Authors: Yrsa Sigurdardottir
Ashes to Dust (54 page)
‘I feel it only right that I point out
to you that it is not your role to assist us in the investigation,’
intoned the lawyer. ‘We are more than capable of doing our job. You
should concentrate on what concerns your client.’
‘And you think it doesn’t serve
his interests to find out who really killed Alda?’ retorted Thóra.
Her cheeks flushed, and her headache was worsening. She felt most of her anger
drain away as she realized that if she were him she wouldn’t have been
pleased to think she had dressed up and polished her jewellery for nothing. She
placed her hands on her knees and prepared to stand up. ‘Can you tell me
whether you’re going to request a custody extension? If you are, I need
time to get ready.’
Stefán turned to his colleague and
asked him, ‘Shouldn’t we speak privately?’ He looked back at
Thóra. ‘I think we’ve got all the information you could
provide,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘This shouldn’t take long.
You can have a cup of coffee outside.’
The healing power of the coffee left much to
be desired. Thóra had swilled down two strong cups without her pain
decreasing. She looked at the clock; just after one. Markus would be on his way
into town from Litla-Hraun Prison in the company of the Prison Affairs
Transport Officer, so it was not a good time to phone him. But she ought to let
Markus’s son know that his father might be released without the need for
a court ruling. That would save the boy a trip to the district court.
Her conversation with him did not have the
effect Thóra was hoping for. He was so beside himself at the news and
chattered at her so frantically that it almost made her dizzy. She finally
resorted to telling him that someone needed her urgently and she had to hang
up. She could no longer endure his noise. If everything went for the best,
hopefully Markus would be there for him very shortly. She promised to let him
know as soon as it became clear.
Twenty minutes later Stefán came out
of his office. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.
‘We’ve made our decision,’
he said.
‘And?’ said Thóra,
crossing her fingers. The last thing she needed was to go to court.
‘What’s your conclusion?’
‘We’re not going to ask for an
extension of Markus’s detention period, but we will request a travel
ban,’ said Stefán. He wouldn’t look her in the eye.
‘A travel ban?’ asked
Thóra calmly. Of two evils, a travel ban was a thousand times better
than custody, but at the same time the judge was much more likely to approve
it. There was something underhand about their plan. Release Markus, yet detain
him at the same time. She stood up. ‘I’d better go and get
changed,’ she said, forcing out a smile. ‘See you later.’
How much could she find out about travel bans
in a quarter of an hour?
‘I don’t give a shit about this
travel ban, Thóra, they don’t even have to discuss it,’ said
Markus triumphantly. ‘I’m not much of a globe-trotter and even if I
was I’m not planning to leave the country any time soon. I’m just
thrilled to be out of prison. That’s enough for me.’ He put a hand
on her shoulder. ‘A thousand thanks, and forgive me for any disrespect
I showed you. I wasn’t myself.’
Thóra smiled back at him. Her headache
was gone and she felt rather well, even though she’d lost her appeal
against the restrictions on her client’s movements. She attributed that
more to Markus, who had made it clear that it didn’t bother him - he had even
used the same silly phrase in court as he had to her just now: he wasn’t
much of a globe-trotter. ‘If you’re happy, Markus, then I suppose I
am too. Now we just have to hope that the police find the guilty party, so you
can move on to other things.’
‘Yes, of course, bless your
heart,’ he said happily. ‘They’ll work it out soon enough. If
not - then what will be, will be.’ He took a deep breath; it had stopped
raining and the air was clear after the morning’s showers. They walked in
the direction of Thóra’s office on Skolavordustigur Street, where
his son was waiting. Thóra had ended up telling the boy to meet them
there, since she didn’t want him at the courthouse if something went
wrong. Even though she trusted Stefán and the lawyer, she wouldn’t
have fainted with surprise if they had changed their minds and turned up in
court demanding an extension of custody.
