The Doll

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  At this point Freyja felt compelled to interrupt: ‘What about the possibility that the children did speak up, but their allegations were never recorded or acted on?’ There were precedents. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time in Iceland that adults had let down children in similar situations. Often this was down to ignorance or poor judgement, but there had been cases in which the perpetrators had been protected due to their connections or position. ‘Perhaps the adults thought they were making it up.’

  ‘It’s possible. Though anyone working in this area ought to know better than to ignore that kind of accusation. Still, who knows?’ Yngvi hesitated, then said: ‘They’re considering whether to allow you access to recordings of the children’s sessions with therapists employed by the City of Reykjavík from the period in question, as well as with our own people. Most of the kids attended one or more sessions during their time in care. As you’re a psychologist employed by us to work on these types of cases, the request should hopefully be approved, but it’s possible the powers that be will decide that the therapists who originally took the interviews should go through them. I hope not, because the interviews were taken over a long period and many of those involved have since moved on or left the profession. The thing is, I suspect these interviews are going to provide our best evidence. It’s not unlikely that the children will have hinted at what was going on, and only someone motivated by criminal intent would have deleted that from a recording.’

  ‘I see. How many children are we talking about?’

  ‘The first batch consists of teenagers who were resident at the home over the last four years. Thirty-three of them are still under eighteen. The second batch are mostly over eighteen, so your presence won’t be required much if the police decide to interview that group as well.’

  Thirty-three adolescents. Freyja felt a pang. She was lucky she hadn’t been numbed by repeated exposure to these kinds of cases. Not yet, anyway. ‘So my role is basically to listen to the interviews I’m asked to attend and, in addition, to check whether any of these thirty-three children have previously tried to raise the alarm?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Yngvi laid his hands flat on the table as if he was about to stand up. But he remained sitting.

  ‘I hope you won’t come across any evidence of mistakes on our part. I dug up the name of the boy responsible for the original accusation – the one who came forward anonymously in the press – and ran through his file.’ Yngvi removed his hands from the table and cleared his throat. ‘He claims in the interview that he reported the abuse at the time, but I can’t find anything to support that. I did go through it in a bit of a hurry, though, so it’s always possible you’ll come across something I missed.’

  ‘What’s his name? It would make sense for me to know that when I’m going through the records.’

  ‘Tristan. Tristan Berglindarson.’

  Freyja nodded. ‘Do you know if the police regard him as a credible witness?’

  ‘I have no idea. They’ve hardly shared any information with us.’ Yngvi was becoming restless, although the meeting hadn’t lasted long. ‘I want to make it absolutely clear that your work is to be kept completely separate from the police investigation. They’ll do their job and you’re simply to sit in on the interviews and make sure that the young people are treated appropriately. You can intervene if you feel their rights are being infringed or they’re being put under undue pressure. Apart from that, you’re not to get involved. Don’t ask any questions: they’ll take care of that.’

  ‘I’ve attended these sorts of interviews before, in the same role. I know what’s required.’

  ‘Good.’ For the first time since Freyja had emerged from the lift, Yngvi seemed pleased. ‘But don’t forget about your other role, regarding the files. Your work is part of an internal investigation that we’re conducting independently of the police inquiry. We absolutely can’t be caught napping by any further statements in the press. We need to be forewarned about any potential problems, for the purposes of damage limitation.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘I should also stress that I expect you to be completely impartial when you’re reviewing the files. You may come across the names of people you know from your work in child protection but you’re to overlook any acquaintance. Though, having said that, none of the young people concerned have gone through the Children’s House, so you needn’t worry about encountering the names of any close colleagues. Or your own, for that matter.’

  Freyja didn’t bother to reply to this. There was nothing to add.

  Yngvi’s assistant appeared, out of breath, with the USB stick. It felt warm when she closed her hand on it, like a reminder of the inflammatory material it might contain.

  Once the assistant had gone, it became clear that the meeting was over. Yngvi rose to his feet and she followed suit, though she did manage to slip in one more question that had occurred to her. ‘Where are these kids supposed to go for help when this whole thing is out in the open? They’re hardly likely to trust us.’

  Yngvi looked her in the eye and answered without a moment’s hesitation: ‘No. That’s pretty clear. But we’ll deal with that when we come to it. Right now we need to establish the scale of the problem and wait for the police to complete their investigation. Only after that will we be in a position to consider our next steps.’

  Freyja had to be satisfied with this answer. If she said any more, he was bound to remind her that it wasn’t her job to oversee the case, just to concentrate on her contribution.

  He walked her to the lift and waited with her for the doors to open. As she stepped inside they said goodbye, then, just as the doors were closing, Yngvi stuck out his foot to stop them.

  ‘It would be good if you could give me a daily update.’

  Freyja agreed. But Yngvi didn’t withdraw his foot. Awkwardly, he opened his mouth to add something, then changed his mind. Then he opened it again and finally came out with what he wanted to say:

  ‘It’s only right you should know that there are plans to create a permanent position of liaison officer between children’s services and the police, as a way of preventing further mistakes like the failure to report the allegation. The recruitment process will be starting shortly and I imagine you’d be well placed to send in an application. It’s better paid than your current position and involves more responsibility too. A different kind of responsibility.’

