Authors: Yrsa Sigurdardottir
Markus blushed again. ‘No, it’s
not that. It just didn’t come up in our conversations.’
‘Never mind,’ said Gudni, and
continued with his summary. ‘In the end it was agreed that you would get
to go down to the basement and take from there whatever you wished, and when
she heard the news Alda calmed down. You planned to fetch the box and take it
to her as requested. Then something happened: you finally decided in the
basement that you wanted to know what was in the box, and out rolled a dried-
up severed head.
At the very same moment, you clapped eyes
for the first time on three corpses that were not there that fateful
night.’
‘Actually, the head didn’t roll
out,’ replied Markus, looking oddly affronted. ‘I was so shocked
when I saw what was in the box that I dropped it. Then the head fell out and
bounced to the spot where it is now. It didn’t roll. I actually think
that I may have kicked it in my hurry to get out of there, but I’m not
certain. Anyway, it stopped right next to the bodies and that’s when I
noticed them. I hadn’t noticed them before, since it was dark down
there.’
Thóra interrupted Markus before he
got any further with his description of the head’s travels around the
floor of the basement. ‘Well, I think
it’s
best that you read this over, Markus, despite this fine summary by Gudni, and
then we’ve got to get going. The police have other things to take care of
in the light of your statement. I assume that you’ll want to speak to
this Alda, who appears to know more about the origins of the head than Markus
does.’ She looked at the clock. If God and good fortune were with her
there was still a chance that she’d catch the last flight home. It looked
as if Markus would be cleared of all charges, even though the CID would
probably want to speak to him later. She hoped Alda would verify his statement.
If she didn’t, then his position would worsen considerably, both
regarding the head and the three corpses. But Alda would surely confirm his story
and explain about the head. Thóra glanced at her watch out of the corner
of her eye, and then at Markus. He was still working his way through the first
page of the police report. She hoped her flight had been delayed.
Tuesday 10 July
2007
Some days in Thóra’s life were
slightly worse than others; on a bad day, for example, she would need to stop
on her way to work to go back and turn off the coffee maker, or she’d get
a call from the school asking her to fetch her daughter Sóley, who had
got a bloody nose at break time. Other days were even worse: bills were overdue
and the cash machine was broken, petrol got pumped into the family car which
ran on diesel, and so on. On those days nothing went as it should, neither at
home nor at the office. It was not yet noon when it became clear to
Thóra that this was going to be one of those unfortunate days. It
started with a long search for the car keys, which finally appeared in the mess
in her son Gylfi’s room. The refrigerator turned out to be nearly empty,
and the bread that Thóra had planned to use for Sóley’s
lunch was mouldy. Thóra had wanted to go shopping on the way home from
the airport the night before, but the plane from the Islands landed so late
that the shops were closed. Things were no better at the office, where
everything was
topsyturvy
: the computer system
was down because of ‘router upgrades’ by the internet service
provider, and there was no phone connection because an overzealous electrician
who had been making repairs on their floor had accidentally fiddled with a wire
that he ought to have left untouched. So for the greater part of the morning
they had no connection to the outside world apart from their mobile phones.
This upset the secretary, Bella, who refused to use her mobile phone for office
work since the office didn’t pay her phone bill. Bragi,
Thóra’s business partner, had lent her his mobile with desperation
in his eyes. God only knew how the girl would treat callers, since she was not
known for her amiable disposition.
As soon as the telephone connection was
restored, Markus rang. After exchanging pleasantries, he got to the point.
Alda isn’t answering my calls
,‘
he said. She could hear the anxiety in his voice.
‘You weren’t supposed to try to
contact her until the police had finished questioning her, Markus. It could
look as though you were trying to influence her testimony, and that’s the
last thing we want.’ Thóra knew full well that he wanted to make
sure the woman would verify his story, but she doubted that a phone call from
him would change Alda’s testimony. She would either tell the truth, or
lie to save her own skin. And when the chips were down, most people chose
self-preservation.
