The Absolution

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  ‘An older brother, then?’ Gudlaugur fiddled with his mouse. ‘Or her mother?’

  ‘It’s possible.’ Huldar frowned. ‘How would you react if your daughter was being bullied like that? It says here that Stella took a picture of her in the shower after gym and sent it to everyone. She also set up a Facebook page, the latest version of which is called “We hate Adalheidur”. Have you seen the crap she and the other kids posted?’ Gudlaugur nodded. The page was public and Freyja had sent them the link. Huldar had failed to notice it when he was going through Stella’s laptop. That suggested there might be other things he’d missed, but then he was no IT expert. Just as well the laptop was now with Forensics, who would examine every last byte of information on the hard disk. Huldar went on: ‘And that’s not including all the other abuse she subjected her to. Might you be driven to beat up a girl who’d made your daughter’s life a misery?’ Since they were both childless, neither of them was in a position to answer. After a moment, Huldar asked: ‘Do you think it was the Facebook page that Stella’s friends were scared we’d find?’

  ‘Maybe. If it’s worse than that, it must be bad.’ Gudlaugur sighed, then added: ‘Still no reply from Erla?’ Huldar had forwarded Freyja’s e-mail to her, partly for her information and partly as a reminder, in case she’d forgotten, that he and Gudlaugur were still part of the team.

  ‘No.’ Since returning from the house where the phone had been found Erla hadn’t even glanced in their direction, so they were still sitting there twiddling their thumbs while the others gradually drifted off home.

  ‘Maybe we should get going.’ Gudlaugur rattled his empty yoghurt pot as if hoping it would magically fill up again. ‘I’ve run out of things to do.’

  ‘Me too. But if we sit tight, Erla might give us something.’ Huldar knew it wasn’t going to happen but he was childishly determined to hang on until Erla was forced to acknowledge his presence. He didn’t want to have to sit there on his own, though. ‘Maybe there’ll be news from Forensics. They have to finish checking her phone and laptop soon, surely? There’ll be plenty to do after that and it would be a pity if Erla was the only one left in the office.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ Gudlaugur sounded doubtful.

  The man over whose head Huldar had chucked the sandwich wrapper switched off his computer, stood up, stretched and removed his jacket from the back of his chair. He left without saying goodbye; a fair indication of Huldar’s popularity in the department.

  The muffled sound of a phone ringing came from Erla’s office and, instantly alert, they watched through the glass wall as she answered. ‘You see,’ Huldar leant back in his chair, arms behind his neck, ‘I reckon our wait’s over.’ Erla was on her feet, one hand on top of her head. She drew it slowly down her face, stretching out her features. Huldar knew that gesture: it meant something was about to happen.

  The phone call ended and Erla emerged from her office. She surveyed the empty desks. Apart from Huldar and Gudlaugur there was only one detective left, a long-serving officer nearing retirement. His name was Kári and he was on crutches following an operation on his ankle. According to office gossip, he was losing his marbles as well. Erla beckoned him over, looking disgruntled. When she took in Gudlaugur and Huldar still sitting in the corner, she looked even more annoyed, shaking her head over the unfairness of it all. Huldar couldn’t hold back a broad grin when she told them to get their coats on, but it was wiped off his face again when he heard why: Stella’s body had been found.

  The lingering taste of stale tuna did nothing to improve the situation. Huldar had never been good with blood or other bodily fluids; or with vomit, open wounds, corpses … all the things associated with the aftermath of violence or suicide. Still, looking on the bright side, the smell wasn’t that bad in this instance since Stella had been dead less than twenty-four hours and was lying in the open air. Nevertheless, he could detect the metallic odour of blood and the whiff of decomposition that would only get worse. He couldn’t bring himself to scrounge some menthol ointment from Erla to smear under his nose but sooner or later he would be forced to swallow his pride. Either that or step aside and puke up his sandwich. It wasn’t an uncommon reaction. When an officer threw up, he or she generally got a pat on the back and a kind word, but Huldar knew he couldn’t expect that sort of consideration. Aware that his reputation couldn’t take any further knocks, he swallowed hard, determined to tough it out.