  ‘What about my job at the Children’s House?’

  ‘What about it? You’d have to resign, of course. The liaison officer position would be full time, and, as I said, better paid than your current job.’ Seeing that Freyja was in two minds, Yngvi added: ‘I know you’re ambitious. You wouldn’t have applied to be director of the Children’s House back in the day if you weren’t. But, to be honest, you won’t get another crack at that job given … well, you know …’

  Freyja managed to keep her expression impassive. How come it always hurt when people spoke ‘honestly’? She was damned if she was going to be drawn into discussing the fiasco that had ended her career as director of the Children’s House. ‘Yes, well, there’s no need to go into that,’ she said curtly.

  Apparently Yngvi wasn’t entirely devoid of sensitivity. He clearly realised his gaffe. ‘No, of course not. I just wanted to encourage you to apply. It would be a good move, career-wise.’

  Freyja didn’t know what to say. The man could hardly expect her to give him an answer there and then, standing in the lift with her finger on the button. ‘Do I get some time to think about it?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I just wanted to give you the heads-up – that if you’re interested, there’s more at stake than the present role, important as that is. If you do a good job, the position’s yours. I can promise you that.’

  Freyja thanked him. Yngvi’s foot remained where it was.

  ‘There’s something I’ve heard but wasn’t going to share with you, because I’m not sure it’s true. But if it is, it may explain why the abuse went on
for so long without coming to light.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Intrigued, Freyja stepped into the gap between the doors to make sure they didn’t close.

  ‘I’m told that Tristan claims he was drugged – that he was asleep when the abuse took place. If that’s true, it’s possible that not all the young people involved are aware of what happened to them. Or of who was responsible.’ He grimaced. ‘Good luck.’

  Freyja stepped back into the lift and the doors closed. She was clutching the warm USB stick so tightly that the edges cut into her palm.

  Chapter 5

  Tuesday

  Huldar blew out a long breath and contemplated getting on top of his outstanding admin. He knew the Police Commissioner’s quality-control officer would be over the moon. He might even feel a certain sense of satisfaction himself afterwards. He reached for his mouse to rouse his screen from its deep hibernation, only to jerk back his hand at the last minute. No way was he going to waste his time on that stuff. Not now, not tomorrow. Not ever.

  He got to his feet. What on earth was he doing? He had actually, seriously, been considering getting on with some paperwork. Clearly, he needed an occupation. He peered over the monitor between him and Gudlaugur and saw that his colleague was sound asleep in his chair. No wonder he’d been so quiet for the last half-hour or so. Huldar briefly toyed with the idea of giving him a fright but thought better of it.

  His relationship with Gudlaugur was back to normal after months of awkward silences and stupid misunderstandings. Nothing in particular had happened to bring about this reconciliation; Gudlaugur had simply realised in the end that Huldar couldn’t give a damn about his sexuality. The message had finally sunk in when the reaction of their colleagues to the news that Gudlaugur was gay had been one of general indifference. They had – almost without exception – shrugged their shoulders. And Huldar had personally seen to it that any dinosaurs who did have a problem with it kept their mouths shut. He was only too happy that Gudlaugur seemed blithely unaware of the blows he’d struck to that end.

  Against his better judgement, Huldar decided to see if Erla had any jobs up her sleeve for him. He knew she was bored out of her mind too. He’d been watching her through the glass wall of her office as she repeatedly reached for her phone, then drew back her hand. Presumably she was summoning up the courage to call the Identification Commission, and the reason for her hesitation was that she had rung them several times already.

  Maybe he could distract her and himself at the same time. Of course, when Erla was in this mood she was apt to take it out on him, but, since he hadn’t done anything wrong recently, she would have to find a pretext. Or dredge up some past misdemeanour. There was no shortage to choose from.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Huldar went into her office, shutting the door behind him. That way there was less chance that she would drive him straight out again.

  ‘Going? It’s not bloody going anywhere. That commission’s a bunch of fucking bureaucrats who have no idea of the need for a proper investigation. I expect they’re falling over themselves hunting for some procedural rule that will let them off the hook.’

  Huldar nodded, feigning agreement, while privately reflecting that the commission was made up of respected professionals who were dedicated to the task of establishing the identity of the deceased. It wasn’t their job to investigate the cause of death. And it wasn’t their fault that the Swedish lab required time to analyse the DNA. ‘A week or two’s nothing. And we should have the results of the age estimation before then.’

  Erla was contemptuous. ‘The age estimation? Don’t get your hopes up. Apparently we don’t have any of the “skeletal elements” that provide the best indication of age. Which means we’ll get such a broad range that it’ll be meaningless. It seems the most they’re likely to be able to tell us is whether they were adults and whether they were past their prime. It’s bound to be give or take ten years, if not even vaguer. Fat lot of use that’ll be.’

  ‘Won’t we at least get an idea of their height?’

  ‘Yes, apparently they can calculate that fairly accurately from the leg bones. But we won’t be able to determine their sex from what we’ve got. So, in other words, we won’t have anything useful until those bloody Swedes get their arses into gear and send us the results of the DNA analysis.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything we can get on with in the meantime?’

