‘If I’ve understood you, it’s highly unlikely that a parent or other adult relative of a bullying victim would retaliate using violence?’
‘Yes. Well, minor scuffles aren’t unheard of. But an incident serious enough to cause death is unlikely.’ Freyja paused and Erla flicked a look at Huldar, irritably shaking her head. But she snapped to attention again when Freyja went on: ‘But, as I’m sure you know, there’s a big difference between unlikely and impossible.’
Erla adopted a poker face as she digested this. When she spoke again, she didn’t betray any opinion of this statement. ‘Has the name Lauga cropped up at any point in connection with Adalheidur or during your research?’
‘I wouldn’t really dignify it with the name of research. But no, I don’t remember coming across that name.’
Erla’s face remained impassive. Huldar couldn’t work out whether the meeting had done the trick or whether she was going to rule out any further investigation of this angle. Erla stood up. ‘We’re going to need to interview more minors, so make sure you’re available. We’ll give you plenty of notice. I may also ask you to be present when and if I decide to interview Adalheidur’s father. It wouldn’t hurt to hear your opinion of the man’s mental state.’
She walked out of the room without another word. Jóel was left sitting there like a spare part, gazing pointlessly at the blank page in front of him. All he’d written on it was the date. He’d lacked the mental agility to keep up with the quick-fire exchanges between the two women.
Huldar sat tight, enjoying Jóel’s discomfort. Freyja didn’t budge either. After a moment or two, catching Huldar’s mocking grin, Jóel snatched up his blank notepad and got to his feet. Before leaving the room, he fished for his card and handed it to Freyja with a smirk, saying she shouldn’t hesitate to get in touch if she needed anything. It didn’t have to be about the investigation. He gave her a wink and was rewarded with a frosty stare. Huldar could have kissed her when she put the card down on the table and left it there as they vacated the room.
‘The hairs didn’t belong to the killer.’ The lab had agreed to fast-track the DNA analysis of the strands of hair that had been found in Stella’s hand. Erla slammed the report on her desk. ‘Fucking hell.’
Huldar reached for it and soon spotted what had prompted this reaction. The hairs belonged to a woman. He slid the report back to Erla. ‘Is that a hundred per cent certain? Should we maybe check the CCTV footage again and check it’s definitely a man? That could explain why no one’s managed to spot a likely match for the killer among the cinema crowd.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ Erla rubbed her eyes. ‘You do it, will you? By the way, we’ve finally got the files from Snapchat, so the quality’s much better than the first videos you saw. You can have a look at them too, though you can only see the killer’s arms. Anyway, by all means go and study the cinema footage. The guy who’s been working on that has worn his eyes out looking, but maybe you’ll spot something. That hair has buggered things up because they were keeping an eye out for blokes with grey hair, which turns out to have been a sodding waste of time.’ Erla tapped the report containing the results of the DNA analysis. Sighing, she went on: ‘The ticket sales haven’t provided any leads either. Though maybe that’ll change once we get hold of a suspect. If we do.’ Erla rubbed her hands down her face. ‘This investigation’s making us look totally incompetent.’
Huldar didn’t contradict her. You only had to look at the news sites. Now that Egill’s disappearance had been made public, the police were coming in for heavy criticism. It was only natural since there had been no arrests, despite dozens of people being interviewed. In addition to friends and family, the police had pulled in a number of individuals with a history of violence. None of them had turned out to be likely suspects and most had provided solid alibis, though their number was known to include psychopaths who made very convincing liars, so some of their names remained on the list. But a closer inspection of these people had turned up nothing. And, despite a major search of Reykjavík and the surrounding area by the police and rescue teams, not a trace had been found of Egill. His phone hadn’t reappeared on the network either.
‘OK, I’ll do it,’ Huldar said. ‘I reckon it would be worth paying a visit to Adalheidur’s father too. The report’s a strong indication that something happened at his house. The uniforms who attended the scene say there had been a struggle of some kind. And his explanation’s clearly bullshit.’
‘No one ever brought charges. I checked. So maybe he was telling the truth.’
