Gallows Rock - Freyja and Huldar Series 04 (2020)

by Sigurdardottir, Yrsa

  ‘What time was this?’ Erla moved the pen to her notepad, ready to write it down.

  ‘It must have been shortly after midnight. I bought a round just before Helgi disappeared and from my credit-card transactions that was at a quarter to twelve. I know he’d only drunk about half his glass, because once we realised he wasn’t coming back, one of the boys decided it shouldn’t go to waste and finished it.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Erla looked up from her pad.

  Thormar appeared a little surprised at this question but he answered it anyway. ‘It was Gunni. Gunnar, that is – Gunnar Bergsson.’

  Huldar guessed why Erla had asked. If someone had spiked Helgi’s drink, it would be possible either to eliminate that particular glass from their inquiry or to confirm that it was the one.

  Erla’s next question proved that Huldar had read her right. ‘What sort of state was Gunnar in after drinking it?’

  ‘State?’ Thormar frowned, even more puzzled. ‘Drunker. Not much, just kind of what you’d expect when you drink booze on top of more booze.’

  ‘Did he look like he was about to pass out or behave in any way oddly?’

  Thormar smiled for the first time since he had entered the police station. ‘Gunni’s behaviour’s always been a bit odd. But it wasn’t out of character for him.’ The smile vanished and Thormar’s face grew serious again. ‘Why do you ask? You don’t think Helgi had put something in his own drink? I can assure you he wasn’t on drugs.’

  Although Huldar wasn’t convinced that the man was right about his dead friend, this declaration at least proved to him that Thormar himself wasn’t a user. Anyone familiar with drugs would know that you don’t usually take them mixed with your drinks. ‘Would you say that Helgi had a fairly healthy lifestyle, then?’

  ‘Yes, definitely. He had a personal trainer, went to the gym regularly, only ate organic and so on. As far as I know he was in great shape.’ Thormar shifted in his chair and adjusted his cuffs. ‘Not that I’ve seen any medical reports or anything. But I was his dentist and can assure you that he really looked after his teeth.’ Seeing that Erla and Huldar were unimpressed, he hastened to add: ‘People who take care of their teeth usually take care of their general health.’

  ‘I see.’ Erla sounded underwhelmed by this logic.

  Her reaction evidently provoked Thormar, since he leapt to the defence of his profession. ‘We dentists can often spot the signs of various conditions by looking into people’s mouths: diabetes, heart disease, osteoporosis, stress, cold sores—’

  Erla cut him short before the conditions he listed could become any more trivial. ‘Your friend didn’t die of anything like that.’

  Huldar intervened before the man could give this the rude response it deserved. ‘What were you wearing that evening?’

  ‘My clothes, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I was wearing a suit. Grey, I think, and a white shirt. Yes, and a coat. Which was blue. Dark blue. Why do you ask?’

  ‘What about your friends?’

  ‘Um …’ Thormar seemed to have great trouble recalling this. Eventually he managed to describe more or less what each had been wearing. Mostly it came down to minor distinctions in the colour of their suit or shirt – apart from that they might have been in uniform. Certainly, neither of them had been dressed in jeans and trainers like the man accompanying Siggi in the CCTV footage.

  ‘Did any of you have a bag with you? A change of clothes?’

  ‘A change of clothes?’ Thormar gave Huldar an uncomprehending look. Then, when he didn’t explain, replied: ‘No. Why would any of us have needed one? And what have our clothes got to do with what happened to Helgi?’

  Huldar ignored the question and changed the subject, since it was in his and Erla’s interests to disorientate the man, leave him unsure of where the conversation was leading. ‘Moving on. Did Helgi mention any plans to meet up with someone else that evening?’

  ‘No. He wouldn’t have done, anyway. Our meetings always take priority. Like with Gunni, for example. He missed his fly-fishing do in order to spend the evening with us.’

  ‘Couldn’t Helgi’s plans have changed, though? Did he use his phone at any point during the evening?’ It was something of a redundant question. No one went anywhere these days without checking their phone. Not even funerals were exempt. ‘Could he have got a text message asking him to meet someone else?’

