The fallout, p.27
The Fallout, page 27
Huldar wasn’t surprised by this answer. After going through the files, he found it difficult to imagine any other explanation himself. ‘There are a large number of formal and informal witness statements connected to the case. We may need to re-interview some of the people concerned. Is there anyone in particular you’d advise us to talk to? Anyone who, in your opinion, is more likely to have lied or accidentally provided inaccurate information? Those are the ones we’ll probably concentrate on. We’re not going to review the inquiry only to come to the same, wrong conclusion.’
‘Hm. You’re not asking much.’ Valgeir clasped his fingers and raised them to his lips, apparently thinking it over. ‘Look, at the time I believed people were telling the truth. I don’t remember suspecting anyone of lying.’ He reflected again, then continued, ‘No, I can’t think of anyone. But of course we relied mostly on the statements of those who saw the mother at the scene when the child disappeared. They included one of the neighbours in Skerjafjördur, an old woman who’s probably dead by now. She was adamant about the time of the row next door because it disturbed her while she was listening to a particular radio programme. She recognised the voices too, as there had been rows outside the house almost every day. Then there were the workmen who met the mother’s car as they were leaving the house. Their story was crucial because there were several of them and they were all in agreement. But I doubt you’ll be able to get hold of them all, as they were mostly foreigners who are bound to have gone back home by now. Though there was an Icelandic electrician, and a carpenter, I think, as well as the contractor himself. Come to think of it, he wasn’t quite as confident as the others. He claimed he hadn’t seen the mother’s car and thought it was more likely the fathers had done something to the child themselves.’
‘Oh?’ Huldar didn’t remember that. He vaguely recalled the accounts of the foreign and local workmen, who had been travelling together in two vehicles. The contractor’s statement had mostly been concerned with the scenes he’d witnessed between the fathers and Droplaug while his men were working on the house. He hadn’t been certain that he’d passed Droplaug’s car on his way there but he’d met the two vehicles containing his crew, who were leaving just as he arrived, so perhaps he’d been too preoccupied with looking at them to notice the other traffic. ‘I don’t remember reading that he suspected the fathers.’
‘No. He implied it but when it came to the crunch he didn’t want to be quoted. He said he didn’t have any proof beyond the fact that he’d liked the mother and felt sorry for her. He felt she’d been badly treated and he didn’t have a good word to say about the two men. Though bear in mind that he was involved in a dispute with them about surcharges at the time, so he wouldn’t have been completely neutral. I reckon he was a reliable witness, though. In fact, his statement was unfortunate for Númi, the one who discovered the empty pram, because the contractor claimed he hadn’t heard any shouts or cries when the baby was supposedly found to be missing. Then again, he arrived at the house at around the same time, so it’s possible he missed the commotion. And Númi wasn’t sure if he’d called out or not. One minute he was certain he had – the next he couldn’t remember.’
A silence descended and lasted until Lína broke it. ‘Was there anything odd about the case that wouldn’t be clear from the witness statements and reports?’
‘Odd? Isn’t what I’ve just been describing odd enough?’ Valgeir smiled at Lína but when she didn’t reciprocate, he addressed Huldar instead: ‘We were investigating a case involving two individuals with mental health problems. The mother, Droplaug, was believed to have been suffering from post-natal depression, while Númi completely lost the plot when the baby vanished. He came out with the most unbelievable rubbish, which didn’t make our job any easier.’
Huldar replied to this, since he wasn’t sure whether Lína had been given access to all the files, as he had. ‘I read somewhere that he’d been in a bad way, but it wasn’t specified what form this took. His statement was quite short and there was nothing odd there. Was the rubbish, as you call it, included in the report that was destroyed?’