‘What, that a feral cat got into his house and went for him? Give me a break. Blood spatters on one of the walls? How would you draw blood from a cat during a fight? And how would you get a bruised face? You’d expect him to be scratched, not punched. According to the report, his eye was swollen. How could a cat possibly have done that?’
‘Of course it wasn’t a cat. But maybe he had a punch-up with a friend or a member of his family. How the hell do I know?’ Erla ran her hands through her hair and let out a heavy sigh. ‘But someone needs to talk to him. What have we got to lose? We’ve spoken to everyone else.’
She waved Huldar away and bent over her piles of papers again.
The video clips of Stella weeping in the toilet and the brutal scenes that followed were not improved by being viewed in high res. Nevertheless, Huldar forced himself to go through them in case he’d missed something the first time round, but to no avail. After that, he watched the CCTV footage of the killer leaving the cinema, towing Stella’s body, but learnt nothing new from that either, beyond being fairly convinced it was a man. He was too tall, too burly, too strong for a woman, and didn’t show the slightest hint of feminine softness in his movements. If the hair did belong to the killer, it would have to be an exceptionally big, hefty female.
Despite his lingering suspicions of Gudlaugur, he’d roped him into watching the recordings of the cinemagoers with him. There was such a throng in the foyer that a second pair of eyes wouldn’t go amiss. They sat side by side, faces almost pressed together over the computer screen, scrutinising the recordings from the intervals, which required so much concentration that they had no problem blocking out their colleagues’ bitchy comments. But the longer they watched without seeing anything of interest, the more their concentration wavered.
‘The guy’s not there. Or if he is, he’s wearing a different coat.’ Gudlaugur paused the video and peered more closely at the corner of the screen. ‘I can’t understand how he smuggled the anorak into the cinema. There were no lone men carrying bags in the foyer before the films started.’ He pressed ‘Play’ again, muttering under his breath: ‘Where are you, you bastard?’
After the final interval, the customers trickled back into the screens again until only the girls working at the kiosk remained. They watched Stella fiddling with her hair, taking out her phone and drawing her finger down the screen while the other three were tidying up. Huldar reached for the mouse and clicked on the footage of the interval from the other camera, which showed the emergency exit and the area by the stairs down to the loos. None of the figures passing the camera looked likely to be the man they were after, though they couldn’t be sure. ‘Unbelievable how few people smoke nowadays.’ Huldar pointed at the emergency exit. ‘There are several hundred people in the cinema but only fifteen went out for a puff.’ He’d counted them. It had helped him stay awake.
Gudlaugur didn’t take his eyes off the TV, watching intently until all the customers had drifted back into the screens. ‘Sixteen. There were sixteen smokers.’
‘No. Fifteen. I counted them.’
‘I just counted them coming in and there were sixteen.’
Their eyes met and Huldar quickly rewound to the beginning of the interval. Fifteen people went outside. Sixteen came in. Huldar shot back his chair and went to fetch Erla. They’d caught their man on film. He hadn’t bought a ticket after all; the bastard had sneaked in during the last interval.
Chapter 25
Adalheidur’s father Haukur looked nothing like the man caught on CCTV. He was too short and slight, though of course someone’s build could be disguised with padding. Frustratingly, the police still had no idea what the killer’s face looked like, as the man had taken care to keep it hidden when he’d sneaked in with the smokers. He hadn’t been wearing a hood or a Darth Vader mask or it would have been spotted immediately on the recordings. Instead, he had walked in close behind a much taller man, so all he needed to do was keep his head lowered to be sure his features wouldn’t be caught on camera. He was wearing a coat, seemingly on top of the anorak he’d worn for the attack. They assumed he must have hidden the mask under his coat as well, since he wasn’t carrying a bag.
‘I don’t know how this works,’ Haukur said. ‘Should I offer you a seat in the living room or the kitchen? Would you like a coffee? Just say the word.’ He stood back to allow Huldar, Gudlaugur and Freyja inside. Clearly he had just got home himself since he still had his coat on and all the lights were out in the flat apart from the one in the narrow hall. When Huldar rang, Haukur had opted to dash home from work to meet them there, presumably so they’d be finished before his wife came back. That in itself suggested he had something to hide.
