‘Who cut off the man’s head?’ asked Thóra. She assumed the one who’d been decapitated was the one who had raped Alda.
The woman looked at Thóra in bewilderment. ‘That I don’t know,’ she said, and seemed to be completely sincere. ‘I never saw the bodies, and no one mentioned anything like that. I was absolutely staggered when they were found. But I can’t say he didn’t deserve it.’ This last was said without any bitterness or triumph, the words seeming to come out automatically.
Thóra suddenly felt sure that it was Alda who had gone from the hospital down to the harbour and cut off the rapist’s head. She did not want to ask her mother about it, but it would explain how the girl had ended up with the head. ‘Could Alda have left the hospital that night?’ she asked, without explaining herself any further.
‘I doubt it. She was on sedatives. Valgerdur said she was sleeping when she went off duty. Why do you ask?’
Thóra did not reply, but instead asked how the bodies had ended up in Magnus’s basement. ‘Did he help Dadi move them?’
The woman shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t. Magnus actually went back down to the harbour with Dadi to rescue a falcon he’d seen in a cage on board the foreigners’ boat, and to take any valuables they had there. The finances of his and Geiri’s company were in very bad shape. I believe he couldn’t bring himself to look into the cupboard where they’d shoved the bodies, so I’m sure he never offered to keep them at his place. The plan was to sink the fishing smack with the bodies still on board.’
‘Turns out they were bird smugglers,’ said Thóra. This explained Magnus’s rambling about birds. He was still wondering whether the falcon he had freed had survived.
‘That’s what Geiri said,’replied the woman. ‘In fact on board they found a map showing some likely nesting sites of eagles and falcons. No one knows whether they already had the falcon, or whether they’d captured him on this trip. Magnus let it go that night in the hope that it would return to the wild.’
Jóhanna was staring at her mother. Thóra couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind. Was she too angry to speak, or struck dumb with shock?
‘Why did Dadi and Valgerdur want to help you?’ Thóra asked. ‘Were they not as unfriendly as I’ve been told?’
Again a cold smile appeared on the old woman’s face. ‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch,’she said. ‘But it’s not always the right person who has to pay.’
Thóra didn’t understand.‘What do you mean? Did they want to be paid for keeping it quiet and disposing of the bodies?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘In return, Magnus was supposed to take the blame for everything in a case for which Dadi was under suspicion. Smuggling liquor, which he’d been doing for years. Magnus agreed to it, since he hardly had a choice. Murder and smuggling aren’t exactly comparable crimes in the eyes of the courts, nor of the public for that matter.’ The woman paused and drew a deep breath. ‘Our payment was even higher. Valgerdur had persuaded Alda to tell her at the hospital where she was in her menstrual cycle. If she turned out to be carrying a child, they wanted to take it in secret and bring it up themselves.’ She looked into Thóra’s eyes. ‘Alda paid her debt to those barbarians; she agreed to it after we worked up the courage to tell her everything. Under normal circumstances, she would have had an abortion. Valgerdur threw out her medical report and made sure Alda was discharged before the doctors came round the wards the next morning. She told the nurses on the night shift that Alda w.is there to sleep off her drunkenness, that she was the daughter of a friend of Valgerdur and that she was doing her a favour. She asked them to keep quiet about it, which they did. So no one looked in on Alda until we returned early the next morning to fetch her – what was left of her. She was never the same again.’
‘Did Markus have anything to do with it?’ asked Thóra. ‘Was he connected to the murders in any way?’
‘No,’ said the woman. ‘He was just one of the kids who drank too much. He was lying at home on the couch dead drunk, according to Magnus. He never came near any of it.’
Thóra exhaled slowly and shuddered. She was standing outside the Midtown Church again, but now she relished the unrelenting rain; it felt as if the cold drops were renewing and cleansing her after her conversation with Alda’s mother. She took out her mobile and called the police.
‘I think we’d better talk, Stefán,’ she said. ‘Something tells me that you’ll drop your appeal to extend custody when you hear what I have to tell you.’
Tinna woke with tears on her cheeks, sobbing weakly. She had no idea why she was crying. She was still in hospital, but didn’t recognize the room. There was no dust at the bottom of the lampshade on the ceiling, and the paint on the walls was a different colour, but only slightly; this one was just a little more yellow. She tried to turn over but felt a pain in her left arm and breast. The pain wasn’t sharp, but felt as if she’d been frozen and was just thawing out. Tinna looked down. She appeared to have bandages beneath her gown, both on her left breast and just below her shoulder. What had happened? Had she been injured in her sleep, but been so tired that she hadn’t woken up, either then or when her wounds were dressed? She was still tired and felt dizzy. Had she taken pills? She couldn’t remember, and in any case that was irrelevant. There was only one thing that mattered. She had to talk to someone. Someone adult who would listen to her, not just look at her and pretend to pay attention. She could almost see what went through their minds while they feigned interest in her: She’s sick. She’s pathetic. We know best. We know best. We’ll let her talk but we know best.
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.