Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Ashes To Dust

Thóra didn’t know which Magnus she was referring to, but was fairly certain that she didn’t mean Leifur and Markus’s father. Whoever she meant, Thóra thought she knew where the root of the disagreement between the couple lay. Maria wanted to sell the company and move to Reykjavik. Yes, that’s where Laugavegur High Street was, with shops where one could spend all one’s money. She would fit perfectly inside a terribly expensive penthouse in 101 Reykjavik, the downtown district, where she would look out over the blue bay past a single lily in a vase as she sipped cafe au lait. Leifur, in contrast, would clearly feel about as welcome in such minimalist surroundings as a patchwork quilt. He clearly wanted to hang on to the company and live in the Islands, where he could continue to work in the fishing industry. Perhaps moral obligation played a part too; if the quota and the fishing company were sold, how could he continue to live in the Westmann Islands? His must be a difficult position, bearing the responsibility for the jobs of so many workers in such a small community. Although Thóra was no specialist on the Islands’community after two short visits, she felt that it reflected certain characteristics of the whole of the country in the not so distant past. Iceland before the age of capitalists. Iceland when most people were on almost equal financial terms and the wealthiest men were the pharmacists. Leifur and Maria’s house was no different from any other house in the neighbourhood: large and well kept but far from luxurious. It must feel strange to have that much money but never spend it, especially for Maria, who obviously appreciated the finer things in life. Thóra thought it best to change the subject. ‘Do your parents still live here?’ she asked Leifur, taking another mouthful of egg. It seemed never-ending, and she couldn’t imagine anything but an ostrich laying one this size.

‘Yes,’ replied Leifur.‘They live in this street, a few doors down, but we’re not sure for how much longer. Dad has become extremely difficult and Mum is so old and tired that she can hardly cope. Maria has been helping her but they’re getting to the point where they’ll need specialist help, which is hard to find here in the Islands.’

Maria received unexpected Brownie points from Thóra for this. She looked at the woman and decided that despite her cold manner she must have a warm heart. It wasn’t so difficult to put yourself in her shoes, an empty nester with not enough to do, while her husband was rushed off his feet. If the woman was from Reykjavik, her support network must be there; old girlfriends could hardly stop by for coffee here.‘You have children, don’t you?’ she asked, addressing Maria.‘Do they live here?’

‘No,’ the woman replied sadly. She added quickly: ‘I mean, no, they don’t live here, but yes, we have children. Two, Magnus and Margret.’ She sat up straighter. ‘Margret is abroad, doing a medical degree, but Magnus is a business administrator like his father. He works for one of the big banks and recently became director of property management.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘So it’s foolish to think that one of them could take over the business. Magnus already makes twice what his father does.’

‘Now, it’s not that simple,’ said Leifur to his wife. ‘You know that.’ He turned to Thóra. ‘Even though our children have followed other paths in life, one never knows whether things might change. And Hjalti, Markus’s son, is very keen on the sea and the company. He’s with us more or less every summer and a lot of weekends during the winter. He would be very disappointed if the company changed hands.’ Once again it appeared as though the conversation were heading in the direction of the couple’s unresolved conflict.

Thóra heard Bella sigh softly. She must be tired of the conversation, although it could just as easily have been the egg that still lay half eaten on the plate in front of her. ‘Do you remember anything about the eruption?’ she asked Leifur in a desperate attempt to relieve the tension.

‘Of course, my dear,’ replied Leifur, pushing his plate away. ‘It’s hard to forget.’

‘Did you go to Reykjavik on the same boat as Markus?’ asked Thóra. ‘I’m trying to find someone who could verify that Markus and Alda spoke to each other during that journey.’

‘I was on board,’ replied Leifur, thoughtfully. ‘I must admit I don’t particularly remember Alda being on the same boat, but that doesn’t mean much. Alda was the same age as Markus, two years younger than me. At that age I didn’t pay much attention to kids.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘However, I can assure you that if Alda was there, Markus wasn’t far behind.’ He put down his glass. ‘I don’t think he ever actually got over his crush on her, not even as a grown man.’

‘That’s certainly my understanding,’ said Thóra, as she tried to push the egg down into its shell so that it would look as though she had finished it. She put down her spoon and wiped her mouth with a napkin to complete the illusion. ‘Is there anyone else who might possibly remember these interactions? What about your mother?’

Leifur shook his head. ‘Not Mum. She was very seasick and had enough to worry about. I doubt she even noticed Markus.’ He twirled his glass on the table. ‘Let me think about this a bit. Maybe I can remember some other people who were there. It would mostly have been Markus’s childhood friends who would have noticed anything; the whole class had a crush on Alda so maybe they can remember something.’

Thóra reached into her handbag, which was hanging on the back of her chair, and took out a photocopy of the report that Bella had found in the archive. ‘Here’s a list of the people who came to the mainland on that boat. Maybe you’ll recognize the names on it.’ She handed it to Leifur.

Leifur looked over the list, which was handwritten and totalled four pages. Suddenly his face brightened.‘Jóhanna, Alda’s younger sister. She still lives in the Islands and works at the bank where I do business. Maybe she can help, although she might not remember the evacuation. I’ll talk to her tomorrow if you think it might help.’

Thóra thanked him. She saw Bella give up on her egg and place her napkin over it with an uncharacteristically dainty hand movement. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, pushing the plate away slightly. ‘Very unique flavour,’ she added, without looking up from the tablecloth in front of her. Maria smiled at them, but only with her mouth. She stood up and started clearing the table. Then she went, arms full, to the kitchen, where they could hear her preparing the main course. Thóra crossed her fingers in the hope that no more special dishes would be served, but genuinely feared that the woman was about to appear with a platter of grilled starfish. ‘Haven’t the police come round to take statements from you?’ she asked Leifur, setting aside her concerns about the menu. ‘Or your parents?’

‘I received a phone call the other day from Reykjavik and I told them I knew nothing about it,’ he replied.‘I doubt they’ll let it go that easily because the man I spoke to asked a lot of questions about my future travel plans, as well as about Mum and Dad. He also told me they’d be back in touch, and that we’d be subpoenaed. I pointed out to him that it wasn’t possible to question my father, and described his illness. This was on Friday, as I recall, but I haven’t heard any more from them.’ Leifur shrugged, almost dismissively, although Thóra couldn’t tell if his lack of interest was genuine. ‘They’ll come when they come. We’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘You have nothing to worry about,’ Thóra reassured him. ‘But what explanation do you have for the bodies in the basement? You must have given it some thought.’