‘No one was angry when she was hurting …’ he tailed off.
‘Are you talking about Glódís? Who did she hurt?’ Thóra hoped that it was only the director that Jakob had beaten. With the bite on Ari’s upper arm, that made two assaults, which was two too many. She’d seen Glódís’s testimony about this incident the second time she’d looked through the court documents, but had hoped that it was an exaggeration or a misunderstanding, that Jakob hadn’t intended to hurt the woman. It appeared that wasn’t the case.
‘She hurt … a lot. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Did she hurt you? Was that why you hit her?’
‘No, she took the picture that Tryggvi gave me. It was mine but she took it from me and said that I couldn’t have it. I got angry and hit her with the broom. She deserved it. You can’t take what belongs to other people. That’s stealing.’
Thóra hurried to speak before Grímheiður chipped in with some motherly guidance and reprimanded her son for this long-past deed. ‘Did you get the picture back? What was it of?’ Perhaps Jakob had nicked a report or some other document from Tryggvi’s apartment; according to the descriptions given of him in the court papers, Tryggvi hadn’t communicated with other people.
‘Glódís never let me have it back. And I wanted to have it, it was a picture of a man shouting. And letters that I didn’t understand.’
‘Did Tryggvi give you the picture? Did he say anything to you?’
‘No, he just handed it to me. That’s just as much giving as if he’d said something. He couldn’t talk.’
This conversation appeared to be leading nowhere. Jakob’s attack on Glódís had apparently been prompted by frustration and irritation at the injustice that he thought he’d been done; first he’d been deprived of his home, and then his picture. ‘So Tryggvi was your friend. That’s nice.’
‘Poor Tryggvi.’ Jakob shut his eyes tightly and murmured something incomprehensible. Then he opened them wide again and stared at Thóra. ‘Look at me. Look at me.’
Thóra, who had hardly taken her eyes off him since he came in, held his gaze. ‘I’m looking, Jakob. Did you want to tell me something?’ The young man’s energy suddenly flagged and he seemed to go limp in his chair.
‘I want cake.’ His tone was a classic child’s whine. ‘I’m not answering any more questions.’
‘Just a little longer, Jakob. Then you can have cake.’ Thóra hoped she was right. She had no idea what rules they had about eating here; there could very well be a ban on eating between meals. She hoped not. ‘Who do you think set the centre on fire, Jakob? You can tell me and I won’t tell anyone. It would help me so much if you told me what you think, because you knew everyone.’ There was no need for her to put so much effort into this question, because the answer came immediately and categorically.
It was just a pity that it couldn’t be taken seriously. ‘It was an angel. An angel with a halo. A broken halo.’
‘Did you know this angel?’ Thóra hoped that he simply meant a good person, maybe someone he’d had a good experi-ence of.
‘No, I don’t know any angels. They all belong to God.’
‘If an angel set the residence on fire, then it wasn’t an angel from God.’ Thóra shook her head to make this clear to him. ‘Angels are good and those who are good don’t start fires and hurt people. How do you know it was an angel? Did it tell you that?’
‘No, I just know it was. I almost saw it completely and it was completely good. It wanted to make people stop crying.’ Despite the confusion about this character, Thóra was finally on track. Perhaps Jakob had seen who was responsible after all – if there was any truth to his words. ‘And what was the angel doing when you saw it?’
‘It was walking. With a suitcase. In my room. There was a bad smell, then it left.’
‘Where did it go, Jakob? Did it go up to heaven?’ Thóra wanted to know how crazy this story was. If he replied that the angel had ascended to God, it would be very difficult to take his story seriously. If not, there was a good chance that the glow from the fire or another illusion had caused the arsonist to appear to Jakob, in his drowsy state, to be an angel. Perhaps the suitcase had been the petrol can, for instance.
‘It just went. To the others.’ Jakob suddenly leaned over to his mother. ‘Then it got incredibly hot.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the police about this, Jakob? Then they could have punished the angel instead of you. They think you started the fire.’
‘I told them about the angel but they didn’t want to hear about it. They said I mustn’t lie.’
