Someone to Watch Over Me

CHAPTER 9 Saturday, 9 January 2010

The drive to Sogn seemed as if it would never end. Conditions were awful – drifting snow and black ice – and it felt like her destination was getting ever more distant. The awkward atmosphere among the passengers didn’t help: Matthew drove, while Thóra made repeated attempts to carry on a conversation with Grímheiður, Jakob’s mother. Thóra felt that they should have her with them at this first formal meeting with Thóra’s client. The woman was quiet and seemed to be terrified in the back seat, holding the handle above the window with a death grip. She told Thóra weakly that she didn’t have a driving licence, which made her feel rather anxious when the road conditions were so bad. She added that this was the reason she so rarely came to visit Jakob during the winter, though even in the summer she had difficulty finding a lift. She didn’t have many friends and of course her relatives had their hands full with their own lives; it wasn’t really on to ask them to drive her all the way out to the countryside east of Reykjavík. It had been easier when Jakob had been in the community residence, even though she’d had to walk a considerable distance from the bus stop. She concluded this short speech by thanking Thóra sincerely for wanting to bring her along; it had been more than a month since her last visit. Thóra was silent after hearing this; the situation between Grímheiður and her son was sadder than she’d imagined. All the same, she hoped the woman didn’t have too high hopes that this would be a completely normal visit.

En route, Thóra asked her tactfully about her and Jakob’s relationship with the lawyer Ari Gunnarsson, and received the answer she’d expected, that it had been rather strained. They’d been incredibly unlucky with the choice of Jakob’s supervisor; Thóra had gone through all the files he’d given her and there was scarcely any sign that he’d looked at them. There was nothing scribbled in the margins, no page corners turned down, and considering how messy the man seemed to be, this was unlikely to stem from any inclination to keep the files neat and tidy. Grímheiður said that Ari didn’t have any understanding of Jakob’s condition and that he’d constantly expected things from Jakob that Jakob was incapable of: taking notes, reading over depositions and criticizing them, and so forth. He’d also been rather rude to both Jakob and his mother and didn’t seem to put much effort into the defence, though Grímheiður stressed that she knew nothing about these things and was in no way qualified to judge. Thóra pursued this by asking her how Ari had come to be chosen as Jakob’s attorney, to which Grímheiður replied that the man had called her the morning after Jakob had been found wandering around after the fire and the process to formally arrest him had begun. This process wasn’t easy, since Jakob was underage and numerous people had to be summoned, including his mother, as his guardian. She didn’t know where Ari had got her number, but she believed that the police or someone else involved in the arrest must have given it to him. She had no idea how such things worked and accepted the man’s offer to defend her son. At that point it simply hadn’t occurred to her that this was anything other than a mistake that would soon be fixed. When this had turned out not to be the case she hadn’t wanted to take the trouble to change lawyers – she’d even thought that it was too late, since they were going to try to speed up the case as much as possible.

Thóra remained silent throughout Grímheiður’s account, though she found it all rather odd. The fire had occurred on Saturday evening and the formal arrest was made the next morning. Lawyers weren’t in the habit of calling people and offering them their services, least of all on a Sunday morning. How had Ari heard about the case? She’d never heard of the police getting in touch with lawyers to give them unsolicited, insider tips about possible clients, which made her think Grímheiður’s explanation was unlikely. It was of course possible that in all the fuss surrounding Jakob’s developmental level and his legal position, unorthodox procedures had been followed, but Thóra was dubious about this theory. If anything, the authorities would have wanted to do everything by the book.

The wind had dropped and the snow had more or less stopped drifting by the time they finally drove up to the Psychiatric Secure Unit. The sun pushed its way up from the horizon and cast its merciless rays on the crust of snow. They shielded their eyes while waiting for a moment on the doorstep for someone to answer the entryphone. They made a great fuss about Matthew, since Thóra had neglected to inform them of his attendance. After a bit of wrangling he was allowed to accompany them as her assistant. They were also delayed by Grímheiður having come with two full plastic bags of groceries for her son. The old woman had to hand in everything that she had with her and the contents reminded Thóra of what a terrible cook she herself was. Out of the bags came a Mackintosh tin containing doughnuts, a mountainous stack of flatcakes, half a glazed ham wrapped in cling-film, rhubarb pie and all manner of other cakes and breads, all home-baked. The woman must have been up all night preparing it. The food was put back in the bags, which were then placed in a back room somewhere before they were finally taken to meet Jakob, in the same homely, worn-out sitting room where Thóra had met Jósteinn. She would have liked to use this trip to have a few words with him regarding the cost of the investigation, but she couldn’t help feeling that it would be better if he were otherwise engaged. She didn’t particularly want to see him again.