‘It would be best to sit somewhere we won’t be disturbed. And we don’t need any coffee, thanks.’ Huldar was careful not to tread on Freyja’s toes as they all crowded into the hall and bumbled about, trying to remove their snowy shoes. In the process Freyja was pushed up against him and Huldar felt encouraged that she didn’t immediately jump away, unless it was simply because there was no room to move. He preferred to think it was because she didn’t mind the proximity. He was disappointed when Haukur showed them into the living room and the moment of intimacy was over.
They sat down, Haukur and Gudlaugur in chairs, Freyja and Huldar on the sofa, which turned out to be less comfortable than it looked. ‘I can’t think why you want to see me but let’s get it over with. I know nothing at all about what happened to that girl, as I told you over the phone.’ He glanced from Gudlaugur to Huldar, unsure which of them he had talked to.
‘We have to speak to a lot of people as part of our routine enquiries. Sometimes it turns out they know things they didn’t realise were important.’ Huldar studied the man as he spoke. Haukur was sitting bolt upright, hands on the arms of his chair, clasping the rounded ends, as if he were strapped into an electric chair. He was still wearing his coat, which was green and not unlike the killer’s anorak. He hadn’t invited his visitors to take off their outdoor clothes either. ‘We know what was going on between your daughter and Stella, so we’d like to ask you a few questions about that.’ The man’s grip on the chair arms didn’t relax at this news. Huldar went on. ‘Who were you having a fight with when the police were called round here last month?’
The man looked astonished. ‘What’s that nonsense got to do with Stella? I thought you were going to ask about her.’
‘I’ve got a number of questions to put to you. It would be best if you just answered. Who were you having a fight with?’
‘I wasn’t having a fight with anyone. I was chasing out a cat. A stray.’
‘Your neighbours – the ones who called the police – claim they heard shouting. As far as I know, cats don’t shout. Not even strays.’
‘I was shouting. At first I thought I could chase the animal out by yelling at it. The whole thing was a misunderstanding. My neighbour didn’t realise it was me making all the noise. It’s not like I’m in the habit of it. Look, I told all this to the policemen who came round at the time. Didn’t they write a report? Or do you lot only make a note of things when it suits you – like when it’s to the disadvantage of us ordinary citizens?’
Many of the people Huldar interviewed in the line of duty referred to themselves as citizens. It wasn’t something he encountered outside working hours. He took it as a sign that they wanted to distance themselves from their private identity and become part of a larger whole – like vanishing into an imaginary crowd. ‘If I’ve got this right, your neighbours reported hearing you and another man having a violent argument. How do you account for that? Are you saying you put on different voices in your attempts to get rid of the cat?’
‘My neighbour was mistaken. Like I told the other officers. What does it matter anyway? You don’t think I attacked Stella? She’s never set foot in this flat to my knowledge and clearly she wasn’t here when I got into a fight with … the cat.’
Huldar changed tack. ‘We understand you’ve lost your temper on several occasions at your daughter’s school. Behaved in an intimidating manner, raised your voice. Were verbally abusive to the headteacher and other members of staff who got in your way. Which suggests that you’re in the habit of losing it. And not just with … stray cats.’
‘No father in his right mind would have reacted any differently. Don’t imagine for one minute that I regret making a scene. I’d have done better to blow my top more often, and sooner. The school has shown itself totally incapable of ensuring my daughter a normal, safe environment. What was I supposed to do? Say thanks for the useless service?’ The man’s jaw muscles continued working furiously after he’d finished speaking.
Gudlaugur cleared his throat. ‘Are you on Snapchat?’
