Bella seemed rather pleased with herself as she sat in the hotel lobby slurping her drink, which could have been plain Coke but seemed more likely to have a shot of rum in it. The sweet odour of alcohol was unmistakable when Thóra sat down by her secretary. ‘Remember you can’t charge alcoholic drinks to expenses,’ said Thóra.‘It’s hard to claim a drink as being necessary for work,’ she added when she saw Bella’s expression. Strangely soothing Calypso music floated from the speakers behind them; perhaps it had inspired her secretary to order the drink. Thóra wouldn’t have said no to a Pina Colada herself.
‘Oh, do me a favour,’ said Bella. She took another sip, still smiling smugly. ‘I’ve seen Bragi’s bills when he goes out of town on business.’
Thóra had to admit her partner couldn’t enter a hotel without going to the bar, whether he was staying there or not.
‘Don’t you want to know what I found in the archive?’ asked her secretary, sucking at her straw thirstily. ‘They opened it for me. That Leifur clearly has the town in his pocket. All I had to do was say his name and they pulled out the keys.’
‘Yes, it’s in everyone’s interest to keep him happy,’ Thóra said. ‘So, what did you find? It’s good that one of us is making progress, because meeting Markus’s parents did me little good. His father was away with the fairies and his mother was such a dry old stick that she sucked all the moisture out of the air. The only thing I got out of it was some gibberish about a falcon and a child, and a headache from the old woman’s perfume. There wasn’t anything about a falcon in the files?’
‘No,’ said Bella. ‘Nothing that I saw, anyway. There are a million files in that archive. You’ve got to know what you’re looking for, and I wasn’t thinking about birds.’
Thóra sighed. ‘Oh, they were probably just the ramblings of a senile old man,’ she said. Suddenly she thought of Maria, Leifur’s wife, who acted as a kind of care assistant for her father-in-law. She must have heard him say all sorts of things. Maybe at some point he’d said something significant, but she hadn’t realized. Thóra decided to try to meet her again before they left, and see what she knew. It was entirely possible that he’d come out with something about a falcon or ‘that poor child’, but phrased it in a way that made it easier to determine if it meant something for the case. Her headache was getting worse. She raised a hand to her forehead.
‘Guess what?’ said Bella, putting down her glass. ‘I found out that Dadi and his wife Valgerdur built their house, so no one lived there before them.’
She seemed surprised when Thóra hardly reacted, but carried on: ‘And they had no children while they lived there.’ She watched Thóra, whose face still betrayed nothing.‘But after the eruption they had a son, who they christened Adolf.’
‘Adolf?’ muttered Thóra.‘Who calls a child Adolf?’
Bella appeared relieved that Thóra was finally showing some interest in her findings. ‘Well, they did, for starters. He lives in Reykjavik, and when I tried looking him up online I pulled up a blog where there’s a warning about him – for being a rapist. It was really hard to piece together – there were a lot of threats made against him in the comments section, by other bloggers who said that they were friends of the victim. In another entry several weeks later the blogger announced that he’d finally been charged.’
Thóra began rubbing her forehead, trying to dispel her headache. ‘Rape?’ she said. ‘Who did he attack?’
‘It didn’t say, but I figured out when it was supposed to have happened by looking at the date of the first entry. I searched in Morgunbladid’s archives and came across an article that seemed to tie into this. It wasn’t interesting enough to deserve much scrutiny, but something rang a bell when I read the article, because the rapist had slipped the girl an emergency contraceptive afterwards to stop her getting pregnant.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Thóra, dumbfounded. ‘Do you mean like a morning-after pill? I don’t remember reading about that.’
‘The case didn’t really get much attention, judging by the size of the article, and I doubt the papers would have reported it at all if it hadn’t been for that weird detail. It must have been on the news as well, since I recognized it and I never read the papers.’
Thóra waved to a passing waitress and ordered a Pina Colada. To hell with her headache, and to hell with the accountant. ‘Tell me,’ she said to Bella after the girl had taken her order, ‘what did the article say?’
