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.
‘This is a great day,’ said Markus, apparently directing his remark as much at passers-by as at Thóra. He had apparently stopped bemoaning the fate of his father, especially since she had told him the old man’s condition rendered him unfit to stand trial. It was likely to be hardest for his mother, although she was pretty tough and would survive. Thóra had also been keen to stress that people would not judge the men very harshly, considering they had been exacting revenge for rape. Alda was barely past childhood when this had taken place, and any time sexual assault had been the topic of conversation, she’d heard parents say that if anyone did that to their child, they would kill them. People would find it difficult to condemn them, even though three innocent men had suffered the same fate as the rapist.
‘A really great day,’ repeated Markus loudly.
Thóra was about to agree with him when she saw Alda’s mother and Jóhannawalking away from the church.
The funeral had been allowed to go ahead, though the police had set a time limit on the ceremony since they needed to take Alda’s body back. Thóra supposed the young man in the blue shirt, following the mother and daughter at a discreet distance, must be the plain-clothes policeman charged with keeping an eye on them.
After Thóra had described the sequence of events to the police, it had turned out that Alda’s uterus had been removed during the autopsy, and they had simply forgotten to check whether there were any scars from a Caesarean section. At the end of the examination the uterus had been placed back in the abdominal cavity and the body sewn up. This meant that the Criminal Investigation Department needed to have the body back before the burial took place, and as quickly as possible. The shorter the time the body was out of refrigeration, the better.
Jóhanna had a supportive arm around her mother’s shoulders. Thóra hurried to prevent them from seeing Markus, but he seemed not to notice anything unusual when she grabbed him by the arm to chivvy him along. At Laskjarbrekka Restaurant the pair dropped out of sight, and Thóra relaxed her grip. She heard a beep from her mobile and looked at the screen.
‘If there is anything I can ever do for you, Thóra, then promise me you’ll let me know,’ Markus was saying as Thóra read her text message.
It was Gylfi, reminding her to check on accommodation in the Islands for the festival. Thóra looked up at Markus, who stood there beaming. ‘There is actually one thing that would please me no end,’ she said, returning his smile.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Thóra held Sóley’s hand so tightly that her daughter winced. She relaxed her grip, but not enough for the girl’s little palm to slip from her grasp. The crowd was so dense that Thóra feared if they were separated for just a second she would never find Sóley again. Naturally, she should not have agreed to join the queue at the booth selling festival souvenirs, but it was difficult to say no to Sóley. The girl had been staring enthralled at all the people with flashing sunglasses, masks, hats, necklaces, flags or everything at once, so when she set eyes on the blessed booth Sóley thought she’d hit the jackpot. Thóra adjusted Orri on her hip. He was holding just as tightly to his grandmother as she was to Sóley, and Thóra reassured herself it would take at least four determined festival-goers to tear the three of them apart.
‘I want a rubber nose,’ said Sóley, as she stood on tiptoe to see what was for sale. ‘And one of those flashing hairbands.’
After purchasing these essential festival accoutrements they pushed their way back past the queue. Thóra had grown tired of carrying Orri, who was just over a year old and large for his age. She headed towards an empty space below the Islanders’ white party tents, standing side by side at one end of the festival grounds, away from the campsite provided for visitors. They took a seat on a little grassy slope, where Sóley removed the decorations from their wrappings and put them on. ‘Do I look good?’ she said, smiling broadly. Thóra smiled back and nodded while Orri stretched a chubby finger in the direction of the red clown’s nose. Sóley darted away nimbly and started teasing Orri by pushing the nose towards him, then pulling her face back when he tried to touch it.
The weather was glorious, and Thóra still hadn’t seen anyone who looked drunk. The festival had really surprised her and she could only assume that everyone was having too good a time to spoil it by pouring gallons of alcohol down their necks.
She hoped this also applied to Gylfi and Sigga, but she hadn’t seen them since they arrived at the festival ground in Herjolfsdalur Valley, on the covered back of one of the trucks used to transport festival-goers to and fro. There the young couple had met their friends and gone off with them to the concerts, while Thóra stayed behind with the younger generation. She had gone in search of Markus and Leifur’s tent, and after threading her way through dense rows of tents that all looked the same, she finally found it.
Thóra enjoyed a hero’s welcome in the packed tent, where she was plied with smoked puffin and red wine. Sóley and Orri got as many biscuits as they could eat and as much chocolate milk as they could drink. Thóra’s fears that Leifur and Maria might bear her a grudge were clearly unfounded, and Markus had urged her to drop by. Klara was elsewhere, thankfully – Thóra was fairly certain she would not have shown her the same hospitality. The huge tent was decorated according to local tradition, a semi-living room having been set up inside. It was incredibly well furnished, with three sofas, a refrigerator, a large table, and even pictures hanging from the canvas walls.
Maria’s eyes were watery as she hugged Thóra across the wide table, coming very close to falling across it. Darling, it’s so nice of you to come. It was more of a surprise to see the brothers drinking. Neither was actually drunk, but both were red-cheeked and spoke louder than usual. Leifur was very generous with the bottle, repeatedly offering to refill the glasses of all the other guests in the tent, whom Thóra did not recognize at all. There was plenty of wine to go around, nonetheless. Leifur had been positioned in the very middle of the tent, but he clambered through the group to plonk himself down on the arm of the sofa where she sat. ‘You did a good job,’ he whispered in her ear, grinning foolishly at her. Before Thóra could ask what he meant, he bent down to her again. ‘Markus is happy, and this was all for the best. Here in the Islands everyone understands what happened, and I don’t think I’ve ever been asked by so many people to give their regards to Father.’ Thóra nodded and muttered that it was her pleasure.‘Here’s to the lawyer!’ thundered Leifur over the crowd, who lifted their glasses simultaneously.