Now Thóra resolved to get down to business. She looked up the name of the centre’s director: Glódís Tumadóttir, which Thóra thought sounded a very bright and cheerful name. When she finally managed to get hold of the woman through the Ministry of Welfare, her voice sounded entirely at odds with the image that her name evoked. Glódís frequently sighed heavily, as if she bore all the sorrows of the world on her shoulders. After listening for half an hour to her complaints about the bustle of the Regional Office for the Disabled in Reykjavík, Thóra eventually managed to persuade her into a meeting, although the discussion was accompanied by a long and detailed report on how Glódís couldn’t give her more than about fifteen minutes, since naturally she’d have to get back to thanklessly slaving away at her understaffed workplace. Thóra wanted to scream when she finally hung up. She’d met far too many of these kinds of people, who felt that their wages didn’t match their great talent and who wallowed constantly in self-pity. She couldn’t be the only one who wanted to give them all a good smack in the hope of snapping them out of their self-appointed martyrdom. But that would have to wait for another time. In retrospect, she realized that underneath all the moaning, the woman had probably been worried or agitated about her call. Perhaps all the waffle about the unfairness of her job had been caused by nervous anxiety; after all, it couldn’t have been pleasant for Glódís to have to discuss the case again. She could have something to hide, but it might not be anything unnatural or suspicious; the young people who died had been her responsibility and although the home hadn’t been in operation for long, she must have had emotional ties to those who died. No doubt everything would become clearer when they met face to face.
Thóra’s mobile phone beeped, telling her that she’d received a text. The message was entirely unfathomable, and had again been sent from ja.is. She hoped it wasn’t some idiot who’d entered a friend’s number wrongly, and was now using her number by mistake. If that was the case, then someone somewhere was asking an extremely important question: How did Helena get burned as a child? She felt momentarily spooked, given that the message mentioned fire, but she dismissed it as coincidence and shut her phone.
Bella hadn’t arrived yet though it was nearly ten o’clock, so Thóra scribbled a note to her to remember to order more paper for the photocopier. The chances of the secretary actually doing it were slender, but Thóra refused to let the young woman have the upper hand so she added hurriedly underneath: Can’t pay your salary if I can’t print out a payslip. Then she put on her coat and left. It was still snowing outside but now it was coming down faster and thicker, not at all like the gentle flurries of the previous evening. She’d have to hurry if she was going to scrape the ice and snow off her car and make it to Síðumúli in time for the short interview window Glódís had so kindly granted her.
A thick, heavy layer of snow covered the car and the slush underfoot made it difficult for her to stand close enough to be able to clear it off properly. This made her hand motions clumsy and Thóra was more or less covered with snow when she finally got behind the wheel and drove off. Along the way, ill-equipped cars caused endless delays as they spun their wheels and slid back and forth across the road while irritated drivers honked their horns.
Thóra decided not to join in the horn concerto and instead took the opportunity to call home and speak briefly to Matthew. He turned out to be on his way out for a run, which he did every day of the week except Sunday, whatever the weather. Thóra found this totally incomprehensible – the only time she might consider running would be away from a crazed murderer, in the unlikely event that one was after her. She hadn’t said as much to Matthew, however, since it seemed so important to him. She simply smiled to herself every time he suggested that she come with him, although her smile had faded somewhat when he gave her a pair of top-quality running shoes as a Christmas present. For the moment she could still use the weather as justification, but when spring came, the fear of breaking her leg on the ice would no longer be a viable excuse; instead she would have to admit that she had no interest in unnecessary physical labour or else come up with some other reason. She hadn’t been able to think of anything better than an allergy to bees, but it was still a long time until spring and she might come up with more credible ideas as the days got slowly longer. Thankfully, she didn’t need to go to the gym to keep her figure trim; she was slim by nature as well as tall, which meant that the extra kilos that occasionally came – and went, without any special effort – distributed themselves quite easily over her frame without being too noticeable.
She was very close to being late. When she finally pulled up in the car park, which was half buried in snow, her mind drifted to what Matthew had said before hanging up: that she should proceed carefully with her questions about the home. He hadn’t wanted to elaborate other than to say that handicaps and illnesses were sensitive topics and it was easy to hurt people, even if no harm were meant. He said that he suspected that those who took care of disabled individuals were even more sensitive to the way things were phrased than the individuals themselves. This did nothing to improve Thóra’s feelings of uncertainty on precisely this subject; despite having read through the case’s countless documents, she realized how poorly informed she still was about which terms were considered inappropriate when referring to the former inhabitants of the community residence and their circumstances. Despite Matthew’s warnings, she was relieved to speak first to a woman who had no blood connection to the residents; it was less likely that Thóra would offend her than a family member. Perhaps she could learn from this conversation and take in concepts and terminology that were thought appropriate. But she wouldn’t be able to avoid speaking to the relatives of the dead residents – if, in fact, they were willing to meet her – because most other sources of information about the centre had burned to ashes. They were under no obligation to speak to her, of course, and the fact that her client was the man whom they believed to be responsible for the deaths of their children didn’t exactly go in her favour. She didn’t need to go offending people with inappropriate comments on top of all that.
