The Legacy

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  ‘I was wondering if you needed any help. You sounded so worried.’

  ‘There was no need. I was about to head back to the station. Didn’t you get my text?’

  ‘Yes.’ They were both silent for a beat, then Ríkhardur spoke again: ‘I got the idea there might have been a new development since they were interviewing the girl again. I heard a question being put to her while we were talking on the phone and I was so curious I couldn’t wait. You should keep me informed if there’s something major going on.’

  ‘I was intending to. Why don’t we head back to the station and discuss it there? We can’t stay here; they’re expecting a little boy to be brought in for interview and examination in connection with a suspected assault.’

  ‘Then why’s nobody here? Surely you’re not going to receive them?’

  ‘No. Freyja, the psychologist in charge here, is on her way. They asked her to fetch the doctor and I offered to wait in case the others turned up in the meantime.’

  Freyja gave Huldar credit for quick thinking. Though she ought to have remembered – he was a good liar.

  ‘Couldn’t the doctor have taken a cab?’

  ‘I don’t know. What’s the matter with you? What the hell’s it got to do with you?’ Huldar sounded angry, much angrier than the situation warranted. Ríkhardur was clearly rather annoying but there was some other reason for Huldar’s rage. Something that meant she had to hide in a cupboard.

  There was a brief pause before Ríkhardur answered. When he did, his voice was more composed than before; the plaintive note had gone. Freyja’s skin prickled at this new, cold tone. ‘I went into your office. I saw the report about the items that were missing from the property store. You’d marked the ones that were relevant. Do you think it has a bearing on the murders? It could be a coincidence; so much stuff gets confiscated during house searches.’

  ‘I think it has a bearing, yes. And I don’t believe for a moment that Karl’s the killer.’

  Freyja frowned in the darkness. What was he talking about? She strained her ears so as not to miss anything.

  ‘But, like I said, this isn’t the place to discuss it. Come on, let’s head back to the station.’

  ‘Don’t you have to wait for the woman in charge to get back? In case they turn up with the little boy?’

  ‘I’ll leave a note on the door.’

  ‘Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on? Surely it won’t take more than a minute? I don’t see what difference it makes whether it’s here or at the office.’

  ‘Because I’m tired. I have every intention of telling you, just not here. Can’t you just be a little bit patient?’

  ‘I’d rather hear it now. I have no intention of going back to the station.’

  ‘Really? You’re going home in a patrol car? It’s not like the station’s out of your way.’

  There was another silence. When they started talking again Freyja thought their voices sounded closer, as though Ríkhardur had entered the examination room. ‘You know something, don’t you? Karlotta rang. She told me about your conversation.’

  Freyja wondered who Karlotta was. She didn’t picture her as a policewoman but before she could give her any more thought, Ríkhardur continued: ‘I’m no fool, Huldar. I know you’ve worked it out. But I was hoping you could be persuaded to keep it to yourself.’

  Huldar snorted. ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘No. But if you stop and think about it, it’s in everyone’s interests that this should go no further. It goes without saying that I’d be grateful. And it would spare Karlotta from being held up in public as a freak. You’d keep your promotion. The only loser would be poor Karl, but then he doesn’t have anything to lose. So everyone wins.’

  ‘Forget it. This isn’t a question of winning or losing. You’ve committed a crime. The most appalling crime imaginable. Three times. Do you really believe I care so much about a fucking promotion that I’d let you off?’

  Freyja gasped, then froze. Had she been heard? What were they talking about? Had Karl not killed Margrét’s mother after all? Was the real murderer standing here in this room?

  ‘That’s what I was hoping, yes. If it’s any help, I didn’t find it easy. But they all deserved it.’

  ‘Elísa? What had she ever done to you?’

  ‘Well, nothing. I wasn’t after her. I meant to kill Sigvaldi, just like he killed my baby. But since he wasn’t home, it seemed appropriate. I didn’t like to kill one of the children, though it would have served him right. I’m not a complete monster, you know. In fact, I locked the kids in their rooms before I left, so they wouldn’t find their mother’s body.’

