Authors: Yrsa Sigurdardottir
‘You would have to speak to my
colleagues in Reykjavik about his detention. They handle these matters,’
replied Gudni, with sarcastic emphasis on the word Reykjavik. ‘I
don’t know what their plans are for Markus.’
Thóra had hoped Gudni might have been
kept abreast of developments in the case and would therefore be able to tell
her — or at least give her a hint about - what the police were planning
for tomorrow, when Markus’s custody period expired. She tried to act
unconcerned. Gudni annoyed her just as much every time she met him, and she seemed
to irritate him, so she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of witnessing
her disappointment. She smiled. ‘But as far as these weapons are
concerned…’ she said.
Gudni laughed dryly. ‘Weapons?’
he said. ‘These are work tools.’
She paused a moment before continuing,
‘It may surprise you to learn that tools have been used before for acts
of violence. I can assure you such a thing is not unheard of.’
Gudni stared at her, poker-faced. He leaned
forward and glanced at the tools on the desk. ‘I don’t know how you
can be so sure these are linked to the bodies.’
‘It’s not natural to keep
dangerous tools stored among baby clothes, especially not a christening
gown,’ she replied. ‘What’s more, I suspect there’s
blood on both of them. I’m fairly certain these items were put there in
an attempt to conceal evidence.’
‘That would be a stroke of
genius,’ said Gudni, smiling mirthlessly. ‘Hiding the murder
weapons in a box but putting the bodies on display in the middle of the
room.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘Do you think the murderer
was a raving idiot?’
Thóra turned bright red, but kept her
emotions in check. ‘Now is not the time to conjure up theories about
exactly how it happened. First it must be determined whether this is blood, and
if so, whether it’s from those men. At the same time, it would no doubt
be wise to check these items for fingerprints.’
‘You probably haven’t had much
call to use tools like these,’ said Gudni patronizingly, as if no one
could call himself a real man unless he went around with a mallet in one hand
and a knife in the other. ‘You do realize there is a natural explanation
for why there might be blood on these tools?’
‘That may be, but the amount makes me
doubt it came from
a fisherman
knocking out fish -
that wouldn’t leave so much blood behind on the priest. Wouldn’t
you agree?’
Gudni narrowed his eyes and his lips thinned.
‘What are you hoping to get out of this?’ he asked, leaning forward
on his elbows.
Thóra knew he wasn’t talking
about her fee. ‘I thought we were hoping for the same thing,’ she
replied.
‘To find the murderer.
The real murderer.’
Gudni chose not to reply. He continued to
stare into Thóra’s eyes, but then he had to blink. He said,
‘Oh, we’ll find him.
Without your help.’
‘Oh, you think so?’ muttered
Thóra, but decided not to squabble with him. She changed the subject.
‘What can you tell me about an old case involving smuggled spirits, one
that came up here just before the eruption?’
Gudni seemed startled by the unexpected new
topic. ‘What does that have to do with this case?’ he asked.
Thóra said nothing. ‘I think you’re really clutching at
straws if you want to drag that old incident into this.’ He leaned back
and clasped his hands over his chest. ‘Are you withholding information
from us?’
‘No, not at all.
I’ve just heard it mentioned twice in my
conversations with locals and I wanted to find out more about it, even if only
to rule out any links to the current case.’
‘I see,’ he said.
‘It’s hardly a
secret,
I just thought most
people would have forgotten that case. It surprises me that anyone brought it
up after all these years.’ He unclenched his fingers and started cracking
his knuckles, one after another. ‘It wouldn’t be thought remarkable
today, in comparison with all the big drug cases. It became evident that
an unusual quantity of grain alcohol was in circulation on the Islands, and all
the signs pointed at two residents. The investigation hadn’t yet
concluded when the eruption occurred, but it was a long way along. Then it was
dropped in light of the circumstances.’
‘Who were the men involved?’
asked Thóra. ‘I know about Kjartan at the harbour-master’s
office, but who was the other man?’
Gudni cracked the knuckle of his thumb,
unusually loudly. ‘You don’t know him.’
