Ashes to Dust

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Tinna pushed the red button and waited impatiently for the nurse to come. Why was it taking so long? The hospital corridors were short. It shouldn’t take more than a few seconds. Maybe no one cared about her. What am I going to do with you, Tinna? Her mother’s words echoed in her head. Maybe she had decided to leave Tinna here, and told the people at the hospital not to bother with her. Tinna’s breathing was irregular and she felt queasy. The door opened and a woman in the too-familiar white uniform appeared. What if this one was foreign? Or deaf?

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked the woman in Icelandic, coming over to the bedside. Tinna relaxed a little.

  ‘I need to talk to my mother,’ she replied. Her voice sounded whiny, although she hadn’t intended it to come out that way. ‘Now.’

  ‘Your mother is coming tonight,’ said the nurse, leaning over the bed. She lifted one of Tinna’s eyelids and stared into her eye. ‘Are you feeling okay?’ We know best.

  ‘I want to talk to my mother. I need to tell her about the man. No one knows about this man but me.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the nurse. ‘We know about that.’ She’s pathetic. We know best. ‘I think it’s time for your medicine, dear. You’ll feel better afterwards.’ She turned and walked towards the door.

  ‘I need to talk to my mother. I know his name and everything.’ The nurse did not react. She quickly returned and put four white tablets in Tinna’s mouth, lifting her head from the pillow and pressing the glass of water to her lips. She poured the cold liquid in and held Tinna’s chin until she was certain that the girl had swallowed everything. Tinna coughed weakly as the last mouthful of water got caught in her throat. ‘We can find out what his name is. The note fell out.’

  ‘All right, sweetheart,’ said the woman with a smile. ‘Now you should sleep for a while, and when you wake up your mother will be here.’

  A while later her mother came, but Tinna was still under the influence of the drugs and was groggy all through visiting hours. Every time she forced her eyes open she saw the same thing - her mother crying. ‘I can find out his name, Mum,’ she mumbled. Her voice was as thick and fuzzy as her tongue. She wanted water, but it was more important to tell what she knew. She had to do it. ‘He’s called Hjalti,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t read his last name, it was so poorly written.’ Her mother stroked Tinna’s forehead, still crying. ‘The bad man. He’s called Hjalti, Mother.’

  Her mother wiped her eyes. ‘Shhh, my Tinna. Sleep. Just sleep.’

  Tinna gave up and closed her eyes. We know best.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Tuesday 24 July2007

  Even though not everything had been cleared up, the events from long ago were starting to take shape. Thóra couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked for so long — not sober, anyway. Despite the aching in her jaw and the dryness in her mouth, she was happy with her monologue, since her words appeared to have had the desired effect. Stefán and the police department lawyer were on the verge of coming to the same conclusion as her - that Markus was innocent. The three of them sat in Stefán’s office, where Thóra had rushed after leaving Alda’s mother in the church. Though there was an hour to go before they were due in court, Thóra was fairly sure the custody request would be dropped. Officers had been sent to fetch Alda’s mother, but her formal questioning had been delayed because of the funeral. Stefán had settled for speaking to her for long enough to confirm Thóra’s story. A plain-clothes policeman would accompany her for the rest of the day, in the unlikely event that she should try to get away. Thóra watched as she was brought to the police station. She walked bent over, her face set hard.

  There was no way to put yourself in her shoes. How did a woman feel, faced with the knowledge that she had made a terrible mistake in bringing up her child? Thóra was unable to comprehend how she could have sent her daughter with strangers to the Westfjords and forced her to carry a child for another woman; a child that had been created in such an abominable way. Alda’s mother had told her how Valgerdur and Dadi wanted Alda to have the child under Valgerdur’s name, since they had no chance of adopting a child the traditional way. They had tried before, but had been refused.

  At the time there had been no option to adopt children from abroad. And Valgerdur had tried and failed to carry a pregnancy to term herself. For them, this was their only hope of having a child.

