Freyja skimmed the text, which was consistent with the conversation they’d had on the phone earlier. There was a brief statement about Siggi’s drawings being unusually violent for a four-year-old. No attempt was made to explain this, beyond suggesting that it was possible the boy had been allowed to watch unsuitable TV programmes. Apart from that there was nothing to indicate problems at home. The boy was neat, clean, and dressed in clothes that were appropriate for the season. There were no cavities in his teeth or build-up of wax in his ears, and his hair and nails had been trimmed. His face bore no signs of foetal alcohol syndrome, and his physical development indicated that his nutritional needs had been met. His body showed no visible signs of violence apart from grazes on the palms of his hands, which Siggi accounted for by saying he’d fallen over in the playground. His language level was normal for his age and he had no problems communicating with adults or other children. His mental development was also normal. He displayed no signs of stress or misery, except in relation to his parents’ absence. In other words, it was extremely unlikely that the boy had experienced anything other than a good, stable upbringing.
Didrik took the report back from Freyja. ‘Could they have left the country? Gone on holiday, for example? Left the boy with a babysitter and something’s gone badly wrong? Or gone for a drive in the countryside and rolled their car somewhere that can’t be seen from the road?’
Freyja shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
But Didrik hadn’t given up on possible theories to explain the parents’ disappearance. ‘What about poison? Could they have lost consciousness as a result of breathing in toxic fumes, or from food poisoning, and be lying at home in a coma?’
‘All I can say is, judging by the trouble we’re having finding the boy’s home, there’s a risk the story’s not going to end well. I just hope I’m wrong.’
Although Didrik wasn’t in possession of the full facts of the case, he clearly feared the same as her: that Siggi’s parents were either unconscious or worse.
The door opened and Huldar and Gudlaugur re-entered, forcing Freyja to budge up, closer to Didrik. She could feel the warmth radiating from him through his thin jumper and hoped the detectives wouldn’t be off again straight away. But her wish was not granted.
‘Right, we’ve measured the boy and we need to get going. Can you sort out a lift for yourself, Freyja?’ Huldar seemed to have some trouble coming out with this last part and avoided looking at her.
Before Freyja had time to say she’d take the bus, Didrik jumped in: ‘I’m in a car for once. I can drop you off.’
This couldn’t have suited Freyja better, though she was careful not to make her pleasure too obvious. She’d have been happy to sit on the carrier on the back of Didrik’s bike if necessary. Huldar was transparently annoyed.
Chapter 15
The atmosphere in A&E was subdued. People were sitting hunched on plastic chairs, apparently resigned to the endless waiting. Most were poring over their phones, but judging from the boredom on their faces, they had already exhausted the outermost limits of the internet. Almost all of them looked up as Huldar and Gudlaugur walked over to the reception desk and announced that they were from the police. A spark of interest lit their eyes, then faded again as the officers were immediately shown through. No arrests, no drama.
Once inside, Huldar and Gudlaugur were faced with an empty corridor, lined with the closed doors of examination rooms, interspersed with bits of portable equipment and a variety of trolleys, ready for use. A door opened but the nurse who emerged didn’t so much as look at them, just bustled straight into the next room, almost at a run. Evidently, the long wait out in reception was not caused by any slacking from the staff.
‘I need to get back to the station. Where’s the doctor?’ Gudlaugur had been on edge ever since Erla had sent him and Huldar out to comb the streets with Siggi.
‘Perhaps she’s busy operating on an open fracture. I saw on the news that yet another tourist has tumbled down a mountain. We could be here all day.’
Seeing Gudlaugur’s look of horror, Huldar regretted teasing him. He thought he knew why his colleague was so twitchy: he still had to finish going through the CCTV footage from the city centre before tomorrow morning’s progress meeting and was afraid that Erla would allocate the job to someone else if he wasn’t back at his desk soon. Well, it was his fault for forgetting to limp in her presence. ‘We’ll be back before you know it,’ Huldar reassured him. ‘Don’t worry – Erla’s not going to hand over the CCTV to anyone else. We’re still so short-staffed.’ This was true. Erla was having so much trouble finding people to delegate to that she’d had to take on a number of tasks herself, which meant she had no time to provide supervision. She’d just taken a statement from Helgi’s brother Leifur, which according to her had been a complete waste of time. He’d told exactly the same story as the parents: Helgi had no ill-wishers, didn’t know Siggi, and had no connection to the bodies washed up from the sea.