‘Wasn’t anyone nice to you when you were talking to the police?’ Thóra knew a therapist had been present during the interrogations, the transcripts of which she’d skimmed over, though she didn’t remember the person’s name. Of course, it could be that this angel story had come out in an interrogation that hadn’t been recorded, in which case the investigation couldn’t exactly be considered exhaustive.
‘No one was nice. Not once. They were all so angry with me.’ He shut his eyes and burrowed his head into his mother’s shoulder. Grímheiður’s face was awash with grief; going over the story again was clearly taking it out of her.
‘Were there only policemen with you?’
‘I don’t want to talk about this. I want to go home.’ Jakob didn’t open his eyes, and instead pressed closer to his mother, which pushed her head completely to the side.
‘Maybe you’ll get to go home, Jakob, if you keep being so helpful. I think you’re doing a very good job talking to me and I’m sure you’ll get some cake soon.’ She decided to leave further discussion of the interrogation for a better time. She still had to go through the files Ari had given her and the interrogation about the angel might be in there somewhere. ‘Was the suitcase green? Green like grass?’
‘I know exactly what colour green is,’ Jakob replied crossly, straightening up. His mother’s head immediately sprang back into its proper position. ‘But I don’t remember. It was so dark.’
‘But was it really big, or just like this?’ Thóra held her hands out to what she thought was the right size for a petrol can.
‘Like this. Not huge.’ He suddenly grinned broadly. ‘Mummy and I went to Spain once and we bought a suitcase. It was huge – like this, see.’ Now it was his turn to hold out his hands and he stretched them out as far as he could without falling off his chair. His poor mother – if Jakob was right about the size, the bag could have fitted both of them in and a few more people besides. Thóra sighed. If this was an indication of how many errors the young man’s statements might contain, he would never be a great witness.
‘Jakob. Tell me one thing. You must promise to be completely honest. Cross your heart.’ Thóra traced a cross over her heart, and he followed her example. ‘Did you set the residence on fire, maybe by accident?’ He shook his head. ‘Did you have a lighter or matches, or did you find any in the home?’ He shook his head again. ‘You’re not fibbing?’
Jakob shook his head a third time and now with such force that his hair stood out as he did so. ‘No. No. No. No. I was afraid of the angel and I left. I didn’t want him to take me with him to heaven. I wanted to go to Mummy.’
‘But did you take the suitcase with you?’
Jakob hesitated and looked at his mother. She continued to stroke his hand. ‘Just tell the truth, darling. You remember, the true stories are always the best ones.’
‘I took it. The angel had lost it and I didn’t want the fire to damage it. God might get angry at the angel and that wouldn’t be good. I put it outside so it wouldn’t burn.’
Bingo. Thóra believed him, despite all this talk of divine beings and other peculiarities in his story. ‘Good, Jakob. Thank you.’ She smiled at him and he returned the smile faintly, his slanted eyes crinkling above his chubby cheeks. ‘Did you hear the angel say anything, Jakob? To you or anyone else?’
‘No, but I couldn’t hear very well. There were so many people screaming
and then there was an explosion. I think the angel left because of all the noise. Angels don’t like noise very much. That’s why it wanted to take people to heaven. They always cry so much on Earth.’
Thóra and Matthew stood in the corridor. She was happy with the outcome of the meeting. After asking Jakob about life in the centre but not learning anything new, they’d left the sitting room to give mother and son some time alone before the three of them had to return to town. No doubt all the things he’d told her had already been recorded in the case files and in court, but now that she’d spoken to him in person she believed his story, even if it was childishly expressed. The verdict had stated that Jakob’s explanations were far-fetched and were found to be in accordance with his impaired intellect, but it had not gone into any more detail. Was it somehow beneath the dignity of the court to put his full testimony in print? Obviously people were only allowed to spout bullshit if they were considered to be of sound mind. Thóra had read plenty of testimonies made by people who seemed hardly any more advanced intellectually, even if they were considered to be better connected to reality. ‘I’m certain he’s innocent, but I’m well aware that that isn’t enough to get the court to reopen the case. We need more, and not just the truth about what happened with this pregnant girl.’
‘Well …’ Matthew didn’t appear as convinced as she was. ‘You know, you’re pretty impressionable, Thóra. I understood most of what he said, but I wouldn’t trust myself to make a judgement of guilt or innocence if I only had his statements to go on.’