After clambering out of her tilted car, which was partly perched on a snowdrift, Thóra hurried inside. There a young woman received her very warmly; she was the complete opposite of Bella, and told her that the wait would be brief. Shortly afterwards, the same smiling girl announced to her that Glódís was available. She directed Thóra in and in a moment Thóra was seated in a chair in the woman’s extremely unassuming office.
‘My schedule has opened up a bit so we’re not quite so pressed for time.’ As she spoke, Glódís removed some completed application forms from her desk and stuck them in a folder. ‘The people that I was expecting cancelled their appointment. It happens often when the roads are like this. Which means, of course, that I’ll be absolutely swamped when the weather improves again, but there’s nothing we can do about that.’ The woman was about the same age as Thóra, but was even more tired-looking than Thóra considered herself to be. Her two-toned, off-blonde hair with black roots did little for her puffy, excessively made-up face. Overall, she looked like one of those women who’d been the prettiest girl in her class as a teenager, before the unkind ravages of time had set in. ‘So, how can I help you? You said that you were working for Jakob. I don’t quite know what I can do, exactly; my acquaintance with him was rather limited, as you know.’
Thóra nodded. ‘I was asked to investigate the case thoroughly, since there seems to be some doubt that Jakob was involved. I’m gathering evidence and information with a view to the case possibly being reopened by the Supreme Court.’
The woman’s expression hardened and she struggled to keep her tone pleasant. ‘What do you mean? What sort of doubt?’
Thóra decided not to tell Glódís who had instigated the new investigation. She knew that if she mentioned the paedophile, their conversation would be finished. So she worded it as vaguely as she could. ‘After reviewing the testimonies and other matters related to
the verdict in the case, it appears to me that it was poorly prosecuted. It’s also possible that Jakob’s disability wasn’t fully taken into account. He appears to have been rather erratic throughout his testimony, probably not comprehending the seriousness of the case.’
‘All of the protocols were followed to the letter.’ Glódís’s lips had thinned disapprovingly. ‘The police sought our advice and we sent them a developmental therapist who assisted in the interrogations and everything relating to Jakob’s special circumstances. I don’t believe that it could have been handled any better.’
‘Maybe not; but nonetheless, the doubts that I mentioned do exist. It may well be that later on it will become clear that everything was concluded precisely as it should have been, but until then I must acquaint myself to the best of my ability with everything that might suggest the existence of reasonable doubt concerning Jakob’s guilt.’
‘I don’t see why.’ The woman was obviously offended and made no attempt to conceal it. ‘Jakob started the fire and killed those people. He has the intellectual maturity of a child, which means it isn’t possible to blame him for malicious intent, but he still should have known better and not done it. People with disabilities are not exempt from the obligations that human society lays on our shoulders, nor do they wish to be exempt. They want to live their lives on an equal footing with the rest of us, and they should be bound by the laws of our country.’
‘Then have you formed an opinion as to why he did this? Had he displayed violent tendencies before, or other behaviour to suggest that he was dangerous?’ Thóra was very keen to avoid allowing the conversation to get too general. If she allowed it to stray off the main subject, it would deteriorate into a monologue on the woman’s pet topics, which were of little interest to Thóra.
‘He wasn’t outwardly violent, perhaps, but he was angry and scared and completely opposed to any changes in his circumstances. Almost all the other residents were delighted with the care they received, but he was the odd one out.’
‘It’s my understanding that his mother was completely opposed to him moving there. Maybe that was the reason for his unhappiness?’ Perhaps there was more to it; something that Jakob’s mother didn’t know or wished to hide. ‘Yes, true. He was unhappy about having to move but he wasn’t given the chance to express his opinion. In the end he would have been just as satisfied as the others, once he realized how much better it was to be out from under the protective wing of his mother.’
‘Weren’t there a lot of people wanting to move into the residence? Why was so much pressure put on his mother to admit him?’
Glódís ran her hand through her two-toned hair. ‘I don’t see what difference that makes. Are you trying to say we’re responsible? That this would never have happened if he’d been allowed to continue living at home?’
‘No, that’s not what I meant.’ Thóra kept her composure, telling herself not to rise to any provocation. ‘My intention is to demonstrate that he had nothing to do with the fire. If this turns out to be the case, it certainly matters where he was living.’ She allowed Glódís a moment to consider this and saw her tense shoulders relax slightly. ‘From the little interaction that you say you had with Jakob, do you think it’s possible that he took this desperate measure to get what he wanted? That he perhaps considered it the only way for him to return to his own home, by burning the place to the ground?’
