The Legacy

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  ‘Like I said, we’ll hold fire on that for the moment. I’m going down to the Children’s House later for their second attempt at interviewing the girl. Hopefully that’ll give me a better idea of how seriously we should take it.’ Huldar glanced at his watch: he was going to be late. ‘We don’t want to be accused of racism if it turns out she only saw his silhouette. But, obviously, if you come across any black men in the course of your investigation, make a point of checking them out.’

  ‘I haven’t so far, and until you give the green light I won’t go deliberately looking for one.’

  ‘No. Of course not.’ Huldar smiled. Ríkhardur wasn’t only exemplary in dress and manners, he was also scrupulous about following orders. Guilt about Karlotta raised its ugly head again and Huldar felt compelled to add: ‘Maybe you’d like to come with me to the Children’s House to observe?’

  ‘I haven’t got time. I’ve arranged to go over to the local shopping centre, remember? To run through the CCTV footage from the cashpoint.’ Ríkhardur looked disappointed, as if he’d rather delegate the task Huldar had assigned to him that morning and accompany him instead. Particularly since his errand was unlikely to produce any results. The cashpoint was situated on one of the main approach roads to the area where Elísa had lived. If they were lucky, the camera would have caught the moment when her killer drove past, but it was far more likely that the lens had been pointing downwards and there wouldn’t be any footage of the street. Nevertheless, a member of the team still had to go over there to find out.

  ‘Of course. Never mind. Come along next time. I have a hunch this won’t be our last attempt at questioning the girl.’

  On his way back to the office to collect his jacket and car keys, Huldar scanned the room for someone to take with him. Someone who could act as a buffer between him and Freyja. He’d had enough of the constant dirty looks reminding him of his shoddy behaviour. The bugger of it was that he wouldn’t have minded renewing their acquaintance, but her manner made it abundantly clear that this was out of the question. Then again, she had dressed up to meet him at the crime scene earlier. Maybe he was still in with a chance after all.

  Chapter 11

  Molly watched Freyja intently, as was her habit. Freyja sighed quietly and saw the dog’s gaze sharpen. She was having a hard time getting used to having a dog. Whenever she met the alert brown eyes she felt guilty for not taking her out for more walks or feeding her better. Given the choice, she wouldn’t have had a dog at all, especially not such a large one – she was sure that if you went back far enough you’d find a horse in Molly’s pedigree. But of course this was exactly the type of breed that would appeal to her brother. Baldur had gone for an animal that would look good in a rap video, snarling in the background, surrounded by flashy cars and girls shaking their asses; a breed that looked capable of quenching its thirst with blood and gnawing on dinosaur bones. She wouldn’t be surprised to find a tattoo lurking under the thick pelt. Only now, after sharing the flat with Molly for a month, could Freyja go near her without being in constant fear of losing a finger or even her whole hand.

  The bitch gave a wide yawn, revealing rows of sharp, white teeth that seemed to extend right down her throat. Though Freyja was still on her guard around Molly, there were times when she felt reassured by her presence. These invariably came at night when she was shocked awake by shouting and commotion in the corridor outside, thanks to the wayward occupants of the depressing building. Her brother wasn’t the only one living on the edge. The squalid condition of the building and flats presumably made them cheap to buy or rent – you wouldn’t be able to charge much per square metre here – and these unlucky souls had ended up here for want of anything better.

  Molly finished her yawn and turned her big head away from Freyja, apparently offended. Freyja felt guilty again. She had neglected the dog today; made do with letting her out early this morning to find a patch on which to urinate among the empty cans and other rubbish that decorated the garden. It wasn’t the first time the demands of work had ruined her plans for the animal.

