Authors: Yrsa Sigurdardottir
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t
know whether I should be happy or not that your bizarre discovery of human
remains should have occurred before I retired.’ The police officer looked
from one of them to the other. Thóra, Hjortur and Markus all smiled
awkwardly. They were at the police headquarters in the Westmann Islands, where
they’d been made to wait for a very long time for the chief inspector,
who now sat before them. He’d clearly taken his time in the basement, had
wanted to see the evidence with his own eyes before speaking to them. ‘My
name is Gudni Leifsson. I’m almost retired,’ he added, ‘after
a career of nearly forty years.’ He clasped his hands together. ‘I’d
like to see others do better.’ Thóra did her best to appear
interested in his remarkable career, with limited success; what she wanted most
was to ask what time it was, since she couldn’t miss the last plane to
Reykjavik. What a waste of time this was.
‘But that’s the way things
go.’ The police inspector shook his head slowly and clicked his tongue.
‘I have never seen anything like this.’ He smiled wryly.
‘Maybe it’s fate playing games with the authorities in
Reykjavik?’
Thóra raised her eyebrows.
‘What?’ she enquired, although she had no desire whatsoever to
prolong this conversation. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I’m not surprised you have to
ask. A lawyer from Reykjavik could hardly be expected to keep up to speed with
what happens out here in the sticks.’ The old man looked at her
reproachfully, but Thóra ignored him. ‘It’s only been a
short time since the detectives we had stationed here were moved to the
mainland in order to cut costs. The trivial crimes committed here didn’t
justify the expense.’ He smiled broadly.
‘Until
now.’
He looked at Markus meaningfully before continuing:
‘Three bodies and one head.’
He tutted again.
‘You were always up to mischief as a boy, Markus, but isn’t this
taking it a bit too far? It’s quite a leap from stealing rhubarb to mass
murder.’
Markus leaned forward, his expression open
and sincere. ‘I swear that I know nothing about these bodies.
They’re nothing to do with me.’ He sat back again, seemingly satisfied,
and brushed dust off the arms of his jacket.
Thóra sighed deeply and decided to
interrupt Markus before he got the chance to say that he’d only had
something to do with the head. ‘Before we go any further, I would like to
ask where this is going. Is this a formal interrogation?’ She thought
— but did not say - that if it were it would be ridiculous to interview
Markus and Hjortur together. Their interests were completely at odds.
‘If so, I wish to state that as Markus’s lawyer, I
question your procedures.’
Inspector Leifsson pursed his lips and sucked
air through his teeth as if trying to clean between them. ‘It may be that
you work differently in Reykjavik, Madam Lawyer,’ he said coldly.
‘There, you presumably go “by the book”, as they say,
although one never actually knows which book they mean. Here, on the other
hand, I’m in charge. If I want to speak to you, as, for example, I do
now,
then
I shall do so. It can’t hurt anyone,
can it?
Least of all your client, Markus.’
He
smiled at Thóra, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘Unless you think
he’s got something on his conscience?’ He looked at Markus.
‘The bodies appeared to be quite old. Perhaps he killed all of them, back
when he was a spotty teenager?’ He paused, regarding her levelly.
‘But my heart tells me it isn’t so. I think we’ll find some
sort of logical explanation for this mess, which I was hoping we could just
clear up without having to go through formal channels. And I’m happy to
take the blame for that.’
Thóra placed a restraining hand on
Markus’s shoulder. ‘I wish to speak with my client before we go any
further,
and afterwards we will go by this famous
“book”, so that everything is above board.’
Gudni shrugged. He seemed to be in good shape
for a man his age, as far as Thóra could tell; fairly trim, and with a
good head of hair. She couldn’t shake the impression that he looked like
Clint Eastwood, and she had an overwhelming desire to stick a toothpick in the
corner of his mouth to get the full effect. He stared at her for a moment as if
he knew what she was thinking, before turning to Markus. ‘Is that what
you want, Markus, my friend?’ he asked the other
man
,
who sat mutely at Thóra’s side.