‘This is a great day,’ said
Markus, apparently directing his remark as much at passers-by as at
Thóra. He had apparently stopped bemoaning the fate of his father, especially
since she had told him the old man’s condition rendered him unfit to
stand trial. It was likely to be hardest for his mother, although she was
pretty tough and would survive. Thóra had also been keen to stress that
people would not judge the men very harshly, considering they had been exacting
revenge for rape. Alda was barely past childhood when this had taken place, and
any time sexual assault had been the topic of conversation, she’d heard
parents say that if anyone did that to their child, they would kill them.
People would find it difficult to condemn them, even though three innocent men
had suffered the same fate as the rapist.
‘A really great day,’ repeated
Markus loudly.
Thóra was about to agree with him when
she saw Alda’s mother
and Jóhanna
walking away from the church.
The funeral had been allowed to go ahead,
though the police had set a time limit on the ceremony since they needed to
take Alda’s body back. Thóra supposed the young man in the blue
shirt, following the mother and daughter at a discreet distance, must be the
plain-clothes
policeman
charged with keeping an eye on
them.
After Thóra had described the sequence
of events to the police, it had turned out that Alda’s uterus had been
removed during the autopsy, and they had simply forgotten to check whether
there were any scars from a Caesarean section. At the end of the examination
the uterus had been placed back in the abdominal cavity and the body sewn up.
This meant that the Criminal Investigation Department needed to have the body
back before the burial took place, and as quickly as possible. The shorter the
time the body was out of refrigeration, the better.
Jóhanna had a supportive arm
around her mother’s shoulders. Thóra hurried to prevent them
from seeing Markus, but he seemed not to notice anything unusual when she
grabbed him by the arm to chivvy him along. At Laskjarbrekka Restaurant the
pair dropped out of sight, and Thóra relaxed her grip. She heard a beep
from her mobile and looked at the screen.
‘If there is anything I can ever do for
you, Thóra, then promise me you’ll let me know,’ Markus was
saying as Thóra read her text message.
It was Gylfi, reminding her to check on
accommodation in the Islands for the festival. Thóra looked up at
Markus, who stood there beaming. ‘There is actually one thing that would
please me no end,’ she said, returning his smile.
Thóra held Sóley’s hand
so tightly that her daughter winced. She relaxed her grip, but not enough for
the girl’s little palm to slip from her grasp. The crowd was so dense
that Thóra feared if they were separated for just a second she would
never find Sóley again. Naturally, she should not have agreed to join
the queue at the booth selling festival souvenirs, but it was difficult to say
no to Sóley. The girl had been staring enthralled at all the people with
flashing sunglasses, masks, hats, necklaces, flags or everything at once, so
when she set eyes on the blessed booth Sóley thought she’d hit the
jackpot. Thóra adjusted Orri on her hip. He was holding just as tightly
to his grandmother as she was to Sóley, and Thóra reassured
herself it would take at least four determined festival-goers to tear the three
of them apart.
‘I want a rubber nose,’ said
Sóley, as she stood on tiptoe to see what was for sale. ‘And one
of
those flashing
hairbands.’
After purchasing these essential festival
accoutrements they pushed their way back past the queue. Thóra had grown
tired of carrying Orri, who was just over a year old and large for his age. She
headed towards an empty space below the Islanders’ white party tents,
standing side by side at one end of the festival grounds, away from the
campsite provided for visitors. They took a seat on a little grassy slope,
where Sóley removed the decorations from their wrappings and put them
on. ‘Do I look good?’ she said, smiling broadly. Thóra
smiled back and nodded while Orri stretched a chubby finger in the direction of
the red clown’s nose. Sóley darted away nimbly and started teasing
Orri by pushing the nose towards him, then pulling her face back when he tried
to touch it.
The weather was glorious, and Thóra
still hadn’t seen anyone who looked drunk. The festival had really
surprised her and she could only assume that everyone was having too good a
time to spoil it by pouring gallons of alcohol down their necks.
She hoped this also applied to Gylfi and
Sigga, but she hadn’t seen them since they arrived at the festival ground
in Herjolfsdalur Valley, on the covered back of one of the trucks used to
transport festival-goers to and fro. There the young couple had met their
friends and gone off with them to the concerts, while Thóra stayed
behind with the younger generation. She had gone in search of Markus and
Leifur’s tent, and after threading her way through dense rows of tents
that all looked the same, she finally found it.
