The Legacy Page 35

  Huldar described it, then listened to what passed between Freyja and Margrét. She spoke soothingly to the girl, telling her she wanted to show her a photo of a man who might be the person Margrét had seen in her garden. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was the man who had hurt her mummy. Freyja stopped talking and there was the sound of a mouse clicking. Huldar pressed the phone to his ear. For a long time he could hear nothing, but when the silence was finally broken it was Margrét who spoke. ‘I don’t know. I think it’s him. It’s him. I think. He’s very like him. Though he hasn’t got a hood on.’

  Then Freyja took over, thanking Margrét and saying she could go to the kitchen and help herself to biscuits.

  ‘Thanks. Not quite as positive as I’d been hoping for, but it’ll do for now.’

  ‘Well, it’s not like she sat down to dinner with him. She saw the man out of the window, mostly in the evening or at night.’

  ‘I know. It was fine. Thanks very much.’

  ‘Who is the man anyway?’

  ‘Hardly more than a boy. A student at the university.’

  ‘Why did he do it?’

  ‘We don’t know. Yet.’ Huldar had the feeling something remained unsaid but couldn’t think what. Freyja had nothing to add, so he said he’d talk to her later and rang off. He couldn’t tell from her response how she felt about this.

  It was no problem selecting Karlotta’s number from his contacts list but much harder actually to press the button to call her. Finger in the air, he looked out through the glass wall of his office to where Ríkhardur was still standing talking to Erla and the young detective. Two other people had joined the group. Evidently they all wanted to hear Ríkhardur’s story first hand. What would he do if Ríkhardur tore himself away from the others and barged in on him in the middle of the phone call? Hang up? Of course. He would have time to say goodbye and end the call. Karlotta of all people would understand that he didn’t want to talk to her under her soon-to-be-ex husband’s nose.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed the button. If he didn’t call her now, it would have to wait until tomorrow. It was nearly 9 a.m. and he wanted to speak to her before she became too busy but when she didn’t have unlimited time to chat. He’d give it six rings, then hang up.

  Karlotta answered almost immediately. Behind her he could hear activity and people talking, just as he had planned. ‘Hi, Karlotta. It’s Huldar.’

  ‘Oh … hang on a minute. I’m just going to move.’ He heard the sound of footsteps, the click, click, click of her inevitable high heels. Then a door closed and she spoke again. ‘Sorry about that. Thanks for calling back. I didn’t want to talk to you with other people around.’

  ‘No. I’m alone too.’ He was staring directly at Ríkhardur, who showed no sign of budging. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be left in peace, so we’d better be quick.’

  ‘Yes, same here. I’m expecting a client in ten minutes.’

  Huldar cursed himself for not having waited another five. He couldn’t keep up a conversation with her for ten whole minutes. ‘Look, I know I should have rung you ages ago. I owe you an apology for … you know. I’ve no excuse except that I was totally wasted. Which is no excuse, of course. When I phoned after Ríkhardur told me about the divorce I didn’t have the wits to say it. At the time I just wanted to know if you’d told him anything. Totally selfish of me. So I’m sorry about that as well. But mainly for dragging you down to that level in the first place.’

  ‘No need for you to say sorry. I’m the one who should be apologising.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes. Are you surprised? What on earth did you think? That I had no will of my own?’ She sounded genuinely astonished. ‘That I was helpless in the face of your charms?’

  ‘No.’ Huldar didn’t let himself take offence. He had asked for it, and worse. ‘Of course I didn’t think that. I wanted to apologise to you because I can’t apologise to the person who really deserves it. You know who I mean.’ Huldar watched Ríkhardur enjoying himself, surrounded by his colleagues. He didn’t throw back his head with roars of laughter or wave his arms about or show any other normal signs of elation. Only someone who knew him well would be able to tell that he was over the moon. ‘I wish I could, but for his sake it’s better he doesn’t find out.’ He paused, praying she would agree. What if she got a bee in her bonnet about wanting to make a clean breast of things? Had he been too eager with his regrets and apologies?

