The Absolution

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  There were few other cars about. Huldar had been driving the streets for nearly an hour now. After his unsuccessful attempt to grill Ásta he had felt restless. There was no question of going home and flopping in front of the TV, not while he knew the missing boy was out there somewhere. What was he supposed to watch? A cop show from America where his job was done by geniuses? Or the Nordic version in which the cops were collapsing under the weight of their own failings?

  Though, in the event, watching TV wouldn’t have achieved any less than this aimless driving around town. Of course, he hadn’t kidded himself he was going to find the boy, since an intensive search had already been made of the Greater Reykjavík area. In fact, the hunt was still going on, in case the boy had been moved. But sometimes you just had to go tilting at windmills, to appease your conscience. And his endless, slow circling hadn’t been completely in vain. He was now convinced that there was no obvious location in the capital area where a living person could be held prisoner for any length of time. Whatever cul-de-sac or one-way street he crawled down, everywhere there were signs of life. Houses and flats stood in tight ranks, either side by side or in clusters. Even the building sites abandoned in the wake of the financial crash were bustling neighbourhoods today. The new construction sites that had replaced them showed every sign of busy activity and were no doubt swarming with hordes of machine operators, tradesmen and labourers by day. It was also apparent that business was booming in the industrial estates, retail parks, riding stables and all the other neighbourhoods he passed through.

  Wherever you looked, the city was thrumming with life; there was no sign of death or decay.

  Of course, it was always possible that one of the private houses had a windowless cellar with walls through which no shouts or screams could penetrate. However slowly you cruised by, you couldn’t spot something like that from a car window. But building inspectors in the capital area had compiled a list of houses with cellars of this type and, though it had been a major undertaking, they’d all been checked out.

  It would be different if Egill was dead. For one thing, the search for him wouldn’t feel like a ticking time bomb. Mind you, it would be much easier to hide a corpse in a built-up area than a live human being with functioning vocal cords. Only temporarily, though. In a heated space, the stench would soon become as big a problem as calling for help would. All phone calls to complain about bad smells were now being monitored, whether they were made to the police, to council offices, the fire brigade or utility companies – everywhere they could think of that people might report a problem of this kind. But no complaints had been received, apart from one call that had resulted in the bust of a small illegal still in a high-rise flat.

  Huldar yawned, then inhaled deeply, breathing in a stale reek of smoke as he had been chain-smoking while he drove. Reaching for the overflowing ashtray, he tried in vain to close it. Ásta’s words about cancer came back to him and he grimaced, then felt frustrated yet again that he hadn’t shouted after her as she stomped away, to ask if she’d remembered yet where she knew Gudlaugur from. But he knew that even if she had, she wouldn’t have told him.

  He sat at a red light. His car was the only one waiting at the big junction and Huldar was aware of a sudden sensation almost of loneliness as he drummed his fingers on the wheel. There was no one waiting for him at home: no wife, no dog, no cat. Not even a confused goldfish in a too-small bowl.

  It was high time he settled down. Found himself a woman and made an effort for once to hold on to her. He didn’t have to look far. It was Freyja he wanted. Perhaps partly because she wasn’t interested in him. It made her more of a challenge, and victory would be the sweeter in the end. The lights changed to green and he turned for home, his mood lifting at the thought.

  Chapter 28

  Freyja stared at the exercises the teacher had marked. She hadn’t been at the lecture when he’d handed them back to the students so she’d had to fetch them from a special pigeonhole for slackers. Seeing what he had written on the first page, she was relieved. She wouldn’t have wanted her fellow students to read his comments. In red he had scrawled: Unless you’re working in some other number system than base ten, I advise you to see your tutor. Below this was a large zero, underlined twice and followed by three exclamation marks. Briefly she wondered if zero was a better mark in another number system and this was just the lecturer’s little joke, but a quick online search confirmed that zero is always zero, regardless of what base you’re counting in.

