Someone to Watch Over Me

CHAPTER 35 Friday, 22 January 2010

Sveinn held out the drawing; he didn’t seem at all bothered about parting with it. ‘Just take it. As you can see I’m not doing anything with it, and it’s purely by chance that it didn’t end up in the rubbish bin ages ago.’

Thóra took the drawing, thinking to herself that she ser-iously doubted the filmmaker ever threw anything away. The box from which he’d pulled the drawing looked as if it contained everything relating to his documentary for the Ministry of Welfare. Maybe he was still pissed off that the project had been shelved. ‘That’s great – thanks so much for making the effort to dig this out for me.’

‘You’re welcome. You could have had it sooner if I’d known you wanted it. As you said the other day, it’s not exactly something you want hanging on the wall.’

‘No, and that’s not what I plan to do with it.’ Thóra thanked him again and hurried out to her car. She couldn’t disguise her joy as she hurried down the staircase of the block of flats. On her way back from Berglind’s she’d been cursing the fact that she didn’t have any of Tryggvi’s drawings to compare with Pési’s clumsy one, which Berglind had let them take. Matthew had then suggested that perhaps they could borrow the clip they’d watched at Sveinn’s and take a close look at the wall in Tryggvi’s room that was covered with his drawings, in the hope that they could enlarge a frame from the video recording. It was then that Thóra remembered that during the clip Tryggvi had handed the filmmaker one of his drawings, and wondered if he might still have it. She was fairly certain that the drawing would contain all the usual elements: the young woman lying down, who was probably Lísa; the person standing up, symbolizing his mother; the flames, the string of characters, and other little details that they hadn’t been able to make out due to the resolution in which they’d viewed the video clip. In a brief phone call the next morning Sveinn had confirmed that he still had the drawing and that Thóra was welcome to drop by and get it.

She jumped into the car and slammed the door hard behind her. ‘Bingo!’

Matthew drove off happily enough, although she knew he wasn’t quite as pleased as her. The bank had given him a final deadline that morning regarding the new job; the offer would only stand until Monday. They couldn’t wait any longer for an answer; he would have to make up his mind. Thóra tried to hide how much she hoped that he would take the job, confining herself to saying that her gut feeling was that he should. What she didn’t say, and what bothered her, was that the likelihood of him finding another suitable job in Iceland in the next few years was extremely limited. And if he didn’t have a job here, he would eventually drift away, whether or not her parents lived with them. For her it was Iceland or nothing; she had to stay here for her children, and her parents, and even for herself. If he moved away, their relationship would be over, whether it happened at a specific moment by mutual decision or whether it faded away slowly but surely. Any plans for keeping the relationship going long-distance would never work in reality. But it would be unfair of her to lay this at his door; it was his job and he would have to make the decision himself.

‘Do you have time to look at this with me before you go and see them?’ she asked. He had a meeting just before noon with the recruitment director; there was enough time, but he might want to have another shower, change his suit or put on a tie with stripes that sloped to the left rather than the right. He had the tendency to do such things after years of working in German banks. ‘I mean, you don’t need to do anything beforehand, do you?’

‘No, nothing.’ Matthew didn’t elaborate and Thóra didn’t know whether he thought it was useless to do any more preparation for the meeting, since he was going to say no, or whether he’d already decided to accept the job even though he’d told Thóra that he still had grave doubts about it. She decided not to question him any further; she would find out soon enough.

‘Then let’s go up to the office and have a look at the drawing. I’ve got instant coffee for you.’

‘The characters are the same, just in reverse order – though obviously it’s impossible to be completely certain about it, since the little boy isn’t a particularly brilliant artist.’ Thóra put down the magnifying glass between the two drawings. ‘It’s hard to determine whether this is the letter O or the number zero, and the same goes for this one – is it an “i” or the number one?’ She looked again at Pési’s drawing. ‘And then I can’t see whether this is a B or an eight. And maybe it doesn’t make any difference in the end, because no matter how you arrange these letters and numbers, they don’t make any sense.’