  Stella was lying on her back on the wet tarmac of a small car park behind one of the last old-fashioned convenience stores in the city. These days people went to supermarkets for their sweets and canned drinks, and petrol stations for their hot dogs. Although the owner of this shop had refused to give in, the chocolate turning white under the glass counter and the dusty sweet packets on the shelves bore witness to the fact that he was losing the battle. Yet however depressing the surroundings, Huldar would have given anything to be allowed to stand guard in there. Contemplating dusty gummy bears easily beat staring at a dead body. Sadly that role had been allocated to the hobbling Kári since it meant he could park himself on the chair that the shop owner had conjured up. It had been obvious too that Erla wanted Kári out of the way, driven demented by the fact that, ever since they’d arrived, he had been prattling on about having a powerful sense of déjà vu. He didn’t say a word about the actual scene, just kept muttering about a confused memory of something that had probably never happened.

  The shop owner had stumbled on Stella’s body when he took out the rubbish. He swore it hadn’t been there when he’d arrived for the evening shift at five. She was lying halfway between his car and the two dustbins that stood by the fence, so if she’d been there he would unquestionably have seen her when he drove in. He’d reported the discovery just before eight, so logically Stella must have been dumped at some point in the three-hour interval. Huldar would have bet that it had been at around 7 p.m., when the traffic was at its quietest. But no one asked his opinion: Erla acted like he wasn’t there and Forensics were more likely to look through a microscope for answers than ask him what he thought. Sadly, there was no sign of the nice, pretty girl Gudlaugur had been eyeing up earlier.

  The shop owner, who had been much too distressed to answer any questions when they tried to interview him, stubbornly refused to go home, insisting that he had to stay open; the locals depended on him. Yet it was half past nine now and only one customer had come in the whole time they’d been there. On the other hand, the forensic technicians and four detectives had all purchased snacks, and Huldar suspected this was the real reason the owner was sticking around. He himself had bought a bottle of Coke, then another when one turned out not to be enough to quell his nausea. After watching the pathologist stick a thermometer into Stella’s liver, it was time for a third.

  Huldar’s stomach curdled and threatened to rebel. He cursed the location and the weather. Because the car park wasn’t overlooked from the road, there was no need to erect a tent over the body while they were working on it. If only there had been a little precipitation or wind they would have had to cover it, but no: for once it was still and the sky was clear.

  Huldar closed his eyes, trying desperately to focus on something positive. But however hard he tried to concentrate on trout fishing or the Icelandic football team, Stella’s battered head kept intruding into his thoughts. He couldn’t even face a smoke, which was saying something. He longed to turn his back on the activity around the corpse and stare out of the narrow drive that he and Gudlaugur were supposed to be guarding. He felt like a wuss beside his younger colleague.

  The pathologist stood up, tugging off his latex gloves and shoving his hands into the warm pair of mittens that an assistant was holding out to him. Like the other members of the forensics team, he was wearing a white plastic overall, but due to the cold he had a padded jacket on underneath, which made him look like the Michelin Man. He waddled over to Erla and they exchanged a few words.

  Gudlaugur bent towards Huldar. ‘What’s goin
g on?’

  ‘No idea. I’m going to see – wait here.’ If they both went over, Erla would snap at them to get back to their post. But since no one had tried to enter the car park so far, it would be unreasonable to insist they both remained on guard. Huldar carefully averted his gaze from the body as he passed, but the powerful floodlights meant he couldn’t help catching a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. The childlike shape in the familiar, skimpy, indoor clothes; the chalky skin and fair hair fanned out around the unrecognisable pulp of her face. Like a battered doll abandoned by a disturbed child.

