Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Ashes To Dust

Leifur shook his head. ‘I was in Reykjavik that weekend. Classes had started again after the Christmas holidays. I was in my third year at Reykjavik Junior College and I was living in the city.’

Thóra raised an eyebrow. ‘But you were here the night of the eruption,’ she said. ‘And that was in the middle of the week, wasn’t it?’

Leifur smiled at her, but unlike his mother’s his smile appeared genuine. The old ladywas looking more bored and irritated by the second. ‘Markus getting drunk like that really hit the family hard,’ he said. ‘Mother was in pieces and Father was furious, so I decided to come home and give Markus a piece of my mind. We were off school that Monday anyway, so I didn’t miss much. I had planned to go back to town on Tuesday, although I hadn’t expected it to be in the middle of the night, as it turned out to be.’

‘Is that Sigridur?’ said the old man suddenly. He had stopped staring out of the window and was now peering in bewilderment at Thóra.

‘No, Dad,’ replied Leifur gently.‘This woman is name Thóra. Sigridur is dead.’ He took his father’s hand. ‘Wow, your hands are like ice. Should we cover you up a bit better?’ Leifur didn’t wait for an answer, since the old man seemed to have tuned out again. Leifur looked at Thóra.‘Sigridur was his sister. He probably thought you looked like her, although I don’t see a resemblance.’

Thóra smiled at father and son.‘Hello, Magnus,’ she said loudly, even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t speak down to the old man. ‘My name is Thóra, and I’m a lawyer.’ The old man frowned, not taking his eyes off her. ‘I’m helping your son. Bodies were found in the basement of your old house on Sudurvegur Street, and the police think Markus is involved.’ Leifur and his mother had agreed that she could try to speak to him, though they both believed nothing would come of it. Mind you, the look on the faces of both mother and son indicated that they’d clearly not expected this topic when they gave their reluctant permission.

‘Sigridur?’ repeated the old man quizzically. ‘Basement?’ he added. Thóra’s words were filtering through to him, though possibly not their meaning. The man fell silent and turned back to the window.

‘There’s no point trying with him,’ said Klara, her voice gentler than before. ‘He can still speak, but it’s not really connected to what’s going on around him. Also, the conversations, the few he takes part in, go in whatever direction he wants. It’s impossible to manage them.’ She looked from her husband back to Thóra, and her expression hardened. ‘I would rather you didn’t badger him any more.’

Thóra agreed. She had hoped the man would be in better condition, even though everyone in the family had said that he was suffering from full dementia. ‘Klara,’ she said cheerfully,‘do you think that your husband could somehow be involved in this case? Even the best of men can end up in situations that bring out the worst in them. No one really knows what happened, and there could even be a natural explanation for the deaths, one that’s hard to work out after so many years.’

The old woman leaned back as if to distance herself from Thóra as much as possible. The smell of her perfume subsided slightly. ‘It is my understanding that the men were beaten to death,’ she said. ‘My husband was a strong man and a very hard worker. However, he wasn’t violent. He couldn’t have killed anyone.’

‘Did he never get into any fights in his youth, do you remember?’ asked Thóra.

‘Fights?’ exclaimed Klara.‘He was-’ She glanced over at her husband and corrected herself. ‘He is a man. Of course he got into fights in the old days, before the children entered the picture.’

‘Was he a bit of a handful when he’d had a drink, anything like that?’ persistedThóra, mindful of Markus’s assertion that his father had been less than pleasant when drunk. She also knew that seamanship in the old days was usually accompanied by robust drinking. There were many so-called heroes of the sea in her mother’s family, and she’d heard tales of their long voyages, where they had worked hard under enormous pressure, then let off steam on shore. Now times had changed, and drunken sailors were no longer in evidence on the streets of the city.

‘Magnus wasn’t a violent drunk, if that’s what you mean,’ replied Klara sharply. ‘Nor was he an alcoholic, like some of his colleagues. I actually think that’s the reason he did better than them and managed to start a company that is now one of the largest here in the Islands.’

‘Of course, part of that was because he was also so hardworking,’ Leifur added.‘There are a lot of stories of his diligence when he was a young man – he had to fight hard for everything he got in life.’ He put a hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘He wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth like so many people nowadays.’

Thóra didn’t wish to point out that Leifur was one of those people: his father’s business had been handed to him on a plate. She also decided not to press them concerning Magnus’s drinking, since it didn’t seem relevant. ‘Could he have got into something in order to help someone out?’ asked Thóra.‘Like Thórgeir, Alda’s father?’

‘Sigridur?’ asked Magnus suddenly, before mother or son could answer her. ‘Do you know Geiri’s girl, Alda?’

‘Yes,’ said Thóra, fearing the old man would retreat back into his shell if she said no.

‘How is she?’ he asked, picking at a thread on the edge of his fleece blanket. ‘That was an awful business.’

‘What business?’ asked Thóra calmly, trying not to break the thread of his concentration.

‘I wonder if the falcon survived?’ said the old man. ‘I hope so.’

‘I… I think it must have,’said Thóra, desperate to say the right thing. ‘Did Alda kill the man?’ she asked, when nothing else came to mind.

The old man looked at her and his mood seemed to darken. ‘You’re always so difficult, Sigridur. Who invited you here?’

‘Klara did,’ replied Thóra, smiling as gently as possible.

When the only response she got was a blank stare, she added: ‘Klara, your wife.’

‘That poor child,’ said Magnus, shaking his head slowly. ‘Poor child, to have to rely on such people.’

‘Do you mean Alda?’ asked Thóra urgently, because the man appeared to be drifting away again.‘Did Alda have a hard time as a child?’

‘I just hope the falcon survived,’ said Magnus, and shut his eyes.

Further attempts to get him to speak were in vain. Thóra sat thoughtfully, unable to make head nor tail of anything he’d said. Why was he talking about a falcon? Was it connected to some event in his own life, unconnected to the bodies in the basement or Alda’s murder? And which child was he talking about?

Bella seemed rather pleased with herself as she sat in the hotel lobby slurping her drink, which could have been plain Coke but seemed more likely to have a shot of rum in it. The sweet odour of alcohol was unmistakable when Thóra sat down by her secretary. ‘Remember you can’t charge alcoholic drinks to expenses,’ said Thóra.‘It’s hard to claim a drink as being necessary for work,’ she added when she saw Bella’s expression. Strangely soothing Calypso music floated from the speakers behind them; perhaps it had inspired her secretary to order the drink. Thóra wouldn’t have said no to a Pina Colada herself.

‘Oh, do me a favour,’ said Bella. She took another sip, still smiling smugly. ‘I’ve seen Bragi’s bills when he goes out of town on business.’