Someone to Watch Over Me

CHAPTER 7 Friday, 8 January 2010

Thóra had an appointment with a client back at the office that afternoon. The man was divorcing his wife; the process had begun before the financial crash but had been delayed because the couple had had second thoughts in the middle of it. In the wake of the disaster, they had cosied up to each other in search of the good old days when everyone in the banking and business world had been honest and the authorities respectable. This sudden affection, however, turned out to be merely the death throes of youthful love, and after two months of renewed intimacy they came to the conclusion that nothing had changed – they weren’t made for each other after all. The divorce was put back on the agenda but now under entirely different conditions; their rather sizable assets had gone up in smoke, leaving only their debts to divide up. Their civility seemed to have evaporated along with their assets and the couple, who’d previously seemed to get along quite well, had changed into ravenous vultures in each other’s presence. Thóra and the woman’s lawyer had their hands full preventing them from coming to blows in their joint meetings. Fortunately the husband was meeting Thóra alone that afternoon.

The hot dog Thóra had bought for lunch was on the large side and the last bite went down with a bit of difficulty. She licked mayonnaise off her lower lip and took a gulp of the flat fizzy drink that came with the lunch special. She was feeling quite pleased with herself after her conversation with Glódís. She ran her eyes down a printout of the names of all those who had worked at the centre; the former director had given her the list after Thóra had informed her that she could just as easily find the staff members’ names in the court records. That was perhaps not entirely true, since such a list was unlikely to be exhaustive and there would be no easy way for Thóra to fill in the gaps. From Glódís’s list she saw that there had been fourteen full-time staff and a total of ten substitutes and specialists, which meant that, in truth, even finding all the names in the police reports would have proved a Herculean task. It would be impossible to speak to each and every one of these people, but with insight and a good measure of luck she could hopefully filter out those who she most needed to speak to. Glódís had also let her have the names of the residents’ parents, which would doubtless have proved simpler to find, but it spared Thóra the trouble of going through all the obituaries and death notices from the period following the fire. She was certain that some of these people, staff or family members, must know how Lísa’s child had been conceived, but the name of the father was probably not on either list.

Although Lísa’s rape was a vile act, it wasn’t unprecedented. Thóra had read on the Internet that morning about necrophiliacs, people whose fetish was to have sex with the dead. Nor was this sort of repulsive sexual deviance anything new. The ‘father of history’, the Greek Herodotus, told of how Egyptians let the corpses of beautiful young women rot for three to four days before they were handed over to those who were to anoint them, to prevent them from being disgraced in this way. Of course, Herodotus was also called ‘the father of lies’, so Thóra didn’t know how much this story could be trusted. It was clear, however, from other articles that she skimmed over, that this was a not uncommon modern-day fantasy. Around seventy per cent of those who suffered from this fetish said that they dreamed of sex with people who neither resisted nor gave any sign of rejecting them. A comatose person would certainly fit into this category.

Thóra dug her mobile phone out from her overflowing handbag and called directory enquiries. She decided to utilize the time that she had before meeting with her client to speak to Jakob’s former defender, the lawyer also appointed by the Supreme Court as Jakob’s supervisor. She had tried several times to reach Ari Gunnarsson since starting her investigation, to no avail, and he hadn’t responded to her messages. But Thóra had no other choice but to keep on trying, since Ari’s insight into the case was sure to aid her investigation. It was also more appropriate to let him know of her intentions formally, rather than simply through messages left on his answering machine. His role as supervisor was to ensure that the individual deemed not criminally liable remained in residence at the designated institution for no longer than necessary, although this particular issue would have no influence on the reopening of the case.

Thóra had immediately recognized Ari’s name in the dossier. His details were often given to people who’d been arrested when they asked for a lawyer. He was a decent guy, as far as she could tell; not exactly a genius, but no idiot either. She recalled a rumour which had circulated in the legal world that he had come dangerously close to being disbarred due to being bankrupt for many years, but had somehow escaped this punishment. The man appeared not to have particularly good references, which made Thóra curious about who had selected him to supervise Jakob and why. Had Jakob himself been made to point at a name on a police list, or had his mother done so? She supposed that if you didn’t know any lawyers, that was no worse a way than any other to choose one.