  ‘I’ll take you out later.’ She shouldn’t have said the word ‘out’. The dog pricked up her ears and swung her head back to Freyja, her tongue lolling. Freyja groaned. She reached for the box containing yesterday evening’s pizza and selected a slice with plenty of meat in the topping. ‘Here.’ The dog wolfed it down whole, then licked her chops with a tongue the size of a haddock fillet, gazing at Freyja in hope of another, larger slice. ‘Sorry, old girl. You mustn’t get fat on my watch.’ Freyja tilted her head to gauge if the dog had put on any weight. Maybe – not that it mattered at this stage since Molly had been all skin and bone when Freyja recovered her from the friend of her brother’s who had originally been entrusted with looking after her while Baldur was in prison.

  Unfortunately, this fine, upstanding character had ended up behind bars as well, after breaking the terms of his probation. And seeing as her brother had generously lent her his flat, she couldn’t really refuse to take care of his dog – though she wouldn’t have agreed to take on so much as a goldfish in return for his wreck of a car. When she’d switched off the ignition earlier, the engine had emitted a death rattle that suggested she’d do well to have the number of a taxi company handy for when she had to return to the Children’s House.

  The clock that hung wildly askew on the kitchen wall told her it was time to head off. Huldar’s demand for an interview within the hour had proved unrealistic; the girl’s grandfather had refused point blank to attend at such short notice. He made the excuse that the children had finally been reunited with their father and it would be too stressful for Margrét to be dragged away from him again so soon. Standing there on the doorstep, Freyja had almost had to resort to tears to persuade him to agree to a time later that afternoon. She hadn’t been invited inside or caught any glimpse of the children, their father or grandmother. The sounds of crying and raised voices had carried out through the open door, but Freyja couldn’t distinguish the words. Nor did she have any desire to eavesdrop; she’d rather leave the shattered family in peace.

  As she walked away she could feel the grandfather’s eyes following her. The front door didn’t close until she had unlocked the car, as if he wanted to reassure himself that she was genuinely leaving. Like she had any interest in hanging around outside their place until the meeting at the Children’s House. Quite the reverse. It was Sunday and she’d had very different plans. Her friends were probably leaving the restaurant by now, so there was no point hurrying into town. She’d go along next time. Her plan to give Molly some attention after lunch would have to wait as well. Freyja grabbed the keys, smiling at the dog, who had followed her hopefully to the front door. When it became clear that there was to be no walkies, Molly curled her lip in disapproval, then shambled back into the flat.

  Freyja wondered if she could count on Molly to stand by her in the event of a break-in. The way their relationship was now, it didn’t seem very likely.

  ‘I hardly need stress how vital it is that everything goes according to plan this time.’ They were sitting round the large conference table, watching through the glass as Silja and Margrét took their places on the small sofa. The girl was visibly more distressed than on the previous occasion; her mother’s death must be sinking in. ‘Our investigation will rely heavily on what she says, so I’m asking you, please, to make a special effort.’ Huldar leant forward slightly as he spoke, as if trying to find his balance. He probably just wanted to ensure that Silja heard every word via the microphone in the centre of the table. The bags under his eyes were deeper, his hair more of a mess, his clothes more crumpled than they had been that morning, yet he had turned up punctually this time, accompanied by a female officer who he introduced as Erla. She said little and seemed to have no real role except to sit in silence at Huldar’s side, though it was evident from her expression that she had definite views on the proceedings. Since these appeared to be unflattering, it was probably just as well she
didn’t say much. Now she nodded to indicate agreement with Huldar’s words. ‘Let me repeat, a special effort.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell us.’ Freyja’s tone was polite but dry. She was not amused. Who exactly did he think he was? The police had no authority here, and it would be as well to establish clear boundaries at the outset. ‘We’re used to children’s disclosures being of the utmost importance. Nobody comes here for an idle chat. So don’t worry.’ Meeting his eye, she gave him an icy smile. ‘Just let us get on with our job and concentrate on asking your questions.’

  Before the girl arrived, Huldar had sat down with Silja to run through the main questions he wanted her to ask Margrét. He had also given her the drawing of the man outside the house and was put out when Silja refused to show it to the girl in its plastic sleeve. In the end he had accepted her argument that Margrét was more likely to be forthcoming if the drawing looked as it had the last time she saw it. Above all he had stressed that the most urgent task was to elicit anything Margrét might know about the other murder she had said was imminent.

