The extraordinary tidiness immediately put Huldar in mind of Helgi’s flat. In both cases everything was in its place, every surface shone, like crime scenes à la Marie Kondo. But there the similarity ended. Everything about Helgi’s apartment spoke of wealth, whereas here it was immediately obvious that money was tight.
‘Looks as if the boy was taken from his bed while he was asleep, which is consistent with what he told us.’ Huldar raised a latex-gloved hand to the globe on the white-varnished chest of drawers and watched it spin. It came to a halt with the Mediterranean facing him. Someone had drawn a circle in red felt pen round the island of Majorca. ‘To go by the rest of the place, you’d expect his bed to be made every morning without fail.’
‘Hmm.’ It was unclear whether Gudlaugur’s mumble indicated agreement. He was down on all fours, peering under Siggi’s bed. He’d thought he was safe after they’d got back to the office but he hadn’t been poring over the CCTV footage for long before Erla had secured the search warrant and dragged them both out again.
Huldar had been delighted but Gudlaugur had taken it badly, though he calmed down a bit when Erla gave him the green light to finish watching the recordings after work. At least she wasn’t planning to give the job to anyone else, though it did mean Gudlaugur would be working late.
‘Is your place this spotless?’ Huldar opened a drawer containing the boy’s T-shirts. Top of the pile was one sporting a cartoon of a plump dinosaur with a broad smile plastered across its face, red cheeks and a flower in one claw. About as far from reality as you could get.
‘No. No way.’ Gudlaugur got to his feet. ‘There isn’t even any fluff under the boy’s bed.’
Lína appeared in the doorway, looking as perplexed as them. She’d been searching the bathroom-cum-utility room. ‘What’s with this place?’
Gudlaugur shrugged but Huldar replied: ‘Either they’ve had professional cleaners in or one or both parents are obsessed with hygiene.’
‘There isn’t so much as a toothpaste mark in the sink. The mirror looks like it’s been polished and the toilet like it was put in this morning. I get the feeling nobody lives here at all, that it’s just for show.’
Huldar surveyed the room. ‘Or, alternatively, someone’s scoured the place from top to bottom to hide the evidence of whatever happened here.’
They’d found the address as soon as they entered Sigurlaug Lára’s name in the National Register. It had turned out to be a block of flats in Grafarholt, a new suburb on the eastern outskirts of the city. Siggi’s description hadn’t been entirely accurate since there were glimpses of the sea and also of Mount Esja between the neighbouring buildings, though a large block hid Hallgrímskirkja’s distinctive spire. They hadn’t visited this district during their drive around the city, as it hadn’t seemed to meet the criteria. Gudlaugur, unimpressed by the little boy’s mental acuity, had muttered darkly that he doubted it would have made any difference. But then he had been extremely wound up when he said it. There was no point reminding him that, according to the National Register, the kid was only four years and two months old.
Erla hadn’t pressed Huldar for details when he passed on Sigurlaug’s name with the comment that he couldn’t reveal his source. Apparently she still trusted him enough to take him at his word when he said it was better she didn’t know. In return, he hadn’t asked her how she was planning to account for their success in her application for a search warrant. Perhaps she’d just left that part blank and stressed that finding these people was a matter of life or death. The warrant had certainly been issued with record speed.
The entry in the National Register helped to explain why they’d had no luck in tracing Siggi’s family. Despite having the nickname Sibbi, the boy’s father was called Margeir – it didn’t even begin with an S.
Erla had hit the roof when this came to light. She couldn’t for the life of her understand how someone called Margeir could have a nickname like that. She bawled out everyone within range, directing the worst of her wrath at Lína, although the intern hadn’t expressed any opinion on the matter. But Lína took it on the chin, even when Erla started making disparaging comments about her name. At this point Huldar had intervened, unable to stand by any longer, with the result that Erla had turned her ire on him instead. But then he was used to it. In the end she had simmered down, and her mood had shifted to jubilation when the news came through that a search warrant had been issued.
Although they’d had to carefully fudge the explanation of how they’d come across Siggi’s mother’s name, they had been able to provide other information in support of their request. Before submitting the application they had talked to Sigurlaug’s mother and also to the parents of her husband, Margeir Arnarson, who had said they weren’t in touch that often so they hadn’t been concerned at not hearing from their son for a few days. It was a different story with Sigurlaug’s mother. She said she’d been a bit worried as she hadn’t heard a word from her daughter since Saturday, which was out of character. Usually she heard from her every single day without fail. When the police asked if she’d tried to call her daughter, the mother explained that she hadn’t because she’d been afraid Margeir would answer. And he would not be pleased to hear from her. Phone calls to the couple’s closest friends, whose names were provided by the parents, told the same story. No one had heard from Sigurlaug or Margeir for several days, though the friends also mentioned that they didn’t see that much of them any more. Sigurlaug’s mother’s statement provided the strongest grounds for a search warrant. Along with Siggi, of course. Everyone the police spoke to agreed that both parents adored their son. No one believed for a minute that they would have deliberately abandoned him. And no one knew of any links between his parents and the murdered man, Helgi.