Thóra named the one man who came to
mind apart from Paddi the Hook, who seemed unlikely to be the culprit.
‘Was it Dadi Horseshoe?’
Gudni couldn’t hide his surprise.
Thóra had obviously guessed correctly. ‘I’m not going to
speak to you about anyone but your client,’ he answered. ‘However,
I can tell you that neither of these men was a suspect for long, because a
third man turned himself in and confessed everything the morning before the
eruption. He got lucky, because as I just said, the investigation didn’t
go any further.’
Thóra knitted her brow. Who could it
be? ‘Was it Magnus?’ she asked, and again saw that she had guessed
correctly.
‘Why don’t you ask him about
it?’ suggested Gudni sarcastically. ‘If there’s nothing
more you want to enquire about, it’s just a question of telling me
whether you found anything else down in the basement. I’m passing this
information on to Reykjavik, so now’s your chance.’
‘No,’ replied Thóra
curtly. ‘That’s all.’ She smirked at Gudni as she thought
about what she and Bella had managed to dig up. Several old poetry books bound
in leather, an old-fashioned copper compass and gold coins that didn’t
appear to come from any particular country. Before she handed these things over,
she wanted to check whether they could conjure something useful out of Magnus.
The evidence was starting to point ominously towards the old fishing tycoon.
‘Adolf, the only thing that could
justify your continuing existence on the planet would be if you started
breathing carbon dioxide and exhaling oxygen.’ The woman’s anger
was written all over her face, although her sadness was even clearer.
‘You know my opinion of you and that’s not going to change, so we
shouldn’t waste time arguing.’
Adolf looked at the mother of his child,
saying nothing. He wanted to make some retort, something that would sting her,
but couldn’t think of anything clever. He could tell her she looked
knackered and ask if she’d looked in the mirror today, but that was too
feeble. Sometimes it was best to keep quiet and settle for a dirty look, which
he was rather good at. He didn’t even need to try; the expression crept
over his face automatically as soon as she sat down and started talking. He
shouldn’t have opened the door when he saw who it was. He didn’t
own a car, so she could have concluded that he wasn’t at home and left.
Adolf couldn’t bear her, or the guilt she always tried to make him feel
on the rare occasions they talked. It wasn’t his damn fault she’d
got pregnant. If he’d had any inkling that would happen after their
long-ago one- night stand, he would have stayed home that night. He only
vaguely remembered the night they had made Tinna, that’s how unexciting
the sex had been. He’d had better sex with women who were barely
conscious.
‘Are you even listening to me?’
she said, shooting him a dirty look of her own. ‘I want you to talk to
Tinna’s psychiatrist. He wants to meet you, but you’re not
returning his calls. You wouldn’t be doing this for me, if that’s
what’s stopping you.’
‘What the hell am I meant to say to
him? If Tinna’s in some kind of trouble, it’s your fault. You
raised her.’ Adolf shrugged to show how little this affected him.
‘And what genius came up with the idea of sending her to a shrink?
There’s nothing wrong with her that a good meal wouldn’t fix.
You’d be better off giving her something to eat, so maybe you should
rethink your cooking. It’s hardly surprising she doesn’t want to
eat, because you can’t cook for shit.’ He actually had no idea
what kind of cook she was.
‘I always knew you weren’t that
bright, but I hadn’t realized you were retarded,’ said the
woman, her face flushed. She had clenched her hands into fists. ‘Do you
know anything about this disease? Have you taken the time to go online and read
about what’s killing your daughter?’
‘It’s all rubbish,’ said
Adolf, feeling his voice deepen to a rumble as it always did when he was very
angry. ‘Everyone knows the system wants to make out kids have all got
something wrong with them. They’re diagnosed with attention deficit
disorder, hyperactive
disorder,
God knows what else,
just so the therapists can
rake
it in. Tinna is
skinny because she doesn’t eat enough. Maybe you let her watch too much
TV and read about too many models in magazines.’
