I Remember You

Chapter 8

The photo of his son stood on his desk in the simple office that he hadn’t been interested in making his own in any other way. Similar photos could be seen everywhere he was in the habit of stopping; at home, one on the kitchen counter next to the coffee maker, another on the bedside table, a third on the little table next to the armchair where he watched television. The pictures were all over the place; he’d lost count of them, indeed he didn’t want to know how many there were. Most of the frames were the same: inexpensive and not able to withstand much handling. Some of them had fallen apart and been traded in for sturdier ones. He’d originally bought all the frames in the same shop after picking up enlarged photos of his son. He’d chosen the photos as haphazardly as the frames, having been pressed for time. He remembered the day clearly; when he woke he couldn’t recall his son’s face, no matter how he tried to imagine it. The face was always just out of reach, just on the verge of appearing, but needing one last effort to recall it. The framed photos were intended for such moments, but Freyr had immediately realized that they would constantly increase in number, and in the end his inability to picture his son would become inescapable.

‘Who’s in the photo?’ Dagný nodded her chin at the picture. She was unusually tired-looking, but that made her no less attractive in Freyr’s eyes, merely more human. Her short hair wasn’t as wild as usual and lay a bit flat at the end of the long working day. Her sofa at home was probably a more attractive prospect than dropping in on him, but Freyr wasn’t to blame for that – she’d asked to see him. ‘Anyone I know?’

‘It’s a photo of my son. Benni.’ It suddenly occurred to Freyr to turn the photo round for her to see it, but he didn’t.

‘He was never found, was he?’ Dagný reddened slightly as soon as she said this. ‘I heard the story just after you moved here. It didn’t need to be described to me in any detail; I still remember the news vividly. Children don’t often disappear in Iceland.’

‘No. Thankfully not. But it’s not the only example. Two teenage boys disappeared from Keflavík fifteen years ago. They’ve never been found.’ Freyr watched Dagný shift awkwardly in the chair at the topic of conversation, even though her desire to know more about what had happened was clearly stronger than her politeness. It didn’t bother him; it was much better when people asked him straight out instead of tiptoeing around it every time anything vaguely connected to the incident came up. In the worst instances, people blushed deeply if a child were mentioned, and then tried whatever they could to direct the conversation onto another topic. On those occasions he usually stopped them and told them that it was OK, but that he didn’t want to talk about his painful loss. ‘The way things stand, I don’t expect him to be found now; it’s been three years and every little patch of ground where he might conceivably be has been gone over with a fine-toothed comb.’

Dagný appeared relieved that he was able to discuss the subject. She looked into his eyes instead of allowing them to roam the walls of the office and asked her next question more boldly than the previous one. ‘What do you think actually happened? It’s strange that nothing should have come to light.’

Freyr nodded; apart from his ex, no one could have pondered this question more than he had. But his speculation hadn’t led him to any conclusions. ‘I simply don’t know. It doesn’t help that he went missing while playing hide-and-seek with his friends. Maybe he crawled into a well or a hole that somehow closed behind him, but of course all those possibilities were investigated. They searched garages, houses, cars, camper vans, and everything else in the neighbourhood that could possibly have accommodated a child. The police think that he must have ended up in the sea; still, it’s quite a distance from Ártúnsholt, where we lived, down to the beach, so I’ve always doubted that explanation. Of course it’s possible that he went all that way, but it doesn’t tally with the game of hide-and-seek; the kids said they never went far to hide, and the purpose is to be found in the end. You know that from your own childhood; you didn’t go off to another neighbourhood to find yourself a good hiding place. In any case, they weren’t allowed to go near Ártúnsbrekka because of the traffic, and they stuck to that. I don’t think Benni would have broken that rule.’ Freyr folded his arms across his chest. ‘But I don’t know that for certain.’

‘But dogs? They must have been used. Didn’t they find any trail?’

‘Yes, but it didn’t lead anywhere. The trail ended at Straumur Street, which is north of the Ártúnsbrekka area. There’s a large petrol station a short distance away and there was a huge amount of traffic heading out of town at the time. From what I understood, the exhaust from the cars ruined the scent for the tracker dogs. And it didn’t help that it started pouring with rain that evening.’

‘Could he have been kidnapped? If there was a lot of traffic it’s conceivable that he was grabbed by someone in a car. At the petrol station, perhaps.’

‘It’s not impossible, but that was also investigated in depth. There are numerous CCTV cameras at the petrol station and none of them showed anything suspicious. Of course they don’t cover the entire area, but they almost do, and they did show every single car that drove out of the station. The licence-plate numbers of all the cars that passed through there from approximately the time that Benni disappeared were taken down and their owners were contacted, but it led to nothing, just like everything else.’