Huldar looked around the child’s immaculate room again. There was no reason to linger as he and Gudlaugur had been through everything. ‘I don’t think we’ll find anything here. It’s possible Forensics will spot something when they go over the place with Luminol, like traces of blood-stains that have been wiped away. We’ll get them to test the headboard and bed frame for fingerprints as well, in case the person who took the boy touched them. I’d be surprised, but you never know.’ The building had no security cameras to show them who had carried the sleeping boy from the flat. There was no CCTV in the area either, so no chance of identifying the car that had taken the child away.
‘They’ve searched the master bedroom,’ Lína announced. ‘Everything’s as pristine there as it is everywhere else. The bed’s made as well. Do you want to take fingerprints from it anyway?’
‘That’s for Erla to decide. She’ll have to come back inside soon.’ Erla had been in the middle of supervising the search when her phone had rung and she stepped out into the corridor to answer it. Huldar suspected the call was from her bosses, who had been keeping an eagle eye on their progress since the news had started filtering out into the media that afternoon. He didn’t suppose this would do anything to improve her mood.
The only potentially interesting material discovered during their search had been deposited on the sitting-room table: a scarf with brown stains on it, believed to be Siggi’s Christmas present to his mother. Two laptops – one white, one black. Two folders containing carefully organised home accounts. Some post that had been found torn to pieces in the bin. Sigurlaug’s passport and a handbag containing her credit and debit cards and driving licence. In addition to these, there was a china vase, broken into three pieces, that had been found at the back of a cupboard, which might possibly have been used in a struggle; although, if so, it was hard to believe it would have been tidied away like that. The cupboard was full of other smashed ornaments and crockery, and snapped necklaces, which seemed to have been put away to be mended later. Everyone had a drawer or shelf like that. But Siggi’s family appeared to be clumsier than most. The objects would all be sent to Forensics in case any of them bore the fingerprints of the person responsible for the family’s disa
ppearance. This was clutching at straws, however, and showed just how little they had to go on.
It was far more likely that these breakages were evidence of the long-term domestic abuse that the A&E doctor had suspected.
‘Can I have a go at piecing together the torn-up post?’ Lína was standing over the table where the evidence had been collected, examining the scraps of paper from the bin. ‘I won a jigsaw-puzzle contest at school.’ She held up her hands to show that she still had her latex gloves on.
‘Be my guest.’ Huldar reached for a stool from the bar that divided the kitchen from the dining and sitting areas. ‘Just don’t let Erla catch you at it, or she’ll give you the job of sifting through the rubbish from Helgi’s building to find whatever he tore up. I gather it’s all been brought to the station and there’s a ton of the stuff.’ He sat down, contemplating the gleaming wall tiles above the cooker. He doubted the husband had been responsible for the obsessive cleaning.
‘They’re letters from the bank. And one from the company they got their car loan from.’ Lína carried on fitting the scraps of paper together. ‘Shit. They were up to their necks in debt. They were about to lose their car. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they were about to default on their mortgage too.’
‘Lots of people are in that situation but they don’t all vanish, leaving their child in a stranger’s flat,’ Gudlaugur said scornfully. He hadn’t changed his opinion where Lína was concerned.
‘Oh, come on. When people are on the point of losing everything, it’s bound to affect their behaviour, so the information’s obviously relevant.’ Huldar shouldn’t need to tell Gudlaugur this. ‘Someone had better ring the loan company and find out if their car’s been repossessed. That could explain why it’s not parked out the front.’ Before entering the building they had searched the nearby parking spaces for a white Yaris, with no luck.
The door opened and Erla came back in. ‘Finished? Can I call in Forensics?’
‘Yep, I reckon so.’ Huldar tried to tell from Erla’s expression whether the phone call had put her under even more strain or had been constructive for once. But her face was unreadable. ‘The couple seem to have been on a fast track to bankruptcy.’
‘Huh. You don’t say?’ Shoving her phone in her pocket, Erla went over to the table where the post had been pieced together. She didn’t ask who had done it and Lína had edged discreetly away as soon as she appeared. ‘That puts a whole new light on the matter. Maybe we’re looking at suicide.’
Huldar was suddenly struck by an idea. ‘Has the body from Gálgahraun been formally identified yet?’
‘Yes, the victim’s parents took care of that earlier. Why do you ask?’ Erla glanced up from the jigsaw puzzle at Huldar.
‘Oh, I just suddenly wondered if the man we found could have been Margeir – with Helgi’s wallet in his pocket. The whole thing could be a misunderstanding and the rich guy could be bathing in champagne somewhere in the Caribbean right now, without a clue that we think he’s dead.’
‘No. It was him all right. If this couple have killed themselves, their bodies haven’t been found yet.’
‘I don’t believe a woman would kill herself when she was eight months pregnant.’ From her haunted expression, Lína appeared to be picturing the scene. ‘The child could be born while she was in her death throes and no mother could face that.’
Gudlaugur snorted at this but Erla ignored him. ‘I reckon you’re right. It’s not hard to find a good home for a newborn. If she’d been contemplating suicide, the woman would have waited. I find it more likely that her bastard of a husband battered her once too often and finished her off.’