  In order for the deception to work, Dadi and Valgerdur had to move to an isolated place with Alda and see to it that she had contact with as few people as possible, which meant limited medical check-ups. On the few occasions that she was around other people, Alda had to pretend to be much older, so as not to arouse suspicion. According to Alda’s mother that wasn’t that difficult after the rape; it was as though all the light in Alda’s eyes had been extinguished, and she didn’t care about anything. In the west the three of them settled on an abandoned farm owned by Valgerdur’s relatives. The couple made sure to visit friends and relations in the surrounding area several times with Valgerdur claiming to be pregnant, to back up their story. No one suspected a thing. However, things became more complicated when it came to the actual birth. The plan was for Alda to deliver at home with Valgerdur’s assistance, but when it turned out that the placenta was blocking the birth canal they had to rush Alda to the hospital in Isafjördur. There the child was delivered by Caesarean section.

  Alda had been bedridden longer than was usual, to recover from the Caesarean section but also because the site of the incision had become infected. In that time, no one had commented on how young the mother was, or expressed any misgivings as to whether she really was Valgerdur Bjolfsdottir. The staff at the hospital did notice how peculiarly the new mother behaved towards the child, appearing to care little for it and refusing to suckle it. However, it seemed as if progress was starting to be made by the time mother and child were released. The midwife who visited them in Holmavik after they’d been discharged informed the hospital that the mother’s behaviour had improved greatly, although she still refused to breastfeed. This woman was not on the hospital staff, so did not realize that the reason for this change in behaviour was that the ‘mother’ was a different person. Dadi had had no trouble keeping visitors away from the hospital, since the couple weren’t any more popular in the west than they had been in the Islands. Alda was released just over two weeks after the birth, with Dadi accompanying her and a newborn male child in her arms. She went to the farm to get her things, then left; the boy remained behind with Valgerdur and Dadi. The hospital in Isafjördur had therefore made no mistake in its drug prescription when Valgerdur was admitted there more than three decades later. In a cruel twist of fate, Alda had been given penicillin for her post-operative infection — an antibiotic to which the real Valgerdur proved severely allergic many years later.

  Alda’s mother said that Alda had never spoken about the baby, not wanting to know his name or hear anything about him. Thóra did not blame her for that. The child was not welcome in this world in Alda’s eyes, and it had never really been ‘hers’. It was understandable that she had shut out the whole experience and looked past it. Mind you, Thóra could well imagine that as the years passed her outlook might have changed, especially when it became clear that she wouldn’t have another child. She didn’t know if Alda had found out Adolf’s name before Halldora Dogg pressed charges against him for rape, or whether she put two and two together when she found out his surname and age. Either way it must have been a great shock for Alda to discover that her only child, the son of a rapist, was as much of a brute as his father. It must have opened up old wounds. Alda must have harboured some feeling for her son, and may have suffered from guilt over giving him away. This would explain the phone calls to Adolf; first she was accusatory, then pleading. Alda had judged him severely. And when she realized who he was, she must have thought she’d failed him. Thóra wondered whether that had made her want to come clean, to give Adolf the information that proved his innocence and even tell him about his origins.
Adolf, on the other hand, had turned a deaf ear and refused to meet her; he thought she would jeopardize his chance of a quick buck from the hospital compensation. Now that he realized he stood to inherit from Alda, everything looked different. But it was too late for Alda.

  Thóra had learned while practising law not to judge others by their actions. They had all made disastrous mistakes - Alda’s parents, Dadi and Valgerdur, Adolf, even Markus himself - and none of them had realized the consequences until it was too late. Thóra had seen so many inconceivable things in her work that this didn’t surprise her. Most of the missteps her client had taken could be put down to pure stupidity, but the others arose from bad choices, made more often than not in haste or desperation. Alda’s fate had been determined by people on the edge of despair, who had reacted the wrong way at the crucial moment. Thóra could only pity those who were left behind and who were now staring their old sins in the face. She felt particularly sorry for Alda’s mother, who was actually a victim of circumstance. Her husband Thórgeir, Markus’s father Magnus, and Dadi and Valgerdur bore the greatest responsibility, but none of them had been given the chance to repent or atone for what they did. So that left an aged mother who many years ago had become entangled in a sequence of events beyond her control, and now had to bury her daughter.

