Ashes to Dust

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  ‘Did you know that Alda was a grandmother?’ asked the other woman sadly. Thóra shook her head. ‘She never knew it, but Adolf has a daughter. She’s very ill, unfortunately. Mum has gone to visit her in hospital. She was with her this morning.’

  ‘How is your mother?’ asked Thóra. is she any better?‘

  Jóhanna smiled unhappily. ‘She’s not very well. She’s very unhappy with how slowly the investigation of Alda’s murder is going.’ She looked at her watch. ‘She promised to drop by, but I don’t know if she’ll make it. She’s been absolutely impossible this afternoon, ever since she returned from her hospital visit. She had some sort of VISA receipt and needed desperately to find out who it belonged to. It was impossible to read the signature clearly but I went into the bank system from my home computer and I managed to dig it up. Hjalti Markusson. She calmed down after that. God knows why. I’m worried about her; I think she’s obsessed with Leifur and Markus’s family.’ Jóhanna looked around the empty tent. ‘Mother and I are more or less invisible these days. She takes it very much to heart, even though she doesn’t say so. Leifur and Markus seem to have come out of this as some sort of heroes, along with their father, but it’s as if people aren’t sure how they should act towards us. I don’t get it.’

  Thóra thought she knew what was going on. People were unsure of the state of the relationship between these two families after everything that had happened. Markus had been locked up, but Jóhanna’s mother had neglected to tell the authorities that he wasn’t involved at all in the old case. So it was safer to be on the side of the fishing mogul than of the widow and her daughter, the bank clerk. ‘Well,’ said Thóra, ‘I guess I should start making my way back home.’ She stood up, trying to ignore Jóhanna’s mournful look. She couldn’t do it. ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘We’ll be around, and we’d be happy to drop by.’ The smile on Jóhanna’s face said everything that needed to be said.

  It looked as though all the guests in Leifur and Markus’s tent had left in a rush, and if Thóra had come just a few minutes later she might have found the place empty. ‘We’re heading over for the singing,’ said Markus, even more garrulous than when Thóra had left their tent earlier. ‘A good spot has been reserved for us and I’m sure we can make some room for you.’

  Thóra declined. ‘No, thank you, I’ve got to get home. I just came to fetch the pushchair,’ she said.

  ‘Bring her the pushchair, Hjalti,’ said Leifur, his speech even more slurred than Markus’s.

  The boy stood up without looking at her. He had removed his fake beard but was still wearing the red hat. He seemed very ill at ease, and Thóra was starting to find it peculiar. Maybe he was one of those who couldn’t hold his liquor - or perhaps he was ashamed of his father when he drank. He lifted the pushchair and heaved it clumsily across the tent. Thóra could not grab it because of the child in her arms, but Maria reached for it and after a short struggle managed to open it and set it up for Thóra. Thóra hardly dared to lay Orri in it for fear that it would collapse on him. The woman stood unsteadily next to Thóra, and nearly lost her balance when the tent flaps opened.

  Thóra could tell from the look on Leifur’s face that the visitor was not particularly welcome. The corners of Markus’s mouth had also drooped a little, but otherwise his face was impassive. Thóra had her back to the entrance, but looked around to see who it was. Alda’s mother had arrived. She still looked as devastated as when Thóra had seen her after the funeral, but now there was a kind of grim determination in her face. ‘Perhaps my Geiri and your father were friends,’ said the old woman, at first hesitantly, but growing bolder with every word. ‘But I have never really known much about Magnus. Destiny favoured him more than most, at least in the beginning. He took a risk and continued his fishing operation, and caught more fish than ever before. He took the blame for Dadi, but because of the eruption the case was forgotten. You, his sons, have lived off your father your entire lives. People tiptoe around you both - especially you, Leifur.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we talk after the festival?’ said Leifur, who seemed to have sobered up in an instant. ‘I understand there’s a lot on your mind, but now is neither the time nor the place.’

  ‘No, Leifur,’ replied the old woman. ‘You don’t get to decide now. I have something to tell you and I doubt you’ll be in much of a festive mood afterwards.’