Dagný looked at Freyr thoughtfully. ‘But he could still be alive. Couldn’t he?’

Freyr paused for a moment before answering. He knew that her intentions were good; to awaken some hope in his heart. But the reality was another thing. The most appalling scenario he could imagine was that his son was still alive in the hands of some monster, because no normal person would have taken an unknown child like that. Freyr had had enormous trouble accepting the most reasonable yet most unbearable conclusion – that Benni was dead. His ex-wife, Sara, was still struggling to accept their child’s fate, and was slowly but surely sinking deeper into a psychological quagmire. ‘No. He’s dead. Benni had congenital diabetes, type one. He couldn’t have survived for long without receiving insulin, since he was due to have an injection around an hour after he went missing. During the investigation they checked on whether any abnormal purchases of insulin had taken place. All the doctors and pharmacies were on alert, so I’m fairly certain that it was checked thoroughly, and nothing unusual came to light. The disease probably played a part in what happened; if Benni suffered insulin shock in his hiding place, down at the seaside or wherever he was, there’s no question of what the outcome would have been. Without any hope of assistance, he’d have gone into a coma.’ Freyr smiled dully at Dagný. ‘Although it might sound silly, that possibility gives me a tiny bit of consolation. It would have been a completely painless way to die.’

‘I understand.’ Dagný crossed her legs. ‘It’s devastating and you have my condolences. I’ve always meant to tell you that, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to. It’s not something I have any experience of – fortunately, I know.’

‘Thank you,’ Freyr replied sincerely. Sara felt that other people’s empathy was superficial, that no one could put themselves in her shoes and understand her feelings. Freyr was of a different opinion. For him, you didn’t need to go through hell yourself in order to sympathize with those who ended up there. ‘It’s all so terrible, but it’s getting better. The worst is behind me.’

‘Was the questioning a hard thing to go through?’ Dagný’s cheeks flushed and she added hurriedly: ‘I mean, was it more difficult for you than it needed to be? I’ve often wondered how people experience the police, whether we come across as colder than we really are.’

Freyr took a moment to think this over, since he’d never considered it. ‘God, I don’t know. I suppose the hardest thing to swallow was the fact that me and Sara, Benni’s mother, were the first suspects. Of course I understood that they couldn’t rule out any possibilities, but that doesn’t change the fact that it was incredibly painful while the investigation was going on.’

Dagný frowned. ‘It couldn’t have gone on for long. Did it?’

Freyr shook his head. ‘No, not really. I could prove that I’d been down at the hospital getting Benni’s medicine and running some errands, and Sara’s sister had been visiting her since that morning, helping to prepare a birthday party for their mother. Our stories were corroborated and we were treated much more kindly once we were no longer under suspicion.’ He smiled to show that he bore no ill will towards the police.

He didn’t know whether it was because she thought it inappropriate, but she didn’t return his smile before speaking again. ‘I suppose I should get to the business at hand.’ She placed a little salmon-coloured cardboard box on the table. ‘I’ve gathered evidence from the break-in at the preschool, and I’d appreciate it if you would look it over. I know I didn’t take it particularly well when you suggested looking into the older break-in at the primary school, but I changed my mind and had the old reports dug out.’ She cleared her throat, but politely. ‘There are striking similarities between the events, but you’ll see that yourself when you take a look at this. My supervisor has authorized me to hand over the files to you, considering that the break-in appears to display some kind of mental disturbance and wasn’t carried out for financial gain. Most of the material is photocopied, but of course you’ll make sure that it doesn’t get around.’

Freyr stared at the pink box. The colour seemed garishly at odds with the contents and he wondered who had chosen it. A large white sticky label had been fixed to the lid; it was crooked but its message was clear: The contents of this box are the possession of the Ísafjörður Police. Confidential. ‘What are you expecting from me? Am I meant to solve the case?’

Dagný huffed. ‘Not exactly.’ She looked down. ‘There’s more in the box. Evidence concerning Halla, the woman who committed suicide in Súðavík.’

‘Oh?’ Freyr pulled the box towards him. ‘Has anything come to light in her case? Do you think it’s possible it wasn’t suicide?’

‘No, there’s nothing to suggest that. But there are other things that raise questions.’

‘Questions are an inevitable by-product of suicides, but there are seldom any answers. For example, it surprised me that she chose the church in Súðavík and not a closer one, but I couldn’t work out why. I read on the Internet that the church was moved there from Hesteyri when the village was deserted, despite significant opposition from its former residents. It crossed my mind that those objections might have played a part in Halla’s choice of location, but we’ll never know one way or the other. Maybe she had some entirely different connection to Súðavík. Or possibly Hesteyri.’