‘But it’s so strange,’ said
Markus. ‘We’ve had quite a lot of contact recently and she’s
almost always answered as soon as the phone rings. Even when she doesn’t
answer right away, she generally calls me back pretty much immediately.
She’s never ignored me like this.’ He hesitated for a moment before
continuing: ‘Maybe she’s avoiding me because she doesn’t want
to back up my story. What do you think?’
Thóra was fairly certain he was right,
but didn’t want to worry him even more. Of course there could be another
explanation, but it seemed unlikely. ‘I think we should keep calm
until we know something for sure.’ She looked at the clock. ‘I
imagine that the police have already contacted her, although they probably
haven’t questioned her yet. If she doesn’t substantiate your story
then they’ll call you back in, and you have the right to have me there to
support you. They will want to talk to you again, whether she verifies your
statement or not, so you should just keep calm if they contact you.’
Markus took a deep breath. ‘Alda
wouldn’t throw me to the lions.’
‘I’m sure you’re
right,’ replied Thóra, thinking that Androcles had probably said
the same thing about the Romans in the old days, right before he was shoved out
into the arena. ‘Of course, I could phone our friend Gudni and try to
find out what’s going on. There’s no guarantee he’ll tell me
anything, but in the light of his dislike for formal procedures, you never know
- he might let me in on something.’
‘Do you think he’s still in
charge of the case?’ asked Markus hopefully. ‘I could always phone
him myself.’
‘No, absolutely not,’ Thóra
said quickly. ‘I don’t want you speaking to him on your own. God
only knows how that would end. I’ll talk to him. Even though the police
in Reykjavik are involved in the investigation, they’ll certainly keep
him informed of any developments. It’s his home ground.’
‘Shouldn’t I keep trying to get
hold of Alda in the meantime?’ said Markus.
‘You should forget about that,’
replied Thóra firmly. She thought for a moment,
then
asked: ‘When did you last speak to her?’
‘I spoke to her briefly by phone the
evening before last,’ answered Markus.
‘The night
before we went to the Islands.
I told her that I was finally going to be
allowed into the house.’
‘I see,’ said Thóra.
‘One final question before I phone Inspector Leifsson: do you think that
Alda knew about these three corpses, or played any part in their deaths or the
death of whoever owned the head?’ Thóra wasn’t sure
she’d ever asked a more ridiculous question.
‘There’s no way,’ said
Markus. ‘We’re the same age - making her fifteen in the year of the
eruption. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Neither then nor
now.
So she could hardly have expected that I’d stumble onto three
corpses as well as the box in the basement. If she’d known about the
bodies or been connected to them in any way I’m sure she would have
pushed me even harder to have the excavation stopped.
Warned
me, at the very least.’
‘Yes, one would have thought so,’
Thóra said thoughtfully. ‘It’s just a bit of a coincidence
that a box with a severed head and three corpses should be found in the same
place.’
‘Well, stranger things have
happened,’ said Markus, seemingly insulted.
‘Are you sure?’ Thóra
retorted. She could think of nothing even remotely as bizarre. They said
goodbye and she went to get
herself
a cup of coffee.
She could use a bit of refreshment before phoning Inspector Leifsson.
Gudni Leifsson turned off his torch as he
went down into the basement. The lights that the Reykjavik CID had set up there
were pointed at the area where the bodies had been found, but were strong
enough to light the entire basement space. He went over to the man leading the
investigation, a discomfortingly young man who had introduced himself as
Stefán when the gang of police from Reykjavik had disembarked from
the little plane late yesterday evening. It was obviously time to retire. It
was happening far too frequently that he met colleagues who had still been in
their mothers’ wombs when he himself had started his career. Gudni stared
straight ahead. ‘What do you think?’ he asked calmly, without wasting
words on pleasantries or even looking at his colleague.