  She stood there with the exercises in her hand, gazing around her at the big university building. It was a wonderful place, a refuge from the daily grind, a place dedicated to learning. She remembered the delightful feeling of buying the thick course books and stationery back in the autumn. The books had smelt of a new beginning, an opportunity to start over and do things differently this time. Become a businesswoman who worked in exciting foreign cities and bought her food from small specialist shops. It was a pity she’d overlooked the obvious flaw in her plans: wherever she moved, whatever aspect of her life she changed, she would never be able to escape herself. And it was time to face up to the fact. The exams were looming and if she were honest, it was unlikely she would pass a single one.

  There was no getting away from it: embarking on these studies had been a bad move. She wouldn’t be any happier as a businesswoman than she was as a psychologist. For one thing, she hadn’t the slightest interest in business. She’d do better to face up to her issues than bury herself in textbooks about a subject that held no appeal for her, in search of that elusive sense of fulfilment.

  Business studies wouldn’t help overcome her worries about Baldur and little Saga, let alone rescue her finances, at least not for years. She would have to find another way. Freyja sighed and took one more look around the building. Then she went over to the bins by the entrance, tossed in her homework and walked out of the university for the last time as a student.

  Her wretched car refused to start at first, which she put down to its wish to linger a little longer on campus and relish the camaraderie of being among cars of the same calibre. Although most students seemed to drive around in new-looking models that worked, there were a number of old bangers in no better nick than Baldur’s. She would miss them too. Still, looking on the bright side, it was the last time she’d be faced with sarcastic comments scribbled in red.

  The car finally coughed into life and, to a grinding metallic lament, she pulled out of the parking space and drove away.

  Her first stop would be the Children’s House, to inform her boss that she was back full time, a task she wasn’t looking forward to at all. It was humiliating to have to admit defeat, especially since her colleagues had been sceptical about her plans from the start. In retrospect, it was obvious why. They’d known her well enough to see that she wasn’t cut out for a job that revolved around facts and figures rather than behaviour and emotions. But she had chosen to ignore the fact, and now here she was, crawling back with her tail between her legs.

  In the event, the director proved very understanding and didn’t for a moment rub Freyja’s nose in her failure. Instead, she invited her to grab a coffee and bring it along to her office. Freyja felt guilty for even entertaining the idea that the woman would be anything other than kind. Every time her boss said something encouraging, she hid her sheepish expression in her coffee cup.

  Nothing was more surprising than when people treated you better than you felt you’d deserved.

  ‘Moving on. How’s it working out with the police? Everybody happy?’

  Freyja nodded, relieved at the change of subject. Having to be grateful all the time quickly became wearing. ‘Yes, I think so. Unfortunately the investigation’s not getting anywhere but that has nothing to do with me. It just means that my contribution has ended up being fairly minor.’

  ‘As long as you react promptly and do all they ask of you, we can hold our heads high. You know better than most how vital it is to keep the police on
side. Your role finishes today, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not sure if they were including the weekend. But seeing how little I’ve achieved, I feel I owe it to them.’ Freyja wasn’t actually expecting to hear from the police. The truth was that she needed the weekend to reconcile herself to returning to full-time work at the Children’s House, and was afraid that if she said she was free, her boss would put her on standby. Weekends were invariably when the worst cases came in, cases involving such appalling mistreatment that they couldn’t wait until Monday. After several months’ break from these shifts, she needed time to prepare herself mentally. Like Baldur’s car, she felt she needed to get started nice and slowly, in first gear. Besides, she’d promised Saga’s mother she’d look after the little girl on Saturday and there was no way she was attending a callout with her in tow.

  The director slurped her coffee. ‘How are the poor kids doing? The ones you’ve been interviewing? It’s tough losing someone close to you in your teens. They make enough drama out of much less at that age. Are they getting grief counselling?’

  ‘Yes. It’s been offered to those who need it.’ Freyja put down her empty cup. ‘It turns out there’s a bullying angle, so it’s not entirely straightforward. Not all sweetness and light.’