‘No, but I think I trust myself. You don’t raise two and a half children without learning a few things; I know how kids lie. Jakob is simply a big child, and I had the feeling that he was answering honestly. He might be confused, but he’s honest.’
‘He’s an adult, Thóra. A man. Not a child, even if he is intellectually impaired. Don’t forget that. Your children certainly weren’t lashing out with broom handles or biting chunks out of people.’ Thóra had no answer to this. Once Gylfi had pushed his friend out of a swing at preschool, and Sóley had pulled a girl’s hair in a supermarket, but there had been no other violent incidents. And Gylfi’s son Orri had never hurt a fly. Matthew was right, developmentally impaired adults were not children.
The man who’d brought Jakob and his mother raisin cakes when Thóra and Matthew had left the room reappeared. With him was Jósteinn, and Thóra felt the hair rise on her arms. ‘Jósteinn heard that you were here and he wanted to have a few words with you. I understand you’re doing some work for him, and you’ve already met. Is that all right with you?’ Thóra didn’t quite see how she could say no with Jósteinn staring over the staff member’s shoulder, so she said yes and the man left them standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor. ‘I’ll be in earshot if you need me,’ he said before leaving.
‘I’m so pleased that you took on this case.’ Jósteinn smiled. He seemed to be staring at Thóra’s stomach. ‘So pleased.’ His sour-smelling breath nearly made her gag, and she stepped back involuntarily, hitting the back of her head against the wall.
‘Yes, well, I don’t know yet whether it will have the intended result, but I believe there’s reason to continue.’ Her head hurt so much that she felt like crying. ‘Actually, I feel I must inform you that due to your and Jakob’s special circumstances, there’s a limit to how much I can update you on the progress of the case. Many elements of what I find out will remain confidential between me, Jakob and his mother. That’s non-negotiable.’
Jósteinn smiled, revealing his yellow teeth. His gaze had shifted to her arm now. ‘I wouldn’t suggest anything different.’
‘How can I get a budget to you? It would be best for you to approve it before we go any further. I can also send you a breakdown of the time that’s already been spent on the investigation. Do you have an e-mail account, or access to a fax machine?’
A dry rattle that was probably meant to be laughter emerged from Jósteinn’s throat, and again his bad breath overwhelmed her. ‘No chance. We don’t have Internet or phone access. You’ll have to ask them out front whether you can send a fax to me via the office. I think they could manage to waste one single sheet of paper on me.’
Thóra didn’t like his sarcastic tone, or anything else about him. Once again he had too much gel in his hair. He really seemed to have gone to town with it. ‘OK, I’ll get them to agree to that.’ Thóra hoped his isolation from the outside world didn’t apply to banking matters. Perhaps he couldn’t pay her after all; maybe he had never even intended to do so.
As if Jósteinn had read her thoughts, he announced, ‘I’ll get my supervisor to sort out all the payments, although that might not be within his official remit.’ He pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Thóra. ‘This is his name and phone number. You can call him when you want to get paid.’ He smiled again, now with his eyes closed. ‘Or to reassure yourself that I have enough money.’
Thóra looked at the handwritten details. Each letter was drawn with great care and it looked as if Jósteinn had used an old-fashioned fountain pen. But she wouldn’t need to keep the piece of paper because she was very familiar with the name, and even the number. Ari Gunnarsson. What a strange coincidence.
Chapter 10
Sunday, 10 January 2010
‘I hope Grandma and Grandpa will always be with us.’ Sóley grinned happily and put down her toast, which was sagging beneath the weight of the jam slathered on it. ‘It’s much nicer having them in the garage, instead of a load of old boxes.’
Thóra returned her daughter’s smile as she took the last plate from the dishwasher. The machine had been in constant use, apart from at the dead of night, since her parents had moved in the previous evening. Once the household was at full capacity the washing machine would be going every waking hour as well. ‘Yes, it’s a nice change, isn’t it?’
‘Orri speeterman!’ Three members of the household were awake: Thóra, Sóley and Thóra’s grandson, who was two and a half. Ever since someone had given him a Spiderman T-shirt, he thought he was a superhero. The boy still had some way to go before he could be considered a great orator, but he was starting to speak more.
