The Legacy Read online

  The police had also visited every retailer known to stock duct tape but no one could recall a bulk purchase over the last few months. Or indeed before that. From this they deduced that the murderer must have bought the rolls in small quantities to avoid attracting attention. Or imported them from abroad in his suitcase.

  One building supplies company reported the disappearance of a whole box in a warehouse burglary before Christmas more than a year ago, but various other goods had been taken as well, which suggested that the tape had not been the primary object. The warehouse manager explained that they hadn’t even noticed until later that the duct tape was missing. A new member of staff had put the rolls in an empty box that had previously contained USB sticks, so the matter hadn’t come to light until after the stock-take at New Year. The thieves must have been under the impression that they were making off with far more valuable items.

  Huldar had looked the burglary up on the police database and spoken to the investigating officer who was convinced that it was a professional job. The incident was still unsolved and the police had no suspects. Huldar couldn’t decide if there was a connection. The clumsy use of the suction cups and glass-cutter at Ástrós’s flat implied that the murderer was an amateur at breaking and entering; on the other hand there would have been enough rolls of duct tape in that box to wind countless times round the heads of the two victims and several more into the bargain.

  And the use of suction cups, along with the phone theft and the break-in, implied that the murderer had links to the criminal world. Several members of Huldar’s team were now poring over lists of burglars in search of possible candidates. The search criteria were links to assaults or other violent incidents.

  While new doors were opening, others were closing. It had been established that no foreign life insurance company had Elísa on their books, so that seemed to rule out murder for money. The same was true of Ástrós; they hadn’t yet received confirmation from abroad but they had ascertained that she wasn’t insured with any Icelandic company. Since Ástrós was childless, her three siblings stood to inherit, along with her late husband’s two brothers. Although there was no mortgage on her flat and she had died with money in the bank, it stretched credulity that any of these people would have killed her for their share of her estate.

  The CCTV footage from the petrol station, dating from the Thursday when Elísa’s key was thought to have been stolen, had turned out to be faulty; some clever dick, possibly even the murderer, had jogged the camera by the pumps so it was pointing at the roof. Footage from inside the shop showed Elísa enter, grab some ice lollies and wait by the till while the car was being filled. She kept peering out at the forecourt, presumably checking on the kids and the pump attendant, then paid by card, said goodbye and left. No one else came in immediately before or after her. On the basis of the footage and Margrét’s statement, Huldar concluded that Elísa had been unacquainted with the man who had filled the car. According to Margrét, she had handed him the keys but hadn’t spoken to him or greeted him in a friendly way.

  The more ground they covered in the inquiry, the more doubtful Huldar became that the end was in sight.

  ‘I can check the colours of these guys’ helmets, if you like,’ said Erla. ‘Perhaps one of them will turn out to have been acquainted with both women after all.’ She ran her eyes down the list of motorbike owners. ‘Though I have a hard time believing that a bike owner would be dumb enough to use a motorcycle helmet as a disguise to commit murder.’

  ‘That doesn’t alter the fact that we need to run thorough checks on them.’ Huldar rubbed his dry eyes. ‘We’ve asked Customs to provide a list of people who’ve ordered helmets from abroad online, in case someone bought a helmet specifically for this purpose.’ He dropped his hands from his eyes. ‘We’ve also contacted all retailers selling helmets in this country and asked them to provide a summary of the last six months’ sales. Luckily, there aren’t many of them, so the information should be ready by tomorrow or the day after. I gather we’ve also tracked down four adverts on classified sites offering second-hand helmets for sale.’

  ‘Or he could have stolen it.’ Ríkhardur flicked some invisible fluff from his shirt.

  ‘Would you mind looking into that?’ Huldar knew Ríkhardur was growing bored with following up tip-offs from the public. Having been lumbered with this job more than once himself in the past, he knew it was like tidying up the kitchen: you had no sooner turned on the dishwasher than a dirty mug appeared from nowhere and before you knew it the place was a mess again. By the time you had dealt with one call, the next would have come in. And another wave could be expected once Ástrós’s murder hit the news. After that things should quieten down, but until then Ríkhardur would just have to persevere. ‘How are you getting on with the tip-offs, by the way?’

  ‘Fine …’ Ríkhardur tried to sound upbeat but his eyes told a different story. ‘Nothing of any value yet. But you never know.’

  ‘What’s been the funniest or weirdest shit so far?’ Erla asked, leaning towards him.

  ‘I hear it’s been unusually colourful stuff.’ Huldar chuckled. ‘They had a call earlier from one of the paranormal gang claiming to have been receiving coded messages via the radio.’

  Ríkhardur looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes, so I gather. Actually, none of it’s made much sense. A woman reckoned she’d seen Elísa getting off a coach full of tourists at the Blue Lagoon and claimed the party left without her. She’d obviously got the wrong end of the stick because she thought we were appealing for any news of Elísa and suggested we dragged the lagoon for her body. Then there was the guy who claimed to have spotted her having an altercation with a traffic warden on Laugavegur. According to him it ended with them both being arrested – the day after she died.’