  ‘Well, naturally he had his phone out. But he didn’t say anything about meeting anyone. I’m sure about that, although a lot of the evening is a bit of a blur. Like I said, when the old gang gets together, our meetings are sacred.’

  ‘But he was single, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. Him and Gunni.’

  ‘Isn’t it possible that he wanted to hook up with a woman, then? Maybe there was a girlfriend he was keen to meet?’

  ‘No, definitely not.’ Thormar looked thoughtful. ‘I know that, because he was complaining about the women at the bar we were in.’

  ‘Complaining about them?’ Erla’s interest quickened again. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He wasn’t impressed with them.’

  ‘Not fit enough for him or …?’ Due to the heat in the room, Erla had rolled up her sleeves. Huldar could have sworn he saw the hairs on her arms prickling as she asked this. She may not cut the other women on her team any slack, but she was quick to take offence at the slightest evidence of sexism in their cases. Which was, alas, all too common.

  ‘No. Not so much that. They were just too old for him.’ Before Erla could speak, Thormar continued: ‘Which reminds me: he said maybe we should move on to another place where the talent was younger. So it’s possible he went off on a bar crawl in search of some.’

  Huldar reckoned they’d heard enough about Helgi’s last evening. Thormar had told them all he knew and was now straying into speculation. But Erla’s next question showed that she thought differently. ‘Did any of you try to call Helgi after you realised he wasn’t at the bar?’

  ‘Yes. I rang him twice, I think. Tómas tried him as well. The first time his phone just went on ringing; the second time it was switched off.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  Thormar took his phone out of his pocket. ‘Er, the first call was at quarter to one and the second at half past.’ He looked up. ‘That would fit with him having gone to the gents some time after midnight. It took us a while to notice he’d gone.’

  ‘Can I see your phone?’ Erla held out her hand, but Thormar hesitated and Huldar thought he seemed disconcerted. His mouth a little open, he stared at Erla’s outstretched palm. There could be any number of reasons for this behaviour, none of which were necessarily linked to Helgi’s murder. He could have private photos, emails or messages that he wouldn’t want them to see. Come to think of it, Huldar wouldn’t like the idea of showing Erla his phone either. But after a brief pause, Thormar apparently concluded that in the circumstances it would be best to hand it over. He watched uneasily as Erla examined his call log.

  Huldar peered at the screen over her shoulder. She wasn’t content simply to check the two calls Thormar had mentioned but scrolled down to see his more recent activity. This included his repeated attempts to get hold of Helgi, as well as a number of calls to the other two friends who had been with them on Saturday night.

  Erla looked up and met the eye of the now agitated dentist. ‘You seem to have been very anxious to get hold of Helgi ever since Sunday morning. Was there any particular reason for that?’

  ‘I just wanted to make sure he’d got home safely. But his phone was off. I found that odd, so I kept trying his number. He’d said he was going to drop by my place at lunchtime with a present for my daughter, but he didn’t show up, which was out of character.’

  ‘Your daughter’s called Hallbera, isn’t she?’ When Thormar nodded, Huldar told him that the parcel had been found at Helgi’s flat and would be passed on to him in the next few days. He omitted to mention that it had been o
pened. It had been necessary to check the contents in case they had any bearing on Helgi’s fate. But the shiny paper and curly ribbons had been concealing nothing more sinister than a doll. No ordinary doll, actually: according to the box, she could walk, talk, dance and count – everything you could wish for. Unfortunately, the police’s attempts to rewrap this wonder of technology had been clumsy at best.

  Erla continued to scroll through the call log. ‘I assume these numbers listed as Tommi and Gunni belong to the friends who were there that night. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Thormar licked his lips.

  ‘You seem to have called them quite a lot yesterday as well. Why’s that?’

  ‘I was worried because I couldn’t get hold of Helgi. I rang them to ask if they’d heard from him. Nothing strange about that.’

  If so, Huldar wondered why the man was looking so twitchy. Erla allowed a silence to develop before handing back the phone. Thormar looked visibly relieved to have it restored to him.

