Thóra gathered the remaining papers, put them on top of the larger ‘maybe’ pile and turned her attention to the smaller pile. As soon as she started reading the first file, she regretted not having put them in any particular order, either by date or likely relevance. She set aside the file – a report about technical aspects of the fire – and flipped down through the rest until she found the verdict in Jakob’s case. Soon most of her initial questions were answered, and she could see a clear sequence of events.
Shortly after 3 a.m., petrol that had been spilled that night along the corridors and into the living quarters was set alight. The fire doors had been propped open with chairs and other objects, but only the ones leading to occupied apartments; the rooms with no one inside had been left alone. It would be difficult to argue that this had been an accident; it was a clear example of malice aforethought. The report stated that the night watchman, Friðleifur, had been attacked and struck at the base of the skull. Although the autopsy and other evidence could not be conclusive, he was probably unconscious before the petrol was trailed through the building. His body was found melted onto a chair in the duty office, and there was nothing to suggest that he had moved or tried to escape. The cause of death was listed as suffocation from smoke inhalation. So Friðleifur had been unable to keep his charges safe, and the building’s electrics had failed them too; because the home was so new a few of its systems, including the fire alarm and sprinklers, were yet to be connected. This had been raised as a concern, but with the work so behind schedule the excitement of moving everyone in overcame common sense and the residents were installed before all the loose ends were tied up. The concerns raised were quickly forgotten and the sensors – which would have saved lives – sent their messages into space instead of alerting the sprinkler system.
In a further twist of fate, a second watchman who should have been covering the night shift had called in sick at short notice, and no one could be found to replace him. In his statement he said that Friðleifur had called him at home an hour before the time the fire was estimated to have started. At that point there had been nothing much to report; the other man was only calling to ask about a key he couldn’t find. The files also mentioned another phone call, but this one to the centre, not from it. This call, which was brief, had occurred just before Friðleifur called his sick colleague. The caller, a young man not named in the files, claimed to have been drunk at the time and to only vaguely remember making the call; it must have been a wrong number, as he did not know anyone at the residence. His explanation was not questioned, since the other staff testified that drunk people often seemed to accidentally call the centre on weekend nights. They had always assumed the home’s telephone number must be one digit off the number of a club or bar, although they hadn’t looked into it as it hadn’t seemed that important.
The care home had been located in a new estate right next to Reynisvatn Lake, where the fully paved and tarmaced streets wound around plots that still stood empty. No one could afford to build houses any more. The building was some way away from its nearest neighbour so the fire burned unnoticed for quite a while. Eventually some of the neighbours were woken by the stench of smoke, called emergency services and had four fire engines despatched. It was immediately obvious to the fire-fighters that there was no point entering the blazing building, so all their efforts were directed at controlling the spread of the fire.
Once they had the fire more or less under control, they began searching in what was left of the building and found the bodies of four residents, as well as that of Friðleifur. Contact was made with the facility’s director, Glódís Tumadóttir, who was roused from a peaceful sleep into a living nightmare. She managed to stammer out that there ought to have been six people in the building, five residents and the watchman, and a hunt for the missing resident was initiated immediately. It was impossible at that stage to identify any of the bodies, which hindered the search. Still, the police managed to find Jakob within an hour; he was wandering the streets of the Grafarholt neighbourhood, reeking of petrol and scared out of his wits. He fled when the two policemen who had spotted him got out of their car, but the physical restrictions of his extra chromosome stopped him outrunning them. His attempt to flee the scene was what swung the court’s ruling against him, along with his fingerprints on a twenty-litre petrol can found at the scene and his inability to explain what had happened. There was nothing in the ruling or court records to suggest that his disability hadn’t been taken into consideration. His unwillingness to move to the centre was described at length as a possible explanation for his actions. It was concluded that he had set fire to the home, thereby killing those inside. However, the ruling went on to say that it accepted the expert witnesses’ assessment of Jakob as not being criminally liable due to his functional disability. Therefore he was acquitted of criminal charges. The doctors who had assessed him also advised the court that he should be considered a risk to others, so measures should be taken to prevent him from doing further damage by housing him in an appropriate institution. Hence his current confinement in the Secure Psychiatric Unit at Sogn.
There should have been six residents at the community residence. Only four had died in the fire; Jakob was the fifth. Thóra was unable to find anything in the long document regarding the fate of the missing resident. There must be an explanation elsewhere in the stack, and she made a note to look out for it. She also scribbled down that she needed the names of everyone who’d testified and given statements; in the court documents almost everyone was identified only by a letter. ‘X testified that…; B felt…’ and so on. If she came across anything that might indicate a mistrial, she would have to speak to some of them. Although some time had elapsed since the fire, there was a slim chance one of them might remember something – some small detail that hadn’t seemed important at the time but that could now help prove Jakob’s innocence.
Thóra found it hard to make sense of Jakob’s testimony, both in court and in the countless interrogations he’d endured. She had never read a testimony that was so garbled and confused. It read more like the words of a child, which in a way was not far from the truth. Jakob’s intellectual maturity was completely at odds with his physical age. She found a reference to his IQ, which turned out to be just under 50, though all that meant to Thóra was that he would have been classed as an ‘imbecile’ in 1967. It was an ugly word, but useful in helping her recall what she had read about IQs; 100 was the average, which meant technically Jakob had half an intellect, whatever that meant. She made another note, this time to remind herself to find out what that score of 48 signified. Did he have a mental age of five? Or two, or twelve? Was it even possible to make such a comparison? If she could put Jakob into a familiar context, it might help her understand his behaviour.
Jakob had given several conflicting accounts of his movements that night. His explanation for not having been found at the scene seemed to change with each interrogation: he had been on his way to see his mother; he was hungry and wanted to buy ice cream; he didn’t remember anything; he’d been scared, but he hadn’t been fleeing the scene. He had no explanation for why his fingerprints had been found on the petrol can, but since doubts were quickly raised as to whether he understood the question, the can was produced and shown to Jakob. His response was immediate and violent; he screwed his eyes shut and refused to open them until the can was taken away. This had only served to add weight to the case against him, as it seemed the can reminded him of what he’d done. But Thóra wasn’t sure this held water. If he’d had nothing to do with the fire, the can could still have frightened him because it was connected with the fire. Perhaps he had even seen someone else starting it. That could also explain why he had reeked of petrol; he may have fled the scene after it was poured on the floor. It was a long shot, especially given that Jakob himself had at no point claimed this to be the case. He’d have no reason to keep quiet about it… unless he was afraid of the guilty party? Thóra smiled to herself. She was speculating too much; it was far more likely that Jakob was unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy when he was stressed.