They sat down on the sofa and tried to make themselves comfortable, even though the seat was pretty saggy. Grímheiður chose to sit at one end of the sofa, clearly hoping that Jakob would be allowed to sit next to her, because she pulled a large easy chair over before sitting down. Thóra said nothing; the better mother and son felt, the more relaxed Jakob would be, and thus the greater the chance he would be persuaded to talk. By the time he finally appeared, accompanied by a staff member, his mother had rearranged the embroidered cushions at least four times in the seat that she intended for him. They gave each other a long hug before he plonked himself down in the chair. He hurriedly gathered the cushions one by one from underneath him and let them fall to the floor. Thóra and Matthew stayed quiet as his mother asked him how he felt, whether he was eating well and whether he always brushed his teeth for two minutes every morning and evening. He answered all of her questions in the same way: ‘I want to go home.’ In the end Grímheiður introduced Thóra and Matthew, to whom Jakob had paid no attention.

‘This is Thóra, Jakob. She’s a lawyer. Like Ari, but much better. She’s good, and maybe, just maybe, she can help us so that you get to come home.’

Jakob looked at them both in turn and frowned. He appeared to have slept badly, his hair was dishevelled and there were noticeable white marks at the corners of his mouth from saliva or toothpaste. His trousers were too short and his frayed sweater too large. Why wasn’t it possible to keep people properly presentable in these places? You could be sure that those who worked on disabled people’s issues wouldn’t go round in used or the wrong size clothing. ‘I want them to leave. I want to talk to you, Mummy. Just you. Why can’t you move here if I can’t go home?’ His sentences all ran together, as if he were pushed for time. Perhaps he thought the chances that his wish would be granted would increase if he spoke so fast that it would be difficult to distinguish the words.

‘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?’

‘It was walking. With a suitcase. In my room. There was a bad smell, then it left.’

‘Where did it go, Jakob? Did it go up to heaven?’ Thóra wanted to know how crazy this story was. If he replied that the angel had ascended to God, it would be very difficult to take his story seriously. If not, there was a good chance that the glow from the fire or another illusion had caused the arsonist to appear to Jakob, in his drowsy state, to be an angel. Perhaps the suitcase had been the petrol can, for instance.

‘It just went. To the others.’ Jakob suddenly leaned over to his mother. ‘Then it got incredibly hot.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the police about this, Jakob? Then they could have punished the angel instead of you. They think you started the fire.’

‘I told them about the angel but they didn’t want to hear about it. They said I mustn’t lie.’

‘Wasn’t anyone nice to you when you were talking to the police?’ Thóra knew a therapist had been present during the interrogations, the transcripts of which she’d skimmed over, though she didn’t remember the person’s name. Of course, it could be that this angel story had come out in an interrogation that hadn’t been recorded, in which case the investigation couldn’t exactly be considered exhaustive.

‘No one was nice. Not once. They were all so angry with me.’ He shut his eyes and burrowed his head into his mother’s shoulder. Grímheiður’s face was awash with grief; going over the story again was clearly taking it out of her.

‘Were there only policemen with you?’

‘I don’t want to talk about this. I want to go home.’ Jakob didn’t open his eyes, and instead pressed closer to his mother, which pushed her head completely to the side.

‘Maybe you’ll get to go home, Jakob, if you keep being so helpful. I think you’re doing a very good job talking to me and I’m sure you’ll get some cake soon.’ She decided to leave further discussion of the interrogation for a better time. She still had to go through the files Ari had given her and the interrogation about the angel might be in there somewhere. ‘Was the suitcase green? Green like grass?’

‘I know exactly what colour green is,’ Jakob replied crossly, straightening up. His mother’s head immediately sprang back into its proper position. ‘But I don’t remember. It was so dark.’

‘But was it really big, or just like this?’ Thóra held her hands out to what she thought was the right size for a petrol can.

‘Like this. Not huge.’ He suddenly grinned broadly. ‘Mummy and I went to Spain once and we bought a suitcase. It was huge – like this, see.’ Now it was his turn to hold out his hands and he stretched them out as far as he could without falling off his chair. His poor mother – if Jakob was right about the size, the bag could have fitted both of them in and a few more people besides. Thóra sighed. If this was an indication of how many errors the young man’s statements might contain, he would never be a great witness.

‘Jakob. Tell me one thing. You must promise to be completely honest. Cross your heart.’ Thóra traced a cross over her heart, and he followed her example. ‘Did you set the residence on fire, maybe by accident?’ He shook his head. ‘Did you have a lighter or matches, or did you find any in the home?’ He shook his head again. ‘You’re not fibbing?’

Jakob shook his head a third time and now with such force that his hair stood out as he did so. ‘No. No. No. No. I was afraid of the angel and I left. I didn’t want him to take me with him to heaven. I wanted to go to Mummy.’

‘But did you take the suitcase with you?’

Jakob hesitated and looked at his mother. She continued to stroke his hand. ‘Just tell the truth, darling. You remember, the true stories are always the best ones.’

‘I took it. The angel had lost it and I didn’t want the fire to damage it. God might get angry at the angel and that wouldn’t be good. I put it outside so it wouldn’t burn.’