  ‘Well, I hope you followed that up.’ Huldar wondered if calls from the public were becoming less crazy these days. If these were the worst Ríkhardur had to contend with, he didn’t deserve any sympathy. Perhaps the crackpots were now channelling their energies into commenting on web forums instead of bothering the police. ‘Has anyone trawled through the online comments about the case? There’s always a chance we’ve missed something there.’

  ‘I haven’t paid any special attention to the internet.’ Ríkhardur appeared to regard this as a serious oversight on his part. Swallowing awkwardly, he added: ‘In fact, it turns out that nobody has ever been arrested in Iceland as a result of an argument with a traffic warden, so Elísa’s alleged arrest can’t even have taken place when she was alive. Of course, I don’t need to tell you that Elísa appears to have been a model citizen. Like Ástrós.’ A fact he clearly approved of. He wouldn’t exactly have bent over backwards on their account had the two women been public nuisances.

  ‘What about the radio messages? That must have been a giggle.’ Erla shifted closer to encourage Ríkhardur to elaborate.

  ‘I haven’t got that far. I decided to take you at your word, Huldar, and leave calls like that till last. Somehow I can’t imagine anything useful coming out of it.’

  ‘Well, you never know.’ Huldar paused. At this point, it was impossible to judge what was important and what was a complete waste of time. The only course was to follow up every lead, even bonkers tip-offs from the public. ‘We shouldn’t forget that the genocide in Rwanda was triggered in part by orders over the radio. The Hutus were told to kill all the Tutsis they could get hold of. And we’re all aware of the consequences.’

  Ríkhardur looked put out. Presumably he had been hoping to avoid having to investigate this call. Handling matters with a tenuous link to reality wasn’t his forte. But much of what landed on their desks would seem incomprehensible, irrational or far-fetched to the general public, so he had better get used to it. The world wasn’t all as straightforward as he was.

  ‘Of course I’ll follow it up. It’s just that I remembered you saying anything linked to the paranormal could be sent to the bottom of the pile.’

  Ríkhardur w
as plainly offended but Huldar had neither the time nor the energy to cope with his touchiness now. He heaved a sigh and shook his head in exasperation, then, unable to think of anything to add, changed the subject. ‘Tell me, do you two agree that despite all the indications to the contrary, there must be some connection between the murderer, Elísa and Ástrós? Or between him, Sigvaldi and Ástrós?’

  Huldar didn’t like the glance they exchanged. He interpreted it as a sign that they would rather he displayed more confidence.

  ‘I guess so.’ Erla got in first and Ríkhardur nodded.

  Huldar tried to compensate by adopting a more forceful tone. ‘The only plausible explanation for all the trouble the murderer took is that he wanted to punish the women or, in Elísa’s case, possibly her husband. If we knew what it was about, we’d be in a better position. I’m assuming it’s retribution for some crime he believes they or Sigvaldi committed – against him personally perhaps. The murders aren’t associated with sexual psychosis, despite the sadistic element.’

  Erla coughed. ‘Ahem. Wouldn’t any old victim do for a sick fuck who kills to satisfy his sadistic urges? What does it matter who’s doing the suffering if what motivates him is the desire to inflict pain?’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with that.’ The blood mottled Ríkhardur’s white cheeks. He clamped his lips into a pale line. While it violated his natural subservience to contradict his superiors, he found it hard to speak against his own convictions. ‘What does it matter to a man like that who he tortures?’

  ‘Nothing, I suppose. Unless he gets a kick out of inflicting pain on certain types. But Elísa and Ástrós didn’t look alike and were different ages. They had virtually nothing in common apart from the fact they were both women – and let’s not forget that Margrét overheard the murderer telling Elísa that it was really Sigvaldi he was punishing. Still, leaving that aside, what I meant is that the motive for the killings is unlikely to have been sadism pure and simple. The man must have known them or crossed paths with them at some point. If he’d simply wanted an outlet for his need to inflict pain, wouldn’t he have spent more time on it? Spun out their ordeals as long as possible? According to Elísa’s post-mortem, her death followed relatively quickly after he switched on the vacuum cleaner. It was different with Ástrós as it took a while for the curling tongs to burn her windpipe so badly that it closed, causing her to suffocate. It would have been easy to kill them both by another, slower method if sadism had been the primary motive.’ Huldar tried not to think about the horrific details he had read in the pathologist’s reports.

  ‘You mean by torturing them for longer? For days, even?’ As usual Erla came straight to the point.

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Obviously, I find the methods the murderer used as despicable as you do. But they don’t resemble any of the foreign cases I’ve read up on in which women were murdered purely in order to satisfy sadistic urges. In those cases the killer almost invariably kidnaps the victim – lures her into his house or car – and takes her to a remote spot where he draws out her death for as long as possible. He doesn’t finish her off in a hurry during a break-in, like our guy.’

  ‘Do you have any examples?’ Erla asked, grimacing.

  Huldar opened his mouth but couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. It was bad enough to have researched this stuff; he’d almost expected blood to start oozing from his computer screen. ‘Take it from me, they’re sickening. To be honest, I doubt some of the details I read were true.’ He glanced at the watch given to him by his father when he graduated from police training college. Though most people had stopped wearing watches these days, he persisted in honour of his old man.