  ‘Oof. I’m no expert but I know those cases can be ugly. Much worse than when I was young, though you’d never have thought it possible at the time.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Have you been advising them on bullying? I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. The Child Protection Agency employ people who are better qualified in that area than you.’

  ‘No, I haven’t been asked to step in or anything. The purpose of the investigation isn’t to tackle bullying. But I consulted a guy who was at university with me, who’s an expert on the subject, just to make sure I’m up to date.’

  ‘Oh? Who’s that? Anyone I know?’

  ‘His name’s Kjartan and he has a practice in town. I’m not sure if you know him.’

  ‘What’s his full name?’

  ‘Kjartan Ýmir Erlendsson.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I know him. He’s married to my friend’s cousin. I understand he’s up to his ears in bullying cases.’

  Freyja made an effort to control her features. ‘Isn’t he divorced? Or in the middle of a divorce, rather? I got that impression from something he said, but I could have misunderstood.’

  ‘Divorced? Good heavens, no. They’re happily married. Or at least they were last weekend when my friend went round for dinner.’

  ‘Then I must have misunderstood.’ Freyja smiled smoothly and rose to her feet. ‘I should be going if I want to be ready for a possible callout.’

  Freyja reckoned she’d managed to take her leave in a reasonably composed manner, successfully disguising her fury. Why did she have to end up with a total shit every time she went out looking for what, on the face of it, wasn’t really asking much – just a little companionship and sex? It wasn’t like she was so desperate that she’d jump on the first man who offered.

  She was just trying to coax her car into life again when Huldar rang to request her presence. He didn’t know what had hit him when she swore at him before he could even explain what he wanted. But it made her feel better.

  Gudlaugur bore the brunt of her irritation with men, unfair though this was. He’d never done anything to her other than be unnaturally polite.

  It seemed Gudlaugur had been put in charge of interviewing Stella’s friends. Erla had ordered Huldar to join her in questioning the men who’d taken the bait and tried to pay for sex with Adalheidur. Apparently, this had come up after he’d rung Freyja, so it had nothing to do with how gruff she’d been with him on the phone. Realising that Gudlaugur was bound to think her bad temper was caused by disappointment at Huldar’s absence, Freyja tried to pull herself together.

  ‘We know you were involved, Bjarney. Your friends have all admitted it. So it would be in your interests to do the same.’ Gudlaugur hesitated, then added more gently: ‘I mean, if you were involved.’

  Freyja winced. He wasn’t the right man for this. He was too shy and retiring, and didn’t seem able to interpret the girls’ complicated reactions and at times puzzling answers. She had intervened when she felt it was unavoidable, but tried not to tread on his toes. Gudlaugur’s problem was that he wanted to keep everybody happy. She longed to whisper in his ear that in circumstances like these that simply wasn’t possible.

  ‘I wasn’t involved. Not directly. You know, not really.’ The girl was the last to be questioned and it hardly seemed worth listening to her trotting out the same story as all the others. No doubt this interview would end in floods of tears as well. Then again, this girl, Bjarney, had been Stella’s best friend, so there was a possibility she might actually know more. Whether they could prise it out of her was another matter. ‘We didn’t mean to cause trouble. We were only messing, you know. It was just jokes. I knew about it but I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t my idea. But, like I said, it was just jokes.’

  The same excuse as Egill’s friends had given. ‘Joke is hardly the right word, Bjarney.’ Freyja put on a suitably stern expression. ‘We don’t need to tell you how serious this is. Stella’s dead and a boy who’s a year younger than you is missing. If you’re not being honest with us, you’d better do some hard thinking about what kind of person you are. You see, this is going to come back to haunt you further down the line, so it would be best for you to come clean now. Get it off your chest and, I can assure you, you’ll feel much better. Keeping bad secrets eats you up inside. Like a piece of fruit full of maggots. You know, it looks normal on the outside, but if they’re allowed to gnaw away inside, it shows up on the surface in the end. You wouldn’t like that. Not a pretty girl like you.’ Freyja noticed that Gudlaugur was licking his lips nervously, unhappy with what she was saying, but she didn’t give a damn.