‘Yes, it was. It was in the statement taken at the station the day it happened, when Númi was beside himself about his daughter’s disappearance. He let slip the business of the surrogate mother and some other stuff that didn’t make sense. When his husband realised, he acted fast. Their lawyer immediately pounced on two points: one, that we’d failed to inform Númi of his right not to make a statement, given that he and his husband were suspects, and, two, that Númi had suffered a breakdown and should have been seen by a doctor. We hadn’t treated him with the due consideration required by the police code of conduct. Whatever the truth of it, the lawyer kicked up such a stink that the decision was taken to destroy the offending statement. Not that this changed much because Númi came in again later and gave a more detailed and plausible description of the events. He was very lucid on that occasion, not hysterical and gabbling like he had been when he gave his first statement, or when the police originally arrived at the scene.’
Like Huldar, Lína had been listening attentively. She’d sat stony-faced during Valgeir’s speech, except when he mentioned the bit about violating the code of conduct, at which her expression had grown indignant. Now she slipped in a question: ‘What exactly did Númi say that was dismissed as rubbish?’
Valgeir told them and Huldar couldn’t help nodding during the description of the dead baby in the pram that had subsequently vanished without trace. Crazy nonsense. But then he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Lína was frowning sceptically. That was all it took to make him think again. Lína was sharp. Maybe there had been something in Númi’s original story after all.
Chapter 28
Friday evening
Sídumúli wasn’t yet empty of people. Rögnvaldur had the hood of his cheap anorak up and kept his head down as he walked. The cold wind and flurries of snow meant he wasn’t the only one, and no one paid him any attention. It would have been far more suspicious to walk tall, with a bare head. In this respect at least, the weather was on his side; on the other hand, the intense cold had forced him to leave the caravan earlier than intended. It was either get into the warmth or die of hypothermia. And he wasn’t ready to freeze to death – not yet.
Rögnvaldur raised his head. He had no choice if he were to cross the road without being run over. He waited while two cars went past, then waded quickly through the slush to the other side. His feet were so frozen that he barely even noticed when the icy water leaked through the seams of his shoes. His first few steps after leaving the caravan had been as jerky as those of a scarecrow, his extremities numb, his joints too stiff to work. Walking had loosened them up a little but he still felt stiff. Even worse was the way his body was screaming out for warmth. The pain was so bad that he couldn’t stop grimacing. Still, this would help with his disguise, along with his three-day growth of stubble. The photo accompanying his wanted notice was of a completely different man from this scowling, bearded scarecrow; a man who worked in an office on Sídumúli and was eager to visit people and talk to them about health insurance, whether they were interested or not.
He darted a sideways glance at the insurance company offices as he walked past. All the lights were off except in the lobby, where the advertisements stuck to the glass wall looked suddenly so forlorn. When they’d first been put up, he’d thought they were great, and believed that this advertising campaign and the new logo would have a big impact on sales. When this failed to materialise, he was as surprised as anyone. The talk around the coffee machine had put the blame on the colour combination: it was too yellow – that had to be it. Now he found it incredible that he should ever have cared enough to have an opinion.
At the corner he turned abruptly and slipped round the back of the building, having decided, since the lights were off, to take a chance on the fact that everyone had gone home. He couldn’t stay out in the cold a minute longer. With shaking hands, he drew his staff card from his pocket and held it up to the sensor by the door. His numb fingers had so much trouble hitting the right buttons on the little keypad that he had to enter the code three times. It worked at last and he stepped into the blessed warmth.
The first item on the agenda was to eat something. There was nothing on offer in the cafeteria but biscuits, since fruit and other perishable foods that would spoil over the weekend had been locked away in the kitchen larder. He opened the small fridge where the employees kept their private supplies and saw that there was plenty of skyr and yoghurt. He scooped up all the pots, though they were clearly marked with the owners’ names. He had to eat.
There was enough light entering the cafeteria through the windows for Rögnvaldur to be able to eat in comfort. He sat at a table by a radiator, feeling the heat flowing towards him as he devoured the dairy products. The warmer he got, the more agonising the pain in his fingers and toes became, but in the end the aching faded. By the time he stood up again, he felt almost back to normal. His guts had stopped rumbling and his joints were working again.