Dagný said nothing and stared at the box. ‘That isn’t what was bothering me.’ Then she looked up and into his eyes. ‘Did this woman know you?’

‘What?’ Freyr hadn’t expected this and couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Do you mean, was she a patient of mine? I would have said so when this came up.’

‘I didn’t necessarily mean that, but was she possibly connected to you or your ex-wife – was she related to you or something of that sort?’

‘No.’ Freyr knew that Dagný would eventually tell him what she was getting at, but nonetheless he couldn’t hide his impatience. ‘I’d never heard of this woman until the day before yesterday. Did her husband suggest otherwise? He didn’t mention a word of it to me.’

‘No, he says the same thing as you; he doesn’t think there’s any connection. I called him before coming here.’ She waited for Freyr to say something before continuing: ‘These two cases – the break-in and the suicide – also appear to be connected. However, it’s impossible for me to determine the connection. I want to say as little as possible, so I don’t negatively influence your own reading of the evidence.’

‘Maybe you could tell me how you came up with the idea that I knew the woman.’ Freyr had had enough training in reading people to be well aware that Dagný had deliberately omitted this detail.

A clattering in the corridor gave her a moment to think. Food trolleys were being pushed to the wards for dinner. The rattling of the dishes and crockery momentarily overwhelmed everything else but then quickly faded into silence. ‘Could she have taken part in the search for your son? Were searches conducted in Flateyri or Ísafjörður?’

Freyr suddenly found his office intolerably hot. He loosened the knot in his tie and undid the top button on his shirt. ‘The answer to your second question is no. The search wasn’t countrywide, although the public was asked to stay on the lookout for Benni and photos of him circulated in the media. I don’t know the names of all the people who searched in Reykjavík, but I don’t think Halla can have been among them. Police and rescue teams handled the search; she wasn’t a policewoman, and I doubt she’d have belonged to a rescue team because of her age.’ Before he had a chance to ask what had prompted her to make such an enquiry, Dagný turned to her next question, which was equally incomprehensible.

‘Does the name Bernódus ring any bells?’

‘No.’ Freyr’s fingers were itching to get to the contents of the box. Judging by Dagný’s questions, they were obviously quite remarkable. ‘I’d remember it. It’s an unusual name.’

Dagný nodded; apparently she’d been expecting a different answer. ‘I understand.’

Freyr laid his hands on top of the box, smiled at Dagný and said, ‘Well, I can’t say the same. I can’t make head or tail of what you’re getting at.’

‘Open the box and have a look at what’s in it. As I said, it appears to me that the old and the new break-ins – and Halla’s suicide – are connected.’ She hesitated before continuing, now in a voice so low that it was nearly a whisper. Yet she was reluctant to look him in the eye. ‘As well as the disappearance of your son.’

Freyr’s jaw dropped in astonishment, but no sound emerged from his throat. He seemed to have lost the ability to breathe. But he recovered quickly. ‘That can’t be right.’ He could hear that his voice sounded anything but friendly, contrary to how he had tried to train it for his job. ‘How did you work that out?’

‘As I said, it’s best if you take a look for yourself.’ She stood up and removed her jacket from the back of the chair. ‘Maybe come and talk to me after you’ve formed an opinion. I’m sorry if this seems ridiculous, but it can’t be helped.’ He stared at her as she went to the door. After opening it she turned back. ‘I should mention that I didn’t know it was your son in that photo when I asked about it before. I hope you don’t think I’ve been trying to pry. It’s not like that at all.’ She shut the door behind her without giving him time to reply or say goodbye. The room’s temperature still seemed to be climbing and Freyr took off his tie. He tossed it over the desk, onto the chair where Dagný had been sitting. Then he removed his white coat and did the same with that. The garment landed where he’d aimed it, but then slipped down the back of the chair onto the floor.

Around half an hour later, Freyr had finished going through the evidence. He had settled for skimming over the bulk of the data, which was enough to allow him to understand why Dagný thought she’d found a connection between the two break-ins, as well as to Halla. Black and white photocopies of photographs taken after the earlier break-in were eerily similar to the scene at the preschool. The images were relatively unclear, but the main similarities could be made out. In comparison with the vast number of photos that Dagný had taken of the damage while he was present, the old photos were incredibly few. Of course he might only have got to see some of them, but he suspected that the small number was indicative of how expensive it was to develop film all those years ago. The most striking photo was of the graffiti on the wall of the school’s assembly hall. Dagný had included an equivalent photograph taken at the preschool. Freyr knew that the same word had been scribbled on both walls, so he wasn’t surprised by that. What he was taken aback by was how similar the graffiti was. Disregarding the different backgrounds in the photos, it was almost as if the writing were the same. He would have liked to have enlarged both images and viewed the words in higher resolution side by side, but that was impossible, at least right now. Maybe Dagný could help him with that later.

