Thóra settled into the easy chair next to the sofa and looked at the top page, where she had written the name of the girl who had offended the tattooist’s delicate artistic sensibilities: Halldora Dogg Einarsdottir, 26 February 2007. That was the day the girl had had her tattoo done, according to the man. This didn’t tell Thóra anything, so she tried looking the girl up in the electoral register. She was born in 1982, so had been twenty-five years old at the time. Her name sounded familiar, so Thóra tried to search for her on the Internet, but found nothing.
Why had Alda been interested in this girl? Thóra guessed it wasn’t because of the tattoo itself. For a moment she wondered if it could have been because of her job at the plastic surgeon’s office, or for some unfathomable personal reason. She couldn’t understand how the girl could be connected to Alda’s murder, even though something told her she must be. Of course, there was one easy way to discover whether and how the girl knew Alda. Perhaps she would turn out to be the one Thóra had searched high and low for – the one to whom Alda had entrusted the secret of the head in the box. Markus really needed that to be the case. Thóra looked at the clock and saw that it was nine thirty, not too late for a phone call. She found the number in the phone book and made the call.
‘Hi!’ The voice sounded young, in a rather false way, as if the girl were trying to appear childish.
‘Hello. Is this Halldora Dogg Einarsdottir?’ Thóra asked.
‘Speaking.’ The voice still sounded uncomfortably like a little girl’s.
Thóra introduced herself and asked whether she might be able to ask her several questions, since her name had come up in a case involving her client.
Nothing could be heard on the other end of the line, but when the girl started talking again her voice was much more mature. ‘What case?’ she asked, all her cheerfulness gone.
‘It’s a murder case,’replied Thóra. ‘As I said, your name has come up in connection with it, and I wanted to take the opportunity to ask you some questions that might hopefully explain your connection to the murdered woman.’
‘Who’s been murdered?’asked the girl. Her surprise was evident. Then she added, almost excitedly:‘I haven’t murdered anyone!’
‘Sorry for not being clear,’ said Thóra. ‘You’re not under any suspicion, and besides, I don’t work for the police. I’m simply trying to rule out whether you’re tied to the case indirectly. In other words, I’m in no way suggesting that you’re linked to the murder at all.’
‘Did you say you’re a lawyer?’ asked the girl, still sounding very suspicious. ‘Are you working for Adolf?’ Her voice turned shrill on the last word.
‘No, not at all,’ said Thóra, wondering whether to admit she knew his name. She didn’t take the risk. ‘The man I represent is named Markus.’
‘I don’t know any Markus,’said the girl angrily. ‘Are you sure you’re not working for Adolf?’
‘Absolutely sure,’ said Thóra. She decided to get to the point of the phone call. ‘Did you know a woman by the name of Alda Thórgeirsdóttir?’ There was a long silence punctuated only by the girl’s heavy breaths, and Thóra decided to repeat the question to be certain that the girl had understood her.
The girl drew a breath so sharp that a whistling sound could clearly be heard through the phone. Then she spoke again, her voice betraying her shock at the question. ‘How could you lie? Lawyers can’t lie.’
Thóra didn’t understand what she meant. ‘Isn’t it easier to answer this with a simple yes or no? I haven’t lied to you about anything, if that’s what you think.’
‘You are working for Adolf,’hissed the girl. ‘I know you are, I should press charges against you.’
‘Press charges against me?’ asked Thóra, flabbergasted. ‘I think there may have been a misunderstanding.’ She didn’t want the girl to think she was afraid of this threat. ‘The only thing I’m trying to clear up is whether you knew Alda Thórgeirsdóttir or have heard of her.’
A few moments passed before the girl replied. Thóra supposed that she was contemplating whether it would be better to deny this, confirm it or simply hang up. The name obviously rang some bells.‘I know who she is,’ said the girl suddenly, her voice harsh.
‘Could you tell me where or how you got to know her, or heard of her?’ asked Thóra, pleased finally to be making some headway in this peculiar conversation.
‘No,’ replied the girl. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Thóra rolled her eyes. What now?‘Did it have something to do with your tattoo? Love Sex?’
There was silence on the other end, then the girl hung up.
Thóra put down the thick sheaf of papers. She had had enough of what seemed to be an endless reckoning of every item that could conceivably have been taken from the houses that had been excavated. She still hadn’t laid eyes on anything that could make a difference in Markus’s case, except perhaps the countless broken bottles that had been found in Kjartan’s garage and Dadi’s shed. Thóra thought it was obvious that they’d hurriedly tried to hide the evidence of their stash of grain alcohol when the police investigation had started to point towards them. The list did not include Markus’s home, since the house was still to be emptied when the list had been written, but Thóra hadn’t noticed any bottles there, intact or broken. That didn’t mean much; they could have been hidden in a part of the house that she hadn’t seen, although she doubted it. Kjartan had been extremely convincing when he told her Magnus hadn’t been involved in the smuggling operation. A flash of pain shot through her shoulders. She had to stand up and stretch.
She walked across her office and shook her hands to get the blood flowing better. She didn’t know if this actually did anything, but she hoped so. In any case she was tired of this work, and bored. She took her seat again and reached for a piece of paper lying on the coffee table. On it was scribbled the name and telephone number of the defence lawyer in Adolf’s rape case. The trial was imminent and Thóra had gone into the private offices of Reykjavik district Court to look up the defence counsel’s name. She had hoped it might be someone she knew, so she could ask them for help finding possible links between the rape and Alda’s murder. Even though Markus appeared no longer to be under suspicion of murdering his childhood crush, something told Thóra the cases were connected. Fortunately she recognized the name of the lawyer; they had studied together at university. Less fortunately, each time Thóra tried to call her the line was busy. She was starting to think the woman’s phone was not turned on, but decided to try one more time before it got too late.
This time the lawyer’s husband answered, and sighed heavily before he called her name. A thud indicated that the receiver had been dropped carelessly.
After a short pause Thóra heard the receiver being picked up again. ‘Svala speaking.’The woman sounded out of breath.
‘Hi, Svala, it’s Thóra,’ she said. She added, ‘From the law department?’
‘Oh, hi,’ said the woman, cheerful now. ‘Great to hear from you. How long has it been?’
‘God,’ said Thóra, trying unsuccessfully to recall. ‘Far too long.’They exchanged stories of what had happened in their lives, thenThóra got to the point. ‘Anyway, I have an ulterior motive,’ said Thóra. I’m sorry to be out of touch for so long then call on official business. I’m working on an unusual case, and the name of your client has come up.‘
‘Oh?’ said Svala. ‘Which one? I have plenty, let me tell you.’
‘Adolf Dadason,’ replied Thóra. ‘It’s a strange connection, like everything else in this case, and among other things it concerns a tattoo on a young woman by the name of Halldora Dogg Einarsdottir. She nearly threw a fit when I called her just a while ago, because she was convinced I was working for Adolf.’