The Absolution

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Huldar leant over and murmured: ‘Keep an eye on the kids. If you notice anything interesting, give me a nudge. Then we can have a chat with the kid in question.’

  Freyja nodded, letting her eyes roam over the assembled teenagers again. She, Huldar and Gudlaugur were standing at the side of the hall. While she had been drinking coffee with the tourists, they had been changing into uniform, presumably to underline the seriousness of the occasion. As the pupils filed into the hall, all eyes had been drawn to the two police officers, and the principal emotion had appeared to be surprise. No one had stopped dead or shiftily averted their gaze, but then it was extremely unlikely that any of them was the perpetrator. From the footage, it appeared the police were looking for an adult male, not a gangling adolescent.

  On stage, the headmistress tapped the microphone. Her opening words were drowned out by a deafening screech. She moved a little further away and started again, her voice sombre as she informed the assembled pupils of what they already knew, that they were there to discuss what had happened to Stella. She went on to thank them for coming in outside school hours and the chair of the student council for suggesting the idea.

  Freyja turned from the stage to watch the audience reaction. Most of the teenagers were leaning forward, eager not to miss a thing. Only in one or two places did she see the blue glow of a phone screen.

  ‘We’re aware that many, perhaps most, of you received the Snapchat messages from Stella’s phone, which the police believe were recorded and sent by her attacker. Many of you have watched some or all of them. Now, of course we can’t undo that, but I would urge those who haven’t yet watched them not to do so. By watching them, in the full knowledge of what they contain, you’ll only be doing what her assailant wanted. And it won’t make you feel any better. I want to remind you all – whether or not you’ve seen the videos – that these messages are not from Stella herself. The videos have nothing to do with the Stella we know, who’ll be in all our thoughts in the coming days, so it’s best to focus on remembering her as your friend from school. Hold on to that thought. Try not to dwell on the images in the videos. The police have the recordings, so you won’t be helping the investigation by watching them.’

  That wasn’t quite right. From what Huldar had told Freyja, he wanted to ask the kids if anything they’d seen or heard in the videos rang any bells. So she wasn’t surprised to see him grimacing at the headmistress’s words. The teenagers caught it too, since they’d automatically glanced at him and Gudlaugur when the head mentioned the police. Distracted by this, they probably didn’t even take in what she said.

  ‘Now, I’m aware that journalists have been trying to contact some of you, and although your form teachers have already been over this, I want to stress yet again that no one is to talk to the press. If you have anything to say that you think might be relevant to the inquiry, you’re to speak to the police. Not, under any circumstances, to a reporter. Is that clear?’

  The group mumbled ‘Yes.’ Whether their promise would mean anything in practice was another matter. They were only kids, and experienced journalists were experts in winkling stuff out of people. They wouldn’t necessarily bother, though. They’d already milked everyone dry; lurid accounts of the recordings and the kids’ statements had been plastered all over the online news sites. Tomorrow they’d be clamouring for new revelations from the police.

  A girl in the back row stuck up her hand and waved it to attract the attention of the head, who didn’t look particularly pleased at this interruption. ‘The police took my phone. And Björg’s too. When’ll we get them back? Being without a phone’s a nightmare. Isn’t it, like, against the law or something?’

  The head’s gaze shifted to Huldar and Gudlaugur. ‘That’s for the police to decide. But I don’t imagine they’ll hang on to them any longer than necessary. However inconvenient it may seem to you and Björg, it’s not actually illegal to deprive someone of their phone.’

  The girl slumped back in her chair, looking sulky. The headmistress went on to enumerate Stella’s virtues and to point out how incomprehensible and unfair it was that she should have fallen victim to a violent criminal. The woman reminded them to think about their own safety at all times and also to look out for each other, then went on to express the heartfelt wish that Stella would be found soon, safe and sound. As she said this, Freyja caught a movement as one of the girls sitting near the front of the hall raised her head and looked at the stage for the first time. Her expression was harsh, as if she wasn’t particularly concerned about Stella’s welfare. Then she dropped her gaze again, unaware that she’d been observed. Freyja got the impression she was smiling. She nudged Huldar, pointing unobtrusively at the girl, but he had no chance to study her because at that moment the headmistress introduced him.

  As he walked up to the stage, Freyja noticed that something had distracted the kids’ attention. They were nudging each other and the blue glow of screens proliferated along the rows until they all appeared to be glued to their phones, apart from the four pupils isolated at the front.

  Huldar seemed to realise that he had lost his audience. He stood in silence, watching them until one by one they tore their eyes from their screens. Finally, a boy stuck up his hand rather diffidently, as if undecided about whether he should speak. Huldar nodded to him.

  ‘Er … we just got a Snap?’ He held up his phone with the screen facing Huldar, as if he thought he’d be able to see it from the other end of the hall. ‘From Stella.’

  For an instant, in defiance of the facts, Freyja believed Stella was alive. No doubt she wasn’t alone in experiencing this momentary rush of relief. But clearly not everyone felt the same way. The girl Freyja had been watching stole a rapid glance over her shoulder.

  There was no mistaking the look of disappointment on her face.