The two break-ins had other things in common; in neither case had the police managed to determine how the vandal had got in. All the windows were fastened from the inside and all the panes were undamaged, in addition to the fact that no door appeared to have been forced open. In the older case, the police had checked on who had master keys to the school and subsequently concluded that none of those people was connected to the break-in; nor had any keys been lost or passed around. The police report on the break-in at the preschool described a very similar situation: it seemed almost impossible that keys had been used to get in. It was thus unclear as to how access had been gained to either the primary school in 1953 or the preschool now. Freyr had neither the imagination nor the expertise to enable him to speculate about this.

Other elements gave him pause for thought; for instance, a photocopy of an old class photo, which, according to the files, might possibly shed light on who was responsible for the first break-in. The reason for this was stated, but in any case it was obvious: the faces of several of the children had been obliterated by repeated jabs with a sharp object. The frame’s glass had been broken out and the photo hung back up in its place in the group’s classroom after it had been vandalized. No other class photo had received the same treatment; they’d merely been thrown into a corner like old rubbish. It therefore seemed likely that the perpetrator had something against the children in the photo. Freyr couldn’t see from the case files whether this theory had led to anything, and given the ages of the children in the photo, all of them appearing to be between eleven and twelve years old, that was perhaps understandable. It was difficult to imagine that such young kids could prompt anyone to do such a thing. On the other hand, Freyr knew that children this age could be quite brutal with their peers, although victims of childish nastiness seldom resorted to vandalism such as had been wreaked on the school.

At the bottom of the photograph were the names of the children in the class, but it was impossible for Freyr to make them out on the blurry photocopy. However, among the files he’d found a list of the six children who had provoked the vandal’s strongest ire and was surprised to see Halla’s name among them. Next to the names, their dates of death had been written in, according to what was written next to Halla’s name. Nothing was written next to one of the names, Lárus Helgason, so Freyr assumed that he was still alive. The five whom he knew or presumed to be dead – Halla, two men, and two other women – all seemed to have passed away before their time during the past three years, if Freyr were correct in his assessment. He wasn’t familiar with any of them apart from Halla. He wasn’t quite sure what this ought to tell him, but it was clearly unusual, statistically speaking, how this group had all perished within such a short period of time – apart from the one still living. Of course, such a thing wasn’t entirely unlikely; these people had been between sixty and seventy years of age when they’d died, so the fact of their death was not a huge surprise. But still. It would be interesting to learn how each of them had died. If it were a case of multiple suicide it would certainly be worthy of investigation, since such a thing was nearly unheard of except when it involved teenagers.

What struck Freyr most was the copy of the letter that Halla had left behind when she’d killed herself. The letter was identified by a yellow Post-it note stuck to the paper, since it was entirely unclear from the contents that it was a farewell letter. It looked as if the photocopier hadn’t been able to copy it entirely, since the beginnings and ends of words at the edges of the page had been cut off. Halla had apparently used the entire page, leaving no margins – although that didn’t really matter, since what she had written made no sense anyway. The text was very much in the spirit of what Freyr had witnessed from those who had completely lost their grip on reality. The thread tying together their thoughts and perceptions had frayed. The message that Halla clearly wished more than anything else to leave behind was perfectly incomprehensible to anyone other than herself, and with her suicide she’d ruled out the possibility that it would ever be understood. Judging by the letter, Halla had either suffered trauma the same day that she committed suicide, causing the psychosis that ended with her terrible deed, or else her husband had lied to Freyr about her mental health. It was very clear from what she had written that everything was not as it should be. But there was something else that gave Freyr even more cause for concern after reading the letter: the repeated references to his son.

Got to find Benni, got to find Benedikt Freysson, got to find Benni, got to find Benedikt. Can’t find Benni, can’t find Benni, where is Benni? Forgive me, Bernódus, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. Can’t find Benni, can’t find him, can’t find him. Forgive me, Bernódus, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. Forgive me, Bernódus.

Freyr put the paper down, rested his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. He stared at the text without blinking, until his eyes stung and he was forced to close them. And when he saw nothing but darkness, he finally felt better.