She stopped abruptly but didn’t turn round. Her voice was cold. ‘Adolf,’ she said. ‘Your daughter is now on a secure ward, after hurting herself so badly that she can’t be trusted to be left alone. If you could speak to the doctor, that would be great; if not, then that’s how it’ll have to be. His name is Dr Ferdinand Jonsson. Perhaps you can tell him who this “Alda” woman is that Tinna’s constantly talking about. I don’t know anyone by that name, so I expect it’s one of your girlfriends.’
‘What does she know about Alda?’ asked Adolf, scarcely recognizing his own voice. ‘She’s not supposed to know anything about Alda.’
‘I have no idea who she is,’ replied the mother of his child sadly. ‘If Tinna knows her, then it must be through you. She’s obsessed with her, and goes on and on about how she knows who was at her house.’ Now she turned to him. ‘I expect she means you, but she’s on so many drugs that it’s hard to understand her.’ She turned back round and grabbed the door handle.
Adolf paused for a moment to regain his composure. He tried to tell himself that he needn’t worry about this, he could persuade the girl to stop mentioning Alda. He would tell her that it could look very bad for him, and she should remember that he was her father. She would understand that. Now he had one other thing to worry about.
‘What happened to Tinna?’ he asked. It must be something very bad, he could feel it as he stared at her mother’s tense back.
The woman’s shoulders drooped, but she didn’t turn round. ‘Tinna was found cutting herself.’
Adolf didn’t understand. ‘Cutting herself? A suicide attempt?’
‘No,’ she replied, her tone defeated. ‘She was trying to eat her own flesh. She thought she’d already ingested the calories in it, so they didn’t count.’ Now she could hardly speak through her sobs. ‘As if there were any flesh on her.’
Abruptly she straightened up, opened the door, walked out and shut it behind her. Adolf stood there open-mouthed, too shocked to run after her. Tinna was obviously more seriously ill than he’d thought. He cursed himself for not even having asked the name of the other disease she was thought to have, besides anorexia. Now he knew which of them was the fool.
Chapter Thirty-one
Sunday 22 July2007
Thóra said goodbye and put down the phone. ‘Well?’ asked Bella impatiently.
‘I don’t know if he was telling the truth or if he’s still hiding something from me,’ grumbled Thóra. ‘He might even be out and out lying to me.’ She had got Kjartan’s telephone number from the harbour-master’s office and called in the hope of finding out more about the alcohol case and seeing if he had anything to say about the pool of blood. ‘After a long argument he admitted having been a suspect in the smuggling case, and I’m fairly certain that he did play a part in it even though he hasn’t admitted it.’
‘And this Dadi Horseshoe?’ said Bella. ‘Did Kjartan say he was guilty?’
‘Yes, he even gave a little speech about it,’ said Thóra, staring at her phone in exasperation. ‘According to Kjartan, Dadi was the kingpin in the smuggling operation, which had actually been going on for quite some time. Dadi was in contact with a couple of sailors on a cargo ship that sailed past here regularly. They would throw the liquor overboard, attached to an anchor line, and it would float there until Dadi came to pick it up in a little rowing boat. When the Cod War started it got harder, since the fishing grounds and the surrounding area were supervised so closely. That’s how it was uncovered, according to Kjartan. He was seen fishing up the containers and sailing away with the unidentified contents. He wasn’t actually caught red-handed with the liquor, but the police in the Islands were notified of his mysterious trip and Gudni’s investigation exposed it.’
‘And what was Kjartan’s part in it supposed to have been?’ asked Bella.
‘As I told you, he denied any involvement; but he did tell me what he’d been suspected of. The police thought he was the one taking any spirits that didn’t sell in the Islands over to the mainland. At the time he was working on a coastal ship for the State Shipping Company.’
‘That’s a sensible division of labour,’ said Bella, nodding in approval.
Thóra didn’t respond. ‘He said the case fell apart: first the eruption halted the investigation in its tracks, then Magnus turned up at the police station and admitted everything.’
‘Maybe he was the only one involved,’ Bella said. ‘He didn’t want his innocent friends to take the blame.’