Bingo. Thóra believed him, despite all this talk of divine beings and other peculiarities in his story. ‘Good, Jakob. Thank you.’ She smiled at him and he returned the smile faintly, his slanted eyes crinkling above his chubby cheeks. ‘Did you hear the angel say anything, Jakob? To you or anyone else?’

‘No, but I couldn’t hear very well. There were so many people screaming and then there was an explosion. I think the angel left because of all the noise. Angels don’t like noise very much. That’s why it wanted to take people to heaven. They always cry so much on Earth.’

Thóra and Matthew stood in the corridor. She was happy with the outcome of the meeting. After asking Jakob about life in the centre but not learning anything new, they’d left the sitting room to give mother and son some time alone before the three of them had to return to town. No doubt all the things he’d told her had already been recorded in the case files and in court, but now that she’d spoken to him in person she believed his story, even if it was childishly expressed. The verdict had stated that Jakob’s explanations were far-fetched and were found to be in accordance with his impaired intellect, but it had not gone into any more detail. Was it somehow beneath the dignity of the court to put his full testimony in print? Obviously people were only allowed to spout bullshit if they were considered to be of sound mind. Thóra had read plenty of testimonies made by people who seemed hardly any more advanced intellectually, even if they were considered to be better connected to reality. ‘I’m certain he’s innocent, but I’m well aware that that isn’t enough to get the court to reopen the case. We need more, and not just the truth about what happened with this pregnant girl.’

‘Well…’ Matthew didn’t appear as convinced as she was. ‘You know, you’re pretty impressionable, Thóra. I understood most of what he said, but I wouldn’t trust myself to make a judgement of guilt or innocence if I only had his statements to go on.’

‘No, but I think I trust myself. You don’t raise two and a half children without learning a few things; I know how kids lie. Jakob is simply a big child, and I had the feeling that he was answering honestly. He might be confused, but he’s honest.’

‘He’s an adult, Thóra. A man. Not a child, even if he is intellectually impaired. Don’t forget that. Your children certainly weren’t lashing out with broom handles or biting chunks out of people.’ Thóra had no answer to this. Once Gylfi had pushed his friend out of a swing at preschool, and Sóley had pulled a girl’s hair in a supermarket, but there had been no other violent incidents. And Gylfi’s son Orri had never hurt a fly. Matthew was right, developmentally impaired adults were not children.

The man who’d brought Jakob and his mother raisin cakes when Thóra and Matthew had left the room reappeared. With him was Jósteinn, and Thóra felt the hair rise on her arms. ‘Jósteinn heard that you were here and he wanted to have a few words with you. I understand you’re doing some work for him, and you’ve already met. Is that all right with you?’ Thóra didn’t quite see how she could say no with Jósteinn staring over the staff member’s shoulder, so she said yes and the man left them standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor. ‘I’ll be in earshot if you need me,’ he said before leaving.

‘I’m so pleased that you took on this case.’ Jósteinn smiled. He seemed to be staring at Thóra’s stomach. ‘So pleased.’ His sour-smelling breath nearly made her gag, and she stepped back involuntarily, hitting the back of her head against the wall.

‘Yes, well, I don’t know yet whether it will have the intended result, but I believe there’s reason to continue.’ Her head hurt so much that she felt like crying. ‘Actually, I feel I must inform you that due to your and Jakob’s special circumstances, there’s a limit to how much I can update you on the progress of the case. Many elements of what I find out will remain confidential between me, Jakob and his mother. That’s non-negotiable.’

Jósteinn smiled, revealing his yellow teeth. His gaze had shifted to her arm now. ‘I wouldn’t suggest anything different.’

‘How can I get a budget to you? It would be best for you to approve it before we go any further. I can also send you a breakdown of the time that’s already been spent on the investigation. Do you have an e-mail account, or access to a fax machine?’

A dry rattle that was probably meant to be laughter emerged from Jósteinn’s throat, and again his bad breath overwhelmed her. ‘No chance. We don’t have Internet or phone access. You’ll have to ask them out front whether you can send a fax to me via the office. I think they could manage to waste one single sheet of paper on me.’

Thóra didn’t like his sarcastic tone, or anything else about him. Once again he had too much gel in his hair. He really seemed to have gone to town with it. ‘OK, I’ll get them to agree to that.’ Thóra hoped his isolation from the outside world didn’t apply to banking matters. Perhaps he couldn’t pay her after all; maybe he had never even intended to do so.

As if Jósteinn had read her thoughts, he announced, ‘I’ll get my supervisor to sort out all the payments, although that might not be within his official remit.’ He pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Thóra. ‘This is his name and phone number. You can call him when you want to get paid.’ He smiled again, now with his eyes closed. ‘Or to reassure yourself that I have enough money.’

Thóra looked at the handwritten details. Each letter was drawn with great care and it looked as if Jósteinn had used an old-fashioned fountain pen. But she wouldn’t need to keep the piece of paper because she was very familiar with the name, and even the number. Ari Gunnarsson. What a strange coincidence.