‘This Adolf supposedly raped the girl at his house after they met at a bar downtown,’ said Bella. ‘She was drunk but she put up a fight, which was clear from the bruises on her body when she went to the A &E a day later.’
‘A day later?’ said Thóra, trying to fight the suspicion she immediately felt. ‘Why didn’t she go there right away, or to the police?’
‘The article said she’d been so devastated that she originally planned not to bring charges against the man at all. When she started to bleed heavily although it wasn’t her time of the month, she went to the hospital, where the story all came out. The bleeding turned out to be caused by the contraceptive, and when hospital staff pressed her she told them the whole story. She said that she hadn’t taken the pill herself, so the rapist must have stirred it into a drink he gave her.’
‘That wouldn’t hold up in court,’ said Thóra. ‘How could you prove that she didn’t take the pill herself when she regretted having slept with him?’
‘Because the drug was found at the man’s home when it was searched,’ said Bella. ‘In large quantities, according to the report. What’s a bachelor doing with contraceptive pills?’
‘I see,’ said Thóra.‘I wonder if Alda was connected to this somehow?’ she wondered aloud. ‘When did it happen?’
‘The rape itself took place about seven months ago,’ Bella replied. ‘It was a Saturday night, but the girl didn’t go to A &E until the Monday evening.’
Alda was still working weekend and evening shifts at the hospital then, and may well have helped treat the victim. Had she perhaps recognized the name of the attacker because of her ties to the Islands? Thóra didn’t see how this could help Markus. This was of course extremely unlikely, but it was hard to be choosy when there was nothing else on offer. ‘Did you happen to find out where Valgerdur and Dadi moved to after the eruption?’ she asked Bella.
‘They moved to the Westfjords,’Bella said. ‘The woman in the archive pointed me towards a summary of the new residences of all the Westmann Islands evacuees from about a year after the eruption. She knew who they were, and she thought a relative of Valgerdur’s had owned an empty house there that they’d moved into. I also saw in the file that Dadi worked on a trawler outfitted from Holmavik, but his wife hung around the house, since she’d just had a baby.’
Thóra smiled at Bella and decided to skip telling her that you didn’t simply ‘hang around the house’ when you had a baby. ‘Alda moved west with her parents, too,’ said Thóra. ‘Maybe they got to know Valgerdur better there. Ex-Islands residents probably stuck together during that period. That might explain why she was interested in the woman’s death.’
‘There was nothing written about the A &E staff in the article, though. All it said was that the girl he raped checked in there.’
‘It should be possible to find out more. I’m wondering whether this could be related to the trouble Alda had at work; she shouldn’t have assisted the victim if she knew the perpetrator.’
‘Are you sure she knew this Adolf?’ asked Bella.
‘No,’ replied Thóra.‘I have no idea. Neither Leifur nor his mother remembered his name, so it seems likely that he didn’t maintain any ties to the Islands.’Thóra sighed pensively. ‘I don’t know the legal ramifications of such a situation, either. Alda probably just took something from the A &E’s drug cabinet or something, but maybe it’s nothing her fellow nurses want to discuss. The chances are this Adolf has nothing to do with it. He was born after the eruption, so the bodies in the basement can’t be connected to him, but I suspect all these things have a common thread.’
‘Or the two cases could be entirely unrelated,’ suggested Bella. ‘Stranger things have happened.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Thóra, even though she had little to support her hunch. ‘The worst of it is, I suspect Markus’s family isn’t telling me the whole truth. One would expect a mother to put her children’s interests before her husband’s, especially if the man in question is at death’s door while Markus has half his life yet to live.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ said Bella, sucking on her straw. ‘I’m single and childless, so I have no idea which I would choose.’
A waitress appeared with Thóra’s drink. It wasn’t the one who had taken her order; this one was much older and looked world-weary. She held a tray bearing a creamy drink in a tall glass, adorned with an umbrella and a dyed-green cocktail cherry. Thóra thanked her and gave her herroom number, and as the waitress scribbled it down and turned to leave Thóra detained her. ‘Do you happen to know of anyone who’s particularly knowledgeable about the eruption,and about Islands life at the time?’ she asked. ‘Someone who might be willing to talk to us?’