Matthew leaned back and rubbed his eyes. ‘There are some really intricate details in this picture – I don’t know how he even managed to draw them. It hurts my eyes to look at it.’ He reached for the magnifying glass. ‘Do you think this is Lísa?’ He examined the figure lying prone at the front of the drawing. ‘Did she have any other disabilities besides being in a coma?’

‘No.’ Thóra understood why he was asking. Considering how well Tryggvi drew, there were details in the picture that seemed awkward, particularly where Lísa’s body was concerned – if it was indeed meant to be her. One arm seemed to be turned backwards at the shoulder and her legs had two joints instead of a knee, one in the middle of the thigh and the other mid-calf. ‘Maybe this is his interpretation of rape or something. Perhaps the rapist had to put her body in a strange position in order to be able to carry out the act. Tryggvi’s sensory world was completely different to ours, of course, but that’s what it could have looked like to him.’

‘But she’s screaming; or at least her mouth is wide open.’ Matthew frowned at Thóra. ‘Could he also have forced her into oral sex? There’s something leaking from her mouth in the picture.’

‘Is that even possible, if the person is unconscious?’ Thóra took the magnifying glass from him and examined the gaping mouth. ‘But you’re quite right, it’s as if something is leaking out of one of the corners of her mouth.’

‘It’s a real shame that he couldn’t have drawn it just a tiny bit more clearly. Do you think that therapist, Ægir, could explain this any better?

‘Possibly. Mind you, I think he took a lot of poetic licence when he analysed the drawings before. I don’t think you can force one specific interpretation on them.’ Thóra pointed at the person standing upright. ‘Why, for instance, should this be a peace symbol that the figure’s holding, as he claimed? It certainly looks like one, but why would Tryggvi have been sticking a peace symbol in his drawings? People have to have some insight into human history in order to understand its meaning properly. At least that’s what I would have thought.’ She looked at the large ring that the figure was holding between its hands. ‘Jesus. And here I was thinking we’d be so much closer with this.’

‘But what if it isn’t Lísa?’ Matthew looked at Thóra. ‘Aren’t we focusing too hard on trying to see what we want to see? We don’t actually know that he witnessed anything at all, and maybe it wasn’t even possible to see her bed through the doorway of her apartment. We should maybe check all the facts before we go any further with this interpretation.’ He looked at the clock and stood up. ‘Well, I’d better get going.’ He kissed her on the forehead. ‘Don’t you want to ask me what I’m going to say to them?’

She shook her head. ‘Take me to dinner after the meeting and tell me about it then. Today is going to be a short one for me anyway because I can’t meet Jósteinn until tomorrow, and I’m not going to write any more in this report until after I’ve seen him.’ She blew him a kiss and wished him luck. Then she watched him walk out of the office and wondered whether this would be one of the last times that she did so.

To distract herself until he returned, Thóra decided to have a look at the Facebook page again. She’d had enough of the two drawings for the moment. Something was bothering her about Lena’s story of her night-time visit to the care home, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was just by thinking about their conversation. Hopefully looking at the photos would inspire her. She particularly wanted to have a look at the photo of Bjarki Emil, in case that was what was bothering her. To her great surprise, several of the photos made her realize what it was that wasn’t right.

‘So, they did know each other after all?’ Matthew dutifully stayed in the right-hand lane, though they were unlikely to meet another car as they drove slowly through the convoluted grid of streets.

‘I don’t know whether they knew each other, necessarily, but they were certainly at the residence on the same night, and probably at the same time.’ She pointed out a snowdrift in the middle of the roundabout that they were approaching, then continued: ‘You remember she said she’d gone there with her drunk friend, along with another friend of theirs who drove? He was in the photo with Friðleifur and Margeir where Lena is visible in the background, which makes me want to know who actually took the photo. Hardly the dead-drunk girl if what Lena said is true – that the photo was taken while she was on oxygen. Which means there was someone else there, and I think it was this Bjarki Emil.’

‘Just because Friðleifur and Margeir are in the same clothes in the photo with Lena as they were in the one with Bjarki Emil?’ Matthew drove carefully past the snowdrift. ‘Maybe neither of them had that many clothes, and it’s just a coincidence that they were wearing the same both times.’