  The girl was looking shaken, so Freyja’s words must have had the desired effect. ‘My dad told me I had to insist on a lawyer if you were mean. Can I have one now?’

  Freyja let Gudlaugur answer this. ‘We’re interviewing you as a witness, Bjarney, not as a suspect. Witnesses don’t need lawyers. Besides, they don’t come cheap. It would cost you an arm and a leg to call one out. Are you sure your dad’s happy to pay that?’

  ‘Er … I dunno.’ Bjarney faltered. ‘But, like, I’m sure he’d pay to stop me going to jail.’

  Gudlaugur frowned. ‘Why should you go to jail, Bjarney? We don’t suspect you of having done anything to Stella. We just want you to tell us all you know about this prostitution website. The man who attacked your friend could have been linked to it. Perhaps he was angry when he found out Adalheidur’s profile was fake.’

  Freyja felt compelled to continue in the role of bad cop. ‘If so, you never know, he might come after the people who helped Stella too. Surely it’s better for you if the police catch the guy?’

  The girl slumped lower in her chair. She was wearing the same waist-length jacket as the last time Freyja had seen her, with the same long scarf around her neck. She’d dug her hands into her pockets when she sat down and they’d remained there ever since. As she sank lower in her seat, her jacket rode up until it looked as if she had no neck. ‘I don’t want to get into trouble? Because of Mum and Dad, you know.’

  ‘I think what will matter most to your parents is whether you can help us find Stella’s killer. Even if they’re a bit cross at first, they’ll get over it. It’ll be better than if they found out you’ve been keeping secrets. That would make them a lot angrier.’ Gudlaugur reached for the water jug and filled the girl’s glass, although she had declined his offer of a drink. ‘I can promise you that.’

  Bjarney stared blankly at her glass. ‘Do you promise I won’t, like, go to prison?’

  ‘You’re too young to go to prison. If the crime was very serious, some other solution would be found.’

  The girl raised her eyes to Gudlaugur’s face. ‘What do you mean by very serious?’

&
nbsp; ‘Well, murder, of course, and rape, which I don’t suppose is relevant in this case. Arson – starting fires, where there’s a threat to human life – that sort of thing.’

  ‘I haven’t killed or raped anyone. Or set anything on fire. I didn’t really do anything, honest. It was all Stella.’

  ‘All what?’ Gudlaugur leant towards her, one eye on the recorder to make sure it was working. ‘What did Stella do?’

  ‘It was her idea to put Adalheidur on that site. I didn’t think it was right but I didn’t dare say anything. Stella used to get, like, really mad if you didn’t agree with her? She made up an e-mail address for the fake profile as well. I just sat beside her and watched.’

  ‘We know that, Bjarney. Your mates have already told us. They were there too, remember?’

  ‘Not always. Not the time we got the e-mail from that guy. He’d already put a creepy message on the porn site, saying he wanted to meet Adalheidur. We just thought it was funny, you know. But the stuff in the e-mail was disgusting. He was a real perv.’

  ‘Who’s this man you’re talking about? Lots of men posted on the Facebook site and sent e-mails.’

  ‘I don’t know his name. His e-mail address was something stupid, like Mr Lover or something tragic like that.’

  ‘We’ve seen the messages, Bjarney. We accessed the inbox.’

  Bjarney flinched and dropped her eyes to avoid Gudlaugur’s stare. ‘Not the messages from that guy. ’Cos Stella deleted them. Even our mates didn’t know about them. Not about all of them, anyway.’

  ‘What exactly happened? What was in the messages she deleted?’ Gudlaugur leant closer again, from excitement this time.

  ‘She … the thing is … Stella wrote back to this man and told him where Adalheidur lived. Pretended to be her, you know, and they made a date and everything. And agreed how much he should pay.’ Bjarney peeped up at them both through her lashes before continuing. ‘He was supposed to pay twenty thousand krónur. We found out from a porn site that that’s what people are charging.’