The woman looked at Thóra.‘Couldn’t you just go to the theatre and watch the film about the eruption? It’s very popular.’ She gestured at the clock. ‘The next show starts in just under an hour.’
‘No, that won’t be enough,’said Thóra. ‘I’m looking for someone who can answer questions about specific residents.’ She smiled, hoping the woman wouldn’t start asking for further explanations.
The waitressshrugged. ‘I guess there are plenty of people here who enjoy talking about the disaster. Most of them just want to talk about their own experiences, but I imagine you’re looking for someone who can tell you more,’she said. Thóra nodded. ‘I can think of one fellow in particular,’ she said. ‘His name is Paddi the Hook, and he knows all about it. The story goes that he’s only ever left the Islands once, for the evacuation. He knows more than anyone about the people round here. Besides that, he likes nothing better than a good gossip; you’ll have more trouble getting him to shut up. His answers might he hard to understand, but he’s not shy about giving his opinion.’
‘And where can we find this man?’asked Thóra, eagerly.
‘He has a tourist boat. Mainly deep-sea fishing. I’d advise you to book one of his trips, otherwise you might not get him to talk to you. He’s always out on excursions and I don’t think he’d want to miss out on work.’ She smiled at them. ‘Do you want me to call and book one for you?’
Thóra thanked the woman and accepted her offer. It didn’t matter to her whether they booked a trip for sightseeing or fishing. She sipped her drink and allowed herself to enjoy the sweet coconutty taste for a moment. ‘Well,’ she said to Bella, ‘we’d better put on our wellies.’
Leifur sat at his father’s bedside in the room that the family had adapted on the ground floor after Klara had decided her husband should no longer sleep in the master bedroom. For some time Magnus had been waking his wife in the night to ask who she was, what time it was or even who he was. When his nocturnal behaviour had begun to get more angry and violent, she’d had enough. There were two options: they could move him to a healthcare facility, or make home-care arrangements so Klara didn’t need to look after him twenty-four hours a day. Leifur gazed at the bookshelves, which were all that remained of the original furniture in the erstwhile study. The rest had gone down into the basement, and would be given away after his parents died. Or thrown away. He and Maria didn’t have room for it, and his children had no interest in used furniture, even family heirlooms. It didn’t seem to matter to them that it was of far better quality than modern, fashionable furniture, or that it was worth a lot of money. Leifur’s son must have replaced his sofas more often in the eight years since leaving home than the old couple had done in all their married life. Maria was always whining about renovating the house and replacing all the furniture, or else selling it and building a new one. He had managed to avoid making that decision, but he knew he didn’t have much time before he either had to give in or run the risk of losing her. Something in her demeanour had changed: she still asked for the same things, but with less conviction. It made him anxious because he knew resignation often preceded some kind of drastic measure. What if this was her first step in the direction of the freedom that she desired so much, and that her mind associated with Reykjavik: the freedom to shop and wander from one cafe to another, the freedom to let her girlfriends envy all her material possessions? If she divorced Leifur she would be able to buy whatever her heart desired. Pre-nuptial agreements hadn’t been common when they got married, but even if they had been, Leifur would not have asked her to sign one.
He looked away from the old-fashioned set of shelves, which appeared to him to be starting to lean a little. They weren’t the only thing in the room that mirrored the family’s declining fortunes. Leifur gazed at his sleeping father, but everything that had once characterized the old man’s face was now gone. His complexion was pale and his strong jaw hollow, making his lips and teeth seem unnaturally large. There were liver-spots on his cheeks and lips. Saliva glistened at the corner of his mouth, and Leifur averted his eyes. This was the reason for everything they had done; his father must live at home as long as he was able. Leifur couldn’t picture the old man living alongside people who had known him back when he was one of the pillars of local society, people who would now have to care for him as though he were a small child. He would have none of the child’s irresistible charm that makes people happily change their nappies and wipe up their drool and vomit. His wife Maria had tried to convince him that if they moved to Reykjavik they could put his father in a home where no one knew him. Leifur had pointed out that they couldn’t get him into a nursing home in Reykjavik, where the waiting lists were long. They’d be at the bottom of the list, no matter how much they were willing to pay. So it was better this way; they wouldn’t gain anything by moving to Reykjavik. Of course, one thing would change: Maria would have more to occupy her time there, and less time for her father-in-law.