‘You think it’s likely both of them were wearing exactly the same clothing, and I mean exactly? Margeir’s trousers were sagging on one side in both photos, and his shirt was hanging out in the same place. No, I think they either met there by accident or they went there together – and the latter seems more likely to me. In fact I discovered that they’re both enrolled at the university, in the same department and the same year. That’s too much of a coincidence, in my opinion. So she should have recognized him when we showed her the photograph of him. I don’t know exactly what this means, but I think it’s rather odd.’

‘Yes, it certainly is that.’ Matthew turned into the driveway that led to the charred remains of the residence. In front of the ruined building was a car that appeared to be abandoned. ‘What’s going on here?’ Matthew stopped immediately, only a few metres up the driveway. ‘Do you want me to drive up to the building or should we call the police? We can always come back later to check whether Lísa’s bed was visible from her doorway.’

‘No, let’s find out what’s going on.’ Thóra tried to work out what the car could be doing there, but she didn’t recognize it. No one she’d met in connection with the case drove a battered old banger like this.

Matthew inched forward again, this time with the headlights off so the visitor would be less likely to notice them. It could of course be a car that someone had left behind some time ago, but the snowless windscreen suggested otherwise. ‘Maybe it’s someone from the Regional Office monitoring the place?’

‘I doubt it. Drive a little closer but not too close, so that whoever this is doesn’t spot us. It can’t hurt for us to keep quiet.’

Matthew parked the car a short distance away so that the crunching of the snow beneath the tyres wouldn’t be audible. They opened their doors carefully, stepped as gently as they could to the ground and turned in the direction of the blackened building. Thóra felt as if she’d never been surrounded by such silence; they had the wind at their backs, so they couldn’t hide behind the distant whine of traffic that was coming from the other direction.

By the time they’d finally inched their way up to the boarded-up door they’d first stood in front of several days ago, Thóra’s heart had started to pound in her chest; the need for secrecy had made her nervous and the tension seemed to grow with each cautious step. Matthew had silently pointed out some tracks that led from the abandoned car alongside the house, disappearing at the door. She crossed her fingers in the hope that the driver wasn’t waiting on the other side of the wall with a baseball bat. It was clear to her that if this person was the one who had started the fire, then he or she had already killed several people, meaning that two more corpses weren’t going to make much difference – the sentence would be the same. There weren’t many things worse than encountering a person who had nothing to lose and Thóra suddenly regretted not following Matthew’s advice and turning back.

Matthew leaned over to her and whispered so quietly that she could barely hear him. ‘Wait here. There’s no reason for us both to go in. It just doubles our chances of being heard.’ Thóra shook her head emphatically, despite her earlier doubts. She stretched up to his ear and tried to whisper just as softly as him: ‘We’ll stick together. It’ll double our chances of restraining him, or her, if we end up in a fight.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Matthew was so offended that he hissed in her ear: ‘You add maybe thirty per cent, if that. Closer to twenty-five.’

They stopped making calculations when they heard footsteps inside the abandoned building. The floor must still be awash with water because at each step there was a splash. The sound was amplified in the empty concrete shell, creating a hollow echo. As far as Thóra’s senses could tell her, someone was heading towards them. ‘I’d forgotten the water,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll be heard as soon as we set foot in there.’

Matthew nodded. He raised his hand to his ear and with a simple gesture motioned to Thóra to step aside and get ready to call the police. Thóra rummaged in her bag for her phone, hearing the footsteps approaching rapidly at the same time. They seemed to have reached the doorway before she could manage to hide. She and Matthew froze when the loose board was pushed away and a jeans-clad leg ending in a cheap trainer stepped out. This was followed by a man’s torso, and finally his head. He saw them immediately, and for a moment he stood as motionless as them before suddenly scrambling back inside. Thóra was much too agitated to be able to think clearly, but the face was familiar even though it took her several seconds to place it – it was Margeir, who’d worked the night shift with Friðleifur. As this was sinking in Matthew disappeared into the blackened ruins behind him. The splashing inside suggested that a frantic pursuit was taking place, and Thóra hoped that it was Matthew chasing Margeir and not the other way round. After a brief deliberation she pushed her way in after them.