  ‘I’ll get back into a festive mood as soon as you clear off,’ mumbled Maria. ‘What’s all this about, anyway?’ She was clearly not used to people speaking down to her husband. Leifur grabbed her by the shoulder and she stopped talking.

  ‘I was in Reykjavik today, visiting a poor, sick girl,’ said the old woman. ‘My great-granddaughter,’ she added proudly. ‘I listened to her, and I was the first adult to do that in a long time.’

  Thóra was so unnerved by the atmosphere in the tent that she instinctively moved the pushchair closer to Sóley, who was yawning on one of the sofas. ‘What did she say?’ she asked, when no one else seemed willing to say anything.

  The old woman glared at Hjalti. ‘Where were you when my Alda was murdered?’ She spat out the final word.

  Thóra tried unsuccessfully to understand what she was seeing. Markus’s son stood gaping at the woman, then grabbed his father’s upper arm, a look of terror on his face. ‘What does that matter?’ asked Markus, his face bright red. ‘Are you suggesting that my son had something to do with Alda’s death?’

  ‘Yes, Markus, I am,’ replied the woman, as if she were speaking to a child. ‘Hjalti was seen going into Alda’s house while she was still alive, then coming out again after she was dead. He and his car were seen there - though he was careful to park it some distance from her house.’

  ‘What rubbish,’ said Markus, putting an arm around his son’s shoulders. The boy appeared completely bewildered. ‘I should remind you that such testimony isn’t admissible. Just recently a witness said he’d seen me go past Alda’s house, or into it. His testimony was so vague that he couldn’t even remember whether I was coming or going when he supposedly saw me.’

  ‘We’ve got more than just a witness,’ said the old woman. She stared fiercely at Hjalti. ‘I should kill you, boy. It’s what you deserve. I’ve sat at home and thought about what would be the best way to do it. I’d make sure you’d endure the same agony you put my daughter through, but I’m too old.’

  ‘I think that’s quite enough,’ interrupted Thóra. Until now she’d been too surprised to intervene, and everyone else appeared to be struck dumb. ‘Wouldn’t it be best for you to speak to the police if you think you have information about this crime? This is not the proper place for it.’

  ‘I’ve already done that,’ said the old woman, with a thin smile. ‘Gudni is on his way. At first he wanted to wait until tomorrow, but he soon changed his mind when he heard what I knew.’

  ‘What do you know?’ shrieked Hjalti. ‘You can’t know anything.’

  ‘You should clean out your car better,’ said the old woman, still glaring at him murderously.

  The boy flinched. ‘What do you mean, my car?’ he asked.

  ‘You opened your car door as you were leaving, and a credit card receipt blew out. It got caught in a bush and the girl who was watching you went and got it. I had Jóhanna look on the bank system to see who the card belonged to.’

  Hjalti moaned something and his father tried to calm him down. ‘Don’t worry about this, this is bullshit.’

  ‘Do something, Leifur,’ pleaded Maria tremulously. ‘You can’t let her stand here and say these things.’

  ‘I’ll pay you well for that receipt,’ said Leifur levelly. ‘Neither you or your daughter would ever need to worry about money again.’

  Thóra was about to protest, but Alda’s mother cut in: ‘What makes you think I’d want your dirty money? Not everything can be bought. The receipt is not for sale.’

  ‘Give me the receipt, or I promise you’ll regret it,’ hissed Markus, advancing towards he
r. He had trouble pushing between the sofa and the dining table, not least because his son was still hanging off him. The boy appeared to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Orri had slept soundly throughout, but Sóley was taking everything in, wide-eyed.

  ‘I couldn’t give you the receipt even if I wanted to,’ said the old woman happily. ‘I’ve handed it over to the police.’

  Markus’s son started whining over and over again: Dad, Dad, you’ve got to help me, Dad, Dad. Markus stared desperately at Alda’s mother. Thóra felt terribly sorry for him; it was perfectly clear that he loved his son, but he had also loved Alda. He was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  The tent flaps swung open again. This time Gudni stood in the doorway, along with another police officer. ‘Hello,’ he said to the group, but he was looking at Hjalti. ‘Hjalti Markusson,’ he said calmly, ‘will you come with us?’