Stefán turned around to see who had
addressed him. His expression immediately changed to one of irritation, which
confirmed what Gudni already knew: the
policemen
from
Reykjavik wanted the country yokels to leave them alone to investigate the
scene in peace. This Stefán had scarcely deigned to listen to
Gudni’s account of recent developments as they were driving to the house
yesterday evening along with several nameless, even younger men. These accompanying
officers had not spoken a word the entire time, as far as Gudni had been aware.
‘Isn’t it a little better than it looked at first?’ he asked
now, not letting the young man’s irritation
trouble
him.
‘We don’t know anything
yet,’ Stefán replied, turning away from Gudni to watch the men
working. ‘How could this possibly be better than it looked?’
‘Well,’ said Gudni calmly,
‘I just wondered whether these might be the earthly remains of some
unlucky thieves who got trapped here in the eruption and suffocated. People who
had perhaps intended to take advantage of the emergency situation and do their
looting undisturbed. This house wasn’t buried under the ash the first
night, so unscrupulous individuals would have had time to come here from
elsewhere and make a clean sweep of the neighbourhood. The eruption made
worldwide headlines at the time.’
Stefán stared at Gudni. ‘You
can’t be serious,’ he said, pointing at the three corpses where
they lay, side by side, on their backs. ‘How do you see that happening?
The air became so bad that the burglars ran down to the basement to lie down
and take a breather? They could hardly have thought that there were any
valuables down here.’ He turned back to his subordinates’ work.
‘People who suffocate are generally found lying on their stomachs, unless
they were sleeping when it happened. They try to crawl away. They don’t
lie down nicely in a row, any more than their heads fly off their shoulders.’
He pointed at the place where the head had lain, but it had already been
removed from the scene.
‘You’ll discover one day that
there are no absolutes in this life,’ Gudni replied, perfectly
unperturbed. This wasn’t the first big city upstart he’d sparred
with. ‘Otherwise, hopefully this Alda has an explanation, at least as far
as the head is concerned. Have you spoken to her?’
‘As far as I know, no one’s been
able to get in touch with her,’ replied Stefán, without looking at
Gudni. ‘We’re going to keep trying, and hopefully we’ll reach
her today. Then I’ll have a better talk with this Markus Magnusson, who
came here to pick up the bonce.’
‘The head, I expect you mean,’
corrected Gudni. ‘We’re talking about a human head here - not a
“bonce”.’
Stefán shot Gudni a look that was
anything but pleasant. ‘Head, bonce, noggin - what difference does it make?
I very much doubt that this Markus has told the truth, the whole truth and
nothing but the truth about what happened here. I find his statement in the
report both untrustworthy and ridiculous.’
‘That’s because he’s an
imbecile,’ Gudni replied. ‘Always has been.’ He switched on
his torch and turned towards the stairs, without saying goodbye.
Dís honked the car horn and pulled
herself up over the steering wheel to look out through the windscreen. The
little end terrace appeared to be empty. She leaned back again in her seat.
What was Alda thinking? She hadn’t come to work for two days in a row.
There was nothing too mysterious about that, anyone could catch the flu, but it
was unlike her not to call in and let people know, or to answer messages. Alda
was conscientiousness personified; she always came to work on time, and was
always willing to work late if necessary. In a nurse this was a rare quality,
and Dís knew that without Alda she and Agúst would have it much
tougher at work. They paid her well, and up until yesterday her work record had
been spotless. So they couldn’t understand at all why she hadn’t
called in to let them know that she couldn’t make it yesterday morning,
especially since four operations
It
had been
scheduled. Dís and Agúst, both doctors, had had to assist each
other, performing the operations together instead of taking them separately
with Alda’s assistance, because of this they’d had to cancel a
number of patient consultations, and even the anaesthetist they’d called
in had had to help out, which was bad for their reputation. No, there was
something very peculiar about this, so Dís had decided to make a quick
trip to Alda’s house during her lunch break, to see if she was home. She
looked out again through the glass and wondered whether something could have
happened to the woman. Alda was single and childless, so it was entirely
possible that she had passed out at home without anyone knowing. Dís got
out of the car.