‘Kjartan said it was absolutely out of the question that Magnus had anything to do with the smuggling,’ said Thóra. ‘I completely believe him about this part, because I think he, Kjartan I mean, was tangled up in it. He said he was amazed when this story started going around. But he hadn’t had the chance to talk to Magnus or ask what he’d confessed, because the night after Magnus took the blame the volcano blew its top. When they met during the rescue operations a short time later, no one discussed it in the hope that it would simply blow over, which is in fact what happened.’
‘But surely Magnus was up to his neck in it?’ frowned Bella. ‘Firstly, no one does something like that for his friends - I don’t care what anyone says. Secondly, we know he sneaked down to the harbour with Dadi Horseshoe in the middle of the night, which must have had something to do with the smuggling.’
‘If Kjartan’s telling the truth, then it’s out of the question. Magnus had his hands full keeping the company going, and he wouldn’t have had the time or desire to complicate his life.’
‘So what did Kjartan say about the blood?’
‘Nothing much,’ said Thóra. ‘He said he’d heard the story about Dadi and Magnus being down at the pier that night, but knew nothing about the pool of blood. Or about the British fishing smack.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I hope I can get something out of Magnus.’
‘Do you really think he’ll tell you anything?’
‘I don’t know. But I do know he’s one of the only people left alive who know what happened, although it’s clearly impossible to tell how much of it is still in his memory.’
‘If I’d murdered four people, I’d forget everything but that,’ said Bella. ‘I’d forget everything about work, everyone at the office, but never that.’
Thóra smiled. ‘Hopefully you’re right,’ she said, crossing her fingers. ‘We’ll see.’
Magnus was staring fixedly at the compass Thóra had brought with her. The old books lay in a little pile on a table next to him, but he’d showed no interest in them. His veiny hands gripped the arms of the easy chair tightly. ‘Why?’ he asked suddenly. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the compass, so it was unclear who should answer the question. Thóra glanced sideways at Maria, who simply shrugged her shoulders. Thóra placed her hand on Magnus’s grey paw and was startled at how cold and bony it was. ‘Aren’t you happy to have the compass back? I found it in the basement.’
The man jerked his head up and glowered at Thóra. ‘Why?’
She didn’t know what to say. ‘As far as I knew, you regretted having left it behind during the eruption,’ she said, avoiding his glare. ‘Isn’t that good?’
The old man looked down into his lap and shook his head, his expression melancholy. ‘You’ve grown old, Sigridur,’ he said. ‘You were just a little girl.’
‘Like Alda?’ asked Thóra. She doubted the name Sigridur was significant, since Leifur had told her his father was confusing her with his sister.
‘Poor Alda,’ said Magnus, still shaking his head. ‘That was ugly.’
‘What was ugly?’ asked Thóra. ‘I’ve forgotten what happened.’ As soon as she’d said it she realized it was a mistake. The man squinted at her and appeared to become confused. Maria came to the rescue. ‘Are you cold, Maggi dear?’ she said good-naturedly, and he calmed down at the sound of her voice. ‘I’ll fix your blanket,’ she said, standing up to pull it over his legs. ‘There now.’ She patted his knee. ‘Be good for Thóra now. She’s helping your son, Markus.’
‘Markus loves Alda,’ said the old man, nodding happily. ‘She’s a good girl.’ Then his face darkened. ‘Ruined.’
‘Ruined?’ exclaimed Thóra. She added, more calmly: ‘What happened to her? Did she hurt herself?’
‘Ruined,’ he repeated. ‘The sacrifice.’ He stared hard at the compass and frowned. ‘Disgusting. Take it away.’
Thóra had to refrain from shaking the man by the shoulders as she put the compass away. Damn it, he had the information she needed. She wondered if it were possible to hypnotize an Alzheimer’s patient. ‘Alda is dead, Magnus,’ she said. ‘If I’m going to help Markus, I need to know what happened to her.’
‘Markus,’ said Magnus, turning to look out of the window. ‘Markus loves Alda.’ He dropped his head again.