She’d forgotten about the smell of smoke. As soon as she stepped inside her nostrils stung. The darkness was total, since all the windows and doors were boarded up so the light from outside was negligible. There was a torch in Matthew’s jacket pocket but he’d probably not had enough time to turn it on. She decided to follow the wall, for fear of stumbling over the rubbish that was probably still floating around on the floor. The concrete was icy and felt gritty with dirt, but Thóra didn’t let that dissuade her, and she set off in the direction of the noise coming from deeper inside the building. When she’d gone far enough to meet a connecting wall she heard the situation change: there was a thud and a huge splash. One or both of them had crashed to the floor. She hoped it wasn’t Matthew and hurried in the direction of the noise. It was impossible to say who was grunting louder, Matthew or Margeir, but she was glad she couldn’t hear any screaming or cries of pain. Suddenly there was complete silence except for a panting sound. She sped up but slowed down again when she heard the men apparently coming back in her direction. They were moving much more slowly than when they’d rushed into the dark hole, then to Thóra’s great relief she heard Matthew order the man to walk unless he wanted to be floated out. She sighed deeply and only then realized she’d been holding her breath the whole time. She called to Matthew, who told her to hurry outside. She picked her way slowly back along the same route, immensely grateful to escape the darkness and the suffocating smell of smoke. She held the board open to let in a bit of light.

Matthew appeared, dragging Margeir behind him, and it took their combined effort to get the young man out of the house. He put up a fierce resistance and when Thóra felt her index fingernail break to the quick she snapped: ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Then she added, more calmly: ‘You’ve got to come out. Were you planning on moving in there, maybe?’ At that moment Matthew tugged at Margeir with all his might, causing him to fly out and land on his back in the snow between them. He was filthy and panting and held his upper arm as if he’d been injured. After catching his breath for a moment, Matthew bent down to the man and gripped his shoulder. ‘Stand up. You’ll die if you lie there much longer. We’ll go to the car and wait there for the police.’

‘I think I’d rather die, but thanks anyway.’ The man didn’t look at them, just lay there with his eyes closed.

‘Stop being an idiot. Stand up.’

Thóra followed Matthew’s lead and bent down to help him lift the man. ‘Is your name Margeir?’

The man’s eyes opened wide and he looked at her inquisitively. ‘Did you send me those text messages?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve been trying to call you, that’s all.’ Jósteinn’s texting thumb had obviously been busy.

‘Who are you, then?’ Margeir’s breathing had grown more regular and he let go of his arm and stood up. ‘I haven’t done anything to you.’ He stared at Matthew. ‘Aren’t you the guy who chased me last night?’

‘I guess I am; the back of your head looks familiar.’ Matthew helped him to his feet, gripping him tightly in case he decided to run away. ‘What were you doing in those people’s garden? Do you know someone who lived there?’

Margeir shook his head and Thóra took the opportunity to ask: ‘Did you set this place on fire, Margeir? We know exactly what went on here, and what sort of service you and Friðleifur were selling.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Margeir brushed the snow off himself with his uninjured arm; the other hung limply at his side. ‘But I know who did.’

‘You don’t say.’ Thóra assumed that he either meant Jakob or that he was going to falsely accuse someone else – probably one of the fire’s victims.

‘I’m not making it up, I know who started the fire.’

‘That’s just as well, since I’m Jakob’s lawyer – you remember him, don’t you? He’s being held in a Psychiatric Secure Unit; did it never cross your mind to pass on this information?’ She wanted to scream at the man. What was wrong with people?

Margeir said nothing, apparently pondering his situation. ‘You’re his lawyer? And you were trying to reach me?’ Thóra nodded and he was silent for a moment. ‘I had nothing to do with the fire. I wasn’t here, I didn’t start it and I didn’t assist with any cover-up or anything like that. It’s not my fault the police messed up the investigation, but you’ve got to admit that it doesn’t make much difference to Jakob what kind of institution he lives in.’

