After putting the plastic cards back in their place, they both walked out. Svava turned in the doorway and looked back at the young woman’s pale face and lank hair.
Hot. Burning.
What did she mean?
CHAPTER 5
Thursday, 7 January 2010
The residence stood on the edge of the neighbourhood – if it could be called a neighbourhood. Paved streets lay between empty plots that were still waiting for houses to be built on them. At one junction after another the street signs served as uncomfortable reminders of the area planners’ broken dreams. It would be a long time before any happy families drove down Mímisbrunn, Friggjarbrunn or any other ‘brunn’ to their new homes. If anyone was thinking about building there, they would either have to have a lot of spare cash or a loan at favourable terms, neither of which was available these days. It was as if Iceland’s castles were no longer in the sky but had crash-landed there on the outskirts of the city to remind them to be more cautious next time around. The roundabout that was meant to keep traffic flowing smoothly now did nothing more than complicate the route of anyone who strayed there by accident. Thóra stared out of the window while Matthew sat at the wheel, just as dumbfounded as she was by what they saw. As they turned a corner a single house appeared at the end of a cul-de-sac, but instead of lessening the surreal atmosphere, this solitary building only underlined it.
‘I guess the people who first noticed the fire must live there?’ Matthew nodded towards the house, which dis-appeared from view as they exited the roundabout. Thóra had told him all about the case before asking him to accompany her on this tour. She was more comfortable having him along; she didn’t know her way around the area, least of all in darkness and with a light snow falling. This way she could concentrate on finding the place without having to worry about driving. Also, it was just nice to have company.
‘Probably,’ she replied. ‘I don’t remember the name of the street, but there aren’t many houses to choose from.’
‘Are you going to pay them a visit?’ Matthew’s voice suggested he sincerely hoped not.
‘No. There was nothing unclear about their testimony, at least nothing that has any bearing on the verdict. They didn’t see anyone, they didn’t hear anything, they simply went to sleep and then woke to the smell of smoke when it was already too late. Who knows, maybe something will come to light that’ll change my mind, but I don’t think I have anything to discuss with them.’ Thóra squinted in order to read the sign ahead of them. ‘I think we should turn here.’
Matthew took his eyes off the road briefly and smiled at her. ‘You don’t say. It’s either turn here or drive off-road onto the open moor.’
‘Well, you never know,’ said Thóra. ‘According to the map I looked at, we should almost be there. We drive to the end of this road and from there a little dead-end street should lead off to the home.’
‘If it’s still standing,’ said Matthew. ‘Maybe it was demolished. The way you described the fire made it sound as if it was practically destroyed, there can’t have been much to restore.’
But the house had been neither demolished nor restored. A large concrete shell stood exactly where the map said it should, at the end of a short road that had probably only been built to serve this one house. That it should have been allocated a name was rather generous, since it looked much more like a driveway. A low fence marked the boundaries of the large plot surrounding the centre and a wide gate swung gently back and forth as if it wanted to invite them into its solitude.
‘Well, now.’ Matthew drove slowly up to the building’s entrance. There he stopped the car and glanced at Thóra. ‘Are you happy to look at it from here or do you want to walk around the house?’
Thóra had already buttoned her coat up to her chin to keep out the cold. ‘We’re getting out, of course. I’m hoping we can get inside.’ And with that she quickly climbed out of the car, so as not to have to listen to Matthew’s objections. As soon as she shut the door she noticed two things: the bracing cold, that would be unbearable if the wind were blowing, and a vague smell of smoke, despite the considerable amount of time that had passed since the fire. Thóra took a deep breath to convince herself that she wasn’t imagining it, and although the smell was faint it still made her nose prickle. She pulled the collar of her coat right up under her eyes to keep out the unpleasant odour. She saw Matthew wrinkle his nose too as he stepped out of the car, but he only shuddered slightly before pushing his repulsion aside. He wasn’t the kind of person who would hold his nose, but Thóra knew him well enough to realize that was exactly what he was longing to do.
They walked around the house, surveying the damage. The windows were boarded up from the inside with plywood panels, and around them the white paint of the exterior walls had turned black, especially near the top, where you could almost make out the shadow of the flames that had blazed up into the sky.
‘The glass probably shattered in the heat.’ Matthew shone his torch on one of the frames. ‘I’m no fire expert, but I doubt the residents who died broke the windows themselves.’ He lowered the beam. ‘Or the fire-fighters might have done it when they were trying to rescue them.’
Thóra bent down and picked up a large piece of glass she’d stepped on. ‘I don’t think so, as the glass has fallen out here – the windows must have been smashed from inside.’ She let it fall. ‘Anyway, I have a report from the Fire Prevention Unit that I’m sure will explain. It looked too complicated to read when I first went through the files.’ They came to a side door, which led through to the garden behind the building. It had a large board nailed across it, and beyond it stood a garden table with two broken legs and no accompanying chairs.
There was a large gap at the lower edge of the board. ‘The catch has come off.’ Thóra pushed carefully on the hastily attached fastening and it gave way. ‘We can go in if we want.’
‘Er, yeah – no thanks.’ Matthew looked unimpressed. ‘You can see it isn’t safe. The roof is probably hanging by a thread and it could collapse on top of us. I don’t care about me, but you’re not going in there.’
‘Come on.’ Thóra took a torch, pushed again on the board and shone her light on the ceiling of the side passage. ‘The ceiling here is made of concrete, so it’s not going anywhere. Have a look.’ Matthew seemed grudgingly convinced about the sturdiness of the structure but continued to try to dissuade Thóra. Even as he was using all his strength to enlarge the opening so that they could slip through, he carried on warning her about all the dangers that might await them. Then they were inside the building.
The torch wasn’t much use in the pitch-black. All the windows were covered, preventing the dull gleam of the streetlights from filtering in, yet a layer of water glistened on the floor. ‘I didn’t realise we would ruin our shoes.’ Thóra felt the ice-cold water leak through the seams of her canvas trainers.