  Chapter 5

  The girl’s way of walking was familiar. Eyes down, coat clutched tightly to her chest, taking long, rapid strides, without quite breaking into a run. Everything was aimed at making a quick getaway without attracting attention. I’m not here. Freyja used to walk like that herself as a teenager. If called on to describe the corridors of her school she would be at a complete loss because she used to keep her head permanently lowered. She would recognise the floors, though. The person who had stuck up the homemade poster on the noticeboard, advertising help for the victims of bullying, would have done better to stick it to the floor. Mind you, she noticed that one of the phone numbers at the bottom of the poster had been torn off. Evidently, someone had raised their eyes from the floor long enough to spot it.

  Freyja reminded herself not to project her own experiences onto a stranger. There might be some other reason for the girl’s subdued manner. She might be naturally introverted or depressive, have Asperger’s or some other related syndrome. Freyja would soon find out, if only she could catch up with her. Two boys paused to look at something on a phone and Freyja almost cannoned into them. Dodging round, she hurried on but a gap had opened up between her and her quarry. It was a pity Gudlaugur and Huldar had been urgently called away, as the kids would probably have stepped aside for them without being asked. She could have done with their company too as the surroundings were getting her down; they were too powerful a reminder of her old school.

  Really, it was surprising she didn’t begin every day by falling to her knees and offering thanks for the fact that the ordeal of her teenage years was behind her. Normally she did her best not to dwell on past miseries, but now she had been forcibly reminded of them, partly by this case, partly by the e-mail from a former classmate – one of the most spiteful back in the day – announcing a reunion. She had ignored it, amazed that any of them could have forgotten how they’d treated her. But perhaps the bullies remembered things differently. Anyway, who cared what was going on in their heads? As far as she was concerned, they could shove their invitation where the sun don’t shine.

  Though Freyja had survived her own schooldays and done her best to
put them behind her, she couldn’t help worrying about her niece Saga. Like seagulls, kids tended to pick on those who were different. All you had to do was paint a red line on a bird for the rest of the flock to turn on it. And although Freyja loved the little girl more than life itself, her love wasn’t blind. She was painfully aware that Saga was unlikely to fit in. She was too odd, in character, appearance and family circumstances. Her face was set in a perma-scowl and she showed little interest in learning to talk. Although Freyja had long ago abandoned the hope that Saga would grow out of her sullenness, she did think there was a possibility her circumstances might improve; that her father wouldn’t always spend more time in jail than out. But for that to happen, Baldur would have to make a big effort to turn his back on a life of crime. He’d failed to do so for his own sake but he had a duty to reform his ways for his daughter. And if he didn’t realise that himself, Freyja would point it out to him in no uncertain terms. Surely he wouldn’t want Saga to end up like the poor kid Freyja was trying to catch up with, a mere shadow of a girl, jeered at by her classmates. Saga, the child with the perma-scowl, whose dad was a con: it was a recipe for disaster.

  ‘Excuse me! Could you wait a minute?’ Freyja broke into a jog. Her shouts were ignored, either because the girl’s thoughts were miles away or because she assumed Freyja was talking to someone else. ‘Hello!’ Freyja kept having to dodge round the other kids who’d been at the meeting, while trying not to lose sight of the girl. Unlike her, the others walked in groups or pairs, deep in discussion about what had happened to Stella. It wasn’t every day they found themselves caught up in a major news story.

  ‘Excuse me … excuse me …’ Freyja pushed some teenagers politely aside and was rewarded with the disgusted looks of those who believe the earth was created for them. Finally she managed to grab the girl’s shoulder. Feeling the delicate bones through the shabby coat she slackened her grip so as not to hurt her. The girl looked round, eyes wide, as if fearing a blow. Freyja removed her hand, smiling awkwardly. ‘Sorry, but I couldn’t have a quick word, could I?’ They were standing in the middle of the corridor while the other pupils streamed past, shooting them looks and whispering to one another. ‘We should find somewhere quieter. It won’t take a minute.’

  The girl opened her mouth to object, then closed it and let Freyja steer her out of the throng. Clearly she had decided it would be better to talk to this stranger in private than to stand there arguing with everyone watching.

  They went through the first door Freyja spotted. It opened into a classroom, crammed with chairs and desks. The whiteboard was covered in equations that someone had forgotten to rub out and Freyja felt a stab of guilt about the neglected homework waiting for her on the kitchen table. The girl took up a position behind the most solid piece of furniture in the room, the teacher’s desk, and stood there, her gaze flickering up to Freyja, then back down to her feet.

  ‘You may not have noticed me at the meeting earlier. My name’s Freyja and I’m helping the police. I’m a psychologist – a child psychologist, actually.’ This additional piece of information obviously didn’t go down well. The girl may have been socially isolated but she clearly shared her peers’ delusion that they were almost adults. ‘What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  ‘Adalheidur.’ The girl seemed a little less timid now that they were alone and it was clear that Freyja wasn’t planning to spring any nasty surprises on her. She met Freyja’s eye as she introduced herself and her face was properly visible for the first time. In contrast to the girls at the police station earlier, she wore no make-up, not even mascara. It made her look younger, more innocent than them. Her unhappiness was evident not only in her rounded shoulders but in her mousy hair that hung lank and lifeless.