Thóra was so offended by this that before she knew what she was doing she’d smacked the man hard on his injured arm. ‘You arsehole! I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that things go badly for you. Stupid, ignorant bastard.’ Matthew looked at her in surprise, but said nothing.

Margeir stared at her and rubbed his upper arm, flabbergasted. Then suddenly it was as if all the wind were knocked out of him. He looked miserably at the snow and the wingless angel that had formed where he’d just been lying. ‘That was a stupid thing to say. I know.’ He sighed and shuffled his feet as if to keep himself warm. ‘If I tell you what I know, he’ll be released. Won’t he? That’s the most important thing.’

‘It will help. Who started the fire?’ Thóra knew how important it was to get this out of the man in case he changed his mind before the police arrived.

‘Bjarki Emil.’ Margeir looked from her to Matthew. ‘I don’t know his surname.’

‘It’s Jónasson.’ He could be just trying to pin the blame on a dead man who can’t defend himself, thought Thóra. ‘The man found dead at Nauthólsvík. You know that the police are searching for you in connection with his death?’

‘Yes. I know.’ Margeir directed his attention towards Matthew. ‘He fell backwards onto the rocks, and the fall killed him. I didn’t push him or anything. I just wanted to get him to turn himself in and confess everything. I didn’t care what the consequences were for me.’ Neither Matthew nor Thóra pointed out to him that if this were true then he would hardly have been on the run through the back gardens of Mosfellsbær or scurrying around the charred remains of a building in the middle of nowhere. ‘It was an accident, but I panicked and tried to get rid of the body – I was afraid I’d be blamed. It didn’t work, he didn’t burn like I hoped he would. There wasn’t enough petrol in the can in the boot of my car.’

‘Did you think that he would disappear? Turn into ashes?’ The tone of Matthew’s voice had hardly changed and Thóra admired how calm he seemed.

‘No, I was going to burn the flesh off so he’d be more likely to sink. I couldn’t start dragging a body around trying to find a more sensible place to dump it.’ His expression turned sheepish. ‘And I was in a state of shock; I couldn’t think straight. I guess I thought it was appropriate somehow, considering what he did.’

‘Did you know from the outset that he’d started the fire?’ Thóra tried to emulate Matthew’s composure. The smell of smoke was having a bad effect on her mood; she couldn’t shake off the images of the residents’ blackened bodies.

‘No, I didn’t know it but I suspected it. I met him to find out for sure; I couldn’t get any peace because of all the insane phone calls and text messages, and I wanted to do the right thing.’

‘And he admitted to having started the fire?’

Margeir shook his head. ‘No. Fucking idiot. But it was him. I know it was.’

‘And how do you know that? Did someone else tell you?’ Thóra was afraid that Jósteinn had perhaps believed he could play God and had put some sort of nonsense into this young, nervy man’s head.

‘I know what he was like. I caught him raping one of the girls at the residence. He was a monster, but we didn’t know it to begin with; he came out several times drunk or really hungover to get the oxygen and nutrients treatment, but instead of leaving it at that, he…’ He fell silent.

‘Didn’t you find it odd for him to be lying in the residents’ beds?’

‘The oxygen hose wasn’t long enough for people to sit in a chair, so it was the only way they could reach it. Ragna’s apartment was usually empty, so the visitors would lie in her bed. The few times we needed a bed and Ragna was at home we used Lísa’s. She was the least likely to tell on us, obviously. I guess we might have used Ragna’s bed when she was in it, a few times. I can’t really remember, we were drunk.’ 02 short hose.

Thóra gathered her composure. ‘Did he know that Lísa had become pregnant? Do you think he wanted to get rid of her by setting the place on fire?’

‘They’d begun to suspect that something wasn’t quite right and she was supposed to be examined by a doctor. But he didn’t actually know that, because we threw him out when I discovered what he was up to and he wasn’t allowed back. The night the place burned down I was sick at home, but Friðleifur called and said that Bjarki had been in touch and wanted to drop by to discuss something. He’d threatened to spill the beans about what we were doing if he wasn’t allowed to come and speak to him. I lied to the police and in court about the reason for the phone call because I was afraid they’d find out what we’d been up to. I thought it didn’t matter.’