‘I don’t know.’ Glódís was clearly being cautious. By far the best response, of course, was to say as little as possible. ‘My dealings with him were limited and I decided not to burden myself by going through the case any more than my job dictated was necessary. The whole thing hit me very hard; as director of the centre it caused me enormous professional shock.’ She hurriedly added: ‘As well as emotional shock, of course. I’d known many of those young people for a long time. The most disabled ones had been regular visitors at a short-term community residence for children where I worked for many years. You form relationships with your clients, even though you’re paid to supervise them.’
Thóra nodded, her expression sympathetic. ‘Naturally.’ She smiled warmly at the woman. ‘Then you’d probably agree with me that it’s important for us to remove all doubt as to who the guilty party is? I’m sure you wouldn’t want the criminal to be walking free while an innocent man is locked up.’
‘Of course not.’ Once again the woman clamped her lips shut, this time until they nearly disappeared.
‘If we let ourselves believe for a moment that Jakob is innocent, could you imagine who else might have done it? I’m not thinking exclusively about the residents; what about an outsider or a disgruntled employee who felt he had a score to settle?’
Thóra had to give Glódís her due: she did appear to think this over before she replied. As she opened her mouth, her lips turned from white to pink again as circulation was restored. ‘I must insist that I believe Jakob started the fire. Just so we’re clear on that.’ She hesitated before continuing: ‘The young men and women who died that night weren’t like ordinary people, who might have someone who wished them harm for whatever reason. They hurt no one and offended no one, except perhaps the kind of bigots who can’t tolerate anyone different from themselves. In other words, they had no enemies; there’s no list of people who bore grudges against them.’
Thóra decided to wait a little before dragging the pregnancy into the conversation, although she greatly longed to throw it in the face of this rather rude woman. She feared it would be difficult to pursue the subject, and that the conversation might end there and then. ‘Fine. What about their families, though? It’s not unheard-of for a relative to resort to drastic measures when things get tough, and might it not be conceivable that one of them started the fire so as not to have to witness his or her child suffering? Perhaps someone who might even have been breaking down under the strain and not had the strength to care for their loved one any longer? Unemployment and uncertainty sap some people of all their strength; maybe this was an act of desperation on the part of someone who had lost all hope and wasn’t in his or her right mind?’
‘It sounds as if you’re describing Jakob.’ The woman smiled for the first time, but it was a smile completely devoid of joy, and full of spite and sarcasm. ‘He meets both criteria. Dashed hopes, not in his right mind.’
Thóra ignored this remark. ‘So all of your employees were happy at work and had no complaints?’ She paused to allow Glódís to digest this. ‘That must be rather unusual.’
‘I will neither discuss individual employees with you, nor the group as a whole. None of them has anything to do with this; they chose to do a selfless job on low wages because they wanted to do good. They would never have hurt those whom they had under their dedicated care.’
‘It wouldn’t be without precedent,’ said Thóra cautiously. ‘But you mustn’t take it the wrong way when I ask. I’m not just fishing for information, and I’m not accusing your employees or anyone else. I’m simply trying to exclude as many people as possible so that I can use my time on what matters.’ Then Thóra let the bomb drop. ‘For instance, finding the person who made Lísa Finnbjörnsdóttir pregnant. It must have been important for someone to cover that up.’
The woman paled. ‘What do you mean?’ There was no doubt that she knew precisely what Thóra meant.
‘Surely it must have been obvious to you that this young woman in your care was expecting a baby?’ Thóra pressed on, striking while the iron was hot. ‘The only thing I need to know is who the father was, and whether the child was conceived with her consent.’
After a short silence Glódís spoke up again. Clearly she wasn’t about to be intimidated. ‘I don’t know who he was.’ Instead of spinning a story about not having known, she seemed to want to address the issue openly. This was shrewd of her, since it must have been clear that Thóra wasn’t going to give up, but would keep returning until she was able to speak to someone who could provide her with answers. It would be much better if this per
son was Glódís and not her immediate superior, or even the person one rung further up. She’d be wise to tie up this unpleasant discussion while she could. ‘That was another terrible shock; it caught me completely by surprise when I was informed of the autopsy results. I swear that I thought it must be some kind of mistake.’
‘But then?’ pressed Thóra. ‘You must have carried out some sort of internal investigation of the matter. Her parents at least must have demanded that much.’
‘Obviously, they were distraught when it came to light. And although they were too upset by her death to pursue it very rigorously, of course they asked a lot of questions about it. We did everything we possibly could to get to the bottom of it, but without success. None of the employees we spoke to had any idea how it could have happened on their watch, and it’s hard to understand how such a thing could have taken place without them noticing. In the daytime there are at least three staff members on duty and the rooms are always open. Apart from the permanent employees, there are also nurses’ assistants and developmental therapists who aren’t there all the time but still spend hours on the premises. I just don’t see how it could have happened.’
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 8