‘Well, there’s no sign of that in here.’ Huldar ran his eyes round the room. ‘Though I suppose he could have cleaned up after himself. The flat’s unnaturally spotless. Mind you, if you were cleaning up after a murder or a violent attack, you’d hardly waste time folding laundry. Still, Forensics should be able to establish that once and for all. We’re left with the mystery of where the couple are now, dead or alive.’
‘And who killed Helgi.’ Erla gestured to the collection of objects on the table. ‘You didn’t find anything connecting them?’
‘Nope, not a thing. Though of course we haven’t looked at the computers. Perhaps something’ll come to light there. Or in their phone records, once we’ve examined them.’
‘What about mobiles? Any sign of them?’
‘No, none.’ Sigurlaug’s phone hadn’t been in her bag. They had found chargers, their wires neatly coiled, on each bedside table, but no phones connected to them. It was odd that Sigurlaug’s mobile was missing, given that her bag and bank cards had been left behind. The presence of her handbag was a strong clue that she hadn’t left the flat voluntarily but it was impossible to guess why the person who abducted her should have taken her phone. Especially since these days even a child would know that phones can be traced if they’re switched on. Unless, that is, she’d managed to take it with her without her attacker realising. But in that case why hadn’t she used it to call for help? It didn’t look good. Her husband’s wallet, perhaps significantly, was nowhere to be found.
‘I was asked to fetch some clothes for the kid. Could one of you pick some out before we leave? It looks like he may be going to stay with his grandmother.’ Erla waited for someone to volunteer but they all kept quiet. In the end, Huldar heaved himself up off the bar stool and agreed to do it. He had a horde of nephews, after all.
Having got a bag from Erla, Huldar went back into Siggi’s room. He began by putting in plenty of underwear and socks, taking care not to make a mess, influenced by the excessive neatness of the drawers. Then he picked out a few tops, including the T-shirt with the dinosaur on the front, and three pairs of trousers. Finally, he put in a pair of pyjamas and reckoned that would do. Hopefully they’d find the boy’s parents before he ran out of clothes.
Huldar’s gaze returned to the bed, then wandered round the room again. The rabbit the boy had mentioned was nowhere to be seen. It hadn’t turned up in Helgi’s flat either. Perhaps the boy had taken it with him and dropped it in the abductor’s car, though, from Huldar’s memory of his days in the regular police, that seemed unlikely. He had occasionally been involved in helping to remove children from problem homes and if the kids had a favourite cuddly toy, nothing could prise it out of their clutches once they found themselves in unfamiliar surroundings.
Something didn’t add up here. Huldar corrected himself: nothing about this added up. Not a single damned thing.
Chapter 17
Siggi was sitting in a chair facing his grandmother, colouring as if his life depended on it. The woman was a tall, thin sixty-year-old, with a straight back and clear eyes. Her face was healthily tanned but the skin at her neckline was snow-white, suggesting that she was the outdoorsy type, a walker or golfer, rather than someone who made a beeline for the sun-lounger the moment the clouds parted. She looked ten years younger than she was, only her hands giving her true age away. Her name was Margrét, but she had asked Freyja to call her Magga.
Freyja noticed the small telltale signs that Margrét had made an effort for this meeting, like the hastily applied lipstick in a colour that didn’t suit her – perhaps she’d bought it in a hurry on the way here.
‘I’m speechless. I mean, I’d heard rumours about your inhumane policies, but it never occurred to me that they were true.’ The woman’s gaze left Freyja and strayed back to her grandson.
‘I’m afraid there are guidelines that have to be followed. I assure you it’s nothing personal.’ Freyja had been landed with the unenviable task of breaking it to Margrét that Siggi wouldn’t be allowed to go to her yet. Various formalities had to be taken care of first, formalities that were necessary in order to protect the interests of the children who ended up in the hands of social services. When the child’s close relatives were involved, it could appear unfair, giving the impression of a cold, uncaring system.
This was far from
the truth, but the present case was undeniably unusual, if not unparalleled. Normally, either one or both parents were available to give their consent for the arrangements. ‘They’re looking for a temporary solution, which should hopefully work out in your favour. You won’t have to wait long for the decision. The people involved know how urgent it is.’ Freyja had to phrase this carefully in front of Siggi. Although he didn’t appear to be taking an interest, he was nevertheless listening.
‘You say they need to inspect my flat.’ The boy’s grandmother glanced round at the shabbily furnished living room of the temporary care home. ‘Is that some kind of joke? I mean, who inspected this place?’ Her eyes lingered on the battered toys that lay strewn over the floor where the children had abandoned them.
Freyja chose not to answer this. The question had been rhetorical anyway. She looked at Siggi, who was now scribbling in red crayon over the head of the matchstick figure he had drawn. ‘Have Siggi’s pictures always been like that, Magga?’
Margrét turned to watch her grandson scribbling furiously until the matchstick figure’s head had been completely obliterated by red lines. Then she looked back at Freyja, her face puzzled. ‘I’ve never seen him do that before, but I have to admit I haven’t had much contact with him over the last year. Much less than I’d have liked or my daughter would have chosen.’
Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020) Page 15