‘Do you recognise him?’
‘I have the feeling I might have seen him somewhere.’ She frowned over the picture, then put it back on the table. ‘No, I’m getting confused. I don’t recognise him.’ She drew back her hands. ‘But I don’t understand. What’s this little boy got to do with what happened to Helgi?’
Erla answered honestly. ‘We don’t know. He may not have any connection.’ She paused. Huldar could tell she was weighing up whether to confide in the couple. She’d wondered aloud about the wisdom of this before the visit. But finally she made up her mind. ‘He was found in Helgi’s flat. The day your son’s body turned up in the lava-field.’
‘What?’ Judging from Fridrik’s reply and the startled look on the mother’s face, the couple obviously thought they must have misheard. Thórhildur’s right hand clasped her throat and she asked, ‘What do you mean?’
Their astonishment didn’t come as any surprise. ‘We’re trying to find out what the boy was doing there,’ Erla told them. ‘If you have any information that could help, we’d be very grateful. For example, could he be the son of someone Helgi knew? Do any of his friends have children?’
‘Er …’ Fridrik looked lost but his wife was obviously better informed.
‘I’ve never heard of anyone called Systa or Sibbi among Helgi’s circle. Some of his friends are married and have children but none of them are called Sigurdur – or Siggi – that I’m aware of.’
‘So he talked to you about his friends’ kids, did he?’
‘Well, not exactly. But while he was abroad I took care of buying presents for him when his friends had babies. And after he moved home I carried on choosing gifts whenever he was invited to a child’s birthday, because he knew nothing about kids. It was the same with Christmas and his friends’ weddings and birthdays. He always asked me to help pick out the gifts, so I know how incredibly generous he was.’ Thórhildur’s chest heaved and she closed her eyes for a moment, as if to stop herself breaking down, before adding: ‘I used to choose the cards and write them for him as well. I don’t remember any for a boy called Sigurdur.’
‘Did you buy a present recently for someone called Hallbera?’ Huldar asked, thinking of the parcel on Helgi’s kitchen table.
‘Yes.’ Tears began to slide down Thórhildur’s cheeks. ‘Last week. Her birthday was this weekend.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I didn’t think for a minute that it was the last gift I’d ever buy for Helgi. In fact, I was dreading the children becoming teenagers, because that age group is so difficult. I needn’t have wasted my time worrying about that.’
A silence fell that lasted until she moved her hand involuntarily as if to make yet another offer of coffee, at which point Huldar hurriedly intervened. ‘Any enemies or tensions unconnected to a girlfriend or work? Anything you can think of in the past or more recently?’ The moment he’d said it, he could have kicked himself for referring to the past, afraid this might encourage them to start reminiscing about bad feelings caused by a burst football or a stolen bike. But he needn’t have worried.
‘No.’
‘And Helgi never fell out with any of his friends?’
‘No,’ his mother said firmly, before immediately qualifying this. ‘I mean, nothing serious. They always made it up in the end.’
‘Nothing recent, in other words?’
‘Not that I remember.’ It was Fridrik’s turn to sound certain.
Thórhildur backed this up. ‘Nor me. At least, all his friends are on his Christmas list this year, so nothing can have come up in the last few months.’
Erla frowned and pounced on this. ‘What do you mean? Have you removed names from the list in the past?’
The woman looked a little flustered. Running a hand over her hair, she tried to sit up straight in the incongruous leather chair. ‘Only once. But that must have been a storm in a teacup because he was back on the list the following year.’
‘Which friend was that?’
‘Thorri – Thormar, I mean.’
Huldar and Erla automatically looked down at the open photo albums. They recognised the name because Thormar had been in many of the pictures. And, in contrast to the other boys, Helgi’s mother hadn’t criticised him. On the contrary, she had smiled, referred to him approvingly and twice dropped into the conversation that he was a dentist now. ‘This is the same Thormar you said was still his best friend?’
‘Yes.’ Thórhildur pursed her lips, as if regretting having raised the subject. ‘But it was nothing. Like I said, they made it up again.’