  There wasn’t much Erla could say when Huldar appeared at her side. The pathologist was bound to have heard the gossip about her being investigated for sexual harassment, so, in the circumstances, she wouldn’t want to betray any hint that their relationship was strained. Or that was what Huldar was banking on as he waded in: ‘Found anything interesting?’

  ‘Yes and no. It’s her all right.’ The pathologist glanced in Stella’s direction. ‘But she hasn’t been here the whole time. Which, I gather, fits with the shop owner’s statement. The lividity – the pooling of blood under her skin – indicates that she must have been lying on her side in the period immediately after her death. But there’s no evidence of further pooling underneath her. As she’s still in the rigor mortis phase, you can also see from the alignment of her body that her present position doesn’t match the flat surface of the tarmac. Then there’s the fact that it snowed last night and again at midday, and although the tarmac’s underheated in the parking spaces, so any snow on the ground would have melted, her body ought to be covered by a thin layer or at least by traces of snow if she’d been lying out here since last night. But there isn’t a single snowflake to be seen. Hopefully the picture will become clearer once I’ve got her on the slab.’

  Huldar felt the blood draining from his face and hoped the others wouldn’t notice. He had been forced to attend a few post-mortems and had witnessed what happened on the slab. He felt a rush of pure gratitude that this was now Erla’s job. ‘Any chance you’ll find something on the body that could help us nail the killer?’ Normally he’d have asked about the cause of death but this time there was no need: they’d all witnessed the killing on CCTV.

  ‘With any luck. She was clutching some hairs in her fist. They were short – too short to be hers, I think. The follicle’s intact on several, so we should get some DNA and – if our luck’s in – a match in the CODIS database.’ The pathologist stared over at the floodlit area. ‘That may mean she was still alive after she was dragged out of the cinema, contrary to what we concluded from the CCTV footage. If I remember correctly, her fingers were splayed out after her convulsions, which suggests she may have clutched at him unconsciously at a later stage, perhaps while he was heaving her into his car. Assuming he’d taken off his mask by then.’

  ‘We haven’t found anyone who saw him,’ Erla said. ‘And we’re unlikely to get any witnesses coming forward now. We followed the trail of blood to the car park behind the building; it was late, there was a whiteout and the place was deserted. So we can’t be sure he’d have taken the mask off.’

  ‘But he would hardly have driven away still wearing it?’ The pathologist looked thoughtful. ‘Let’s say you’re right, though, and the hairs aren’t from when she was being loaded into the car. There’s a chance she tried to defend herself during the attack at the cinema and the hairs got caught in her fingers, but I can’t quite picture it. They’re too short. Unless her hands were sticky, like so many women’s. All those bloody hand creams, you know. Her fist could have closed later as a result of rigor mortis.’ Erla’s eyebrows drew together at his comment about hand creams, but the pathologist carried on, oblivious. ‘Then again, it’s possible the hairs don’t belong to him at all. They could have stuck to her hands while he was dragging her along the floor. Or they could have been in his car, in the boot or on the back seat. The fact he moved the girl from the murder scene doesn’t exactly help. Christ knows where the body’s been in the interim.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not yet, though of course I’ll be examining the body more thoroughly. I wouldn’t get your hopes up about the results of the post-mortem, though. The killer was wearing gloves in the recordings and probably had the sense to be careful, in spite of those hairs. I’m assuming he didn’t rape the girl and it’s usually only in those cases that we get something watertight. There’s a chance he might have assaulted her before he started taking those pictures in the toilet cubicle but I doubt it. She was properly dressed, not as if she’d pulled her clothes on in a state of shock after that kind of attack. And there’s no indication that he molested her after dragging her out, then put the clothes back on her dead body.’

  Erla grimaced. ‘I suppose we should be grateful for that, though watertight biological traces would have been welcome.’