  ‘Then there’s the business of the messages.’ Ríkhardur could recite those connected to Ástrós by memory but had to pull a note from his pocket to remind him of the one left at Elísa’s house. ‘“Twenty-two, ninety minus one, point nine, eight, eighty-six minus seven, point seventy-three, ninety minus one,” and “So tell me: fifty-three, sixteen, point fifty-three, ninety minus one, point four, forty-three minus six, sixty-five minus five, sixty-eight, point forty-three minus six, eight, point one hundred and six minus sixteen, fifty-three, twenty-three, sixty-three minus ninety-two, point ninety, eighty-nine minus six, seven, point forty-three minus six, eight, point seventy-five, fifty-eight, fifty-three, twenty-three, sixty-three minus ninety-two”?’ He raised his eyes again. ‘Doesn’t that suggest the perpetrator felt he had some business, so to speak, with the women?’ Ríkhardur shifted in his chair, relaxing his upright posture a little. But the new pose he adopted was just as stiff.

  ‘There’s something suspicious about those messages, if you ask me.’ Erla was as hunched as Ríkhardur was straight-backed. A few months ago Egill had brought in an ergonomics expert with the intention of creating a healthier working environment, but it had mainly involved wasting people’s time. The staff had found it hard to concentrate on their job while a man armed with a measuring tape and notebook hovered over them. Two days after the assessment and the accompanying course on how to improve their posture, everyone had lapsed into their old habits; Ríkhardur sitting straight as a ramrod, everyone else slouching, round-shouldered. Gel mouse-pads ended up in drawers and footrests were kicked into the corner. Erla hadn’t even waited two days, in spite of her shoulder injury, or perhaps because of it. ‘I mean, why the hell leave a message in the first place? And don’t say that deep down the fucker wants to be caught. I’m not buying that.’

  ‘You’ve got a point.’ Huldar rooted around in the piles of paper on his desk in search of copies of the notes found at the scene. ‘Maybe he’s taunting us. Thinks he’s so superior to the police that he can get away with it.’

  Erla frowned. ‘You reckon? I think it’s much more likely he’s doing it to fuck with us. Has anyone stopped to consider that?’

  ‘False messages?’ Ríkhardur looked as if he’d encountered a bad smell. ‘Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?’

  Huldar didn’t immediately reply: Erla’s idea wasn’t so crazy. ‘You may well be on to something. It would fit in better with how careful the murderer is in every other respect. I mean, how come he’s so concerned to leave no trace but then provides notes that he must know will end up in our hands? He can hardly imagine we’d fail to notice them. Besides, that wouldn’t make sense. In that case, why leave them behind at all?’ Huldar realised he was losing his thread. ‘If the messages are linked to the motive for the killings, they could help us nail him in the end. Which would be a major blunder on his part and totally out of keeping with the rest of his M.O. That was a good point you raised, Erla.’

  ‘Unless the other theory’s correct.’ Ríkhardur carefully avoided looking at Erla; presumably he didn’t want to see her expression of triumph. ‘That he’s taunting us. Thinks we’re a bunch of morons.’

  ‘If we don’t start making progress soon, he’ll have a point.’ Huldar stood up. ‘I need a coffee.’ He noticed yet another memo flash up on his screen. This time it was an announcement that he hadn’t yet completed his manning schedule for the next six months. He switched off the monitor. He felt as if he were drowning in forms. ‘I’m thinking of calling it a day. I just can’t concentrate any longer. You two should knock off early as well.’

  The idea didn’t receive the reception he’d expected. On the contrary, they were regarding him reproachfully as if he had let them down. He felt a stab of irritation but, if he were honest, this had more to do with the knot of fear in his stomach over the state of the investigation than any shortcomings on their part.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me if anything comes up. And let me know if Interpol gets back to us about the messages. On second thoughts, you’d better text me, as I doubt I’ll be picking up any calls.’ He had decided to drop in on Freyja. Which was none of their business.

  Chapter 27

  There was no point shedding any more tears. They had nowhere to go and weeping only made his eyes sting. Rubbing his head aga
inst the rough concrete had achieved nothing either, apart from grazing the small amount of his skin that wasn’t covered in tape. Halli didn’t know how many times the man had wound it round his head; he’d stopped counting after six when the pressure became so bad he could no longer think straight. It was clear to him now that the thick tape was far too tightly wound for him to be able to scrape it off without the use of his hands. His right ear had suffered worst. It felt like it was on fire. When he escaped he was probably going to need plastic surgery … if he escaped.

  The tears welled up again. They not only stung his eyes but filled his nose with mucus, which meant he kept having to unblock it. He had to breathe through his nose because his mouth was stuffed with padding and taped shut. He didn’t want to suffocate in his own snot.

  Didn’t want to suffocate full stop.

  It was worth reminding himself of this now when he felt the temptation creeping over him to surrender to sleep and be free of the pain. He ached all over. But whenever he did nod off, the pain was worse when he woke up, so he was better off staying conscious. The heat contributed to his suffering too, exacerbating his discomfort until it was unbearable.