same applied to the others. Helgi too. Even his money wouldn’t be able to shield him from the resulting shitshow.
They were still sitting there in silence when the waitress in the silly costume returned with their food. None of them had any appetite and when they left, such was the gravity of the situation that there was still beer in the bottom of Gunni’s glass.
Chapter 11
The post-mortem was over and Huldar congratulated himself yet again on having successfully dodged it. Erla had taken Lína along instead and, judging by the colour of her face, it seemed Erla had finally managed to jolt her composure. She was always pale but now she was positively ashen.
‘Drink this. You’ll feel better.’ Huldar handed Lína an ice-cold Coke from the vending machine. He wanted to know what had emerged from the post-mortem and thought he’d learn more from Lína with her fantastically retentive memory than he would from Erla. He watched her swig the Coke, waiting until she put down the can before starting the interrogation.
‘Well, what did we learn?’
‘Ugh. A lot of things I’d rather not know. But the most significant was that they found Flunitrazepam in the urine sample they took from Helgi yesterday. They’re waiting for the blood test to provide a more accurate reading but the pathologist expects it to confirm the results.’
The drug was better known by its brand name Rohypnol, the ‘date-rape drug’. It was a sleeping pill with unfortunate side effects, often implicated in rape cases, although its presence could rarely be proved. Personally, Huldar would rather lie awake all night with insomnia than allow himself to be knocked out by a so-called rape drug.
Lína proceeded to lecture him as if she were the experienced cop and he the rookie. ‘The drug is a sedative-hypnotic, almost ten times stronger than Valium. It starts to work about twenty minutes after being ingested and the effects peak after two hours. They last for around four to six hours, but the influence can be felt for up to ten hours after the drug is taken. Sometimes longer. Not that this would have applied to Helgi as he died while the drug was still active.’
Huldar raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you learn all that on your course or did you manage to take it in during the post-mortem?’
Lína looked embarrassed. ‘During the post-mortem. I only survived by focusing all my attention on what the pathologist was saying – as long as it wasn’t anything to do with saws, scalpels or forceps.’ She shuddered. ‘Excuse me if I’m concentrating too much on the details but it helps me to stay detached.’
Huldar smiled. ‘I understand – better than you think. I can’t stomach post-mortems either. Next time I’ll try your method. Maybe I’ll even learn something. Usually I’m too busy trying not to throw up into the victim’s chest cavity.’
Lína seemed relieved to hear that she wasn’t alone in her squeamishness. She smiled at Huldar before resuming her report. It was a vivid, pretty smile, in stark contrast to what she was saying. ‘In other words, Helgi was under the influence of the drug at the time of his death. Which means it would have been relatively easy for his killer to get him to the site. He would have obeyed orders without protest, as long as the dose wasn’t too high. If it was, he’d have been half paralysed and his murderer would have had to carry him.’
‘How would somebody find out the appropriate dose? Can you google it? I doubt the manufacturer’s instructions include information on how much to give someone to turn them into a zombie.’
‘I don’t know, but I can check. Researching is what I do best.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Huldar grinned at her. ‘If Erla hasn’t already given you a job, it would be great if you could do that. Anyway, back to the post-mortem. What else?’
‘The pathologist estimates that Helgi died between half past two and three o’clock on Sunday morning.’
Huldar stroked his jaw, the harsh stubble reminding him that he’d forgotten to shave. Too bad, it would have to wait. He wasn’t surprised that the time of death couldn’t be pinned down any more accurately. Practically the only way to get a precise answer was if the victim died in front of another person, preferably a doctor. ‘Siggi popped up on the CCTV footage at quarter past three. So it can’t have been Helgi who took him to the flat. He would have been hanging from a noose on Álftanes by then, not only doped up on Rohypnol but dead.’
‘And not just doped up. According to the pathologist he was drunk at the time of his death, too. He would have been really out of it on a combination of Flunitrazepam and alcohol.’
‘How drunk exactly?’
‘He had a reading of 1.2 per mille. Drunk, but not totally intoxicated. According to the table I found online, in that state his speech would have been slurred and his reasoning and judgement impaired. His a
bility to control important motor functions would also have been affected.’
Huldar was familiar with the condition – more familiar than he was prepared to admit to this bright-eyed, no doubt clean-living, young woman. ‘How did the pathologist reckon the Rohypnol entered Helgi’s bloodstream?’
‘He couldn’t find any puncture marks, so it’s unlikely to have been administered by injection. The contents of his stomach showed that …’ Lína’s mouth twisted involuntarily and she paused for a moment to collect herself before carrying on. ‘Apparently Helgi had vomited, so his stomach contents weren’t as complete as they’d have liked. But what remained was consistent with what he’d ordered at the restaurant, and there was nothing to indicate that he’d eaten again later that evening. Given that he left the restaurant at just past 10 p.m., the drug can’t have been in his food. It starts to take effect after twenty minutes and, if it had, he wouldn’t have been capable of buying drinks at 101 Bar. The pathologist thinks his drink was probably spiked, which is the usual method of slipping someone the drug. He says it’s not impossible that Helgi took it deliberately. But I don’t believe that for a minute.’
‘He could have thought he was taking something else – Ecstasy, for example. Or meth or coke, if it was in powder form. But he’s unlikely to have made that mistake if he was a habitual user.’
‘Hmm.’ Lína didn’t give the impression of being familiar with drug culture. She looked more like the type who drinks one beer, then orders another only to find she can’t finish it. So it was only natural that she should be unconvinced. He could guess what she was thinking: why would a wealthy man like Helgi, who had everything he wanted, mess up his life with dope? In time she would learn that it wasn’t quite that straightforward. The most unlikely people fell into the trap of taking drugs to fill the void in their lives, many realising too late that their habit only exacerbated the emptiness.
Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020) Page 9