Thóra was speechless. She remembered the references to the phone call to the residence that night, which had been thought to be a wrong number. The person who’d called, the anonymous young man, had been Bjarki. And there was a similar explanation for why so many drunk people had called on the weekends: they’d been trying to get in touch with Friðleifur and Margeir, but if someone else was on duty they simply said that they’d dialled the wrong number. ‘What did Bjarki want to discuss, other than Lísa’s condition?’

‘Friðleifur didn’t really know, but he said that Bjarki had made some vague mention of needing to give one of the residents a bit of a scare.’

‘Ragna?’ Thóra saw no real purpose in scaring Lísa, who had been comatose. ‘Did he think she was there that night?’

‘I have no idea. All I know is that he planned to come, and Friðleifur must have ended up arguing with him, which ended with Bjarki starting the fire. Maybe Friðleifur let it slip that there was some speculation about Lísa’s condition.’

Thóra flipped her phone open to call the police. ‘What were you doing here, and in those people’s garden in Mosfellsbær?’

‘I came here to double check that there was nothing left of the money that belonged to me and Friðleifur. We hid it in boxes in our duty room and I’ve never dared to look for it until now in case it attracted attention. Now I’m in such deep shit that I was hoping the box had escaped the damage and I could use the money to get out of the country.’ In other words, he was only worried about saving his own skin. ‘It probably got burnt, or it’s just gone, but I was so desperate that I had to check.’

‘And Mosfellsbær?’ Thóra began to dial the police. ‘What was that all about?’

‘That address was in one of the text messages and I thought whoever lived there might be sending them. I’ve been trying to get in touch with the man because it was a man who called, not a woman, but I haven’t managed to meet him. I’ve only seen a woman and a child in that house when I’ve been there.’

The police answered and after describing the situation briefly, Thóra asked them to send officers to the care home. Then she hung up. ‘What is NNI80 supposed to mean? What you wrote in the frost on the window?’

‘What? I wrote 08INN. It was in one of the texts and I hoped that the man would see it when he came home and realize I was there. The kid wasn’t supposed to see it.’

Of course the writing had been in reverse on the window – Margeir had written it on the outside, while the child had seen it from the inside. Obviously Tryggvi must have intended to write NNI8O or something similar, since everything he drew was in mirror image. Thóra sighed. But how would Jósteinn know about this, except from having seen Tryggvi’s drawings? And how would he have got to see those in the first place, and what exactly had he been up to? Perhaps Einvarður had scanned in the images and stored them on his laptop, even though that seemed a bit unlikely. ‘Do you know anything about a hit-and-run accident on Vesturlandsvegur Road, in which a young woman died? Could that have had anything to do with Bjarki?’

He shook his head firmly. ‘I don’t know anything about that. All this stuff about the residence is enough drama for me.’

He had a point. While they were waiting for the police, Thóra couldn’t help thinking that something was missing in all of this. Was Jakob’s claim to have seen an angel really just nonsense, and why had Jósteinn got the poor woman and her son involved in the case through this nasty little game of his? Even though it now looked like Jakob would almost certainly be released, these niggles were destroying the sense of triumph she should be experiencing. She should be overjoyed: it was probably merely a matter of time before Jakob would be allowed to go home; Matthew had just informed her over pizza that he’d accepted the job – everything seemed to be going as well as it could. And yet. She tried to shake off this negativity as she silently watched the flash of lights from the approaching patrol cars. The investigation had reached a reasonable outcome; you couldn’t always expect to tie up every loose end. Maybe that bastard Jósteinn would answer some of the questions that were still bothering her when they met the next day. She didn’t want the slightest doubt about Jakob’s innocence to ruin the case.

What was really bothering her was not being able to see the link between these two cases. On the surface they seemed unrelated, save for the fact that in each of them innocent victims had died – but she was sure they must be connected, or why would the text have directed Margeir to Berglind’s house? The phone call from Berglind that came as they drove away, following the police at a distance, confirmed it. ‘I know where I’ve seen these letters and numbers…’