  Apparently not. Karlotta was an intelligent woman.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, don’t say anything to him. He’s got enough on his plate.’

  ‘Is there any chance of you two getting back together?’

  ‘No.’ Karlotta took a deep breath. ‘No.’

  ‘He misses you.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s none of my business.’

  ‘Look,’ she continued, ‘I’d better go ahead and say what I meant to say when I finally plucked up the courage to call.’ Huldar was silent, so she carried on: ‘Did Ríkhardur tell you about our problems having children?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘The whole thing was a tragedy from beginning to end. I just didn’t seem to be able to carry a child to full term. Ríkhardur found it terribly hard to face up to the fact that we weren’t perfect. Then I got the idea of trying another way.’

  ‘Another way?’

  ‘Yes. Getting pregnant by another man. I became obsessed with the idea that it was his fault. He was being stubborn about going for tests, refusing to accept that anything could be wrong. The evening I bumped into you I was on the lookout for a likely candidate. At first I tried to find a man who looked like Ríkhardur but by the time I’d trawled a few bars and downed a few drinks I’d forgotten about that. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it with a complete stranger. The thought disgusted me. I was drinking for Dutch courage. Then I spotted you.’

  ‘Me? You went into the toilets with me just to get pregnant? Because I wasn’t a total stranger?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice suddenly held a quality that reminded him of Ríkhardur. Emotionally repressed, that was it. ‘That’s why I wanted to apologise. I should never have done it, seeing as you two are friends. I was horrified next day when I realised what I’d done. Then, when I turned out to be pregnant, it was an odd feeling. Both good and bad. Good because if the child was yours, then Ríkhardur and I would have more chance of becoming parents; bad because I was terrified the child would look like you or we’d be found out. And also because the child might be Ríkhardur’s after all, and I wouldn’t be able to undo what I’d done.’ She paused for breath, then went on: ‘Anyway, you know how it ended. There was no child that time either.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this? It’s none of my business. You’re just making matters worse.’ Huldar closed his eyes. His rage subsided a little and, opening them again, he resumed more calmly. ‘Karlotta, what’s done is done. It’s over. Your fault, my fault – it doesn’t matter.’ He saw Ríkhardur crane his head round the group and look over at him. Their eyes met and his colleague smiled more warmly than Huldar deserved. He faked an answering smile. ‘Look, I’ve got to dash. Thanks for telling me. In spite of everything, it’s good to know. I feel slightly less of a shit than I did.’

  Chapter 32

  Millimetre by millimetre, almost imperceptibly, the walls of the small interview room were closing in on the four men. Karl was the only one who seemed to notice. But then the room was more or less empty, so there was nothing to use as a reference point. The whitewashed walls were bare, the table and chairs plain and functional; a single light hung over the centre of the table.

  He avoided looking up because the glare made his headache worse and he was afraid of throwing up again. Not that he had anything left in his stomach. He had puked up yesterday evening’s pizza and he’d been feeling too sick to eat this morning’s unappetising breakfast. The tray had been laid on the floor of his cell: cold porridge in a disposable plastic carton, a gl
ass of water, two yellowing slices of apple and a watery, yellow juice of unknown origin. When he tried to drink it he had started retching and had to gulp down the lukewarm water on which a black hair had been floating. The hair had got stuck in his throat, and this made him decline the water that one of the policemen kept pushing towards him now, with increasing concern.

  ‘Have some water. You’ll be ill if you don’t drink.’

  Karl’s lawyer answered on his behalf, scrupulously following his client’s orders in everything. ‘He doesn’t want any water. He’s already said so. If he changes his mind, no doubt he’ll have some.’

  Karl kept his eyes facing straight ahead as he had for the last hour, to save the necessity of moving his head for the questions that really mattered. He only spoke when it was unavoidable. The problem was, he could no longer sense what did or didn’t matter.

  All he could really think about was the agony in his head.