‘And you have no idea what caused them to fall out?’ Huldar reached for another of the albums and leafed through until he found a picture of Helgi with Thormar. It appeared to have been taken when Helgi passed his driving test, since he was proudly holding up his certificate and brandishing a set of car keys, a broad smile on his face. Beside him, Thormar stood grinning from ear to ear, his arm draped over Helgi’s shoulder, giving the impression of two best mates who couldn’t wait to take the car out for a spin. Huldar was struck once again by how alike they were: two rather gangly nerds, now in possession of a set of wheels, totally unaware that in a few years’ time their currency would have rocketed with the opposite sex. Although dentists couldn’t compete with rich investors, they were still regarded as a good catch in Reykjavík’s social scene.
‘No. Helgi didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t push him. Like I said, it can’t have been anything serious. This was about four or five years ago, so I’m sure it has been long forgotten. At least, they made up and have been best friends ever since.’
‘Is Thormar married, or in a relationship?’ Erla was probably thinking along the same lines as Huldar: that Helgi might have tried it on with his best friend’s wife. It happened, especially when people were drunk, as Huldar knew only too well. And the consequences could be disastrous. His thoughts shied away from the memory.
Helgi’s mother didn’t cotton on, however, and answered without making a face or repeating the spiel about her perfect son who could do no wrong. ‘Yes, he is. His wife’s called Sigrún. She’s a lawyer, a few years older than Thormar. They’ve got one daughter, Hallbera, whose third birthday it was last weekend, but Sigrún’s also got a teenage son from a previous relationship.’
The little girl obviously couldn’t be Siggi and the stepson was too old to be of interest. It was time to say right, well … Erla closed the album, put it down on the coffee table and said the magic words: ‘Right, well …’
Chapter 13
Freyja slammed the driver’s door and opened the rear one to get Saga out of her car seat. When she ducked inside she came face to face with her brother, who had just opened the door on the other side to do the same thing. Smiling in embarrassment, Freyja backed out. It would take her a while to get used to the fact that she was no longer Baldur’s stand-in: he could take care of the parenting himself – most of the time. Freyja still got Saga to herself in the evenings and overnight during daddy weekends while Baldur was subject to the halfway-house curfew. In a few months he’d take over there as well, and Freyja would be relegated to the position of auntie. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Baldur settled Saga on his hip, closed the car door and nodded up at the block of flats where his friend Tobbi lived. ‘Smart, isn’t it? Maybe I should live here and let you stay on in my flat.’ He winked at her. It would never happen: he was too attached to his place, particularly the insulated storeroom with the heat lamps.
Freyja smiled, then turned to examine the building. Her jaw dropped a little when she saw how upmarket it was, but she quickly closed it so Baldur didn’t notice. Then her gaze wandered to the car park, full of new, expensive-looking models. This couldn’t be right: the rent Tobbi was asking would barely cover a windowless broom cupboard in the suburbs.
Baldur swore it was true, however, and told her not to look a gift horse in the mouth. According to him, Tobbi had received notice that he was to start his sen
tence in ten days’ time. When Freyja asked how long he would be in prison for and what he’d done, Baldur replied one and a half years, if he behaved himself, but omitted to mention the crime. When Freyja pressed him, he pretended to have forgotten. She gave up. After all, what relevance did it have? It wasn’t as if she’d be expected to take over the reins of Tobbi’s criminal activities while he was behind bars.
‘What do you think, Saga? Would you like to come and visit Auntie Freyja here?’ Baldur pointed at the building, but instead of following the direction of his finger, his daughter stared at a seagull circling overhead. As usual, her expression was unreadable. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she was sulking or cross with the bird, but Freyja knew better. Saga wore this scowl regardless of whether she was eating an ice-cream or having an injection. The closest she ever came to smiling was at Baldur’s dog Molly. Especially when Molly misbehaved, as happened all too often.
Freyja stopped dead. ‘Shit, Baldur. What about Molly?’
‘What about her?’ Baldur stared at her in surprise.
‘Who’s supposed to look after her overnight if I move in here while you’re at the halfway house?’