  Silja had memorised Huldar’s questions but pointed out that Margrét’s answers were bound to throw up new questions, so he must make sure he supplied her with these. He would also have to understand that she couldn’t just pump the girl the way he’d like. She would control the pace and phrase the questions as she thought best. Like all his predecessors – judges, investigators, prosecutors – he had nodded, assuming this wouldn’t be a problem. But like them he would inevitably betray signs of impatience and agitation once the interview was under way.

  ‘You remember what we talked about – if you need Silja to deviate from your original line of questioning, you must let her know. Just stay calm and make sure you don’t bark orders into the microphone while she’s talking. You can trust our methods, and that we take this seriously. OK?’

  Huldar shrugged, avoiding Freyja’s eye, but he seemed to acquiesce. Perhaps he was simply too tired to object. ‘Fine. Can we get started then?’ He sat back, disappearing behind Erla.

  ‘All in good time.’ Freyja turned to the glass and listened to Silja chatting gently to the girl about the snow outside. Margrét was tight-lipped. She tucked her long red hair behind her ears in a childish gesture, then fixed her gaze on her pink socks. Although obviously upset, she was composed. The same did not apply to her grandfather.

  ‘Let me remind you that I’m taking her out of here the moment the hour’s up. That’s all the time you’re getting. She needs to be with her family. With her father and brothers.’ It had surprised Freyja that the girl’s grandfather had brought her along this time as well, but she hadn’t commented. Presumably the father was too distraught, or wasn’t allowed to hear his daughter’s statement because he was under suspicion himself.

  ‘The clock’s ticking,’ the grandfather added.

  Silja signalled that she was ready. Turning to Margrét, she took hold of the girl’s small hand, which lay on the cushion between them. Margrét snatched it back and stuck both hands under her skinny thighs. Silja was unperturbed. ‘Right, Margrét. I know you don’t want to be here and would like to go home as soon as possible. So let’s get this over with.’

  The girl’s gaze remained fixed on her socks. Although her feet didn’t reach the floor, like the countless other children who had occupied the sofa before her, she resisted the urge to swing them.

  ‘You know, you’re very important, Margrét. Of course, you always have been, but now you’re more important than ever. You can help the police find out what happened to your mummy.’ The child sat there like a wax effigy. ‘You’re a hero, you know. But sadly no one can be a hero without going through a difficult time.’ Margrét neither agreed nor disagreed. ‘I know it’s not easy for you to remember that night – that’s where being a hero comes in. If you try to remember everything you saw or heard and then tell me about it, that means you’re helping the police. They want more than anything to find out what happened.’

  Freyja and Silja had agreed that it was imperative not to refer to the person who was believed to have broken in. The perpetrator’s gender wasn’t known for certain, and even the subtlest reference to a man or woman could influence Margrét’s memory. It was crucial not to plant any ideas that the little girl might come to accept as her own. ‘Do you think you could tell me what happened? Just the parts you remember. If you don’t remember anything, that’s fine. You can say so.’

  This drew frowns from Huldar and the prosecutor. The doctor and nurse who had attended the previous interview were absent because Freyja had judged their presence unnecessary, especially in view of the cost of calling them out at the weekend for a second time. The Child Protection Agency had also declined the invitation to observe.

  ‘I put my hands over my ears.’ The tiny voice carrying over the loudspeaker wrenched at their heartstrings. ‘I put my hands over my ears. I didn’t want to hear Mummy crying.’

  Silja was disconcerted, though no one but Freyja noticed. She hadn’t been expecting such a quick answer. ‘I understand. That was probably a wise decision.’

  Margrét spoke again, almost in a whisper now. ‘I had my hands over my ears. I don’t know what he said. I didn’t want to hear.’ They all leant forward in unison. Margrét had said ‘he’.