  The boy continued to whimper the same words as he held onto his father. Markus looked down at him, seemed about to say something, but then loosened the boy’s grip on his arm. ‘My son didn’t kill Alda, Gudni,’ he said. ‘I did.’

  Thóra groaned. What now? Did Markus think he could take the blame for his son, as his father had done for Dadi years ago? She wouldn’t be surprised if he were hoping for an eruption that very night.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Saturday 4 August2007

  ‘I didn’t plan for her to die the way she did. She threw up the drugs, so they didn’t work. I didn’t have much time and I had to take desperate measures. It was supposed to look like suicide, and I hoped the Botox in her tongue wouldn’t be discovered. I left it on her bedside table as a back-up — if the drug was found in her body, people might well believe Alda had decided to kill herself that way. Her fingerprints were on the bottle and the syringe. Of course I made sure I wore gloves.’

  in other words, you went to her house with the sole intention of ending her life?‘ asked Gudni deliberately.

  ‘Yes, I did. I had no choice. I had already tried other things. It was her own fault. Of course I was disappointed when the Botox didn’t work, but I had to do something. I just wanted to paralyze her tongue. One always hears of people choking on their own vomit. It was supposed to look like that. She was still retching. I knew about the Botox at her house, because she’d got me to try it a few months before. I came that night under the pretence of wanting more. She injected me before I… you know.’

  Thóra closed her eyes. Would this never end? She leaned out to get a view of the corridor, where Orri was asleep in the pushchair and Sóley was sitting playing cards with the police officer assigned to take care of her during the interrogation. Soon Sóley would be too tired to keep playing, and Thóra had decided to leave at that point, no matter what. She had had enough, and the man at her side appeared not to need legal protection. He had decided to confess everything, which meant that there was little use for her. No lawyer could help him now.

  There did not appear to have been any mitigating circumstances. Thóra was feeling a little overwhelmed by it all; she felt as though she’d been betrayed and made a fool of. What she wanted most was to drop the case, but her conscience wouldn’t let her. Gudni did not appear to feel any better. He had also been deceived, and very publicly. The murderer seemed to have played everyone, except perhaps Detective Stefán. But now the day of reckoning had arrived. ‘Markus, could you wind this story up?’ said Thóra, not looking at him. ‘I have to go soon.’ She was still stunned at how easily he had manipulated her.

  ‘Yes, let’s tie this up,’ said Gudni. ‘Did the estate agent lie for you? Did you pay him to say he’d recognized your voice on the phone?’

  ‘No,’ said Markus. ‘He really did hear my voice.’

  ‘Now the phone, or the Sim card in it, was traced and found to have been located in the region of the town of Hella, as I recall. You couldn’t have been there, Markus, if you’re telling us the truth now. So clearly this estate agent didn’t speak directly to you. Why did this man lie for you? Because you or your brother are good customers of his? And who answered the phone?’

  ‘I’m telling the truth, and so is the estate agent. I did not have my phone with me,’ said Markus. He was starting to sober up and kept licking his dry lips. ‘My son drove my car east to the summerhouse and he had my phone with him. I was hoping that someone would remember having seen my car during the trip, to make my alibi more credible. Actually, no witness to the road trip could be found, but that didn’t really make any difference. In any case, I had borrowed my son’s car.’

  ‘I still don’t understand this business with the phone call,’ said Gudni. ‘Does your son’s voice sound like yours?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ replied Markus. ‘I’d prepared everything really well. I bought two mobile phones and put untraceable pay-as-you-go Sim cards in them, which I bought at a petrol station. Then I gave Hjalti two phones, mine and one of the ones I’d bought, while I kept the other one myself. That evening I called my mobile phone from Alda’s home phone, pretending to have left it at work so that she wouldn’t suspect anything. Hjalti answered and we exchanged a few words. Then we said goodbye and I got down to business.’ Markus paused for a moment and Thóra wondered whether his conscience was troubling him or if he was simply resting his voice.

