The Reckoning: Children's House Book 2 (Freyja and Huldar) Page 18

  Since Erla had visited before, they didn’t stop to ask the way but made straight for the lifts. They were accompanied by a patient in a towelling dressing gown, hooked up to a portable drip. He wore a woolly hat on his head and stank of smoke. Huldar considered offering the man some chewing gum but he got out on the first floor, so there wasn’t a chance. No doubt the guy would receive an anti-smoking lecture from the first member of staff he encountered.

  Huldar could have sworn that the woman sitting in a glass cubicle keeping an eye on the comings and goings in the corridor stiffened when she saw Erla. Jumping to her feet, she disappeared round the back, perhaps to alert the doctor on duty that the detective who had almost killed one of their patients yesterday had returned. Huldar hoped the doctor in question would be aware of the authorisation Erla claimed to have received. Otherwise this would not only be a waste of time but embarrassing as well. He had no desire to be shooed back down the corridor, watched by nosy patients with nothing better to do.

  But nobody came running after them and they were able to enter Kolbeinn’s room unhindered. The hospital had thought it best to give him a room to himself, rather than leaving him screened only by a curtain, like most of the other patients. It was simply too disruptive to have him on the ward, screaming in his sleep as a result of his traumatic experience.

  ‘Oof. You again.’ Kolbeinn reached for the bell. He was pale and wan, hooked up to a drip like the man in the lift, and to several bleeping monitors as well. His heartbeat was a moving line on a small screen. ‘Are you here to finish me off? I thought the police were supposed to investigate deaths, not cause them.’ He sounded hoarse and had clearly spoken little that day.

  Huldar went over and moved the bell out of reach before Kolbeinn could summon help. ‘No one’s coming. We have permission to be here. I promise we’ll be more considerate than last time.’ Bending down, he fumbled for the lever on the bed and raised Kolbeinn into a sitting position. It was impossible to question a man while he was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Especially not when it was crucial to detect any changes in his expression, however faint. Bearing in mind that Benedikt Toft had flatly denied that the severed hands in his garden had anything to do with him, they were quite ready for Kolbeinn to attempt to mislead them about his link to the man he had inadvertently killed in the underground garage. However outlandish this case was, no one would commit such appalling crimes for no reason. If they could discover what lay behind them, the rest would be straightforward, or at least more straightforward.

  Erla took a chair beside the bed and Huldar fetched another from the corner and sat down next to her. She came straight to the point. Perhaps, like Huldar, she was afraid the staff might intervene at any minute. ‘I’m afraid we have to do this. It’s a pity your health’s so delicate, but I’m afraid the investigation can’t be put on hold until you recover. You’re a key witness.’

  ‘Me?’ Kolbeinn rolled his eyes as he tried to make himself more comfortable. ‘If I’m your key witness, you’re in a real mess. I didn’t see anything except … the man who … who, well … died. There was no one around when I went to fetch my car and no one there when I parked it that morning.’

  ‘So you still think your car was chosen completely at random?’ Sarcasm dripped from Erla’s voice and Huldar decided to interrupt at the first opportunity. If the man suffered the slightest relapse it would be a long time before they could interview him again; a situation they must avoid at all costs.

  ‘Yes. I don’t just think that.’ The cardiograph took a noticeable jump, the numbers on the screen rising accordingly. ‘I know it.’ The readings dropped again. Was it possible the monitors could work as lie detectors?

  ‘Right.’ Huldar shifted to the front of his chair. ‘But even when people think they’re sure, they can find on second thoughts that they’re wrong. So we’re going to ask you a few questions and we need you to answer as conscientiously as possible. Take all the time you need to think; it’s not a race against the clock.’

  Kolbeinn seemed grateful to be able to turn to Huldar. At any rate, the readings on the monitors dropped. ‘I can’t help you. I parked my car that morning and went to fetch it after work. I had nothing to do with what happened and don’t know anyone who’d be capable of such a thing. I can’t give any other answers – however hard I rack my brains. I’m the victim here. Picked at random.’