Markus squirmed uneasily in his chair. In
front of him sat the authority figure of his youth, who remembered him stealing
vegetables from people’s gardens, or whatever it was that the old police
officer had mentioned at the start of their conversation. ‘I
haven’t done anything,’ he muttered, glancing sideways at
Thóra. ‘Is there really any reason why we have to go through all
this official stuff?’
Thóra drew a deep breath.
‘Markus, my friend,’ she said calmly, hoping that the words would
have the same effect on him as when the inspector had used them. ‘In the
basement you asked for my help, and now I’m giving it to you. Come out
into the corridor here with me for a moment, where we can speak privately.
Afterwards you can decide what you want to do. In other words, you’ll be
free to go home with Inspector Leifsson and let him question you at his kitchen
table, in the presence of his wife and cat.’
‘My wife is dead,’ Gudni said
coldly. ‘And I have a dog. No cat.’
Throughout all of this Hjortur had been
waiting on the sidelines, quietly following the conversation. Now he finally
spoke up, but what he said made Thóra think that he was the type who
hated conflict, even as a silent observer. ‘Wouldn’t it be best for
everyone if you two went off on your own for a bit? Then I can tell you about
the things that concern me,’ he said, glancing hopefully at Gudni.
‘It would really help me if we could do this quickly. If I don’t
get back to my office soon my colleagues will think something has happened to
me. They know that I was in the house that you’ve cordoned off, and they
must have heard something’s going on there.’
Gudni stared at Hjortur without replying.
These silences must be his secret weapon during interrogations, thought
Thóra. Perhaps he hoped that people would start speaking, to fill the
embarrassing pause. The archaeologist did not fall into his trap. There was a
brief silence, then Gudni’s face broke into a chilly smile and he said:
‘Fine. I don’t want your colleagues pulling out their pens and
writing obituaries about you, my dear Hjortur.’ He looked from the
blushing archaeologist to Thóra. ‘Suit yourselves. No one
will disturb you in the corridor outside the office.’ He waved them to
the door. ‘We’ll be here if you decide to honour us with your
presence.’ As Thóra and Markus reached the door they heard him say
to their backs: ‘But you’ll not be coming to dinner at my
house.’
‘What are you thinking?’ muttered
Thóra through gritted teeth, once they were outside the office.
‘You go there to fetch a severed head, and then think you can sit and
chat with the police without having any idea of your legal position. Do you
realize how much trouble you could end up in?’
Markus looked angry for a second,
then
his anger gave way to resignation. ‘You
don’t know how things work here. This man is the law in the Islands.
Him alone.
There might be other
policemen
,
but he’s the one who calls the shots. He often settles cases without
making any trouble for those involved. I think it would be best for me to just
talk to him, and after he’s heard what I have to say he’ll make
things easier. Especially since I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Thóra wanted to stamp her foot in
frustration, but she clenched her fists and settled for knocking lightly on the
wall for emphasis. ‘This case will soon be taken out of Gudni’s
hands. Corpses and severed heads aren’t a matter for small police
departments, no matter how powerful particular officers may be in their
own jurisdictions. He might be able to solve cases his way when they concern
stolen rhubarb, but this is another matter entirely. It’s my
understanding that in the light of the seriousness of this case, and because of
the unusual circumstances, it won’t go to the Criminal Investigation
Department in Selfoss, which usually handles such cases here in the Islands.
It’ll go straight to the Reykjavik police and their Crime Lab, and you
can be sure that they won’t conduct themselves like Gudni. So it’s
all the same to me what you do, but it’ll work out much better for you if
things are done in the proper way. When you’re being questioned
informally, he can use everything that you say in court. And to make matters
worse, Hjortur would be able to confirm everything that you said. It’s
completely crazy.’
‘But didn’t he say that the
Criminal Investigation Department had shut up shop here in the Islands?’
asked Markus, who to Thóra’s relief finally appeared to be showing
some concern.
‘The Westmann Islands are not outside
the jurisdiction of the CID and the Crime Lab, even though they no longer have
offices here. The detectives will simply hop on an aeroplane and start snooping
around.’
