‘Hello, Jakob.’ Thóra interrupted him and extended her hand. When he didn’t take it, she withdrew it. ‘It would certainly be much better if you could move back home. As your mother said, I’m going to see whether that’s possible, but you’ve got to help me a little bit.’ His expression was still sceptical, and now seemed even a touch angry. ‘I need to ask you some questions and you must answer me truthfully and correctly. This won’t be like when other people have been speaking to you, because you can tell me everything and I’ll never get angry. I want to be your friend and you can trust your friends.’
‘What’s your name?’ It wasn’t a good sign that he couldn’t remember her name for more than a second. How could he possibly be expected to remember things from over a year ago? Hopefully he just hadn’t been listening.
‘My name is Thóra and I want to try to help you. I’m actually not at all certain that you started the fire. Do you remember the fire?’ He shook his large head but his fearful expression suggested otherwise. ‘Yes, Jakob, you remember it, don’t you?’
‘Fire is hot and it burns and hurts. I definitely know that.’
‘Exactly.’ Thóra smiled. She had to be careful, especially not to ask leading questions. ‘Did you maybe see how the fire damaged the home and hurt the people there?’
‘The home hurt the people too.’ Jakob looked at his mother. ‘A lot of them started crying. But not me.’
‘Did they start to cry when the fire was burning the house?’ Thóra wasn’t sure whether he was speaking generally and referring to how unhappy he’d felt at the centre or whether he meant the cries of those who died in the fire.
‘Then as well. I didn’t start crying.’ He looked proudly towards his mother. ‘I was good like you told me to be.’
‘So you saw the fire?’ Thóra did her utmost not to be too aggressive, but she needed to work this out.
‘The fire was bad.’ He turned to his mother again. ‘I don’t want to talk about the fire and I don’t want to talk to this lady. She’s just like the bad man.’ Thóra assumed he meant Ari.
‘Did you know that I brought raisin cakes for you?’ Grímheiður took her son’s large hand in hers. ‘If you’re good about talking to Thóra, I’ll see whether you can have one afterwards. I made them for you in the big pot. Do you remember it?’ He nodded and turned slowly back to Thóra.
It was probably better to start with something other than the fire. ‘Do you remember Lísa, Jakob?’ He nodded and didn’t appear thrown by the mention of her name. ‘Was she your girlfriend?’
‘No, she couldn’t talk. She was still good, though.’
‘How was she “good”?’ Thóra prayed that he wouldn’t answer this by saying anything romantic or sexual.
‘She never cried. She was always just tired and sleeping.’
‘Was there ever anyone in bed with her?’ Jakob looked in surprise at Thóra. ‘No. Never. That was just her bed.’
‘Did you ever get into bed with her?’ She felt she had to just ask straight out, although Grímheiður’s look of astonishment suggested that she didn’t know why Thóra was asking the question. ‘Or did you see anyone else do that?’
‘No,’ Jakob half shouted. ‘There was no room and I had my own bed. Everyone had their own bed.’ He paused before adding: ‘Mine burned but that was okay. I didn’t want it. I have a room at Mummy’s house. No one is bad there.’
‘Who was bad at the home?’
‘Lots of people. One woman was very bad and I hit her.’ He frowned. ‘She deserved it. She was bad.’
‘You should never hurt people, Jakob. You know that.’ His mother stroked the back of his plump hand. ‘Do you remember how angry everyone was?’
‘No one was angry when she was hurting…’ he tailed off.
‘Are you talking about Glódís? Who did she hurt?’ Thóra hoped that it was only the director that Jakob had beaten. With the bite on Ari’s upper arm, that made two assaults, which was two too many. She’d seen Glódís’s testimony about this incident the second time she’d looked through the court documents, but had hoped that it was an exaggeration or a misunderstanding, that Jakob hadn’t intended to hurt the woman. It appeared that wasn’t the case.
‘She hurt… a lot. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Did she hurt you? Was that why you hit her?’
‘No, she took the picture that Tryggvi gave me. It was mine but she took it from me and said that I couldn’t have it. I got angry and hit her with the broom. She deserved it. You can’t take what belongs to other people. That’s stealing.’
Thóra hurried to speak before Grímheiður chipped in with some motherly guidance and reprimanded her son for this long-past deed. ‘Did you get the picture back? What was it of?’ Perhaps Jakob had nicked a report or some other document from Tryggvi’s apartment; according to the descriptions given of him in the court papers, Tryggvi hadn’t communicated with other people.
‘Glódís never let me have it back. And I wanted to have it, it was a picture of a man shouting. And letters that I didn’t understand.’
‘Did Tryggvi give you the picture? Did he say anything to you?’
‘No, he just handed it to me. That’s just as much giving as if he’d said something. He couldn’t talk.’
This conversation appeared to be leading nowhere. Jakob’s attack on Glódís had apparently been prompted by frustration and irritation at the injustice that he thought he’d been done; first he’d been deprived of his home, and then his picture. ‘So Tryggvi was your friend. That’s nice.’
‘Poor Tryggvi.’ Jakob shut his eyes tightly and murmured something incomprehensible. Then he opened them wide again and stared at Thóra. ‘Look at me. Look at me.’
Thóra, who had hardly taken her eyes off him since he came in, held his gaze. ‘I’m looking, Jakob. Did you want to tell me something?’ The young man’s energy suddenly flagged and he seemed to go limp in his chair.
‘I want cake.’ His tone was a classic child’s whine. ‘I’m not answering any more questions.’
‘Just a little longer, Jakob. Then you can have cake.’ Thóra hoped she was right. She had no idea what rules they had about eating here; there could very well be a ban on eating between meals. She hoped not. ‘Who do you think set the centre on fire, Jakob? You can tell me and I won’t tell anyone. It would help me so much if you told me what you think, because you knew everyone.’ There was no need for her to put so much effort into this question, because the answer came immediately and categorically.
It was just a pity that it couldn’t be taken seriously. ‘It was an angel. An angel with a halo. A broken halo.’
‘Did you know this angel?’ Thóra hoped that he simply meant a good person, maybe someone he’d had a good experi-ence of.
‘No, I don’t know any angels. They all belong to God.’
‘If an angel set the residence on fire, then it wasn’t an angel from God.’ Thóra shook her head to make this clear to him. ‘Angels are good and those who are good don’t start fires and hurt people. How do you know it was an angel? Did it tell you that?’
‘No, I just know it was. I almost saw it completely and it was completely good. It wanted to make people stop crying.’ Despite the confusion about this character, Thóra was finally on track. Perhaps Jakob had seen who was responsible after all – if there was any truth to his words. ‘And what was the angel doing when you saw it?’