Leaving the cafeteria, he headed to reception where he grabbed a car key, having first turned off the lights so he wouldn’t be on display to passers-by like a goldfish in a bowl. He turned them on again when he left, doubting that anyone who had seen the lights go off and on would give it a moment’s thought. No one would care.
Inside the dark office all was quiet. Rögnvaldur decided to see if his work computer was still connected, rather than relying on Bríet’s rather inadequate laptop. He groped his way to the lift and pressed the button. When the doors opened, he flinched back from the glare for a moment, before stepping in and being forced to confront his own reflection in the large mirror. He wasn’t too taken with this new version of himself. In addition to his shabby appearance, he had an odd glint in his eyes. The shadows around the sockets made it look as if they had sunk into his head and his expression was a little unhinged too, as if the mechanism behind his eyes had been wound up a notch too tight.
The steel doors closed behind Rögnvaldur before he could tear his eyes from this vision, but the clang broke the hypnotic effect and he hurriedly selected the right floor. He’d got careless. Last time, he had taken the stairs to avoid the risk of someone spotting the light from the lift. He would just have to hope that no passers-by would give a damn about what happened in an office building on a Friday evening. They’d be too interested in getting home to give it any thought.
His workstation was a depressing sight. His belongings had been thrown into two cardboard boxes. One would have been enough if it had been carefully packed. But no, it looked as if someone had simply swept everything off his desk and shelves. He stared at the framed photo of Íris sticking out at an angle. It felt as if a burning-hot spike had been rammed down his spine. Would it have killed the person who cleared his desk to lay the photo respectfully in the box?
Rögnvaldur picked it up and traced a crack in the glass with his finger. It ran from corner to corner, cutting right across his daughter’s beautiful face. Only one eye had escaped, and half her mouth. He licked his dry, split lips, holding the photo to his chest. He stood like that for a few moments, trying to control his breathing, until all thoughts of setting fire to the building had passed.
Before sitting down, he propped the picture up in its old place on his desk. While he focused on Íris’s one visible eye, he reminded himself that the sloppiness had a positive side. Whoever they had got to do the job hadn’t bothered to finish it properly: his computer was still connected and his access card hadn’t been deactivated. A more conscientious employee would have made sure to deal with those things.
The computer bleeped and started up with a familiar whirring from the clapped-out fan. He’d been meaning to ask for a new one but had never got round to it. Pity. It would have given him pleasure to think of the company wasting money on him. But it was too late. The cardboard boxes indicated that he’d been sacked. It seemed that being wanted by the police was bad for your career. But the access card and computer suggested that the process hadn’t been completed. He’d been half sacked – from half a job. A quarter employee.
Once the computer was ready, Rögnvaldur got down to work. He needed information and although it wouldn’t take long, there was no reason to tempt fate by dawdling. Plus there was a danger he’d fall asleep in his chair now that he was finally warm.
He fished a pen out of one of the boxes and tore a crumpled page from a notepad that had been dumped in there. The pad reminded him inescapably of Bríet’s exercise book, which had been lying on the floor of her flat, battered by its fall. Determinedly pushing this image to the back of his mind, he started hunting for the information he needed.
As Rögnvaldur was scribbling down the last detail on the already full page, he was distracted by a noise. He stiffened, his head jerking up, recognising the creak of the door to the department. Someone had opened it. To see who it was, he would have to peer over the partition round his workstation. But there was no way he could risk sticking his head above it. All he could think of was to dive under the desk. He wriggled as close to the partition as he could, hoping that whoever it was didn’t have any business with him or with any of the neighbouring workstations.
Rögnvaldur groaned inwardly when he realised that his illuminated screen was reflected in the window. Since there was nothing he could do about it, he just held his breath and squinted along the floor of the office.