Thóra enjoyed a hero’s welcome
in the packed tent, where she was plied with smoked puffin and red wine.
Sóley and Orri got as many biscuits as they could eat and as much
chocolate milk as they could drink. Thóra’s fears that Leifur and
Maria might bear her a grudge were clearly unfounded, and Markus had urged her
to drop by. Klara was elsewhere, thankfully - Thóra was fairly certain
she would not have shown her the same hospitality. The huge tent was decorated
according to local tradition, a semi-living room having been set up inside. It
was incredibly well furnished, with three sofas, a refrigerator, a large table,
and even pictures hanging from the canvas walls.
Maria’s eyes were watery as she hugged
Thóra across the wide table, coming very close to falling across it.
Darling, it’s so nice of you to come. It was more of a surprise to see
the brothers drinking. Neither was actually drunk, but both were red-cheeked
and spoke louder than usual. Leifur was very generous with the bottle,
repeatedly offering to refill the glasses of all the other guests in the tent,
whom Thóra did not recognize at all. There was plenty of wine to go
around, nonetheless. Leifur had been positioned in the very middle of the tent,
but he clambered through the group to plonk himself down on the arm of the sofa
where she sat. ‘You did a good job,’ he whispered in her ear,
grinning foolishly at her. Before Thóra could ask what he meant, he bent
down to her again. ‘Markus is happy, and this was all for the best. Here
in the Islands everyone understands what happened, and I don’t think
I’ve ever been asked by so many people to give their regards to
Father.’ Thóra nodded and muttered that it was her pleasure.
‘Here’s to the lawyer!’ thundered Leifur over the crowd, who
lifted their glasses simultaneously.
Markus joined in energetically and grinned at
Thóra as widely as his older brother. His travel ban would soon expire,
and there was no imminent prospect of it being renewed. He flung his arm around
the person sitting next to him and hugged him tight. This was a young man who
appeared to be dressed as a garden gnome - the only one inside the packed tent
wearing a costume, although these had been a common sight in the throng outside
where the crowd was younger. He was wearing a red conical hat, which stood at
least half a metre high, a fake white beard and a white wig. It was Hjalti,
Markus’s son. Unlike the others in the tent he did not seem to be
enjoying himself much. Thóra could feel him staring at her from under
his bizarre hat, but he looked away when their eyes met. She thought perhaps he
was embarrassed by his emotional reunion with his father the day that Markus
was released from custody, which Thóra had witnessed. Out of respect for
this, she avoided looking too much in his direction. This was easier said
than done, since Markus was constantly shouting out to her. One of the things
he needed to tell her was that he had now signed off on an apartment in the
Islands for his son. A shout was raised for a toast to Hjalti, who looked
positively queasy throughout. Finally Thóra herself felt unwell, and she
decided to take the kids outside for a while. It was still quite bright
outside, and despite the crowds in the tent Leifur had happily offered to store
Thóra’s covered pushchair. The ground in Herjolfsdalur was far too
soft to use it.
Thóra stood and picked Orri back up.
He spread out his arms, leaned into her and laid his chin on her shoulder. He
was so affectionate that it occasionally worried Thóra, who feared he
would have to spend his whole life comforting others. She pushed these thoughts
away and tried to attain the carefree joy that seemed to characterize
everything and everyone in the valley. Thóra didn’t know why she
felt so out of sorts, and hoped it wasn’t because of the phone call from
Bella that morning. The secretary had dreamt about Thóra and found
herself compelled to call and tell her boss about the dream. In it Thóra
was surrounded by ash, which came out of her ears and mouth, and according to
the dream analysis website Bella swore by, ash always symbolized bad luck. It
could be an omen of a lawsuit, trouble or adversity. Thóra had a
sneaking feeling that if the dream had been given a positive interpretation,
Bella would not have called.