Baldur waved away her fears. ‘Don’t worry about it. She can stay here till I get out,’ he said airily. ‘Tobbi won’t be bothered about a dog.’
But Molly wasn’t just any dog. She was easily the equivalent of two or three – four, if you were talking about small dogs. ‘But it’s not up to Tobbi. What if dogs aren’t allowed in the building?’
‘Oh, please. Relax. It’s none of the other residents’ business. If it comes to that, I don’t suppose you’re allowed dogs in my flat. But who gives a toss?’
Freyja didn’t like to point out that there was bound to be a world of difference between the tolerance threshold of Baldur’s rackety neighbours and the kind of people who lived in this building. She could have pointed out, too, that Baldur was an expert at wrapping people around his little finger. If anyone came round to complain about Molly, they’d be putting their name down for one of her puppies by the time they’d been exposed to the full force of Baldur’s charm. Freyja was too stiff and awkward to pull this off. The only man she’d managed to charm in recent memory was Huldar, which was unfortunate as they were like Tetris blocks: their ability to click depended on which way they were facing. In the horizontal, they fitted together perfectly, but it was a different story in the vertical.
‘This has to work out, Baldur.’ Freyja held the front door open for her brother and his daughter. ‘Or we’ll be stuck with each other for good.’
‘No worries. Of course it’ll work out.’ Baldur found the correct doorbell, planted himself in front of the small lens and waved when his friend’s voice emerged from the entry-phone.
‘Yo!’
From the style of his greeting, Freyja deduced that Tobbi’s crime was more likely to be related to drug dealing than white-collar fraud.
A buzzing sound from the lock drowned out Baldur’s reply and they went inside and climbed up to the first floor. Just before he tapped on the door, Baldur said in a quick aside: ‘Don’t make a fuss about looking after his pet for him. It’s the condition of renting the place.’
The door opened before Freyja could say a word. The timing of this revelation was no coincidence. It had to be the reason for the unbelievably low rent. Tobbi wasn’t saving himself the cost of renting a storage unit for his belongings as Baldur had claimed. No, she was going to have to look after some animal. How bad could it be? she reasoned. A cat or dog? It could hardly be something small like a hamster. Maybe it was a deranged parrot that would keep the tenant awake all night with its swearing. Freyja braced herself for the worst.
‘A poisonous snake! Are you mad? How could you dream I’d look after a poisonous snake?’ Freyja looked down at the dressy trousers and shoes she’d worn to make a good impression on Tobbi. What a joke. She’d have been better off in a safari suit.
‘It’s not poisonous,’ Baldur protested as he pulled into the drive of the Children’s House.
‘Yes, it is. You saw it for yourself!’ Freyja glanced, irritated, at the dashboard clock. She had popped out in her lunch hour to view the flat and was now cutting it fine, but Baldur acted as if he had all the time in the world. He was supposed to be at work himself, as this was one of the conditions for finishing his sentence at the halfway house, but he had fixed something up with one of his unscrupulous friends. As a result, he was fancy free, in spite of the paperwork proving otherwise. Still, he had redeemed himself in Freyja’s eyes by devoting the time to his daughter rather than to plotting his next dodgy deal.
‘Freyja, it’s a python. They’re not poisonous.’
‘Jesus. Like that’s any better! Pythons can squeeze people to death.’ Freyja undid her seatbelt as the car came to a halt. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re also illegal in Iceland. I wouldn’t be surprised if pythons topped the list of banned pets.’
‘Calm down.’ Baldur let go of the steering wheel. ‘Think about it: it’s not that bad. The python has a room to itself and only needs to eat once a week. It spends pretty much its whole life asleep. You won’t even notice it. It’s not like you have to take it out for a walk or anything, just feed it and clean out its cage from time to time. That’s all. And in return you get the flat for peanuts.’
Freyja felt her skin crawling. She tried not to think about the feeding procedure or what was on the menu. She’d managed to control her features in front of Tobbi, who had turned out to be reassuringly normal, in spite of his creepy pet and no doubt colourful criminal record. Freyja hadn’t wanted to put him off by screaming when he opened the door to the snake’s room, or throwing up when he described its eating habits. She didn’t want him to find another tenant until she’d made up her mind one way or another. On the plus side, it was a fantastic flat; on the minus, it came with a bloody snake attached. She couldn’t decide which held more weight. ‘Look, I can’t talk now, Baldur. I’m late for work. And I need to think about it.’