‘I know,’ said Thóra, reaching for the roughly made purse Bella had found, full of coins that appeared to be gold. ‘You see what I’ve got here?’ she asked, showing him the purse. ‘The coins you were looking for.’ He tried to turn his head away, clearly reluctant to look at it. She opened the purse and showed him the contents. ‘Gold, Magnus,’ she said. ‘Gold coins.’ Suddenly he lashed out at the purse, making Thóra lose her grip. The coins scattered everywhere. Several landed in his lap and he reacted as if they were made of burning lava, trembling all over, crying out and trying to shake them off.
Maria jumped to her feet and tried her best to calm him down. Together they managed to remove the coins. Magnus relaxed a little. ‘Blood,’ he said. ‘Blood money.’
‘Blood?’ asked Thóra, knowing her time here was running out. ‘Did someone die, Magnus? Did four men die?’
He sat still and looked at her, his expression cruel. ‘They were evil men, Sigridur.’
‘Evil men,’ he said again, trying to stand. ‘The falcon is a beautiful bird,’ he added. ‘Not like the cuckoo.’ His face had softened and the dullness seemed to be returning to his eyes. ‘It doesn’t hatch its own eggs,’ he said. ‘Other birds do. Remember that.’
Thóra promised she would. First a falcon, now a cuckoo. Perfect. Still, at least it seemed clear that Magnus had some connection to the old murders. One step forward, two steps back.
Chapter Thirty-two
Monday 23 July2007
Time was going by faster than Thóra would have liked. As usual she was worried that she wouldn’t make it home in time to prepare dinner. Her stress was exacerbated by the conviction that each passing minute increased the likelihood of Markus’s custody period being prolonged by police request. She was in her office waiting for a call from Detective Stefán, who would inform her of their decision about tomorrow’s hearing. She should have had the call by now. She hoped the decision had been delayed because the police were still scrutinizing the evidence that had come to light since Markus was locked up, and had found something that implicated others besides him. Of course, it could be exactly the opposite scenario; the police couldn’t call her because they were too busy putting together all the evidence against Markus. The uncertainty made her uncomfortable, and Thóra didn’t know how to occupy her time. She was reluctant to use the time for phone calls, in case Stefán called then didn’t have time to call back. She knew she was being silly, but she didn’t want to use her phone. So she sat restlessly at her computer. She knew she should be going over the countless details of the case, but she couldn’t concentrate on any of them. The minutes ticked by. To make matters worse, she hadn’t been able to make use of her time aboard the ferry from the Islands. Her mobile phone had cut out several miles from shore and didn’t regain a signal until just outside Thórlakshofn. So she had been unable to continue her quest to tie up this case’s innumerable loose ends. Instead, she’d been forced to listen to Bella talk about the guy she’d met the night before. If Thóra hadn’t known Matthew would soon be on his way to Iceland, she would have thrown herself overboard from the shame of Bella having a better sex life than hers.
The familiar opening notes of ‘Happy Birthday’ rang out from her mobile, and Thóra quickly answered. Sóley had changed the ring tone on her birthday, and although she found it a bit cheesy she couldn’t bring herself to change it, since Sóley was so pleased with it. Thóra didn’t recognize the number and she crossed her fingers that it would be Stefán. It turned out to be Markus’s son, eager for an update. She ran through recent developments for him, and promised to get in touch as soon as she knew more. The boy sounded nervous and mumbled something about his father probably having to stay in prison. Thóra repeated that she would have to let him know, and felt bad for disappointing the poor boy. Things weren’t going well for him, and she hoped for his sake that next time she called him it would be with good news.
Thóra went online to check whether anything was being reported on the news websites. You never knew, perhaps the media would get the news before her. This turned out not to be the case. The only report she found stated briefly that it was still unclear whether an extension of Markus Magnusson’s custody period would be requested before it expired tomorrow. Thóra gave up and decided to call Stefán, so that she could stop wondering when he would call her and get on with something else.
‘We’re going to request two more weeks of confinement based on his being party to the murders of the men in the basement,’ replied Stefán brusquely. ‘The decision will be made before two p.m. tomorrow.’
