The Legacy Read online

  They were in the process of reviewing and analysing the information that had already been collected in connection with the two murders, trying to make sense of the mass of data and searching for the thread that would eventually lead them to the culprit. In a modern society every individual leaves a digital footprint, a trail of electronic transactions and other data generated by everyday activities. Once arranged in order and systematically compared to witness statements, this evidence can reveal the last few days of a person’s life in extraordinary detail. Most of the information can be acquired with minimum effort: for example, by examining the use of bank cards, phone calls, e-mails and social media activity. The main problem lies in isolating what matters from the vast tide of information available.

  After skimming through the data Almar had found on Elísa’s laptop, Huldar had delegated to others the task of sifting through the files on her office computer. There was plenty of other work to do, and besides he was afraid of falling asleep on his keyboard. The group had now finished piecing together the majority of Elísa’s movements in the lead-up to her death and were busy trying to build up a clear picture of Ástrós’s final hours.

  Elísa had woken early and got the children out of bed with her husband’s help. She had glanced through the news headlines on her laptop while the kids were eating breakfast, and e-mailed the school to request that Margrét be kept indoors during break because she thought she might be coming down with a cold. The couple had then split the children between them; Sigvaldi had driven Margrét to school while Elísa took the boys to kindergarten. She had turned up to work at the tax office ten minutes late and rushed straight to an internal meeting on changes to the tax laws. The meeting had lasted for two hours. This was followed by routine tasks until midday; she had composed a paragraph in a report on tax loopholes in the tourist industry and read over a section compiled by a colleague. At lunchtime she had popped out to a restaurant in the town centre with two female colleagues where she had a Caesar salad, washed down by a Pepsi Max. She had posted a picture of the meal on social media. Seeing this dreary fare, Huldar wondered if she would have chosen something more sinful had she known that the calories she ingested would never be converted to fat.

  After just under an hour off for lunch, Elísa had returned to work on the report. You couldn’t exactly describe her as industrious, however. Her computer revealed that she had spent a disproportionate amount of time online, where her browsing had included looking at shoes on Amazon and offers on a discount site. On the latter, Elísa had booked a family offer at a burger joint that would have been a good bargain, only they were unlikely to take advantage of it now. Almar had gone to the trouble of printing out the confirmation and giving it to Huldar with the request that he should pass it on to the family. It was still lying on his desk, from where it would eventually find its way into the bin.

  At two, Elísa had recorded on the office Lync system that she had to pop out but would be back before three. Shortly afterwards she had bought a ticket for the flybus, which tallied with her husband’s statement that she had picked him up from home and given him a lift to the central bus station as they had agreed that morning. While she was buying the ticket, he had carried his luggage out to the bus. They had kissed goodbye, then she had hurried back to her computer.

  Elísa had left work just before four and collected the children from kindergarten and school. She had stopped by a supermarket on the way home where she had done a big shop, at least by Huldar’s standards. Then the gang had hurried home with the shopping, with a brief stop at a petrol station where they had filled the tank and purchased three ice lollies. The cashier said he remembered Elísa because the kids had been impatient and there had appeared to be a lot of squabbling going on in the car. The ice lollies had been an attempt to pacify them. One detail of the cashier’s account didn’t fit with the known sequence of events. He claimed that Elísa’s husband had been with them and that he had filled the tank.

  Countless customers passed through the garage every day, so the obvious explanation was that he had mixed up two different sets of people. The petrol had been bought at about the same time as Sigvaldi was boarding his plane. At first Elísa’s sons had shrugged when asked if they remembered the trip to the petrol station and whether there had been another person in the car with them, then Bárdur, the elder boy, had vaguely recalled a garage attendant filling the tank. This was considered more plausible than the idea that Elísa’s killer had been a passenger in the car and returned home with them from the filling station. Védís, the woman next door, had seen the family arrive home. At that point it had just been the four of them – Elísa and the three kids, no one else. It was possible that Margrét might be able to shed more light on the matter when they spoke to her later.

  The next electronic transaction on Elísa’s credit card was a payment to a locksmith for opening the front door. According to him, she had lost the house key, her husband was abroad and the spare key was locked inside. Huldar and other members of the investigation team had put a question mark by this incident, suggesting, as it did, that the murderer could have got hold of the key that day. There was no sign of a break-in, so logically either the man must have used a key or Elísa had forgotten to lock up. Although the front door had been found locked the following morning, that wasn’t necessarily significant. For all they knew, the killer could have locked it behind him when he left, even if it had been open when he arrived.

  Elísa hadn’t wanted the locksmith to change the locks, assuring him that this had happened before and there was no cause to worry. She had a spare key inside; her key ring was old and the key must have fallen off somewhere: at work, at the school or kindergarten, in the shop or the petrol station. The police had conducted searches at all these places without success.