  Freyja felt as though she was suffocating. She concentrated on trying to breathe calmly. There was enough air in the cupboard. More than enough. Slow breaths. There was enough air.

  ‘You could have gone away. Come back when he was home. Elísa had done absolutely nothing to you.’

  ‘That was out of the question. The opportunity fell in my lap – a gift from heaven, if you believe in such things. I was in my car and happened to spot the woman driving into a petrol station. I followed her and took advantage of my good luck. Having the key to the house made the whole thing so much easier. It was out of the question to come back another time when Sigvaldi was home. They would have changed the lock by then and been more on their guard. Since he wasn’t home, I had no other choice.’

  ‘He didn’t kill your baby, Ríkhardur. He performed an abortion. The only right course of action in the context. Why do you think Karlotta miscarried every time? It was nature’s way of dealing with the problem. And what was Karlotta supposed to do once she knew the truth? It was the only way. It wasn’t Sigvaldi who made the decision: it was Karlotta. She had no alternative. I don’t know if you realise how serious it was.’

  ‘Serious? Of course I realise. How do you think I felt when I found out? How do you think Karlotta felt?’ Ríkhardur laughed mirthlessly. ‘It’s so ironic – if Karl’s house hadn’t been burgled, none of this would have happened. Karlotta and I would be preparing for our baby’s arrival and no one would have had to die. But no. Karl’s mother had to go and spoil everything by working it out. She noticed the resemblance between me and her elder son and remembered my name. At first she didn’t give the game away, just asked me a load of personal questions and I thought she was some eccentric old bag. I was such an idiot that I told her I was about to become a father and even mentioned the name of my wife. I was so happy and excited. I should have held my tongue.’

  Freyja heard a heavy sigh, presumably from Ríkhardur.

  ‘After I’d left, she did some research and became convinced that she was right. That her son Arnar, Karlotta and I were siblings. That Karlotta was my sister.’

  ‘You know it’s worse than that, Ríkhardur. Though that relationship alone would have been quite enough to force you to split up.’

  Freyja listened in disbelief. Ríkhardur carried on as if Huldar hadn’t interrupted: ‘Karl’s mother wrote to Karlotta. She didn’t show me the letter until after it was all over with our baby. The woman told her the whole tragic story of my mother – our mother – and advised her to leave me and abort our baby. We should never have met; we’d been sent to opposite sides of the country in the belief that our paths would never cross. But they didn’t take into account how much I loved her. I only had to see her once across the law faculty to know that she was my future wife. It makes no difference that I now know she’s my sister. Not the slightest bit of difference.’ Ríkhardur’s laugh was ugly. ‘That business with our parents is all in the past. Our mother’s dead and so’s our father. Though I don’t really know what to call that evil bastard – father, grandfather? Which was he?’

  ‘Both. And you’re right, he was a monster, Ríkhardur. He raped your mother, his own daughter. Repeatedly. It’s a harrowing story and no wonder she killed him in the end. It’s just a tragedy that she felt she had to take her own life as well. She would almost certainly hav
e been treated leniently and given the lightest possible sentence. That’s clear from the way the incident was hushed up. It didn’t even leak out in the press. She probably did it to protect her children – to prevent people from finding out about your background.’

  ‘She got pregnant. At nineteen,’ Ríkhardur choked. ‘She’d moved down to Akranes but the man she was involved with refused to acknowledge the child. At least that’s what it said in the letter Karlotta received. She had no way of supporting herself, so she went back home. Home to the man who should have helped her find her feet. Home to her father. But instead he took advantage of her situation, of how remote the farm was and how few visitors they had. He had no compunction about breaking her down and abusing her. She bore him two children and was pregnant with a third when she killed him. Shot him with his own rifle. Then shot herself. Arnar was the eldest and witnessed the whole thing – the child who was supposedly the son of the guy from Akranes. Though no one knows if he was really the father or if Arnar was his grandfather’s son as well.’