Ari answered on the second ring, apparently in the middle of lunch. He mumbled to her to definitely drop by – he had an hour free, and it would give him an excuse to put aside the boring job he was working on. He apologized for not having responded to her messages; he simply hadn’t got round to it. After swallowing his food in a dramatic fashion, he stopped mumbling and gave her the address of his law office more intelligibly. As she’d expected, it was close by; few lawyers set up shop in the suburbs. When she got there, she discovered that his firm shared a corridor with a few other unassuming offices, including several small wholesalers and a dentist. The latter seemed not to be taking a lunch break, judging by the whine of the drill that came from behind his closed door as Thóra walked by.

Ari’s office was a mess. He was obviously self-employed, because there was only one desk set up in the spacious room. Bookshelves lined the walls and were loaded with rubbish that seemed to have been dumped there at random. A sofa that had seen better days stood under the window, but she could hardly see it for the papers, files and books that were scattered all over it. Even the floor was being used as a filing cabinet and Thóra had the feeling that it wouldn’t take long for a narrow path to form from the door to the table and the worn-looking visitors’ chair. After Ari showed her in, she took a seat. He was on the phone when she arrived and appeared to be negotiating a car purchase, with Ari wanting more for the vehicle than the buyer was willing to pay. A half-eaten sandwich in a rustling plastic wrapper moved back and forth when Ari wanted to place particular emphasis on his words. A piece of lettuce flew out from between the slices of bread and landed on the computer screen in front of him. It slid down lazily as Ari wiped away the mayonnaise streak that it left behind. Finally he hung up, without having concluded the car deal, and smiled at Thóra.

‘Sorry, I didn’t realize that you were so close by.’ Thóra started muttering politely that that was all right, but she didn’t get to finish her sentence before Ari interrupted her. ‘But enough about that. What can I do for you? You said that you’re working on reopening Jakob’s case. How come?’ He took a big bite of the flimsy white-bread sandwich, which was now falling apart after its vigorous shaking.

Thóra told him the entire story of her new assignment before turning to the business at hand: ‘… and since you were Jakob’s lawyer, I wondered if you had any useful information, or if you could remember anything about the case that struck you as odd or unusual.’

Ari laughed curtly. He was on the chubby side and it made his cheeks wobble. ‘The oddest thing about that case was the client. He was completely ga-ga. I won’t be defending any more retards, or whatever you’re meant to call them now. It was like dealing with an ugly, overgrown child. And as if it wasn’t bad enough defending him, they appointed me to be his supervisor.’

Thóra tried not to be too offended by what he said, hoping it was just a reflection of his insecurity. She doubted many clients found their way to this den of chaos. ‘Of course the young man is developmentally disabled, so I can completely understand that communication between you must have been difficult. But I was thinking of something related to the investigation or to the case itself. I’ll make my own judgements on him as a person.’

‘Such sensitivity!’ That nasty laugh again, but thankfully it ended abruptly. ‘You know, I’m actually relieved they didn’t consult me about the reopening of his case. I should be insulted or pissed off, but I’m not at all, not in the least. It was one of the worst cases I’ve ever taken on, and I’ve seen a lot in my time. But it all seemed pretty clear-cut to me: those who died were better off dead, to call a spade a spade, and Jakob is best kept institutionalized for life. If you really believe he’s innocent, all I have to say is: “Good luck with that”.’

Thóra didn’t know quite how she should respond to this extraordinary statement. It was probably best to let it go unremarked; otherwise there was a risk that this would end in an argument. She now seriously doubted that this man had handled Jakob’s interests with anything resembling professional integrity. ‘So you saw nothing in the case that might suggest someone else had a hand in what happened? I’m aware that Jakob’s testimony was contradictory, to the point where at times his guilt didn’t seem to be in question, but as you said yourself, he behaves like a child, and they’ve never been considered reliable witnesses. If full consideration wasn’t taken of his disability, it’s equally likely that something was accidentally missed that might point the finger at someone other than him.’ As she spoke, Thóra marvelled to herself at Jakob’s bad luck in getting Ari as his lawyer. The man was probably great at wrangling with the judicial system on behalf of petty criminals, but he was the polar opposite of what was needed for this case.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

Thóra wasn’t convinced. ‘So there was nothing that came to light regarding the running of the home, or anything else suggesting that someone other than Jakob had reason to want to destroy it?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘What about the young paralysed woman who was pregnant, Lísa Finnbjörnsdóttir? Do you think it stretches credibility to say that the father would have been anxious to conceal the pregnancy?’