  Once they were inside, Elísa had logged on to Facebook and ‘liked’ several of her friends’ status updates. She posted that Sigvaldi was in the States, so that her circle of friends would know that she was alone at home with the kids. She also informed the world that she was going to cook spaghetti and received countless ‘likes’ for that. Huldar couldn’t tell if it was the spaghetti people liked or the fact she was alone. The police had taken the precaution of checking that no weirdos had infiltrated those who liked the update, but the comments all came from friends Elísa had been in contact with for a long time. That aside, the evening had not been recorded as minutely as the rest of her day. Nevertheless, between 7 and 11 p.m. Elísa had accessed Facebook and Twitter several times. Her final update in this life could be read on Facebook: Good night – new day tomorrow, going to do everything right for a change! But of course this had never been put to the test.

  Given the countless updates Elísa had made to these sites during her lifetime, Huldar couldn’t help wondering what she’d have posted if the murderer had handed her a computer during her death throes. You’re never going to believe this but a man is trying to hoover the spaghetti – which was delicious, by the way – out of my stomach. Or simply: Help! Somebody. Help me!

  Far less was known about Ástrós’s last movements. She hadn’t been nearly as active as Elísa on social media and seemed to have been less outgoing generally. She had also retired two years previously, so her work colleagues were no longer in the picture. As far as they could tell, she had stayed at home all day, unless she had gone for a walk at some point. Her car, a small Toyota, was parked in the garage and she had noted down the mileage when filling it with petrol the day before. Taking account of the distance between the petrol station and her flat, they concluded that she had driven straight home and not touched the car again after that. Her credit card showed only one transaction on the day she died and that was a direct debit to a charity. She had made three phone calls from home during the evening, one to the phone company, another to her sister and the third to a friend. The call to the phone company hadn’t been about anything important, according to the customer service representative who spoke to her. He
couldn’t remember any details, only that it had involved a fault or virus on her mobile phone. There was nothing to suggest that this conversation had any connection to the murder. Ástrós’s friend said they had discussed a book Ástrós had lent her and the friend’s planned Mediterranean cruise. Her conversation with Ástrós had lasted seventeen minutes and it took the police officer at least seven minutes to get her off the phone. By then he felt he had heard all he wanted to and more about the imminent cruise.

  The phone call to her sister had been of a similar duration, at around nineteen minutes. The sister said they had discussed some confirmations of relatives’ children that were due to take place in the spring, a new shop in the Smáralind shopping centre that they were keen to try out, and also a visit Ástrós had been expecting that had come to nothing. She had been unable to give her visitor’s name and her explanation had been rather muddled. From what the sister could remember, Ástrós had received a text message announcing that someone was coming round, but she seemed to be mixing it up with some other messages she had been sent that she thought either hadn’t been intended for her or were somehow dubious. She hadn’t explained what these texts contained and her sister hadn’t taken much interest as she’d been late for the theatre. Weeping, she informed Huldar that the play had been a disappointment and she should have talked longer to her sister instead.

  Ástrós’s mobile had been found at the scene. This time the police had been careful to verify that it was the one she used, to avoid repeating the blunder over Elísa’s phone, which had still not turned up. Whoever had it hadn’t switched it on yet and seemed unlikely to do so now. The phone company had handed over a list of the calls and texts Elísa had received in the days leading up to her death but none of the messages resembled those they had found on Ástrós’s phone.

  The texts sent to Ástrós were being analysed. There were four from an unknown sender, three of which were incomprehensible:

  39, 8, 92 · 5, 3–53, 8, 8, 66 · 83, 43, 1

  39, 8, 92 · 75 · 10, X, 65–5

  66–39, 8 · 90, 63–92 · 42–8, 85, 108

  The person working on the coded message left at Elísa’s house was now wrestling with these as well, but Huldar wasn’t holding out any hope for a solution. The man was also trying to crack the message that had been found in the envelope on Ástrós’s neighbour’s car: 22, 90–1 · 9, 8, 86–7 · 73, 90–1. Huldar had thought the regular sequence that appeared in two of the texts might facilitate their decoding, but it didn’t seem to have helped at all.

  They had seized on the ‘X’ as the only letter among the numbers, but this hadn’t led to any breakthrough either. Huldar’s main hope was that Interpol would be able to crack the code, but so far all their request had resulted in was some paperwork for him to fill out. It had better not turn out to be a waste of time.

  The fourth text on Ástrós’s phone consisted of an announcement by an unknown individual of his or her imminent arrival. The police had no idea of the person’s identity and neither had Ástrós, to judge from her conversation with her sister.

  Not long till my visit – excited?

  Huldar wasn’t the only one who believed that the texts had been sent by her killer. Absolute priority had been given to tracing the number they were sent from; with any luck he would have it by the end of the day. At last the murderer seemed to have slipped up. A disposable SIM card had been used, of the type bought mainly by foreign tourists or the odd local who used them for dodgy purposes. Retailers were supposed to record the names of the purchasers but the records for those sold at hotels proved to be patchy at best. It should nevertheless be possible to trace the card to a specific sales outlet and check their records. While it was too much to hope that the man would have given his real name, the card might have been bought recently, in which case there was a chance the sales assistant might remember the buyer or that he had been caught on CCTV. The SIM card did at least offer a faint chance that the solution to the case might be imminent.

