Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Ashes To Dust

Adolf screwed the plastic cap shut on the Coke and held the bottle in one hand. Then he lifted the glass and tilted it as if he were toasting an invisible friend, before turning back into the bedroom. On his way in he wondered how best to get rid of the girl without any repercussions. The morning- after contraceptives in the glass would only win half the battle; he would also have to throw up a blockade against their getting to know each other any better. He didn’t have much time to think things over, so he decided to use an old excuse that had served him well. He would say that he was getting over a difficult break-up and that he couldn’t commit to anything right now. He would conclude by asking her whether he could phone her after he’d sorted his head out, since he felt there was something really special about her. She would swallow this hook, line and sinker – everyone wanted to be special. If she only knew how incredibly average she was. By tonight he wouldn’t even remember the colour of her hair. He stubbed out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, which pushed two other stubs onto the table. Christ. Maybe he could trick her into helping him clean up, or even better: get her to clean up without him having to help at all.

‘Coke,’ he said, waving the glass to and fro. He stood in the doorway and leaned against the doorpost.‘Would you like a drink?’

The girl looked up and licked her dry lips.‘Oh, yes please.’

She smiled and sat up, making the bedcover fall from her breasts. She did nothing to try to cover them. Adolf smiled back. Nor was there any reason to hide such beautiful breasts. He sat on the edge of the bed next to her and handed her the glass. She took big gulps as if her life depended on it and Adolf watched her chest rise and fall. She removed the glass from her mouth and took a deep breath. ‘God, I’m so hungover.’ She handed him the nearly empty glass. ‘You want some?’

He took the glass but did not drink. Instead he placed it and the Coke bottle on the bedside table and moved closer to the girl. Now it would be fun to find out what she was like in bed – he recalled so little about last night. Afterwards he could give her the speech about how emotionally handicapped he was at the moment. He was, after all, wasting his last tablets on her. A little smile crept over his lips. The story wasn’t exactly a lie. He was emotionally damaged. His dealings with that bitch Alda proved it. A nasty giggle slipped out and he saw from the girl’s expression that she wasn’t completely sure what to do. How ridiculous. As if this girl had any choice. No meant no- he was completely prepared to accept that. The trick was to suppress the no before it emerged, prevent it from being said. He kissed the helpless girl on the forehead and placed his hand lightly over her mouth.

‘Do you know anything about the volcano?’ Thóra asked as they walked out of their hotel into the warm air.

‘No,’ replied Bella. ‘Nothing except that it erupted.’

‘Yes, as usually happens with volcanoes,’ said Thóra, wondering why she had thought it was worthwhile to bring her secretary. ‘Well, you’ll learn more about it later. The man we’re going to meet knows everything about it, Markus says.’

‘Can’t wait,’ drawled Bella, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket.

Thóra paid no heed and kept walking as the secretary stopped to light up. Bella didn’t hurry to catch up after her cigarette was lit, so they walked the rest of the distance to the harbour-master’s office a few paces apart. Thóra used the time to think about what she wanted to get from this Kjartan Helgason. Apparently he had been out at sea a great deal in his day, and Markus considered him to be among those best informed about the eruption and the rescue work following it, and had said that as Kjartan had been a friend of his father, it should be easy to get him to open up. Thóra had little hope that much would come out of this interview, but she and Bella would at least know a bit more about the eruption afterwards. Maybe he would even have some thoughts about who the men in the basement might be, and could point Thóra in the right direction. She was well aware that the police were working day and night to find out precisely the same thing, and that they had connections out in the world with which Thóra could scarcely compete, despite her owning the whole series of Our Century books. On the other hand, it was clear to her that identifying the bodies would speed, up the investigation significantly, as well as providing clues as to who they might have had dealings with and what they had been doing in the Islands. How people live influences how they die.

Kjartan welcomed them on the steps outside the harbourmaster’s office, where he was having a cigarette with another, younger man. He introduced himself when Thóra arrived and shook her hand firmly. The top bone of his right index finger was missing, and his palm was rough. He appeared to be approaching retirement age: a few dark hairs could still be seen on his otherwise white head. He limped slightly as he showed them in, and told them unexpectedly that he still hadn’t recovered after being struck by a boom nearly twenty years ago.

‘That’s why I stopped going out to sea,’ he said, smiling ruefully. ‘You can’t tread the waves very well with a gammy leg.’ He slapped the top of his thigh.

‘And did you go straight from that to working here?’ asked Thóra as they made their way up to the second floor.

‘No, my dear,’ replied Kjartan, stepping up one more stair with great effort. ‘I’ve done this and that from the time I became a landlubber. I’ve only been here for five years.’

‘And you can’t get an office on the ground floor?’ she exclaimed, surprised that a partially handicapped man should be forced to hobble up the stairs.

‘Yes, I’m sure I could,’replied Kjartan. ‘But I don’t care about that. This bother with the stairs is worth it.’ He opened the door to a small office. ‘I have to have a sea view,’ he said, and pointed out of the window to where the harbour and Heimaklettur Peak appeared. ‘I’m like a puffin. I can’t take off unless I’ve got the sea in my sight.’ He waved his hand around the room. ‘I’d get nothing done.’

It seemed to Thóra from the piles and scraps of paper covering the room that the man’s accomplishments were scarcely exemplary, despite his view of the sea. ‘I live by the sea, too, and I know the feeling,’ she said, lifting a strange- looking device from the nearest chair. ‘Can I put this somewhere else?’ she asked, looking around to find a secure place. Although it looked like it might be a piece of junk, it could just as easily have been valuable, henceits place on a chair rather than on the floor like most other things in the office.

‘Just throw it on the floor,’replied Kjartan as he took his own seat. Thóra placed the object down carefully and sat in the chair. Bella pulled another chair over to Kjartan’s desk and also sat, after removing a plastic bag that appeared to contain some glasses or cups. She put the bag down quite roughly, and Thóra had to wait until the glasses stopped clinking before she started to speak. ‘I hope we’re not dragging you away from home to meet us,’ she said. ‘Markus said that you would be here, but since it’s Sunday I wasn’t sure.’

‘My dear, don’t worry about it,’ replied Kjartan. ‘I needed to work this weekend. There’s only the two of us here trying to catch up with everything because of the reports that need to be done this week. Yet another ridiculous inspection is about to begin.’

Thóra relaxed a bit, but at the same time sympathized with the man, who certainly appeared to have a lot of work to do, considering the condition of the office. ‘Okay, good,’ she said, then turned to the matter at hand. ‘Markus has perhaps explained to you my business, which is to say, I am assisting him in a case that appears to be connected to the eruption,’ she began. ‘He told me that you knew everything about everything.’ She added quickly, hopefully:‘and everyone…?’