Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

Glódís was relieved. He didn’t want her to start deleting files. For a moment she’d thought he suspected his son of being involved in the fire and wanted to get rid of some piece of evidence, to keep it hidden from the lawyer’s investigation. ‘No, we don’t have anything like that. Definitely not. It was all at the home and would have burned along with the building. I’m absolutely certain.’

Einvarður seemed relieved and his tone became more natural, even friendly, as it had always been before. He thanked her warmly and said goodbye, though only after a brief and stilted attempt at polite small talk, as if nothing out of the ordinary had been discussed. After hanging up she stared at the phone in surprise, as thoughts began to run through her mind. Could it be that he’d discovered something linking his son to the case, or was he doing the same thing he’d done when he and his wife had pulled Tryggvi out of treatment without warning? Then, he’d asked to be given all the pictures that his son had drawn, and had been very determined about it. Glódís had only taken him seriously when he called a second time, furious, after his wife had mentioned that pictures had been put up again on all the walls of their son’s apartment. And what had she got for her trouble besides a terrible pain in her back, after Jakob attacked her for taking one of the drawings from him? Perhaps this Thóra woman was looking under stones that were better left unturned. But it wasn’t this thought that was causing Glódís the most distress. In her agitation she’d misled Einvarður: she’d forgotten about Tryggvi’s developmental therapist, Ægir. When his services were no longer required, he’d packed up all his things – including a whole heap of papers he’d used in the young man’s therapy sessions. Not all of Tryggvi’s drawings had been destroyed in the fire.

Ragna Sölvadóttir’s condition turned out to be much worse than Thóra had imagined. She lay on her back, but the nurse had turned her head so that the young woman could look straight at the person speaking to her. A therapist sat close beside Thóra. A thin blanket was spread over Ragna’s wasted body and her shoulders stuck out from beneath it like coat hangers, her collarbone jutting through her skin. Thóra was sure it must require the utmost care simply to handle the girl so that she didn’t break. It wasn’t her scrawny body that made Thóra most uncomfortable, though, but how still the girl was. The lack of movement was so absolute that Thóra felt as if she herself had to be completely still, as if the slightest twitch would be rubbing the girl’s face in the difference between their lives. Considering how the therapist was moving around in her seat, however, Thóra was probably being unnecessarily sensitive. The therapist was an employee of the Regional Office who had been drafted in to assist her, although the speed at which everything had occurred after Glódís had called and given the green light for her to meet Ragna had made Thóra’s head spin somewhat, and she would have liked to have been better prepared. She had expected it to take several days to organize this meeting, not a few hours. She had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps this had been precisely the aim – to surprise her in order to ensure that her conversation with Ragna would be as muddled as possible. Unless Glódís had finally realized that it was pointless being stubborn; Thóra’s investigation would follow its course with or without her help.

The therapist placed her hands on the cards that she’d laid in her lap. She had a gentle voice and her enunciation was very precise. There was no risk of her words being misunderstood. ‘So to be clear, you understand who this is, and are prepared to answer her questions?’ The woman’s whole demeanour was relaxed, and her brief introduction of Thóra and the purpose of her visit had been clear and reasonable, as if Thóra were meeting with a fully capable woman. There was no pity in her voice nor any trace of the childish tone that Thóra felt trying to emerge in her own questions. She would have to get a grip on herself and be careful about talking down to the young woman; although her body had almost entirely given up, her mind was clear.

The girl blinked once. Yes .

‘That’s good. We’re not in a hurry, Ragna, so just take your time. I have the cards and you know them quite well by now, don’t you?’

Again the girl blinked once. Yes . Her eyes were an unusual colour, so dark blue that Thóra thought at first they were brown. She felt as if they were expressing some terrible sorrow, even though she couldn’t put her finger on what was making her feel this way. There were no tears in the girl’s eyes, nor did she seem upset in any way; she just stared ahead, wide-eyed. Before they’d gone into the room the therapist had told Thóra that the few people who’d been injured in this way always started by spelling out the same thing from the cards: Kill me . After sitting at the girl’s bedside for a few minutes, Thóra wasn’t surprised. The woman had added that this death wish generally passed; humans had an extraordinary capacity to adapt and these people usually took comfort from the knowledge that their situation could be even worse. When Thóra had exclaimed in surprise and asked how that could possibly be, the therapist had replied that there was a slightly more severe version of this condition, where the brain couldn’t make contact with any voluntary muscles at all, including the ones that controlled eye movements. In order to distinguish such a condition from a coma, they had to measure brainwaves; the only difference between the two was consciousness. Thóra’s mouth went dry, all the way down into her throat, as her mind automatically started trying to fathom what such an existence could possibly be like.

‘Then perhaps it’s best if Thóra takes over now, and I’ll just deal with the cards.’ The therapist smiled at the girl and then looked at Thóra. ‘Go ahead.’

Thóra was actually speechless. She’d become lost in her own thoughts and was quite unprepared to take over, but she recovered quickly. ‘I don’t know how well you knew Jakob, who lived at the residence, but I’m working for him. I honestly think, as do several others, that he’s not guilty of starting the fire.’ The girl’s eyes remained still. ‘It would help me considerably to be able to ask you some questions about your time there, because you’re the only surviving resident apart from Jakob; and he has a limited ability to describe or understand what happened.’ Thóra was deliberately not beating about the bush; it was part of her policy of treating Ragna in the same way as she would a fully functioning individual. ‘Some of what I want to ask is unpleasant and personal, and I understand and respect it if you don’t want to answer some of the questions. It’s your choice.’ Ragna still gave no indication of whether they should proceed or not; naturally, she had blinked, but had been careful to do so in the middle of Thóra’s statements so that her blinking would not be misunderstood as replies. Thóra inhaled sharply as she ran her eyes over the smattering of notes that she’d jotted down in the quarter of an hour she’d had to prepare. ‘Actually, I need to know one thing before I start, and that’s whether you knew all the residents by name?’ If she hadn’t, it would be difficult for Thóra to phrase her questions in such a way that Ragna would understand who she was referring to in each instance.

One blink. Yes . Saliva trickled from the girl’s mouth and a little wet spot appeared on her pillow.

‘I’m happy to hear it.’ Thóra smiled at her. She looked at her paper and then again at the girl. ‘Considering your acquaintance with Jakob, do you think that he could have had reason or the ability to set the residence on fire?’