Nothing they did seemed to get them any further. But now, with luck, they might finally have reached a turning point.
Before Gudlaugur could reply, Huldar felt a tap on the shoulder and turned to see a middle-aged woman standing behind him, wearing a white coat over scrubs. She was thin and weary-looking.
When it turned out that this was the doctor they were supposed to be meeting, they introduced themselves, smiling politely. Her handshake was firm and warm. Once the pleasantries were out of the way, she said: ‘I’ve only got quarter of an hour max, so I suggest we get straight down to business.’ Without more ado, she showed them into a room containing a small desk with a computer and two visitors’ chairs. There was a moment of awkwardness as the men tried to arrange their long legs in the limited space.
‘We’ve gone over the records based on the information you gave us.’ The woman laid her hand on some printouts beside the keyboard. Her nails were cut to the quick and she wore no rings or other jewellery. ‘We’re meant to be looking for a pregnant woman who came in with a head injury between Christmas and New Year, correct?’
Conscious of the need for haste, Huldar and Gudlaugur nodded without speaking so as not to waste any of her precious time.
The doctor nodded back. ‘Then I think we’ve found the woman you’re after.’
Huldar felt this justified opening his mouth. ‘Great. That’s great.’ Finally, finally they were getting somewhere.
Ignoring his delight, the doctor went on: ‘Though we can’t be sure she’s the person you’re looking for, she’s the only patient who fits your description.’ She shot a glance at the printouts, picked up the top sheet and began to read in a mechanical voice: ‘The incident we believe to be the one in question occurred on 27 December and involved a head injury resulting from a blow. The woman had significant bruising around a bleeding wound above her right temple, accompanied by nausea and a headache indicative of concussion. The wound required five stitches and the patient was kept in under observation until we could be sure the concussion wasn’t serious and that there was no cranial haemorrhaging. We also ran tests to make sure her unborn child was unaffected. Once we’d established that there were no complications, she was discharged, some four hours after she came in. She was advised to take it easy and to get in touch immediately if she experienced any dizziness. Also if her headache or nausea returned or she became confused. But we didn’t hear from her again. I can’t see from our records when or where her stitches were removed, so I assume she’ll have gone to her GP for that.’
Huldar shifted restlessly in his chair. He wasn’t interested in the woman’s injuries, only in her name. He had already decided to ask Gudlaugur to drive on the way back so he could get straight down to looking Siggi’s mother up online. ‘I see.’ But he had no chance to press the doctor for a name before she resumed speaking:
‘Before going any further, I should tell you what caused her injury.’
Huldar sighed under his breath but managed to nod and put
on a show of interest.
‘According to the woman, she walked into a cupboard door. I was on duty that evening and examined her.’ The doctor paused briefly. ‘I was and remain convinced that this explanation was untrue.’
‘Untrue?’ Gudlaugur prompted, though he and Huldar both knew perfectly well what the doctor was implying.
‘Yes, untrue. The contusion was round and nothing like the type of injury you’d get from walking into a door. If I had to guess, I’d say a glass had been thrown at her. Or deliberately smashed over her head. That would explain the cut, which was caused by a sharp object. I’ve yet to encounter a spherical cupboard door with razor-sharp edges.’
Huldar supplied the obvious conclusion: ‘Domestic abuse.’
‘Yes, very probably.’ The doctor looked up from the printout. ‘A classic case, in my opinion, though the woman wouldn’t admit it. Unwillingness to make eye contact, unconvincing story and the faint signs of other, older injuries that she couldn’t adequately explain – I could mentally tick all the usual boxes. She even displayed signs of relief, which is characteristic for this type of victim. They’ve known for ages that a new attack was imminent and once it’s over, there’s a brief respite where all is sweetness and light and they can temporarily let down their guard. The worst is over, for the moment.’