There was a lot of pressure on Maria. She was the one who spent the most time looking after her father-in-law, and although it might have seemed hard to believe, she did it without complaining or demanding any appreciation or credit from Klara and Leifur. She did deserve new furniture, and he would agree immediately next time Maria raised the subject. It would catch her completely unawares. Maybe he’d suggest they buy an apartment in one of the new apartment blocks on Skulagata Street, so she could make quick trips to Reykjavik to visit their son and get a brief respite from everything here. In any case, it was time to hire some help; it would be best if he could find a nurse or care assistant, perhaps a foreign one. It wasn’t as if anyone needed to spend time chatting to his father -Leifur’s mother could take care of that. The nurse could sleep in his room, so they’d no longer need to lock the old man in there at night. Leifur had started worrying that something might happen while they were all asleep, although he wasn’t sure exactly what. In his father’s room there wasn’t much he could easily injure himself on, but his outbursts had become completely unpredictable; just recently he had pushed the family television off its stand, breaking it. When Leifur asked him why he’d done it his father had simply stared at him and shaken his head, like a small child denying he’d made a mess. It had only been a few years since he’d brought home the television and invited Leifur and Maria round in order to show it off, since Leifur’s parents didn’t often spend money on luxury items. Leifur still remembered how proud his father had been, how beautiful he’d thought the colours looked on the huge screen.
His father muttered something and Leifur turned back to him. The old man opened his eyes and smiled faintly. His bottom lip was so dry that the smile made it crack, and drops of blood appeared. The blood welled up slowly and did not spill beyond the edges of his blue-tinged lips.
It was as though the blood in his veins was as exhausted as his brain. The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Leifur thought it must be the pain of his cracked lip. But that wasn’t the case. He looked straight into Leifur’s eyes with rare lucidity, his stare unwavering. ‘That was a nasty trick we played on her,’ he said, gripping his son’s upper arm tightly. Feeling his bony fingers, Leifur thought that if he closed his eyes it would have been easy to imagine a skeleton had taken hold of him.
‘On who, Dad?’ asked Leifur calmly. ‘Were you having a bad dream?’
‘Alda,’ replied the old man.‘You forgive me, don’t you?’
‘Me?’ asked Leifur, surprised.‘Of course I forgive you, Dad.’
‘Good,’ replied the old man.‘I know how much you like her, Markus.’ He shut his eyes.‘Don’t be late for school, my boy,’ he said, letting go of Leifur. ‘Don’t be late.’
Leifur had long ago given up taking it personally when his father didn’t recognize him, though he remembered how much it had hurt the first time it happened. His father had been telling his secretary that he was going to take a week off and that Leifur would fill in for him, but when he came to his son’s name he had stood gaping at Leifur, just as surprised as his son at his inability to recall it.
‘I won’t be late,’ said Leifur, and went to stand up. His father was already asleep, and it would only upset him to sit with him any longer.
‘Do you think the falcon will be all right?’ said a weak voice as Leifur was trying to open the door without the hinges creaking.
‘Yes, Dad,’ whispered Leifur.‘The falcon will be fine. Don’t worry.’ He shut the door behind him, confused. He’d never known his father to have much interest in birds, with the exception of puffin, which had been his favourite food. Now that they had to force-feed him everything he never got puffin, only whatever was easiest to get into his mouth and least likely to get caught in his throat. Leifur had never heard his father talk about falcons before. It could be random nonsense, jumbled memories, even fragments of some television programme that were still floating around in his dusty mind. Whatever this bird meant to him, it was a shame his father seemed unable to forget the bad things in his life and remember only the positive. It certainly wasn’t fair that he should have to remember Alda.
Not fair at all.