  ‘Hello, Adalheidur.’ Freyja smiled. ‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ The girl shook her head. ‘OK, no problem. This shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘What? What shouldn’t take long?’ The girl darted a glance at the door. ‘Why do you want to talk to me?’

  ‘To have a little chat about Stella. We’re not having much luck building up a picture of her.’ Freyja had to concentrate to stop herself accidentally slipping into the past tense. Stella’s classmates were still under the impression that she was alive. ‘The police have spoken to her parents, friends and teachers. And to the girls who work with her at the cinema. They all paint the same picture: Stella’s a lovely girl, popular, fun. Which doesn’t give us much to go on. But I noticed you at the meeting earlier and thought maybe you could tell me a bit more about her – things the others either can’t see or don’t want to admit.’

  The girl snorted.

  ‘It won’t go any further and none of the other kids need ever know.’

  Adalheidur stared at Freyja, her face inscrutable. ‘I don’t really know her. You’ll have to talk to someone else.’

  ‘Really? You don’t know each other?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’re in the same class, aren’t you?’

  Adalheidur’s lips tightened.

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  Adalheidur remained stubbornly silent for a moment longer, then said reluctantly: ‘Yes. But, like, I don’t go around with her. We’re not friends. She sits at the back; I sit at the front. Talk to someone else – someone who actually, like, hangs out with her.’

  Freyja ignored this. ‘I thought I saw you smiling when the headmistress was talking about Stella. Was I right?’

  Adalheidur shrugged but Freyja persisted: ‘Are you enemies?’

  The girl dropped her gaze to her feet again. Freyja noticed her fingers properly for the first time as Adalheidur clutched her coat defensively around herself. The nails were bitten down to the quick. ‘I already told you: she’s not my friend.’

  ‘Not being mates is one thing. Being enemies is another. Which are you?’

  The girl looked up. Finally there was a spark of life in the eyes now glaring at Freyja. ‘Enemies, OK? Will that help your investigation?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Freyja said calmly, and gave the girl a moment to recover from her flash of anger. ‘So you don’t share Stella’s friends’ opinion that she’s a lovely person?’

  ‘No.’ It was curt, unwavering.

  ‘Do you know if she’s embroiled in something that might explain what’s happened to her? Whether she associates with people older than her, for example?’ Freyja’s use of longer words was deliberate. When talking to children or young people who were being stubborn or difficult, you could sometimes jolt them out of their sulkiness by confusing them.

  ‘Embroiled in?’ Adalheidur frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Does she mix with people older than her? Dodgy types?’

  ‘I dunno. I haven’t got a clue who she mixes with.’

  Freyja smiled. ‘No. I don’t suppose you do. But tell me something: how come you’re enemies? She seems very popular. Did she do something to upset you or was it the other way round?’ When Adalheidur didn’t answer, Freyja went on: ‘Look, I promise this won’t go any further. But if you’ve got information that the others are withholding or aren’t aware of, you could help us find Stella or her attacker. The perfect picture we’ve been given so far isn’t helping us at all. Your opinion may not be any use either, but we’d like to hear it.’

  The girl’s face darkened again. ‘You want to hear? Seriously?’ She put her hands on the desk and leant forwards, as if to reduce the distance between them. ‘People like you are always coming out with stuff like that but you don’t mean it. Nobody wants to hear. Not really.’ Her eyes were suddenly brimming with tears. ‘The school knows exactly what that bitch and her mates have done to me. Yet they try and make me pretend I’m sorry she’s missing. Drag me into that stupid meeting. Make me listen to crap about trauma counselling and how Stella’s in all our thoughts. Yeah, right. I’ve told them and told them but they won’t listen. Any more than you will.’

  ‘Fire away. I promise I’ll listen.’
>
  Adalheidur sighed and shrugged but took Freyja at her word. And Freyja kept her face carefully blank as she heard the girl’s story. It was no different from countless other tales of modern bullying. Ugly, cruel and humiliating, and the girl’s voice was filled with bitterness as she told it. She’d repeatedly begged the school authorities to intervene, but their feeble response had not only failed to improve things but had actually made them worse. Stella had put on an innocent face, denied everything and turned the accusations back on Adalheidur, with tears in her eyes. Only to take a vicious revenge afterwards. Adalheidur’s parents’ attempts to intervene had been no more successful. Every time they tried to stop the bullying, it got worse. The hate page set up on Facebook, which was taken down when she complained, kept popping up under a new name as soon as the previous one disappeared – with even nastier content. It was like using lighter fluid to try and put out a fire. Adalheidur couldn’t be bothered to complain any more, no matter what happened. She just kept a low profile, avoided social media and spent her time counting down the days until she was old enough to leave the country.

  After the girl had finished her story, Freyja stood there thinking. Some people clung on to their sanity in situations like this by finding some core of inner strength that helped them get through the ordeal unscathed. Others weren’t so lucky. They carried the bitterness Adalheidur was nursing well into adulthood. Freyja herself was somewhere between these two extremes.