  Erla snorted. ‘Like what? Ring round the sportswear suppliers and ask if they’ve got a list of names of everyone who’s ever bought Adidas or Nike shoes? We might as well resort to the telephone directory.’

  ‘What about the missing-persons’ list? Have you looked at that?’ One of the jobs of the Identification Commission was to maintain a list of all the people who had disappeared in Iceland, the Register of Missing Persons, which could be referred to whenever a body turned up. Since it was stored on the police database, CID had access to it and could run the list together with other programs containing information about biological specimens, dental records and anything else that could shed light on an individual’s origins. But they would have nothing to run through the system until they heard back from the commission. After one or even two long weeks.

  Erla nodded. ‘Nothing doing. Not as it stands.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There are no instances of two simultaneous disappearances. Not for years, anyway. And no recent examples of people last seen wearing Nike or Adidas shoes.’ Erla reached for a stapled bundle of pages. ‘See for yourself.’

  Huldar ran his eyes down the top page. There was no point looking any further back in time as the remains couldn’t have been in the sea for years. It didn’t require a PhD in pigs’ carcases to work that out. It was self-evident that it wouldn’t take the sea creatures that long to pick off the last scraps of flesh, even if they were protected by a shoe. And not even bones would last forever on the seabed. Huldar had discovered this much while killing time. The bones would be consumed by a variety of different creatures, just like any other organic matter that ended up in the sea. The process would take years but not decades. To narrow down the time frame, he had ascertained that the summer sea temperature off south Iceland was around 10°C. At that temperature, and given a favourable oxygen content, it would take around three months for the marine life to clean the bones to the extent of those they had found. And as the sea in wide bays like Faxaflói, which were open to the ocean, tended to be rich in oxygen, his was as good a guess as any other. So, logically, the bones couldn’t have been in the sea for less than three months. Which gave a time frame of more than three months at one end and less than five years or so at the other.

  They had carried on scouring the seabed with the submarine until the captain had put his foot down and insisted that the search be aborted. By then the weather had deteriorated to the point where everyone on board was clinging on for dear life just to stay upright. And Huldar, who had long since succumbed to his seasickness, had been too preoccupied with hanging on to his insides to take any further interest in the proceedings. Nevertheless, he had caught the moment when Erla stepped aside to throw up. She had been quick to return to the fray, though, carrying on as if nothing had happened. Paler, admittedly, but just as determined. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that seasickness didn’t affect everyone in the same way.

  But the extended search hadn’t produced the desired results. All they’d got for their pains were three more arm bones, one thigh bone, a shoulder bone and several pieces of a coccyx. Neither skull had come to light, nor had any clothing, teeth or anything else that would make life easier for the Identification Commission. Some pelvic bones would have been helpful, as this would have speeded up the estimation of age and gender. None of the remains had provided any indication of the cause of death either, with the exception of a mark on one of the arm bones, the ulna, that could conceivably have been caused by an injury sustained while the person was alive. An expert would be brought in to examine the groove once the
bones had been cleaned, but it wasn’t impossible that it had resulted post-mortem, from being bumped around on the seabed.

  Huldar glanced up from the list. ‘Nothing leaps out at me.’

  ‘No. Not a single bloody thing.’ Erla took back the list. ‘The shortest interval between disappearances is between the two top names. One vanished three months ago, the other ten. Sometimes there’s a gap of a year or two between disappearances, but basically we’re talking about fewer than fifty people in almost half a century. Not that the oldest instances are relevant, anyway, as no one in Iceland was wearing Nike shoes fifty years ago. Or even forty years ago, for that matter. In fact, none of the people on the list are thought to have been wearing Adidas shoes at the time they went missing and only two were wearing Nike. The most recent was five years ago, so I doubt the bones belong to him.’ Erla glanced at her phone, momentarily distracted, then went on, ‘I’m starting to think they could have fallen overboard from a ship or come from a wreck.’

  ‘Hm, strange choice of footwear for fishermen. Could the men have been recreational sailors?’

  ‘Men? Some of those bones could have belonged to a woman.’

  Huldar had to concede that she was right. The Adidas shoe had looked smaller than the size forty-one Nike that had turned up originally. ‘I didn’t spot any women on that list.’

  ‘There’s one. But she went missing so long ago that it can’t be her.’ Erla made a face. ‘Something’s not right. Say it was an accident at sea: why isn’t there any information about it? I spoke to a guy at the Commission of Enquiry into Accidents at Sea and according to him no sailor has died or been lost in Icelandic waters this year. Or last year either.’

  ‘Foreigners, then?’

  ‘Maybe. But if they’d come from international waters, they’d have been in a vessel with a transmitter, and the Directorate of Shipping would have picked them up on their radar if they were that close to shore. The guy I spoke to wasn’t aware of any foreign vessels being lost off Iceland in recent memory. Not for many years, in fact. And he reckoned it was almost impossible that the bodies could have drifted there from a wreck that had gone down outside the two-hundred-mile limit. The same would apply to anyone who had fallen overboard in the Atlantic west of Iceland.’