The doctor’s forehead creased into deep, horizontal lines. ‘I’ve heard it described as being like an earthquake. Tension builds up until it’s released with a bang. Then the process starts all over again.’ She picked up another page and ran her eyes down it. ‘As is usual in these cases, I sent her for a screening interview but all her answers were designed to cover for her husband. It’s pretty standard.’ She put down the papers. ‘Of course I could be wrong – I can’t rule that out. These cases are complicated. Anyway, I thought it right to let you know.’
Since the information could prove important for establishing what had happened to Siggi’s mother, Huldar’s interest was piqued. Her name could wait. In the circumstances, the person most likely to be responsible for the woman’s disappearance was her husband. It was no secret that every other murder in Iceland was linked to a domestic. He only hoped Siggi’s mother wasn’t about to become another statistic. ‘We understand that her husband came in with her. And her young son as well. Did you talk to the man?’
‘Yes, briefly. The wife wanted him to come into the examination room with her but I put my foot down. I suspected immediately that he’d attacked her, and of course it’s pointless carrying out a screening interview with the abuser present. She had to accept my decision but was very ill at ease, presumably afraid that her husband would take it badly if he had to wait outside. Naturally I didn’t give the real reason when I stopped him from coming in. I used the little boy as an excuse, saying it wouldn’t be suitable for him to be present, and the man seemed to accept this. The patient calmed down after that.’
‘And that was your only interaction?’
‘No. I had a word with him when she was discharged, explaining the warning signs he should look out for and stressing that his wife needed peace and quiet for the next twenty-four hours.’
‘You didn’t mention your suspicion?’
‘Yes, I did. I told him that I was sceptical about his wife’s version of events, but left it at that. He had their son in his arms at the time. It looked as if the little boy had fallen asleep while they were waiting but I couldn’t see his face and didn’t want to speak any more plainly in case he was awake and listening. Anyway, there wasn’t much I could say to the man that he didn’t already know. If abusive partners won’t change their behaviour for their family – for the people closest to them – they’re hardly likely to do so because we order them to. But he was shaken. I allowed myself to hope that the fear of being exposed might have some effect. I suppose that was naive of me.’
Huldar handed her the photo of Siggi. ‘Is this the boy?’
The doctor took the picture and looked at it briefly. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know. I never saw his face.’ She gave it back to Huldar, who returned it to his pocket, disappointed.
‘You didn’t report it?’ he asked.
‘No, I didn’t. We respect the confidentiality of our patients and only report incidents when we believe the person in question or those close to them might be in danger.’ The doctor took a deep breath before adding: ‘Since you’re here, I assume my judgement must have been at fault.’
‘It looks like it, I’m afraid.’
‘In my defence, it was the woman’s first visit to A&E. The older marks I saw during the examination were faint bruises, and one patch on her scalp where she had nothing but stubble. I concluded that her hair had been pulled out in a recent struggle. But those injuries weren’t nearly as serious as the blow to her head. You see, domestic abuse often escalates. When it gets more serious, the victims sometimes see the light. They’re forced to face up to the fact that things aren’t going to improve, only get worse. I thought the woman had probably reached that stage, though she wouldn’t confide in me.’
The doctor didn’t need to make excuses to Huldar. He was all too aware that domestics weren’t cut and dried. The relationship between victim and abuser made them far trickier to deal with than most of the crimes that reached the police. Huldar was no expert, but he did know that victims tended to be torn by conflicting feelings that were hard to untangle: fear, anger, love, hate, guilt, self-accusation, anxiety, contempt and shame. This muddied the waters and made it almost impossible for the victim to report their spouse to the police and leave them. Instead, they tended either to put up with the situation or cling to the deluded hope that things would eventually start to get better.
Huldar decided to make things easier for the doctor. The blame wasn’t hers or due to any failing by A&E. ‘We’re not at all sure that her disappearance is linked to her husband,’ he said. ‘We’re not even sure she’s missing. We just can’t find her.’