The lights came on. Two feet in dirty snow boots appeared and started walking towards him, coming to a halt by his desk.
‘I know you’re under there.’
Rögnvaldur considered staying where he was, waiting until the man who was talking had to bend down to him. Then he decided to see who it was. The voice was familiar and although the man didn’t sound exactly happy, he wasn’t outraged either. Rögnvaldur wriggled out from under the desk and got to his feet, to find himself face to face with Jói from IT. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello? Hello? Are you out of your mind? What are you doing here?’ Jói’s face turned red with indignation. Or anger. Or both.
‘I needed to use a computer.’ In awkward situations it was generally best to stick to the truth.
‘Use a computer? Use a computer?’
‘There’s no need to repeat everything.’ Rögnvaldur pulled over the sheet of paper he’d been writing on and shoved it in his coat pocket, for fear that Jói would grab it and tear it to pieces.
‘You’ve got to get out of here. Do you know why you’ve still got access?’
‘No. I thought maybe I’d only been semi sacked.’
Jói didn’t understand what he meant. ‘No. You’ve been sacked, all right. Sacked sacked.’ He put his hands on his hips. ‘You’ve still got access because I didn’t cancel it. I needed to talk to you and this was the only place I had a chance of catching you. I’ve got a connection at home and I can keep an eye on the access log. When your name popped up, I came straight over.’
‘I see.’ Rögnvaldur didn’t see at all.
‘I lied for you. Lied to the police. Don’t ask me why. I said something really stupid: that you couldn’t possibly have been seen in the building since there was no record of your having accessed it. Then I deleted the records of your entry when you brought in the laptop and picked it up.’
It wasn’t hard to guess why Jói had lied: he didn’t want to have to explain why he had helped Rögnvaldur with the laptop. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ Rögnvaldur said reassuringly. ‘They hadn’t put out the wanted notice yet when I was here.’
‘I realise that. That’s why I said I’d been stupid. I panicked. But you have to leave right now.’
‘Did you come here just to tell me to leave?’ Rögnvaldur scratched his cheek. His beard was beginning to itch in the heat. ‘Or did you come to ask why the police are after me?’
‘No. I don’t want to know. I’d feel better if I could believe it was for something trivial. I came here to ask you not to tell them about the business with the laptop – when you’re caught. Because you will be caught. That’s all.’
Rögnvaldur could see the man’s agitation. He knew Jói enjoyed his job and didn’t want to get fired like him. Rögnvaldur found himself feeling sorry for him. ‘No problem. I won’t say a word. Why would I?’
Jói was so relieved he let out a sigh that echoed around the empty office. Then he tensed up again. ‘What do you want from me in return?’
‘Nothing. Not a thing. You’ve done quite enough for me. Thank you. We’re more than quits.’
‘OK then. But I’m going to take you off the system now. You won’t be able to get in again. And I’ll delete all your visits. You won’t mention them to anyone, will you?’
‘No. You needn’t worry.’ Rögnvaldur hesitated. ‘Should I go then?’
Jói nodded. ‘Yes. That would be best.’
Rögnvaldur couldn’t actually go anywhere, though, since Jói was blocking his way. Realising this, Jói stepped awkwardly aside. Neither said goodbye; social niceties seemed out of place in the circumstances.
Rögnvaldur went downstairs and exited the building.
Then he lurked nearby, waiting for Jói to appear and drive away. Once he was sure Jói wasn’t coming back, he went over to the staff entrance and tried his access card. It didn’t work.
Rögnvaldur hurried to the spaces where the company cars were parked. He searched for the number plate matching the key he had taken, found the vehicle and got in. His former colleagues would have a major headache on Monday morning, trying to work out what had become of the missing car. Suspicion wouldn’t fall on him, though, as he hadn’t been there, according to the system. He’d been fired and didn’t have access to the building. Which was fine. He didn’t want to get Jói into trouble. The IT guy had no need to worry that he’d grass on him.
