‘So you knew who did it?’ asked Thóra.
‘No, unfortunately. Or fortunately, for him – I would have made him pay for it.’
‘Are you sure the person in question was male?’ she said. ‘To me it seems very much like something a jealous girl would do.’
Markus looked at her, startled. Clearly he hadn’t thought of this. ‘Yes, I just assumed it was a boy. I suspected a boy named Stefán, who kind of had a crush on Alda, but he flat- out denied it and I was forced to believe him, he was so convincing.’
Thóra remembered the entry in Alda’s diary that had said she had kissed ‘Stebbi’,which was short for Stefán. She assumed this was the same boy.‘Could it have been anyone else?’
‘No, probably not. Alda was friends with everyone and I don’t know of anyone who resented her. I did everything in my power to find out who did it, though. When I discovered the gym had been unlocked the whole night, I stopped trying.
It could have been anyone in the Islands, although there weren’t many people who would do such a disgusting thing.‘
It was no use discussing this any further. The only thing she’d accomplished by bringing up the hair story was to annoy Markus. ‘What do you know about your neighbours from before the volcano went up, Valgerdur and Dadi, who lived next door to you?’ she asked. ‘They were nicknamed Dadi Horseshoe and Horseshoe Two. Could they have been connected to these bodies in any way?’
Markus looked at her flatly.‘Definitely,’ he said. ‘If the men died of boredom.’
On the way into town from Litla-Hraun, Thóra called Reykjavik Junior College and to her surprise someone picked up. The man sighed when she informed him of her business, but promised to find the information she requested. Unfortunately it would take him a little while, he said, so he recommended that she phone back in fifteen minutes, which she duly did. ‘I’ve found it,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Alda Thórgeirsdóttir was registered in the school in the autumn of 1973 and graduated with honours from the language department in the spring of 1977.’
‘Did you say autumn 1973?’ said Thóra. ‘Didn’t she start her studies after the new year? It was my understanding that she started there with you in the middle of the winter term, having transferred from Isafjördur Junior College, where she attended the previous term.’ Thóra decided not to confuse the man any further by adding that Alda was also supposed to have been studying at Isafjördur Junior College in the spring term, 1973. In any case, the woman at the office there had denied that Alda had been a student there that winter.
‘There’s nothing here from Isafjördur Junior College,’ said the man, and Thóra heard him rustling papers. ‘She was clearly registered with us that autumn, but was kept out of school that term due to health concerns. It doesn’t say what her illness was as that kind of information is confidential, and kept elsewhere. But whatever it was, she was attending school here in good health in January 1974.’
Thóra thanked the man and said goodbye. Alda had obviously never attended junior college in the west. That story was a fabrication. The best Thóra could come up with was that Alda had been admitted to a psychiatric ward and it had been a sensitive subject. All those years ago mental diseases were shameful and taboo. Thóra thought it fairly likely that any mental breakdown Alda had suffered had had something to do with the box she’d handed over to Markus. It couldn’t have been healthy for an innocent teenager to handle a severed human head.
Chapter Twenty-two
Thóra’s mobile rang as she stood at the ship’s railing on board the Herjolfurferry. She had chosen to travel by sea to the Islands since the weather forecast was poor for the next day and she could only afford to be there for one night. She intended during that time to search for information about the Horseshoes, Valgerdur and Dadi, as well as to speak to Markus’s mother, and hopefully also his father, which was the main purpose of the trip. Bella had lain down in their cabin; she had been recruited to come along to support Thóra.
It was Matthew, calling from Germany. The ship was sailing swiftly away from all the transmitters on the mainland, and the connection was bad. ‘Where are you, anyway?’ he asked, sounding as if he were calling from inside a barrel.
‘I’m out at sea, so the connection could cut out any time,’ said Thóra. ‘I’m on my way to the Westmann Islands for this case I’m working on.’
‘Hopefully it’s not the bodies and the head in the basement?’ asked Matthew, but apparently some crackling on the line meant he couldn’t hear her reply, so he got straight to the point. ‘How would you like me to come for a visit next week?’ he asked.
‘That would be great,’ said Thóra, and she meant it. ‘Are you coming for work, or just dropping in?’ She tried not to show that she was itching to know whether he’d made his decision.
‘I’m going for an interview,’ he replied. ‘They want to show me round their offices and introduce me to the board. I’ll have to make my final decision after this, although I’ve pretty much made up my mind already.’
‘And?’ asked Thóra.‘What are you going to do?’
‘I… if… so…’The connection was cut off. Thóra thought about running to the stern of the ship to find a signal and hear what Matthew had decided, but she stopped herself. The ship would be out of phone contact again before she had a chance select his number. She sighed and stuck her mobile back into her pocket.
‘Could you confuse these two houses?’ asked Thóra. She was standing with her hands on her hips on the excavation site of Pompeü of the North, looking at Markus’s childhood home and the house where Valgerdur and Dadi had lived.
‘No,’ yawned Bella. ‘They’re completely different. That one’s actually in ruins.’ She pointed at the neighbours’ house. She wasn’t exaggerating: the roof had collapsed beneath the weight of the ash and one of the outer walls resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
‘Try to imagine you’re in the middle of a volcanic eruption and the house hasn’t yet been destroyed,’ said Thóra. ‘Could you mix them up?’
Bella regarded her scornfully.‘Can’t you see that one of the houses has two floors and the other just one?’ she retorted. ‘It’s impossible to mix the two up.’ She pointed at the house on the other side of Markus’s home.‘No one could mix up that house and the house with the bodies either.’Then she turned to scan all the excavated houses. ‘The house with the bodies is the only one on the street that has two floors.’
Thóra looked up and down the street. Her secretary was right: the only house that stood out was Markus’s. It was clear that the bodies hadn’t been put there by mistake. ‘So at least we know that,’ said Thóra thoughtfully. ‘I really want to get in there,’ she said, and pointed at the house where the unpopular couple had lived, Dadi Horseshoe and Valgerdur Horseshoe Two. When she saw Bella’s expression she felt she had to explain herself better. ‘The people who lived there are connected to the case, but I still don’t know how.’
‘Huh,’ snorted Bella.‘I’m not going in there. It’s about to collapse.’ She walked closer to it and kicked at some tape that marked the area where visitors were prohibited from entering. ‘Haven’t they already taken everything out of it, anyway?’
‘Yes, they have,’ replied Thóra. ‘All the same, I want to have a look inside. You never know.’ She glanced around, though she knew they were the only ones in the area, and followed Bella’s example, stepping over the tape and walking up to the house. She peeked in through a crack in the crossed wooden boards that had been nailed over the window, but saw nothing in the darkness inside. She walked up to the door, which was leaning against the doorframe. Bella followed her.