  Huldar jumped in again the moment Kolbeinn finished speaking. ‘Tell me something. Now you’ve had more time to reflect, I can’t believe you haven’t given a lot of thought to the man who died. Can’t you remember anything that might link you to him? Could he have been an old client or a childhood acquaintance, perhaps? Benedikt Toft’s an unusual name.’

  Kolbeinn raised his head from the snowy-white pillow, just enough to shake it. ‘No, no and again no. The man was a complete stranger; I never knew him and as far as I’m aware he was never one of our clients. Though of course I don’t know them all by name. We have over a thousand clients on our books.’ Not one of those thousand clients had bothered to send him flowers or chocolates or even a card. The bedside table was bare, apart from a yellow plastic jug.

  ‘He wasn’t one of their clients,’ Erla said to Huldar. She sounded annoyed; she had planned to conduct the interview herself. ‘Naturally we checked that.’ She turned back to Kolbeinn, who made a bit of a face when he realised that she had taken charge again. The line of his cardiogram became more irregular, though this might be caused by fear that she would bring on another heart attack, rather than triggered by the name Benedikt Toft. ‘Forget the work angle. We’ve also checked if your paths crossed in connection with his job as a prosecutor and found nothing. On the other hand, we have no way of examining the part of your life that’s off record. For example, the victim was a Freemason. Are you or have you ever been a Mason yourself?’ At the briefing Erla had made a big deal of this since it was one of the only links between Benedikt and the owner of the amputated hands. That said, the connection was tenuous; it was far from certain that the mark on the finger had been made by a Freemason’s ring. Still, any lead was better than nothing, and on this basis the police were now scrutinising Benedikt’s fellow Masons in search of anyone who had recently gone missing. So far it had yielded no results.

  A hint of colour touched Kolbeinn’s otherwise pale cheeks. ‘No. I’m not and never have been a Mason.’ He coughed, then added scornfully: ‘You’re not serious, are you? You don’t think the man ended up like that just because he was a Freemason?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’ Erla’s voice had lost none of its tetchiness. ‘We’re simply trying to establish a possible link between you.’

  ‘Or confirm to our satisfaction that there are no links.’ Huldar smiled, pretending not to notice Erla’s expression. ‘What you should know – and this might encourage you to exert yourself a little more to help us – is that a few days ago the man who died chained to your car was in a similar situation to you. He claimed to be completely in the dark as well, and we believed him. Instead of questioning him immediately, we left it. And he was murdered. Perhaps you’re not in any danger but it would be better to be certain. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Who on earth would want to kill me? I’ve never done anything to anyone and—’ Kolbeinn broke off. ‘I swear it. I know absolutely nothing about him.’

  Erla pulled a photo of Benedikt Toft out of her pocket. She held it up to Kolbeinn. ‘That’s what he looked like. When you saw his face in the garage it was a death mask, distorted with pain. I doubt his own mother would have recognised him. Does this help at all?’

  Kolbeinn took the photo and studied it carefully. It seemed he was actually trying to work out if he knew the man. But Huldar noticed that he was holding the photo so that it blocked their view of his face. Perhaps this was accidental. ‘No. I swear I’ve never seen him before. Though of course he’s old in this picture. I suppose I could have run into him years ago. His face is so ordinary, so unmemorable.�
� Kolbeinn handed the picture back to Erla. ‘Are you really serious? Do you think the person who chained him to my car is after me now?’ The fear in his voice sounded genuine. Like the anger that flared up immediately afterwards. ‘If I’m in danger, why isn’t there a police guard outside my room? What the hell’s wrong with you people?’ His readings shot up again, even higher than before.

  ‘Do you own a chainsaw?’ Huldar had learnt that an effective way of calming people down was to wrong-foot them with a question they weren’t expecting. It worked.

  ‘A chainsaw? What do you mean? What would I want with a chainsaw?’