  Slowly turning it now, he saw that all three men were staring at him: the balding, middle-aged lawyer at his side, who looked at least eight months pregnant, and the two policemen who sat facing them. If he hadn’t known better he would have assumed that one of the cops was a lawyer and his lawyer was a cop. The officer in question was wearing the smarter suit and behaved in a manner that Karl judged more fitting for a solicitor; he wasn’t constantly leaning forward on one elbow or blowing his nose after every important question like his own counsel. But few would have mistaken the other cop for a lawyer; his hair was too long and he was constantly chewing gum.

  ‘Are you all right, Karl?’ The cop slid the gum into his cheek. ‘Are you ill?’ Karl moved his head gingerly to the right and then to the left. The cop turned to the solicitor. ‘Is he feverish?’

  ‘How am I supposed to know? He says he’s OK.’

  The cop with the hair leant forward and felt Karl’s forehead. Karl didn’t move; he didn’t have the energy, nor did he care. ‘His temperature seems normal. Are you on something, Karl?’

  Karl neither replied nor moved his head. He had already answered this several times. Always in the same way: no.

  ‘We found dope at your house. Are you on something stronger? Something you made in the chemistry lab, maybe?’

  Karl had answered this more than once as well: no.

  The cop frowned and addressed the lawyer. ‘We’ll take a short break. You can go over matters with your client in the meantime, but I’m going to call in a nurse. There’s something wrong with the boy.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Unless he’s a bloody good actor.’

  Karl watched as he and the well-dressed cop left the room.

  ‘There’s no point pretending to be ill. It won’t help. If you don’t want to answer their questions, there’s not a lot they can do about it.’ The lawyer slapped the table with the flat of his hand. ‘Though judging by the answers you gave at the beginning, I can understand if you’d rather stay mum. It’s not looking good. Not looking good at all.’

  The fog in Karl’s head lifted slightly. ‘I haven’t killed anyone.’

  ‘No, right.’ The lawyer seemed to regard this as irrelevant. ‘It’s up to you how you want to play it. There’s plenty of time to reconsider later, but you should take into account that they seem to have incontrovertible evidence of your guilt.’

  Karl managed to nod. He would listen, gather strength, and then answer. There was no hurry. They had applied to remand him in custody and according to the lawyer their application would almost certainly be granted. In the first instance they would hold him for two weeks. When Karl had asked whether he would be released afterwards or they would apply for an extension, the lawyer refused to discuss it, telling him to concentrate on his present predicament rather than worrying about what might happen. Karl decided to follow his advice; his present situation was bad enough.

  ‘All right, son. I understand you’re feeling bad; naturally, you’re in shock. Let’s go over this again. Stop me if I’ve got it wrong or you didn’t explain it right or your answer was misunderstood. If you can provide a rational explanation for everything, they’ll let you go. The police have no power to detain you if you can prove that they’ve arrested the wrong man. But things haven’t been going too well so far. Sometimes it’s better to say less rather than more.’ The man fixed and held Karl’s gaze. ‘Let’s start with the positives. They still haven’t managed to prove that you had any connection to the two women, but it’s another matter with the young man, your friend. Is there any risk they’ll be able to link you to the women if they keep digging?’

  Karl shook his head. The pain redoubled and for a while no thoughts could penetrate it; he had to concentrate all his energy on breathing. Eventually, it eased a little, but he still didn’t feel up to pointing out that judging by the way the police twisted everything he said, they might well succeed in inventing some connection. The words were just too complicated to articulate.

  The lawyer continued. ‘Fine. That’s good news. Though it’s a pity about your friend.’ He ran his eyes down the notes he had taken during the interview. ‘You’re quite sure that it’s your soldering iron?’ He raised his eyes to Karl who nodded faintly. ‘I see. Not that it would have changed much if it wasn’t, seeing as they found your prints on it.’

  Karl contemplated his blue fingertips. His prints had been taken when he arrived at the police station yesterday evening, after which he had been photographed from the front and sides.