‘I see,’ Markus said softly.
Thóra sighed. She couldn’t help
but feel for this man, who was so unlike her. It seemed as though all the
stubbornness, short temper and rudeness he had previously displayed were now
gone. He had clearly been badly shocked by what he’d found in the
basement, and she believed him completely when he said that was the first time
he’d seen the bodies, and even the severed head that he’d gone to
fetch. Thóra had had no time to ask him about this strange paradox in
the commotion that had arisen when they’d come up from the basement and
told Hjortur to call the police. The sight of the bodiless head’s contorted
face - which had almost looked as if it were sticking out its tongue - had made
her feel so claustrophobic that it had been out of the question to speak to
Markus down there. ‘How about you tell me why you were so eager to get to
the basement to fetch a head that you say you didn’t even know was there?
I’ve tried to come up with an explanation for it, but I have to admit
defeat.’ She paused for a moment and looked Markus in the eye.
‘After I’ve heard your version of the story we’ll wait here
quietly for Hjortur to come out, then we’ll go in and let Gudni decide
whether he wants to question you formally or leave it to whoever takes over the
case.’
‘Fine,’ replied Markus, taking a
deep breath. ‘You’re probably right.’
Thóra was pleased with his change of heart,
but wasn’t certain it would last. ‘You have to understand that if
you say something to him and I interrupt you, you keep quiet and let me do the
talking. The same goes if I advise you not to answer a particular
question.’
‘Okay,’ said Markus.
‘You’re the boss.’ He smiled ruefully at her. ‘Where
were you when the big rhubarb case came up? They made me pull up chickweed in
the school garden every night for a month.’
Thóra smiled back and looked around to
make sure that none of Gudni’s subordinates were listening in. ‘So,
tell me about the head that you went to collect without knowing anything about
it.’
Gudni leaned back in his chair and took the
last page out of a battered electric typewriter. He placed it carefully face
down on the other pages that had been piled there, then lifted them and
shuffled the stack into order. He put the pages on the table so that
Thóra and Markus could read them.
‘Just as the
law prescribes.
Read these through, then I would be very happy if you
could verify your statement with your signature, Markus, so that all the
formal details are in order and your lawyer can breathe easier.’
Thóra flashed him a pro forma smile.
She couldn’t care less if he were dissatisfied with the procedures, as
long as the interests of her client were guaranteed. In the end, everything
had gone quite well for her. Markus had been questioned as a suspect, but that
was to be expected considering the circumstances. The main point was that he
hadn’t got himself into any more trouble by saying too much too soon.
Thóra jerked her chin in the direction of the report.
‘Doesn’t it match what was stated? You haven’t added
anything, have you?’ she asked, enjoying a small moment of revenge.
‘Yes, in the main, this is what was
stated,’ replied Gudni sarcastically. He clasped his hands and leaned
forwards. ‘To summarize the police report, I understand the sequence of
events to have been as follows,’ he said, looking at Markus. ‘Late
on the evening of 22 January 1973, Alda Thórgeirsdóttir contacted
you and asked you to get rid of a box for her. You had a crush on Alda, who was
by far the prettiest girl in the Islands, so you took the box without any
further discussion. You brought it to your own basement, thinking you
could hide it better later. That didn’t happen, since the eruption
started that same night and you were woken by your parents and put on board a
ship that sailed with you, your mother and your siblings to the mainland.
On the boat you met Alda again, and when she asked whether you’d got rid
of the box and where you’d put it, you told her the truth; the box had
been left in the basement in the rush. You didn’t ask Alda what was
in the box, since you didn’t want to displease her, her being so pretty,
et cetera.’ Gudni grinned at Markus, who reddened. ‘Then nothing
happened for around thirty years, until the
Pompeü
of the North project made the news and Alda contacted you. She implored you to
prevent the house from being dug up from the ashes, because of the box that was
there, and you still didn’t ask her what was in it. Maybe you’ve
still got a crush on her?’