  The same went for Klara, Markus’s mother - according to Alda’s mother, she had known about the murders. It would, however, be difficult to prove this unless she confessed, and Thóra doubted she would. Klara seemed to have a heart of stone, and with her son Leifur backing her up it was unlikely that she could be made to admit what she knew. Luckily, that was not Thóra’s problem. She had had more than enough of this case, with all its corpses.

  In the end, though, the question remained: who had murdered Alda? This was the main reason for the police’s reluctance to release Markus, despite their previous declaration that he was no longer a suspect in the case. Thóra hadn’t expected them to jump for joy at her revelations, but she was disappointed at how forcefully they objected to his release. They were forced to admit that Markus had in all likelihood never been near the men in the basement. How Alda had ended up with her attacker’s head in a box would no doubt be explained later, but it had nothing to do with Markus. The unwillingness of the police to admit that Markus was no longer a suspect in Alda’s murder was fairly understandable; there wasn’t any other suspect, so it was no small matter to admit they had the wrong man in custody. Thóra could feel that the unpleasant sensation in her head, which had started in the church as a faint nagging pain, was getting worse.

  ‘Couldn’t the woman simply have committed suicide?’ she asked. ‘Is there something that clearly suggests she was murdered? Her psychological state can’t have been good.’

  Stefán looked up from the report he’d been going over and frowned. ‘The autopsy proved that she was murdered,’ he said. ‘So I have to reject such speculation.’

  Thóra sighed deeply. ‘One of the plastic surgeons Alda worked for contacted me about information that she wanted to give to the police. I understood her to mean that the information concerned Alda and was important for the investigation. Could some of what she had to convey shed light on the case?’ She had to pause in her questioning to raise a hand to her forehead and rub it. This dulled the pain, but the headache returned as soon as she dropped her hand. ‘Is there any new information I ought to be made aware of? I think I have the right to know, since you’re starting to direct your attention back towards my client in the case of Alda’s death.’

  ‘What Alda’s colleague told us changes nothing for Markus,’ said Stefán. ‘We were given information that might be significant, but at this point we can’t say whether it’s positive or negative for him.’

  ‘Is it possible that Alda’s murderer has ties to her work? The drug used to kill her suggests this quite strongly.’

  ‘Not any more,’ said Stefán calmly. ‘Whoever killed her didn’t need to have access to it.’

  Thóra gave him an appraising look and cursed her headache under her breath. She was finding it harder and harder to concentrate. The police appeared to have discovered something about the drug that suggested it had already been in Alda’s home. Dís must have explained this to them. She settled for saying ‘I see,’ since it was clear they weren’t going to tell her anything more at this point. ‘The other thing I want to ask is whether you’re planning to speak to the victim in the rape case involving Alda’s son. She could conceivably have wished Alda harm, since she could hardly have been pleased when Alda suddenly switched sides.’

  The police lawyer puffed himself up. He was wearing a dark suit that had no doubt cost a pretty penny, and seemed more than ready to appear in the district court. A wide gold ring on his left hand glittered, and Thóra was sure he had polished it specially. She, however, had not had much time to get ready, and if the police didn’t drop their request for a custody extension she would have to stop by her office where she kept a white shirt, dark trousers and comfortable high heels for just such an emergency. It didn’t look very good to turn up in court dressed like a tramp, and jeans and a T-shirt hardly sufficed, even though her lawyer’s gown covered most of her. At least she didn’t have to polish a wedding ring.

  ‘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.