She sighed. ‘Will you talk to this man,
for your daughter, or not?’ She stood up from her armchair and looked
around. The look on her face now beat Adolf’s dirty look hands down.
‘I seriously doubt any good will come of it, so I don’t give a shit
what you do. At least I can tell the doctor with a clean conscience that I told
you to call him.’
‘What does he want me to say?’
said Adolf, suddenly disappointed that she was leaving. It had been a long time
since he’d had a visitor, though he hadn’t given it much thought.
His friends had made themselves scarcer and
scarcer as his trial date drew closer. They didn’t want to be seen being
friends with a rapist. Adolf didn’t like this, but he did understand.
He would do exactly the same in their shoes. ‘Do you want some coffee?
I’ve got coffee.
If you want.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘No, no
thanks.’ She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder and shifted the weight
of her slender body onto one foot. ‘Will you talk to him?’ she
repeated.
Adolf shrugged again and looked away from her
to the sofa in front of him. ‘If I knew what I was supposed to say, of
course I would do it. But I still don’t understand what good it would
do.’
‘I don’t know what he wants to
talk to you about,’ she said, and he could hear exhaustion in her voice.
‘If you’re worried he’ll start psychoanalyzing you, you can
relax. As far as I know he’s simply trying to get a more complete picture
of what’s going on.’
‘A complete picture?’ asked
Adolf, who was having trouble understanding this. Suddenly he wanted to please
her and say yes, say he would call the doctor. Still, he didn’t want to
go. He didn’t understand the purpose of this and he didn’t like
psychiatrists, psychologists, any of that lot. Specialists always confused him
and he felt uncomfortable around them.
She looked at him expectantly, obviously keen
to get going. Adolf suddenly saw through her: she wanted him to say no, and not
go. Then she could continue to be the martyr, the poor single mother with the
sick daughter who received no assistance or understanding from the
child’s dastardly father. She cleared her throat nervously as she
realized he’d figured her out. Or maybe it was just tiredness and
resignation he saw in her eyes. ‘A complete picture of Tinna’s
life,
who
she was before this disease took
over,’ she said. ‘If it helps, I’ve met this man more than
once and he’s very decent, so it’s no hardship at all talking to
him. They think Tinna’s illness is worse than they had previously
realised - that underlying it is a much more serious mental condition.’
She looked at Adolf for a moment before zipping up her plain, inexpensive
jacket. ‘This doctor can answer your questions about her eating disorder
and the other illness, if you have any. It’s helped me a lot.’
Adolf nodded, pondering his response. He
didn’t believe in this eating disorder,
nor
this
new illness for that matter. He looked at the mother of his child: her face was
so drawn and haggard that she looked much older than she was, but no one said
she was ill. Tinna had simply inherited her mother’s build, and besides
she was obviously impressionable. There were often articles in the paper about
how much influence skinny models and
actresses
had on
girls, and Tinna had just fallen under the spell of that body image. When she
grew up she would get over it and put on a bit of weight. ‘I don’t
have any questions about this disease,’ he said. He hadn’t planned
to say it so sarcastically, but it came out like that.
‘She’s very ill,’ said the
woman dejectedly. ‘And you’re a fool, Adolf; a total fool, if you
can’t see it.’
He was furious. She was always like this.
Nothing was ever good enough for her; all he ever got from her was disapproval
and moral lectures. He was a fool, and six was an angel in human form.
‘You must be a fool yourself, leaving my daughter in the hands of the
system for no reason. You’re the fool, not me.’
She looked at him for a few long seconds. For
a moment Adolf thought she might cry, but instead she shook her head in a kind
of surrender and waved her hand half-heartedly. ‘I’m going.’
She turned and walked away slowly, without looking back.
Adolf stood up and followed her. He had got
the last word, but it still felt like she’d won. It was unbearable: he
needed every tiny victory he could get before the trial if he wanted to get
through it in one piece. ‘So, you admit you’re the stupid
one?’ he said as she reached the door. He would have liked her to be in
more of a rush, and felt again as if she were asserting her superiority through
her relaxed pace.