  ‘And of course it’s also bad that the victim was found on your property. You live alone in the house, so it’s hard to see how a stranger could have used the premises without your knowledge, seeing as there’s no sign the outhouse was broken into. It was locked, after all.’ The lawyer fell silent and continued reading in silence. ‘This bunch of keys you claim went missing; was the key to the outhouse on it, by any chance?’

  Karl nodded. He hadn’t had the presence of mind to mention this when the police asked him about the outhouse. It wasn’t the headache that had made it difficult to answer but the thought of Halli, trussed up in there, only a few metres away from him; Halli with a soldering iron in his ear – Karl’s soldering iron.

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ The lawyer didn’t seem to care whether he replied. ‘Well, that’s good to know, anyway. And your friend Börkur will confirm that the bunch of keys had gone missing?’

  Karl nodded, though with little confidence. You never knew with Börkur. If the police could muddle Karl that badly, they would be able to spin Börkur round in circles until he didn’t know whether he was coming or going. Before it was over he would be confessing to every unsolved murder in the book. Or pinning them on Karl.

  ‘Let’s hope so. And that he can confirm that he heard the broadcast, as you claim. That’s absolutely vital. Apart from him, I don’t suppose anyone else will have heard it. Your other friend didn’t live to tell the tale, of course.’

  Karl forced himself to speak. He was growing numb; he could hardly feel one of his arms. ‘Maybe. Maybe other radio hams. They’ve got a club. You can ask them.’ Why hadn’t he gone to the meeting and told them about it? Then they’d have tuned into the station to listen. They were unlikely to have stumbled across it on their own account since none of them were interested in numbers stations and they tended not to explore the relevant shortwave frequencies.

  ‘Yes. At any rate I drew the police’s attention to that.’ The lawyer made a note, then scratched his neck. ‘Since you claim you’re innocent, do you have any theories about who could have killed these people?’

  Naturally, Karl had been racking his brain about this all night but he hadn’t come to any conclusions. It was impossible to conceive of who could have wanted to harm Halli and the women in this way. And himself too. ‘It occurred to me it might have something to do with illegal downloads. Halli was arrested in a police raid and all I could think of was that he might have squealed. Ratted on the person who was in charge of the downloads or something.’ Or something. The theory sounded even dumber when
spoken aloud than when he had turned it over in his own mind.

  ‘I see. Not very plausible but who knows?’ Again the lawyer jotted down some points, then smiled at Karl. ‘See how much more progress we make when it’s just the two of us?’

  Karl tried to return his smile but only achieved a grimace, like a dog baring its teeth over a bone.

  The man stopped smiling and resumed his questioning: ‘You say you’ve never seen this helmet before, and since they didn’t mention any fingerprints, I doubt they’ve found any.’ He glanced at his notes, then back at Karl. ‘One question. Do you happen to remember when you last saw your soldering iron? If what you say is right, then someone must have nicked it.’

  ‘No.’ Karl took a deep breath but the sour, stale air did nothing to alleviate the torment in his head. ‘Maybe in the burglary. We were burgled. When Mum was still alive.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Before Christmas. Around the middle of November. I don’t remember exactly when.’ Karl grabbed the table and sat up a little. ‘I’ll try and remember – just not now. The soldering iron could have disappeared then.’

  ‘Good, good.’ The lawyer jotted this down but when he looked up again his expression was no longer as optimistic. ‘Is it possible that they’ll find more fingerprints? At Ástrós Einarsdóttir’s place, for example?’

  ‘I’ve never been to her place. I don’t know her.’

  ‘No.’ The man glanced at what he’d written. ‘Yet her name was found on a piece of paper at your house. In your handwriting. Elísa Bjarnadóttir’s name too.’

  ‘I’ve explained that.’ The words sounded as if they had travelled across a rough lava-field on their way up his throat. He looked at the glass of water, then reached for it and took the tiniest possible sip. It made him feel a bit better, so he took another, larger one. At this he felt sick again and put down the glass.

  ‘So your only explanation for this is that you looked up their names after their ID numbers were read out on the radio?’