  When Erla spoke again, it was on a different subject. ‘Did you often fall out? You and Helgi?’

  ‘No, never. We’ve been friends since we were at school and we’ve always got on well.’

  ‘Really? That’s not what we’ve heard. Didn’t your friendship go through a bumpy patch about four or five years ago?’

  Thormar pretended to be searching his memory but it was glaringly obvious that he knew exactly what they were referring to. ‘Oh, yes. Now that you mention it, we did have a bit of a falling-out back then.’

  ‘Do you remember why?’

  ‘No, I don’t, actually. But it can’t have been anything important.’ Thormar clasped his hands on the table in front of him as if in prayer.

  ‘Could you repeat that?’ Erla locked eyes with him. ‘You’ve been friends for more than twenty years, you only fell out once and now you’re telling me you can’t remember why. I don’t buy that for one minute.’

  Thormar’s knuckles whitened. ‘I swear, I don’t remember. Anyway, what does it matter? You can hardly think I killed Helgi over some trivial quarrel that happened five years ago?’

  Neither Erla nor Huldar replied to this. They sat in silence for a few moments before Erla resumed. ‘We’re going through your friend’s finances. It’s proving tricky, but we’ll get to the bottom of them eventually. He has assets in a number of different companies, most of them registered overseas. If you could help us on one point, that would assist our inquiry.’

  ‘Of course, ask away.’ Thormar sounded sincere. He was visibly relieved that they had moved on from the source of friction between him and his murdered friend. ‘Although I should say that I know nothing about Helgi’s finances. Except that he wasn’t short of money.’

  ‘We’re not asking about the details. All we want to know is whether he owned any other properties apart from the flat he lived in.’

  ‘Properties?’ Thormar looked baffled, though of course he must have understood the question.

  ‘Yes. Did he own any other flats or houses in Iceland or abroad that he could have registered under another name, for example one of his overseas companies?’

  Thormar’s face still wore the dopey look from when Erla had first asked about Helgi’s property. But then he got his features under control and answered hesitantly: ‘Er, yes. He had a summer house. And an apartment in New York, because he spent so much time there. But he may have rented it out. I don’t remember the subject coming up and I never asked him about it.’

  ‘Where is this summer house?’ Erla held her pen poised. ‘You must have been there?’

  ‘Yes, sure. Several times. It’s on a large estate in Sudurland that Helgi bought just before the crash. He had the old farmhouse knocked down and built a new place. This was while he was still based abroad, but when he came over he’d sometimes spend a few nights there if the weather was good.’ Thormar did his best to give them directions to the location in south Iceland, though, according to him, Helgi had removed a couple of signposts that used to stand at the turn-off, in order to deter visitors. Erla conscientiously wrote all this down. While she was doing so, Thormar asked why they wanted to know, but neither of them answered.

  ‘No other property here in Iceland, then?’ Erla watched the man, her face unreadable.

  Thormar paused and licked his lips before answering. ‘No, none – that I’m aware of.’

  Under the table Huldar felt Erla prod him in the thigh. He got the message and turned over the top page of the pile of papers in front of them. ‘Do you recognise this boy? His name’s Sigurdur Margeirsson and he’s a year older than your daughter. He’s known as Siggi.’

  Thormar stared at the picture, nonplussed. After studying the little boy’s face, he looked up and shook his head. ‘No, I’m sure I don’t know him.’

  ‘Quite sure?’ Huldar pushed the picture a little closer.

  Thormar studied Siggi’s face again. Then he exhaled sharply and shook his head again. ‘Absolutely positive. I don’t recognise him. I mean, of course it’s possible I’ve seen him at my daughter’s nursery school or somewhere like that and don’t remember. But I don’t think so.’ He raised his eyes, looking searchingly at Huldar and Erla in turn. ‘What’s his connection to Helgi?’