Sóley opened her mouth to correct her nephew, but stopped and took a bite of toast instead. ‘Oh, yeah. You need to help me find a costume. It’s Kolla’s birthday tomorrow and we’re supposed to wear fancy dress.’ It was doubtful that many people besides her mother would have understood her with her mouth full.
‘When’s the party?’ Thóra knew it had to be today or tomorrow; Sóley had made it her speciality to let her mother know about such things with the smallest possible amount of notice.
‘Later today.’ Sóley swallowed her huge mouthful dramatically.
Although Thóra was sorely tempted to suggest that she go as the Invisible Man, with her costume being that she didn’t turn up, she decided not to. ‘Maybe Grandma and Grandpa can help you.’
Sóley agreed to this, beaming. ‘When is everyone going to wake up, anyway? I think they’ve slept long enough.’
‘Everyone’s tired after last night. We’ll just let them sleep.’ All working together, Thóra and Matthew, her parents, Thóra’s son Gylfi and his girlfriend Sigga had made space in the garage and set up a bed and other essentials for the newest members of the household. While they worked, Sóley had looked after Orri; but the toddler had kept trying to help with the move, which was met with limited enthusiasm by the movers. The garage had been crammed with stuff, and they hadn’t had time to sort through everything that had been shoved in there. Instead, some of it had been put in the basement and the rest out in the shed in the garden. The shed hadn’t been used much up to that point, but now it couldn’t hold another thing. ‘They’ll be up before we know it, demanding coffee and cakes.’
‘Speeterman.’ Orri looked down at his chest, enraptured by the costumed man on his shirt. His breakfast lay untouched on the table in front of him, since he couldn’t take his eyes off the superhero for
long enough to eat.
‘Spi-der-man, not speeterman.’ Sóley had finally tired of the endless repetition. ‘He’s called Spi-der-man.’
‘Speeterman.’ Orri neither looked away from the image nor let his language coach distract him.
‘Why can’t he talk better, Mum?’ Sóley’s frustration didn’t surprise Thóra; her daughter had long been comparing Orri to her best friend’s sister, who was the same age, and the little boy was far behind her in terms of language development.
‘He can say quite a few other things, so don’t worry about it. He’ll be chattering away before you know it, and then you’ll miss the time when he hardly said anything.’ Sóley obviously disagreed with this, so Thóra quickly changed the subject. ‘Did you feed Mjása this morning?’ Unexpectedly, the family cat hadn’t shown itself when Thóra came into the kitchen; usually it was the very first one to demand food in the morning, and feeding it was how she started most of her days.
Sóley nodded and swallowed the last bite of toast. ‘She couldn’t wait for you. I think she was dying of hunger.’
‘As always.’ The cat ate several times a day and didn’t appear any the worse for it, since despite its apparently bottomless appetite, it always stayed quite slim. If it was indoors and someone so much as walked past the kitchen it would be there, mewing pitifully in the hope of getting fed. ‘It wouldn’t have wanted to wait for sleepy old me.’ Thóra hadn’t been able to find her mobile phone when they were all finally able to go to bed, and she hadn’t felt like calling it to locate it. As a result, she hadn’t set an alarm and had slept late. Now she caught a glimpse of the phone under a crumpled tea towel on the kitchen sideboard. She reached for it and saw that while she was sleeping she’d missed a phone call, and received a text. That was unusual. No one ever called her at night nowadays; the time when she could expect messages from tipsy girlfriends downtown, telling her about late-night parties was long gone, and although she recalled those days fondly, she didn’t miss them. Perhaps the same wasn’t true of one of her girlfriends, who simply had to tell Thóra about some cute man she’d just met. The screen said Number withheld when Thóra tried to view the details of the call. She could see that it had been around three o’clock, long after she’d vanished into dreamland. The text had come five minutes later. It was sent from ja.is, which meant that there was no way of knowing whether it was from the same person as the missed call, although that seemed likely. If so, the person in question had been at a computer or accessed the Internet through their phone. Several of her friends had smartphones that they bragged about at every conceivable – and inconceivable – opportunity. She opened the text, though she thought she could guess what was in it: Leave your man at home and come to the party or Guess who I went home with? In fact the only thing that she couldn’t predict was how many smiley faces would follow the message.
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