  ‘Ríkhardur, your mother’s tragic fate is neither here nor there. You and Karlotta are so closely related that there’s no way you can live as man and wife, let alone have a family. Your children would have siblings as parents and share the same grandparents, as well as a grandfather who was also their great-grandfather. The advice Ástrós gave Karlotta was perfectly correct. The chances of the child suffering birth defects were far too high.’

  ‘There was also a chance the baby would have been OK. Ástrós didn’t calculate the probability of that for Karlotta. But she did for me.’

  ‘I doubt she’d have calculated anything for Karlotta if she’d known what she was letting herself in for. All Ástrós did was help a favourite old pupil of hers who turned to her in desperation. Where else was Karlotta to go? She didn’t dare speak to a doctor; they would have demanded to know who she was talking about. She didn’t even tell Sigvaldi the truth; only that she didn’t want the child. That was enough. But Ástrós was a retired biology teacher who was flattered that Karlotta remembered her. She tried to advise her but didn’t have a clue who was involved.’

  ‘She should still have calculated the probability that everything would have turned out OK.’

  ‘That would be obvious if you actually stopped and used your brain.’ Huldar broke off and Freyja didn’t dare move in the momentary silence. She held her breath until he began speaking again. ‘And what about poor Halli, Karl’s friend? And Karl himself?’

  Ríkhardur snorted. ‘I came across Halli by pure luck. Well, it wasn’t only luck, because I recognised Karl’s name in his computer when we were going through it in search of pirated content. So I got in touch and promised to pay him if he’d help me play a prank on his friend. That’s all it took. He suggested using shortwave radio broadcasts because Karl was obsessed with them. He had all the necessary gear and even came up with the code himself. Said he’d got the idea from a poster that hung over the desk in Karl’s basement. He was sure his friend would crack it eventually but he was going to give him a nudge if he didn’t. It never came to that, though.’

  ‘What about Karl? What had he ever done to you? Or were you just looking for someone to frame?’

  ‘He suited my purpose. And he stole my brother from me. He had no right to grow up with him. He deserved it.’

  ‘Ríkhardur, you do realise that you’re completely insane?’

  ‘I happen to disagree.’

  ‘You killed three people. By the most unbelievably horrific methods.’

  ‘It could have been much worse. I chose those methods precisely because they weren’t horrific. For me, anyway. All I had to do was switch on the appliances and they took care of the rest. I could even walk away; I didn’t have to watch them die. I’m not a sadist, you know. I’ve no desire to watchpeople suffer. It was a question of justice. People can’t just destroy my life, destroy my child’s life, without facing the consequences.’ Ríkhardur sighed. ‘You have no idea of the sheer effort that went into this. The lengths I’ve had to go to. The trouble I’ve taken to avoid encountering the little girl. The aspects of the investigation I volunteered for so I could keep an eye on what was happening. The phone calls. Did you really believe I wanted to ring all those nutters? And the CCTV at the cashpoint? My car was visible on the footage. I didn’t even have to destroy it. You trusted me implicitly and no one had any suspicion. And all the rest of it; pity you didn’t tell me straight away where Freyja was living. I injured the wrong dog. But I sorted that out. You must be feeling pretty bad about being made to look such a fool.’

  ‘Ríkhardur, will you do me a favour and turn round, put your hands behind your back and let me cuff you? We’ll continue this conversation down at the station as I originally suggested.’ Huldar’s voice was cold; it was evident that Ríkhardur’s taunt had got to him.

  ‘I’d rather not, thanks all the same.’

  ‘You won’t get away with it. I’m not the only one who knows. Sooner or later Karlotta’s going to put two and two together. And Margrét saw your shoes from under the bed. Regulation police shoes. There’s only one way this can end. Best get it over with.’

  ‘No. You need to take a moment to think about it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have insulted you. I may have made a fool of you but I didn’t enjoy it, if that’s any comfort.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I deserve it. I screwed your wife. In the toilets at a bar. At her request.’

  Freyja’s eyes opened wide. The bloody bastard. He would.