  ‘There’s still a chance we’ll find something.’ The pathologist gestured at the white-clad technicians bending over the body. It would be removed shortly, after which Forensics would take charge of the scene. They had already scoured the cordoned-off area in search of evidence, without much to show for it, though they could tell from the marks on the thin layer of snow in the drive, where the geothermal heating system had broken down, that the body had probably been dragged to the site from the road. There were also two distinct sets of vehicle tracks leading to the car park, one of which matched the treads on the shop owner’s car. They were now checking the tyres of the car belonging to the woman he had taken over from at five. As it was highly unlikely that Stella would have been dragged far, they were also examining and recording vehicle tracks in the road outside. These were unlikely to lead them to the perpetrator but could help them make a case against him when he was found. When he was found.

  Gudlaugur let two men past carrying a stretcher. They went over to the body and began to ease it up with help from two of the technicians. It wasn’t the girl’s weight that required four people but the necessity of transferring her from the ground to the stretcher with the least possible disturbance to the body or the ground beneath. While they were searching for the best grip, the others watched in silence.

  One of them counted to three, at which point Stella’s stiff body rose slowly into the air. Then the men hesitated and looked as if they were going to lower her again. The man directing the operation turned to the pathologist and called: ‘There’s something underneath her. What should we do?’

  The pathologist and Erla hurried over, Huldar following in their wake. He couldn’t get a clear view as they were in front, but he thought he saw something white on the ground where Stella had been lying. It was only when the pathologist had his latex gloves on again and ordered the men to lift her onto the stretcher that they could get a proper look. Lying on the worn tarmac was a sheet of white A4 paper.

  The assistant, ever ready, handed the pathologist a pair of tweezers.

  He and Erla read what was written on the paper.

  Erla sighed explosively. ‘What fucking bullshit is this?’

  Huldar moved closer so he could read over their shoulders. Printed in a giant font on the paper was a number:

  2

  Chapter 11

  For once the question of the day was simple. It didn’t concern the timeline, the motive, the perpetrator or the evidence, simply what, if anything, the number two could possibly mean. Although the pathologist thought it likely the paper had been deliberately placed under Stella’s body, they couldn’t take this for granted. It could theoretically have been lying there when her body was dumped. That’s what most members of the investigation team hoped, because otherwise the only logical conclusion was that Stella was victim number two. Which meant that victim number one must be lying out there somewhere, as yet undiscovered. While there was no better explanation available, they would have to work on that basis and do everything in their power to prevent the nightmare scenario of a member of the public – especially a kid Stella’s age �
� stumbling on another body. And, what was worse, a member of the public who would inevitably have a camera on their phone. If that happened, there was every likelihood the pictures would find their way onto social media, and from there spread to every home in the country. They’d be lucky if the person who posted the pictures had the decency to pixelate the face and any other sensitive areas – assuming the victim was still identifiable.

  ‘Nothing?’ Erla sounded uncharacteristically shrill. ‘Not a single missing person?’

  The police officer who’d been tasked with checking the missing-person reports shook his head. From his disappointed expression, he’d obviously have preferred it if half the population had gone AWOL. ‘Nope, nobody. A few old reports relating to people who still haven’t been found, but no one Stella’s age. Mostly just mountaineers or presumed suicides.’

  ‘Presumed suicides?’ Erla was still hitting high C. Huldar doubted she had got much sleep. He himself was bleary and unshaven after getting home late and coming in early. When he’d left she’d still been hard at it and when he’d arrived this morning she had already been at her desk. It was quite possible she hadn’t been home at all.

  ‘Er … yes. The person who gave me the reports put it like that. People who are presumed to have committed suicide by walking into the sea.’

  Erla groaned. ‘OK. How old is the most recent report?’

  The officer scrabbled around among his papers, looking stressed. ‘Er …’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling, muttering, then looked back at Erla. ‘Eight months. By my calculations.’

  Erla waved him away but instead of moving, he asked what he should do with the copies of the reports. Erla appeared to be on the point of saying something regrettable but thought better of it and snapped at him to leave them on her desk. Then she turned back to the detective she’d been talking to. Since he sat near Huldar and Gudlaugur, they were in a good position to eavesdrop.