  Huldar didn’t answer but turned to the next picture, of Siggi’s father Margeir. The photo had been taken from the man’s Facebook page. The only two photos of him on there were almost identical profile pictures, which made it hard to see why he had bothered sharing them. His posts were few and far between as well; he only really seemed to come to life when he was angry about the political situation or something else in the news. His comments were all negative, the subjects of his ire ranging from the traditional New Year’s Eve comedy special to public-sector institutions, feminists, football managers and oil companies. In between these rants he sent birthday greetings to his handful of Facebook friends, which did not include Helgi or anyone else connected to him. ‘Do you recognise this man? His name’s Margeir Arnarson.’

  ‘No, I don’t know him. Who is he? The father of that little boy? Do you think he killed Helgi? Has he been arrested?’ Thormar looked up angrily.

  ‘We’re not holding any suspects at present.’ Huldar discreetly studied the man’s hands, which were resting on the table. They were well manicured, unmarred by calluses or abrasions. ‘Are you good with your hands?’

  ‘Me?’ When this question got no response, Thormar answered: ‘Well, I got nine out of ten for the tooth I sculpted as part of my dentistry degree, so I suppose you could say I am.’

  ‘I meant more like, are you the handyman type? Do you do the DIY at home, for example? Did you build decking in your back garden? That sort of thing.’

  Thormar frowned. ‘I don’t know why I should have to answer that. It’s hardly relevant to what happened to Helgi.’ When Huldar and Erla merely stared at him in stony silence, he got down off his high horse: ‘No. I haven’t built any decking. When we bought the flat it already had a concrete patio out the back. As for DIY, I take care of the few bits of maintenance that come up but our flat was renovated shortly before we moved in.’

  Huldar let it go and, moving swiftly on, held up a photo of Siggi’s mother. Her Facebook page had contained far more pictures than her husband’s, though most of them featured her son at the various milestones in a child’s life, including a lot of photos of the boy in Majorca, just over a year earlier, looking ever more tanned as the holiday progressed. Recalling the red circle drawn around Majorca on the globe in the little boy’s room, Huldar realised what it meant: either his mother or his father must have wanted to show him where they were going on holiday.

  The mother’s Facebook posts were far more positive than her husband’s. Despite this, she had remarkably few friends on the site and none of them had any link to Helgi. ‘What about this woman?’ Huldar asked. ‘Recognise her?’ He pushed the picture towards Thormar, who ran his fingers through his hair as he pored over the young woman’s smilin
g face.

  ‘No.’ He looked back at Huldar. ‘Can I ask who she is?’

  ‘Her name’s Sigurlaug Lára Lárusdóttir.’

  Thormar examined the picture again. She was facing the camera and her short dark hair was combed well back, so her features were clearly visible. Apart from the hair colour, mother and son were astonishingly alike, but Thormar didn’t seem to notice. ‘No, I’ve never met her. At least, if I have, I don’t remember her.’

  Obeying another poke in the thigh from Erla, Huldar turned over the last picture. ‘Is this one of the beds in Helgi’s summer house?’ It was a still of the headboard that had featured in all Helgi’s porn videos, with the couple on the bed carefully edited out. This had proved easier said than done: the naked figures grappling in front of it had taken up a lot of the shot.

  Thormar stared at the picture, frozen into stillness. Without raising his head, he asked: ‘What exactly is this?’

  ‘A headboard.’ Huldar pushed the picture closer to him as he repeated the question: ‘Is this one of the beds in Helgi’s summer house?’

  ‘Er …’ Thormar tilted his head from side to side, as if to get a better idea of what he was seeing. ‘No.’ Once again, he kept his head down as he answered, never taking his eyes off the photo.

  ‘So you haven’t seen this headboard at the summer house?’

  ‘Not in my guest room, anyway. I can’t answer for the other rooms because I always slept in the same bed. But no, I haven’t seen one like that there.’

  ‘What about somewhere else? At Helgi’s flat here in Reykjavík or in photos of his pad in New York, for instance?’

  Thormar cleared his throat. ‘No.’

  He seemed unable to tear his eyes from the picture. Erla and Huldar exchanged meaningful glances. The man had sure as hell seen it before. They took it in turns to repeat their questions, varying the wording slightly, but it was no good, Thormar stubbornly insisted that he’d never seen the bed before.