  What with the lack of potential suspects, especially any with links to both women, they could use some encouragement. Most officers – including Huldar – inclined to the view that the victims had been selected at random, but they avoided discussing the fact as it would be the worst scenario. How were they to find the murderer if there was no logic to his killings? Especially when he operated with such methodical care. To make matters worse, neither Elísa nor Ástrós seemed to have stood out from the crowd in any way, which made them unlikely targets for an individual so filled with hatred that he resorted to butchering complete strangers.

  Nothing in Elísa’s or Ástrós’s lives or deaths appeared to hold the key to the mystery.

  Nor had the evidence gathered at the scene yielded anything useful. So far they had found no fingerprints or trace evidence at Elísa’s house or Ástrós’s flat to provide a lead. This wasn’t necessarily significant, however, as both places were teeming with biological specimens, only a small percentage of which had been analysed so far. Perhaps the right fingerprint or human hair would be discovered at any moment. But every sample that turned out to have an innocent explanation reduced the likelihood that clues from the crime scene would help solve the case. It wasn’t that surprising since anyone who watched TV nowadays would know the pitfalls to avoid. A sufficiently clued-up teenager should be able to commit a crime without leaving a trace.

  Huldar sighed. He knew the lack of progress would have a depressing effect on the team sooner or later, with the exception of one or two individuals whose response to every disappointment was to redouble their efforts. Ríkhardur belonged to this select group, if the undimmed energy in his voice was anything to go by. And judging by his productivity over the last couple of days he must be one of the most effective. But the strain was evident in further flaws in his otherwise neat appearance, like the button left undone on his shirt or the tiny but unmistakable coffee stain on his sleeve.

  Even his dark hair looked a little dishevelled, though it was tidy by Huldar’s standards. As if he could read Huldar’s mind, Ríkhardur ran a hand over his head and every lock fell neatly back into place. ‘They have nothing in common,’ he stated flatly. ‘No friends, no relatives, not even a connection through work. In fact you’d be hard pressed to find two other people in Iceland with less to link them. They’re different ages, unrelated, never attended the same school, were never neighbours, never even shopped at the same supermarket. Extraordinary, really.’ He sounded confident of his facts as he handed Huldar the report. Erla, who had worked on it with him, was leaning against the doorpost.

  She had forgiven Huldar after he called and invited her to accompany him to Freyja’s place the previous evening. Although this meant having to drive halfway across town, Erla had done so gladly, apparently regarding it as levelling the score in her absurd rivalry with Ríkhardur. She had treated Freyja with appalling rudeness, but then what had he expected? That they would fall into each other’s arms and swear eternal friendship? He was only grateful that Erla didn’t suspect the truth; that this was the second time he had used her as a buffer in his dealings with Freyja. Though buffer wasn’t really the word, since she wasn’t there to shield him from mocking comments so much as to prevent their being uttered in the first place.

  Huldar glanced over the report enumerating potential links between the two women, which had all turned out to be dead ends. ‘So, no connections whatsoever? Not even indirectly?’ Despite his disappointment at the outcome, he was pleased to see how thorough Ríkhardur and Erla had been. They had spoken to dozens of people, mostly over the phone, and some of these conversations must have been difficult so soon after the women’s deaths. He was willing to bet that Ríkhardur had made the majority of the calls. The man had a gift for tackling emotionally sensitive issues without diverging from his naturally wooden manner, though admittedly his approach could come across as a little heartless. ‘Well done anyway.’

  ‘Thanks.’ A rare smile crossed Ríkhardur’s fac
e. It was the first genuine smile Huldar could remember seeing him give since his divorce. He made a mental note to praise Ríkhardur more often – when he deserved it. But the smile disappeared so quickly that Huldar wondered if he had imagined it.

  ‘Pity it didn’t get us anywhere.’ Ríkhardur sounded dispirited.

  ‘Well, at least now we know they weren’t connected.’ Erla shifted a little to favour her left shoulder. She had been injured during a call-out six months ago and forced to take two weeks’ sick leave. Seldom if ever had an officer been so pissed off about being sent on leave. She seemed ashamed of her body’s fallibility. On her return to work no one had dared ask how she was feeling. Huldar had been no exception. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten the incident. So, staying true to form, he pretended not to notice the grimace of pain she was trying to control.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ she asked. ‘Move on to some other shit or carry on searching? There may be a link somewhere that we’ve overlooked.’

  Huldar pondered. Further research was unlikely to produce any results and their time would be better spent elsewhere. ‘No, you can stop looking for the moment. Perhaps we should wait until we can compare their debit card transactions and so on. We haven’t received all Ástrós’s bank records yet, so let’s hold fire for now.’

  ‘What should we do then?’ Ríkhardur straightened his back. His military bearing had always irritated Huldar, and never more so than now that he was his boss.

  ‘I’m updating the list of people we still need to interview. When I’ve finished, there’ll be plenty to occupy you. As your analysis shows, the women have no contacts in common. Since the murderer appears to be their only connection, it’s clear there’s going to be quite a bit of overtime for the foreseeable future.’

  Erla grinned and Ríkhardur seemed cautiously pleased as well. Whatever their faults, you had to give them their due: they weren’t afraid of hard work, and the thickness of their wage packets had nothing to do with it.