  Ríkhardur emitted a blood-curdling howl and a terrible racket of crashing and banging ensued. Freyja heard the sound of the examination table being knocked over. There were loud grunts and the odd cry – she couldn’t tell who was making which noises. Then all was suddenly quiet. Freyja didn’t dare move a muscle. A long, deep groan echoed round the room, followed by a whimper.

  It was Ríkhardur.

  Huldar’s groans sounded different, as she couldn’t forget. He was completely silent, which couldn’t be a good sign. In all likelihood he had been knocked out.

  There was a scraping of drawers and her heart began to pound. Was the man looking for some weapon to finish Huldar off with? After all she’d heard about the murders she wasn’t about to allow another to be committed right under her nose. Unlike Margrét, she was an adult. She wasn’t going to be forced to sit by and do nothing. Besides, if the man killed Huldar he was perfectly capable of going straight round to Margrét’s house.

  With infinite caution she slid her hand into her bag and managed to extract the revolver without making a sound. She knew it was loaded but not whether it worked. But then Ríkhardur wouldn’t know that either.

  Hastily cocking the trigger, Freyja kicked open the cupboard door, holding the gun in front of her. Huldar was lying curled up in a ball on the floor. To her relief, he was breathing. ‘Put the scissors down.’ She couldn’t stop her voice from shaking.

  The man turned, astonished. Then, recovering, he grinned. ‘I’m a police officer. Please put the gun down and place your hands behind your head.’

  ‘Drop the scissors.’ Freyja could see the gun trembling in her hands. She braced herself, flinging back her hair with a quick movement of her head. ‘Drop the scissors or I’ll shoot.’

  ‘Oh, I very much doubt that. Put the gun down, dear.’

  He took a step towards her.

  Freyja fired. He shouldn’t have called her ‘dear’.

  Epilogue

  It was such a beautiful shade of red. In the hospital ward that Karl now called home, everything was white or pale yellow. Occasionally this colour scheme was broken up by a drab, institutional green, and although he welcomed the change, the shade brought no pleasure in itself; hospitals had appropriated it for their own use and no one else cared for it. There must be some philosophy behind this choice of palette. It was probably meant to represent health and hygiene – perhaps hope too, though the colours seemed to have been carefully selected so as no
t to inspire people with unwarranted optimism.

  But this blaze of red was different. So bright it was almost luminous. Mesmerising. It was a long time since he had seen anything so beautiful. How long, he had no idea. Time had no meaning here; he no longer had any awareness of hours, minutes or seconds. Even day and night had ceased to be part of his existence, which was now divided into waking, dozing and sleeping. Just now he was dozing.

  But the red colour was worth waking up for.

  Karl had been laid on his paralysed side to protect his back from bedsores. He tried to open his eyes wider. He couldn’t actually tell if they were both open because he could no longer see out of one; had no feeling at all on that side. For all he knew, the eye itself might be all right and it was only the paralysed eyelid that blocked its view.

  He didn’t know and anyway it didn’t really matter. There was so much he didn’t know and he couldn’t open his mouth and ask. The words emerged distorted or refused to come at all. He was merely grateful for the degree of sight and hearing he still retained.

  The worst part was having so little control over what he heard or saw.

  He still couldn’t make himself properly understood, but the few people who paused by his bed would insist on trying to talk to him. The best times were when two or more members of hospital staff turned up at the same time since they almost invariably started chatting to each other, about him or work or occasionally about their personal lives. Those were the most interesting parts.

  His good eye took its time and Karl had to content himself with studying the attractive red colour through a narrow slit. While he was waiting for his eyelid to respond, he tried to guess what the colour represented. It couldn’t be blood or roses and certainly not a Ferrari. He was inclining to the opinion that it must be the vertical line of the cross on the Icelandic flag when his eyelid finally lifted all the way and he saw that the staff had not in fact hung a flag on the wall facing him. Instead, a man was sitting in the visitor’s chair that up to now had been empty. A man wearing a bright red tie, a dazzling white shirt and a dark blue jacket. Like a personification of the Icelandic flag.