  ‘To saw down trees in the garden perhaps. Do you own one or not?’

  ‘Of course not. There aren’t any trees in my garden. A few shrubs that need pruning, but you wouldn’t attack them with a chainsaw. I wouldn’t even know how to use one.’

  ‘Fine. Then you won’t mind if we take a look around your house?’ Erla had taken the conversational ball again and at last they were working like a team. Interrogations were supposed to be a doubles game, though their opponent was usually alone. Hardly anyone they interviewed asked for a lawyer to be present.

  ‘Search my house? You want to search my house?’ Again the man’s reaction seemed genuine, genuinely astonished this time. But you couldn’t place any reliance on that. It wasn’t only professionals who knew how to act. When people were backed into a corner, they had a whole range of hidden talents they could call on, even a physical strength that they wouldn’t normally possess.

  ‘We won’t make a mess,’ Huldar said reassuringly. ‘You and your wife won’t know we’ve been there. Especially not you, of course, since you won’t even be home.’

  ‘I have nothing to hide. But I really don’t like the thought of strangers rummaging through my personal belongings. I don’t like it at all.’

  Erla clicked her tongue. ‘No problem.’ She flashed him a brief smile. ‘We’ll apply for a search warrant. Most people prefer to avoid that as it has to go before a judge and so on. But it’s up to you, of course.’

  Kolbeinn needed no further persuading. They could search his house as long as they promised not to involve judges or courts. He was clearly desperate to avoid the slightest shadow on his reputation. Perhaps this was due to his job: it would hardly be good publicity for an employee of an accountancy firm to be mixed up in a criminal case, whatever its nature. Huldar made a mental note of this weak spot.

  They continued to grill him about anything they could think of, but learnt nothing of substance. Kolbeinn appeared to be a model citizen who led a rather humdrum existence, never taking risks or putting a foot wrong. He was one of those people who read the paper from cover to cover every morning, was guaranteed to be scandalised by at least one piece of news. But he would rather die than comment on an article online or raise his head above the parapet in any way. He drank tea for health reasons but craved coffee, was no doubt filled with prejudice against minorities but would never air these views in company. Any more than Huldar would air his view of him. His instinctive dislike of Kolbeinn wasn’t based on anything tangible.

  Erla was about to stand up when Huldar slipped in a final question. He kept his eyes trained on the man’s face. ‘Do you know Jón Jónsson?’

  ‘Jón Jónsson? It’s possible. It’s a common name.’ Kolbeinn’s face showed hardly any reaction, only a slight frown as he tried to place the name.

  ‘Jón Jónsson. He’s just got out of prison after serving a sentence for the murder of a little girl. Do you know him or have any connection to him?’

  Kolbeinn didn’t answer. Above the neck of his hospital gown his Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. Then he took a sharp breath and said: ‘No. I’m not familiar with anyone by that name. Anyone at all.’ But the colour in his cheeks, the rising numbers on his monitor and the jumping graph all told a different story.

  This time it wasn’t Erla who intervened. The door opened and a doctor and nurse barged in and informed them that their visit was over; they needed to examine the patient. When they saw the readings, they were in even more of a hurry to get rid of them. Kolbeinn’s relief was palpable: the numbers on his monitor went into freefall as the two detectives headed for the door.

  Huldar glanced back at the screen. The graph had returned to what it had been when he and Erla arrived.

  The bloody man. He did have a link to Jón.

  Chapter 19

  The ticking of the clock on Sólveig’s wall was driving Freyja mad. She had a blinding headache after all the wine yesterday evening and was having to concentrate hard on every word to follow the thread. She still couldn’t work out what had happened, how the evening had ended like that, why Huldar had suddenly said goodbye and walked out just when she had finally wanted him to stay. She was glad she wouldn’t have to encounter him at work after sleeping with him. But it hadn’t been her decision. What was his problem?