‘Am I on Snapchat?’ Haukur sounded puzzled at first, then it dawned on him. ‘Oh, I see. Do you think I haven’t heard the news? Of course I know about the messages Stella’s killer sent her friends. Am I on Snapchat? Yes. Isn’t half the country? Does the fact I’m on Snapchat mean I killed Stella? No. Did I kill her anyway? No. Just because I banged the table a bit at the school that doesn’t mean I’m capable of murder. Anyone can lose their temper, the last time I checked.’ He bestowed a withering look on Gudlaugur. ‘If you seriously think I killed Stella, I feel sorry for you. Because you’re barking up completely the wrong tree.’
Gudlaugur was becoming seasoned at last. The man’s insults left him unmoved. Of course he’d heard far worse – Huldar had witnessed some of the crap he’d received. It went with the territory. Only recently Huldar had heard a drunk they’d arrested call Gudlaugur a stupid fucking neo-Nazi fascist and a fucking fag with a uniform fetish. On both occasions Gudlaugur had betrayed signs of letting it get to him, but this time he didn’t turn a hair. ‘Did you follow Stella on Snapchat?’
‘What kind of idiots are you? Why would I be following a little girl on Snapchat? Especially a girl who’s responsible for spreading filth about my daughter – on that bloody app too. No. I didn’t follow Stella on Snapchat. My account is private, I have very few contacts and she’s not one of them. Anyway, I can count the number of times I’ve used the app on the fingers of one hand.’
‘Could we see your phone?’ Huldar took over smoothly from Gudlaugur. It often worked well to rotate like this, unsettling the interviewee, making them unsure where the next question was coming from. He wished he’d asked Freyja to chip in as well. But it was too late now; she was just sitting and listening in silence. ‘If you use Snapchat as little as you say, it shouldn’t take us long to run through your account history.’
‘You want my phone?’ The man unclenched his fingers on the right arm of his chair and moved his hand instinctively to his coat pocket. ‘Out of the question. You have no right to demand it.’
‘No.’ Huldar reminded himself that this didn’t necessarily mean the man had something to hide. Personally he wouldn’t want to hand over his phone to a stranger either, if only because of the masses of photos, e-mails, texts and other information it contained. Not all of it entirely innocent. ‘I can understand that you don’t want to give us unlimited access to your phone but would you mind opening Snapchat for us and showing us what you’ve got on there?’
‘No. Out of the question. If you want my phone, you’ll have to get a warrant. I’ve got personal stuff on there that I don’t want you lot sticking your noses in.’
‘Does the name Lauga mean anything to you?’
Although Huldar would have liked to put pressure on him about the phone, he knew it was pointless. And there would be little to gain from applying for a warrant and getting hold of it that way, since the delay could potentially give Haukur time to get himself a new phone and ditch the old one.
‘Lauga?’ Haukur thought about it. ‘No.’
‘What about Gudlaug or Snjólaug? Or any other name ending in -laug?’
‘Yes. I work with a woman called Arnlaug. And I have a niece called Sigurlaug. She’s eleven. Is she a suspect?’
‘The woman you work with – what’s her patronymic and what does she do for a living?’ Gudlaugur fished a pen and notebook from his pocket. Once a scout, always a scout.
‘You’ve got to be joking?’
‘No.’ Gudlaugur held his pen ready.
‘Er … her patronymic’s Torfadóttir, I think. She works in payroll.’
While Gudlaugur was making a note of this, Huldar seized the opportunity to ask the man about the bullying his daughter had experienced and Stella’s part in it. There followed a long, depressing tale that Freyja seemed the least surprised by. In the course of this inquiry, Huldar had seen a lot of abusive comments he could have done without reading, but even so there were moments when he had to stop himself from interrupting to ask the man if he was exaggerating. Haukur talked at length, hardly pausing for breath, his knuckles white on the arms of his chair. Then suddenly the air seemed to go out of him like a punctured balloon. Relaxing his grip, he lowered his head. ‘Things reached rock bottom last spring. It turned out that this boy from the countryside who Adda had befriended through Facebook didn’t actually exist. Stella and her mates had invented his profile purely in order to humiliate my daughter. To get her to open up, then use what she’d said to make fun of her.’ His knuckles whitened again. ‘After that she tried to kill herself.’
The Absolution Page 18