‘Don’t think too long. Tobbi needs a tenant asap.’
‘I know.’ Freyja twisted round to Saga and blew her a goodbye kiss. Saga’s perma-scowl didn’t shift, but she did raise one hand and waggle her stubby fingers in a kind of wave. It had come as absolutely no surprise to Freyja that her little niece had lit up with pleasure at the sight of the snake.
‘You won’t do anything stupid like report it to the cops? It would destroy Tobbi. He loves that python like a baby.’ Baldur ducked his head to peer out at Freyja.
‘Of course not.’ It genuinely hadn’t occurred to her. Although she was by nature honest and law-abiding, she had got used to making exceptions for Baldur. She didn’t hold him to the same standards as other people, including herself. He was her brother; the only relative who mattered to her. Apart from Saga, that is. ‘I’ll call you later.’
Freyja closed the car door and went into the Children’s House. She hoped the women she worked with would have forgotten why she’d gone out, as she was in no mood to gush enthusiastically about the flat.
Freyja raised her eyes from the screen, deep in thought. Once she’d got through the backlog of interviews with charges under the protection of the Children’s House, she had returned to her office and started scouring the Child Protection Agency’s records for boys Siggi’s age called Sigurdur. No doubt someone else had already looked, but she didn’t let that stop her. She wanted to see the results with her own eyes.
Before she started, though, she had spent a bit of time browsing for information about keeping snakes as pets. Desperate as she was for somewhere to live, the idea of cohabiting with a snake filled her with anxiety. Not so much for herself but for Saga. Would it be safe for a toddler to stay if there was a python in the flat? When she googled, the sheer number of results surprised her. It seemed snakes were quite popular pets and there were loads of enthusiastic python owners out there, eager to share their experiences. Freyja learnt that it was reasona
bly safe to keep a python, as long as it wasn’t more than two and a half metres long. Freyja hadn’t a clue how long Tobbi’s snake was since it had been coiled up when she saw it. Going by the size of the cage, though, it was no baby. Freyja decided to get Baldur to ask Tobbi how long the python was and, if he couldn’t answer, she would march over there herself with a tape measure.
She didn’t usually have time to waste on personal stuff at work but for once she was actually on top of things. Since Baldur had transferred to the halfway house, he had been spending a lot of time at home in the flat during the day, which meant that she had been staying on longer at work. As a result, she was usually met by a clear desk in the mornings. No reports, open files, loose papers or half-drunk cups of coffee. No heap of pens. Her desk looked as if she was starting a new job. It wasn’t that she was avoiding her brother, she just wanted to give him space. It was his flat after all and she felt almost like a squatter there. Baldur needed some time alone to get used to his newfound freedom, too. She was hoping he would use the peace and quiet to turn his life around and go straight in future, but had to acknowledge to herself that he was far more likely to use the breathing space to think up new, improved scams.
Thanks to her browsing, she was now much better informed about snakes, but Siggi remained elusive. She had found several boys of that name in the social services records but none were the same age as him. Although she had been hoping to find his full name and an explanation of his circumstances, she wasn’t really surprised at her lack of success. If there had been anything on the system, someone else would have found it already.
There was nothing in Siggi’s behaviour to suggest neglect or maltreatment. Quite the opposite. Remembering the picture he’d drawn at the police station, she wished she’d been there to observe as he had probably chattered away to himself as he worked. Unfortunately, though, he’d done it while she had popped to the ladies’, so she’d had to make do with the boy’s explanation of what the picture showed. With her analyst’s eye, she deduced that his mother was the central figure in his life. Siggi had made her the biggest, and taken the greatest care over her picture. He was the smallest and his father had been in the middle. Both the mother and Siggi were portrayed smiling, whereas the father had a straight line for a mouth. God, she hoped nothing bad had happened to the parents.
Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020) Page 12