  Silja had also caught the word. ‘You talk as if it was a man, Margrét. How do you know that?’

  ‘I saw him. I woke up and needed a wee-wee. I saw him walking about in the sitting room. I tried to tell Mummy but she didn’t believe me. She went to have a look.’ Margrét freed her hands from under her thighs and began twisting her fingers together in her lap.

  ‘So your mummy left the bedroom. Where were you while this was happening?’

  ‘I was in her room. When I heard someone coming, I hid. Under the bed. I looked out and saw Mummy’s feet. I was going to come out but then some other feet came in. The black man’s feet.’

  ‘So he followed your mummy into the bedroom?’ When Silja stopped speaking Freyja became aware that those listening with her in the meeting room were scarcely breathing.

  When Margrét spoke again, after a pause for thought, everyone inhaled at once, almost drowning out the fragile little voice. ‘Yes. I didn’t dare come out from under the bed.’ She fell silent again, staring down at her clasped fingers. ‘I should have helped. I should have got out from under the bed and run outside. I could have found a policeman or a fireman to help Mummy.’

  ‘You know, Margrét, it’s a good thing you didn’t do that. There aren’t any policemen or firemen in your street at night. The man would have caught you long before you could have fetched help. Your mummy wouldn’t have wanted that. If you’re not a grown-up, it’s better to hide. Sometimes it’s better for grown-ups too.’

  Margrét didn’t look up. Her fingers were still now but her gaze remained fixed on them as if seeing them for the first time. ‘But it was a man. I saw him and I heard him talking when I took my hands away from my ears to find out if it was over.’ She shifted on the sofa. ‘But it wasn’t over. He sounded like a man.’ In one fell swoop she had reduced the number of suspects by half – the female section of the population was in the clear.

  Silja waited for a while, in case the police or prosecutor wanted to add anything. Nobody spoke, so she bent down to Margrét and drew the girl’s hair from her face as if peering behind a curtain. ‘Do you remember what you told me last time we met, Margrét? You said you thought another woman was in danger.’

  The girl averted her eyes, shaking her hair over her face again. ‘I heard a little bit. I had to take my hands away from my ears sometimes to put them over my mouth, so the man wouldn’t hear me crying.’

  ‘I see. Sometimes you can hear things through your hands, too, however hard you try to block your ears.’ Silja remained perfectly calm; her voice didn’t for a moment betray how much was at stake. You’d have thought they were discussing the weather. ‘You might not think so, but it was probably lucky you heard s
omething. Especially if it can help the police stop another woman getting hurt.’

  ‘I don’t want to think about it.’ Margrét’s voice had dropped to a whisper again. ‘I don’t want to. I want to talk about something else.’

  ‘Do you remember what I said about being a hero? That you can only be a hero if you’re brave?’ Margrét nodded. They couldn’t see her expression because she was leaning forward, her hair blocking their view, but it was easy to imagine the despair on her face. ‘If you can pluck up the courage to tell me what you heard him say, you’ll be a hero, Margrét. It needn’t take long and you’ll feel better afterwards. Sometimes it helps to clean out the bad thoughts if you talk about the thing that’s upsetting you.’

  Margrét’s legs began to swing slowly back and forth. The movement was neither idle nor careless; she looked like a toy whose batteries were running down. She drew a quick breath, glanced up and bit her lower lip before she began speaking again. Her legs stopped moving. ‘Mummy cried and asked if he was going to hurt us too. I heard that even though I had my hands over my ears, but then I took them away. I wanted to hear if he said yes. But he just said not now. There was another woman he needed to teach a lesson.’ She took great care in enunciating this, then turned a questioning look on Silja. ‘What did he mean by a lesson?’

  ‘He wanted her to understand something.’ Silja was flustered and shifted on the sofa as she groped for an explanation. ‘No need to try and understand, Margrét. It’s not always easy to work out what grown-ups mean.’ She darted a sideways glance at the two-way mirror in search of help.