  ‘So in other words he injured his sister?’ Freyja suppressed a sudden longing to cradle her head in her hands. ‘When he was eight?’ She had been surprised when Sólveig called out to her as soon as she walked in the door. Freyja had arrived half an hour late, looking as if she’d put on her make-up in the back seat of a car driven by a learner on their first lesson. Instead of saying that she was busy and would look in later when she was feeling better, Freyja had obliged. Now she was having to pretend nothing was wrong, despite feeling as if her head had sprouted a new heart that was throbbing in time with her old one.

  ‘Yes. That’s how he ended up with me.’ Sólveig was looking even scruffier than usual. The T-shirt visible above the neckline of her hippyish pinafore dress was on inside out, showing the label. She must have dressed in a hurry or in the dark. But her jewellery was in place: the bangles, necklaces and heavy earrings that stretched her earlobes by several millimetres. Surely they couldn’t be comfortable. ‘I don’t remember how it happened – if I ever knew – but the girl lost two fingers. Or three. I’m not quite sure. She was in hospital for quite a while, though, and there was even a risk she could have died.’

  ‘And you just suddenly happened to remember all this?’

  ‘Well, maybe not suddenly. I had to rack my brains, but with the help of some old diaries – I always make notes of the main points that emerge from my sessions – I was able to piece it together. I couldn’t find the reports, though.’ Sólveig met Freyja’s eye, only to look away immediately. ‘You can tell that to the police. If they’d rather speak to me in person I should be able to find a space in my diary, though I’m pretty booked up.’ This was accompanied by a short sigh so exaggerated that it belonged in a radio play.

  ‘The police don’t make appointments. They just turn up.’ Freyja couldn’t work out why she was so annoyed with the woman. Perhaps it was the hangover. But no, it wasn’t only that; it was her suspicion that Sólveig wasn’t being entirely straight with her. ‘Anyway, we’ll see. I’m more interested in the kids. The brother injures his sister, clearly not by accident. Then what? You’re drafted in to diagnose the boy and treat him. Have I understood that right?’ Given her current state, Freyja was quite proud of herself for managing to come out with this without garbling it.

  ‘Yes. At the time, I was working on child protection cases for Hafnarfjördur Council and when the incident occurred they referred him to me. If my diary’s right … which it is … I saw him five times in the follow-up. That was the entire course of treatment. I started my own practice after that and won a contract to provide support services for schools, so I don’t know what happened after I left. But he ended up back in my care as a teenager, for abnormal behaviour at school. That was a far less serious matter but I recognised the name and asked if I could treat him.’

  ‘What emerged from your original diagnosis? What drove the boy to injure his sister?’

  ‘As I said, I can’t find the files on Thröstur from that period, so I can only go by what I remember.’

  ‘That’s better than nothing.’<
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  ‘Yes. Quite. If I remember right, the boy was unhealthily jealous of his sister. He was one of those kids who’s hard to warm to, but everyone loved her. Being younger she undoubtedly enjoyed more attention from their parents. The boy also had problems controlling his temper. The two things made for a bad combination.’

  Freyja wasn’t hung-over enough to let this one go. ‘Is it possible you’re forgetting something?’

  ‘What?’

  Freyja leant forwards. ‘Now you know who their father was, don’t you see any reason to doubt your analysis? Don’t you think it’s possible that the boy’s anger resulted from something rather more serious than problems with self-control? I find it extremely unlikely that he injured his sister in the hope of attracting his parents’ attention. Were his home circumstances ever checked?’

  Sólveig didn’t answer immediately. Her thick lower lip twitched as if she had a nervous tic. ‘I wasn’t responsible for that. Hafnarfjördur social services took care of that side. I was sent a report by them that – again I’m relying on memory – said his home life was absolutely fine.’

  ‘No alcoholism or other problems of that kind? No abuse?’

  ‘No. I think I’m right in saying that his parents were given the all-clear. And I was in no position to cast doubt on that judgement.’

  ‘But you must have spoken to Thröstur about his family. Do you remember how he described his relationship with his father?’