‘We’re not the first unauthorized visitors to come here.’ Matthew aimed his torch at a corner, where several beer cans lay, along with a cigarette packet and some other paper rubbish. ‘This could hardly have been here when the house caught fire.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ It looked to Thóra as if it had been a kind of living room, although the furniture had been removed. On a wall, empty shelf-brackets jutted out forlornly. Shards of broken pottery were scattered in the water on the floor but it was difficult to work out where they had come from; probably vases, or pots for houseplants. ‘Shall we try and go further into the house? It’s divided into various apartments and it would be good to have a look at them. Our shoes are ruined anyway.’
Matthew pointed the light down at her feet. ‘You’re not kidding.’ He then shone it back into the house to check what lay ahead. At the end of the room a corridor led in two directions. ‘We can have a look around, though I don’t quite understand what you think we’ll find. There’s nothing here that’s going to make any difference. It’s an empty shell and it’s been inspected plenty of times before – and under better conditions.’
‘I’ll feel better having seen it with my own eyes. The descriptions I read only tell half the story – they give a two-dimensional view of the situation instead of the three-dimensional one that will help the witnesses’ testimonies really make sense.’ She was grateful that it was too dark in the building to see Matthew’s expression. She doubted he’d think much of this justification and it was imperative that she set off before he could protest and drag her out. She walked in the direction of the corridor. ‘It won’t take long.’
They set out cautiously; they had no idea what might be hidden in the shallow water and neither of them was interested in falling into it – the fact that it had soaked their feet was quite enough. The water deepened a little when they entered the corridor, enough to cover the edges of their shoes at the ankles. They both shivered, and Thóra recalled the old saying that as soon as the cold gets hold of your feet, you’re cold all over. Once they’d passed the little kitchen, the doors of the apartments began. They were all open, and Matthew pointed out that they were obviously flame-resistant fire doors, because the only damage visible on them was a layer of soot. Then he pointed his torch up at the ceiling, and they both stared at the little sprinklers running the length of the corridor.
‘This shouldn’t have been possible.’ Thóra felt as if the smell of smoke had intensified just at the thought of how horribly the residents died, and how they’d been screwed over both by other people and by fate. ‘It was a total fuck-up; maybe that’s why they were in such a rush to close the case. I’m sure there’s a reason it was wrapped up so quickly, though I suppose it didn’t help that they couldn’t keep the suspect in a normal detention cell.’
She followed Matthew into the first apartment. They quickly took stock of everything inside it. Most of the furnishings had been removed. They called them ‘apartments’, but this tiny space barely deserved the name; the sleeping area, kitchen and sitting room were all in one open-plan area, with the bed in a nook next to the bathroom, the only part of the apartment that could be called spacious. They peeked into it and saw that it was tailored to the needs of a severely disabled resident; the shower area alone was at least twice as large as the one in Thóra’s house, and needed to be to accommodate the various handles and supports fastened to the walls. A shower-curtain, once cheerfully decorated with pictures of colourful fish, hung in tatters from the ceiling, sooty, crumpled and partially melted Thóra was careful not to touch the remains for fear of getting even filthier than she already was, and she wondered whether they’d have to install a shower area like this once eight people were living in her house, which currently had only one shower. Matthew still hadn’t been anything but positive about the prospective changes to the household, but Thóra knew he was only being polite; he must be dreading it as much as she was, if not more. Now that his job at the bank was a thing of the past, he’d be the one who’d have to sit at home most of the day with her parents. She’d have to take him with her whenever she could, otherwise everything would fall apart. She was even considering having a Brazilian wax, which a girlfriend of hers had raved about, in order to surprise him. Even though she’d heard that the first time it was like being skinned – without anaesthetic.
‘Do you know who lived where?’ Matthew tried to shut the charred wardrobe nailed to the wall next to the bed. It was empty apart from shelves that lay, black with soot, at its bottom.
‘I don’t know precisely but I remember that the most physically disabled ones lived in the apartments, opposite the shared bathroom. I read that somewhere. Where the others lived was probably listed in the files, but the information was scattered about and I still have to piece it all together. It will be easier now that we’ve been here, because now I have a clearer mental picture of it all.’ They moved through the next few apartments. When they came to the fourth, it was immediately obvious that it was intended for a severely disabled individual. A track was fixed to the ceiling, branching in several directions – over into a small side room with an imposing toilet, across to the place where the bed had probably been standing, and out into the corridor. They followed the track out and saw that it led to a large bathroom, ending over the largest bathtub that Thóra had ever seen. On the ceiling above the tub was some sort of apparatus, attached to the track. There was a sturdy steel hanger, upon which were fastened two chains ending in hooks. ‘What primitive contraption is this?’ Thóra pushed one of the chains slightly. It emitted a soft creak as it swung slowly back and forth. ‘This could hardly have been used for transporting people between rooms, could it?’
Matthew stopped the chain from swinging. ‘Actually, that’s exactly what it must have been for. They wouldn’t have been transporting water in buckets to the bathtub. I suppose there must have been ropes or something else at the bottom of this that got burnt in the fire. He tried to drag the contraption along the track but it appeared to be dented, because he could only move it a few centimetres. ‘I think this must have been used to move people, no matter how weird the idea might seem.’
‘Jesus.’ Thóra felt a sharp pang of pity. How did disabled people tolerate so much? Maybe it was better to have been born that way and not know anything different. But who was she to judge? No doubt she’d have to steel herself against what she’d be seeing and hearing in connection with this case. They followed the track on to the next apartment, which looked much like the previous one. The only difference was that on the wall next to the bed was a box with connective tubes, which she recognized from intensive care rooms in hospitals. The plastic labels beneath them were no longer legible.
‘This is probably for oxygen.’ Matthew, who had bent down to the box, straightened up again. ‘I expect the person who lived here needed oxygen during the night.’ In the dim light Thóra saw him frown. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to be near the oxygen tank when the fire spread. Oxygen feeds fire and if it was in every other room here, that might explain why the damage was so extreme. The fire would have intensified and become uncontrollable in a split-second.’
It was clear that Thóra would have to go through the fire report. She hadn’t previously considered the oxygen, although she realized Matthew was right as soon as he mentioned it. She looked around in search of evidence of damage other than that attributable to the fire itself. ‘Might the fire actually have been caused by an explosion?’ she asked, although she didn’t see any evidence of one. ‘I mean, if the oxygen supply somehow ignited? Shouldn’t there be a tank somewhere in the house connected to these tubes in the wall?’