Thóra stifled a sigh, not wanting to betray her disappointment. ‘But is he no longer a suspect in Alda’s death?’ she asked hopefully. Even that would be some progress.
‘Given the estate agent’s statement and the evidence that backs him up, not to mention the information that has recently come to our attention, we no longer consider Markus to have had a hand in that.’
Stefán’s tone made it clear that he disagreed with this position. He was just as convinced of Markus’s guilt as before, but the police department’s lawyer had probably made the decision and informed him that there was no way to corroborate his suspicions. It seemed clear to Thóra that the new information Stefán had mentioned had come from the plastic surgeon, Dís. According to Bragi, after their meeting he and Dís had gone together to the police station, where the doctor had told the police some facts pertinent to the investigation.
‘What information was this?’
‘As your client is no longer a suspect in Alda’s case, that is none of your business,’ said Stefán. ‘Now he’s only a suspect in the small matter of the bodies found on the Islands.’
‘Do you mean you’re going to overlook what I found out about them?’ snapped Thóra.
‘We don’t see that these details of yours make much of a difference,’ said Stefán. ‘We’d already received information about some of them from Gudni, including the mysterious pool of blood. Even if Markus’s father was involved, that doesn’t preclude Markus playing his own part in it.’
‘I don’t understand your reasoning,’ said Thóra, feeling her spirits start to sink. ‘There’s no indication that Markus isn’t telling the truth about the head in the box, and what little evidence has come to light seems to point to other people.’
‘Your man is involved in the case, whether you like it or not.’
‘Do you even know who the dead men were? Even if you’re in no hurry, it’s in my client’s interests that the case be resolved quickly.’
‘Yes,’ said Stefán, without appearing to register Thóra’s jibe. ‘They were the crew of a boat that disappeared off the coast of Iceland in January 1973. We sent X-rays of the teeth abroad and all the men have been identified.’
‘What?’ said Thóra. She recalled what she had read about two shipwrecks in Our Century, one with a crew of Icelanders and Faroese and the other a crew of four British men, one of whom had been found. She had ruled out both incidents, since they didn’t seem to fit. ‘Which boat was it, and when did it sink?’ she asked.
‘I see no harm in telling you that,’ said Stefán, and she heard him rustling some papers. ‘It was a fishing smack nam
ed the Cuckoo, and it was seen last on the eighteenth of January 1973 off the south coast.’
Thóra sat silently, her mind reeling. Magnus had mentioned a cuckoo but she had not made the connection, the vessel’s name from the Our Century article forgotten. ‘I read an old news report about it,’ she said. ‘It said the body of one of the four-man crew had washed up on shore, along with some other wreckage. If the bodies in the basement are the rest of the crew, then this begs the question: who did the head belong to?’ Could it be that there was no connection between the three bodies and the head in the box after all?
‘There’s no doubt about who the fourth man in the basement was,’ said Stefán. ‘Body parts were washed ashore, among them a torso. Its head was missing, and it was thought at the time that it had been torn off by the force of the wreck. The body was in terrible condition and it was missing more than just the head: an arm was gone, and also the body part that was found along with the head.’ He cleared his throat. ‘That is to say, in its mouth.’
Thóra knew which body part he meant. She was struggling to understand what this new information meant for Markus. The crew had vanished before the eruption, while he was still in the Islands. But she couldn’t see how Stefán and his colleagues would prove any link between them and Markus. This must have been the boat that stopped at the Islands on the night Markus was at the school dance, then at home in a drunken stupor. ‘Did these men have any connection to alcohol smuggling?’ she asked.
Stefán hesitated. ‘Yes… you could say smuggling plays a part in this story,’ he said. ‘How did you know?’ She told him about the alcohol smuggling case, and her suspicion that it was connected to the murders. She also mentioned that she’d already told Inspector Gudni Leifsson about it. Stefán, however, didn’t appear to think this significant. ‘No, it didn’t have anything to do with liquor smuggling,’ he said. ‘These men were stealing birds, and searching for nesting sites before the spring.’
Ashes to Dust Page 33