The doctor looked back at the report. ‘If my calculations are right, she must be more than eight months pregnant.’ She raised her eyes to Huldar. ‘If she really is missing, I hope you find her as soon as possible.’
‘So do we.’ Huldar pulled a notebook out of his coat pocket and opened it in the middle. Although it was dog-eared, its pages were still completely blank. He usually trusted his memory, leaving it to others to make notes, but there must be absolutely no risk of forgetting Siggi’s mother’s name. ‘If I had the woman’s name, we could get on with tracking her down.’
The doctor made a face. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t give you that information without a warrant. You know that. The police can’t just walk in and start demanding details about our patients. We’re bound by confidentiality. Although I’ve spoken openly about the patient’s circumstances, that’s because she was anonymous. I have to draw a line somewhere.’
Gudlaugur frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Can’t you just report it as domestic abuse and solve the problem that way? You’re allowed to do that if you believe there’s good reason.’
‘Not unless I can support my decision. But I can’t do that now, more than six weeks after the event. Any deviations from the rules are taken very seriously. We’re short-staffed enough without my being temporarily suspended while the matter’s under investigation.’
‘But this is an emergency.’ Gudlaugur wasn’t ready to give up without a fight. Although judges were usually accommodating in murder cases, there was bound to be a delay while the formalities were taken care of. Search warrants, phone tapping and the handing over of bank details were one thing, but sensitive private details like patient records were quite another. Especially when the police couldn’t be positive that they had the right person. The wait was likely to waste precious hours and a warrant might even be refused.
‘If I were to describe it to the ethics committee, your emergency would sound like this: the police were looking for a woman but didn’t know if she was actually missing or what her name was. They claimed she’d
come to A&E between Christmas and New Year but weren’t quite sure. Despite this, I handed over the details and name of the woman I thought might be the right one. Without being absolutely sure.’ The doctor stood up. ‘No. I’m sorry but I’ll need a warrant.’ She pushed the papers into the middle of the table. Before Gudlaugur could object further, she added: ‘But as this is urgent – despite all the holes in your account – I’ll consult the doctor in charge of this shift. He may see it differently, though I doubt it. If you could just wait here.’
When she reached the door, she turned and looked briefly back at the desk. Then she went out.
Huldar smiled and reached for the printout. Gudlaugur raised his eyebrows, scandalised, though he made no attempt to prevent him.
‘Sigurlaug Lára Lárusdóttir.’ Huldar put the papers back on the desk. He wasn’t interested in anything else. At long last.
When the doctor came back it was to say that her superior had refused their request. She shook their hands again in parting and didn’t seem remotely surprised when Huldar bestowed his warmest smile on her and thanked her sincerely for her help.
As they stepped outside into the car park, he chucked the keys at Gudlaugur. ‘You’re driving.’
Chapter 16
Huldar had never set foot in a family home like it. It wasn’t the furniture, the interior design or the view – none of which were in any way remarkable – that brought him up short, it was the fact the place was immaculate, like a show home. There wasn’t a speck of dust or the least bit of clutter anywhere. Even the tea towel in the kitchen looked as if it had been folded with the help of a ruler. The contents of the cupboards were neatly organised in perfectly straight rows. The fridge looked as if it had just been installed: no dried milk stains from leaky cartons, no shrivelled lemons or slimy lettuce leaves in the vegetable drawer.
Although Huldar disliked mess himself, this apparent mania for order made him uneasy, not least because a child lived here. His five sisters all had kids – one had four – all boys like Siggi, and Huldar couldn’t remember ever leaving their homes without limping from treading on a Lego brick. But Siggi’s toys were all in his room, carefully stowed away in a box or systematically arranged on a small set of shelves. Even his clothes were folded away in drawers or hanging in the wardrobe. There were no odd socks lurking in a corner or under the bed. In fact, the only sign that this wasn’t a display room in an Ikea store was the boy’s unmade bed.
Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020) Page 14