  He continued: ‘I’d made a rather low bid on an apartment that I’d chosen randomly, with an estate agent I know a little. I had to be sure that he could tell whether it was me on the phone or someone else. It wouldn’t have done me any good to use someone who couldn’t confirm it was me he’d spoken to. I let the bid stand until eight o’clock and had the estate agent promise to call me on my mobile immediately afterwards to let me know the result. Just before eight Hjalti used the pay-as-you-go phone I’d given him to call the one that I had, and we kept the connection open until the estate agent finally called. Then Hjalti answered my mobile there near Hella, and put the phones together so that the speaker of one touched the microphone of the other. That’s how I could talk to the estate agent without my real whereabouts being traceable at all. There were some glitches in the connection but I told him that it was because I was on the road near Hella. He accepted that. I’d already tested it out so I knew it would work.’

  Thóra gaped at Markus. Naturally she wanted to ask him about everything, but Gudni would have to take care of that for the moment. Markus’s position was equally dire, whether Thóra attended his interrogation or not. Her job was to support Markus, though it was unclear what advice she could give him at that moment. The only thing she could think of was to try to prove that Markus was unfit to stand trial, although he appeared determined to tell the entire story to save Hjalti.

  ‘Did your son have any knowledge of what was going on?’ asked Gudni.

  ‘No, all he knew was that if he did me this favour, I would buy him an apartment out on the Islands. It’s been a dream of his for a long time. I’m afraid he won’t get the chance to enjoy his new place as he should have. He’s been a complete wreck, the poor kid, since he realized what I was up to.’

  ‘But why did you do this, Markus? We thought you were in love with Alda. You seemed to be the last person who would wish her any harm.’ Gudni’s question was sincere.

  ‘I told you,’ Markus replied, indignant. ‘I tried to avoid it, and I gave her lots of opportunities to sort this out by some other means. It simply didn’t work out that way.’

  ‘Sort what out?’ asked Gudni.

  ‘Oh, this thing with the head,’ said Markus, as if that explained everything. He looked from Gudni to Thóra and back, but neither of them knew what he was trying to say. He sighed and explained himself better: ‘I cut off the man’s head. Not Alda. I did it for her, but as usual I got no thanks for it.’

  ‘You cut off the head,’ repeated Gudni calmly. ‘Weren’t you in a drunken stupor at home when the murders were committed?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t that bad,’ replied Markus. ‘I was drunk, but not as drunk as the o
thers. I crashed on the couch, but the phone woke me up in the middle of the night. It was Geiri, Alda’s father, calling to ask Dad to come over. He wanted to discuss Dadi’s offer to help them cover everything up. My mum also woke up and came out of the bedroom. When she saw the blood on Dad, who’d been sitting like a statue in the kitchen since he got back from the harbour, she asked him what was going on. In the end he told her the whole story. They didn’t know I was there, but I heard everything. I knew Dad and Geiri had killed the men, and I knew what one of them had done to Alda. I also heard Dad say where the bodies were, in a fishing smack tied to the last pontoon in the harbour. I sneaked out and went down there, after Dad had gone to Geiri’s place and Mum had run off crying to the bedroom. I found the boat with the bodies on board, cut off the head and genitals of the one I thought most likely to have raped Alda, and took them with me to show her. I thought it would help her get over it.’

  Thóra leaned in towards Markus, although it repulsed her to be close to him, and whispered in his ear: ‘You might want to be careful about mentioning your family members by name. Especially those who are still with us. Of course it’s up to you what you say, but you might regret it in the morning.’

  ‘And is that when you put the head into the box? To take it home?’ asked Gudni.

  ‘No, the box came later,’ replied Markus. ‘I put it in a bag and just managed to hide behind a pile of nets when Dad and Dadi came back down to the harbour. They discussed something until some old guy turned up, but they got rid of him quite quickly. Dad went aboard, brought out a birdcage and released the bird. He left shortly after that, but I waited to see what Dadi was up to. He went down into the boat and came up afterwards, looking very pale. He’d obviously been startled to see that a head — and more - was missing from one of the bodies. He went and got his pick-up, and hauled the other three bodies into it. He spread a cloth over them and parked the pick-up a short distance away. Then he pulled a little rubber dinghy on board the smack and sailed off in the smack with the fourth body still on board. He sunk the ship and came back to shore on the dinghy. I hurried home and hid the head in a box down in the basement, and I also put the tools I used to cut it off in one of the boxes in the storeroom, under all the other stuff.’