‘What?’ Ari seemed genuinely surprised. His lower jaw slackened and his half-open mouth formed a black hole in his otherwise pale face. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

‘It’s in black and white in the girl’s autopsy report. She was around four months pregnant when she died. The father is unknown, but it’s clear that conception took place at the centre. She didn’t get out much, so I understand.’ The black hole opened even wider and Thóra caught a glimpse of the pink tip of the man’s tongue.

‘I wasn’t remotely aware of this, and nor was anyone else as far I know. It was never mentioned in the hearings, or the interrogations, or anywhere else for that matter.’

‘It’s untrue that no one was aware of it, although it was never discussed, out of consideration for her family. You could easily have found out about it, but since you failed to do so, everyone was able to breathe easier.’

Ari was quick to recover his composure. He shut his mouth again with an audible snap and spread out his hands dramatically. His shirt cuffs were threadbare and the pinstripe material of his suit shiny with wear at the elbows. He clearly wasn’t raking it in defending burglars.

‘Well now. I doubt that it would have changed anything. Who would kill a whole lot of people just to hide such a thing? I can see it must have been awkward and all that, but I mean…’ He let his hands drop. ‘Why not just kill her? Cram a pill or two into her mouth, end of story.’

Thóra thought she might cram a thing or two into him if he went on like this much longer. ‘Of course it’s impossible to understand how or why it happened; I’m just pointing out that something was going on that someone wanted to keep hidden, and there might be more to the case that I’m not aware of. Might you not have come across something but maybe considered it irrelevant to the defence case?’

‘No, I swear I don’t remember anything. I would tell you if I did.’ His chair creaked as he leaned back. ‘I should tell you that I was swamped with work when this case was handed to me. Looking back on it, I might not have taken the time to go over every small detail. But that’s another matter; what’s more important is that it wouldn’t have made a difference. All the evidence indicated that Jakob started the fire, and the court would hardly have been receptive to vague theories about other culprits.’ He turned to the slightly sloping bookshelf behind him. ‘I can do one thing, of course, which is lend you the files. I still have them here somewhere.’ He looked around and smiled mischievously at Thóra. ‘I’m not one for throwing things out, as you might have guessed.’ She didn’t return the smile.

‘I’ve already had most of the material from Jakob’s mother. She saved everything she got her hands on.’

‘That’s just a small proportion of it. She can have this if she wants it.’ He pulled one file after another from the shelf. ‘She was an old woman who wouldn’t have benefited from seeing it. In case you’re easily shocked, before you read it you should know that there are aspects of this case that are a little… unsavoury. Another reason why I couldn’t get properly involved in it. There was far too much going on; it was too weird and fucked-up to get my head round.’

‘How so?’ Thóra didn’t understand where the man was going with this. Considering his previous statements, it could well be that he’d been so repelled by the descriptions of the disabled residents and the work of the residence that he’d had to put aside the case.

‘These people were all weirdoes – the residents, of course, but the staff too. These so-called professionals testified in court one after another and the stuff they were coming out with was so mental that I wasn’t the only one who’d had enough by the end of it. According to them we should all leave our jobs and start doing something noble, like caring for the disabled. People may say the work they do is incredible, but I don’t think it was all done out of the kindness of their hearts, if you catch my drift. There was something funny going on.’

Thóra cleared her throat loudly, mostly to stop herself from shouting. Ari was saying something about these people only being fit to go in a meat grinder, but she wasn’t really listening now. Had someone who felt the same way as Ari burned down the home, out of hatred towards those less fortunate than himself? A lot had gone on since the nation’s money evaporated, and some people must have resented the fact that funding was being allocated to these causes. Though admittedly it did take more than a foul mouth and a narrow mind to do something as drastic as killing five people. ‘Was there anything else, besides the specialist carers, that pissed you off about the case?’

‘Plenty.’ The look of outrage over the arrangements at the unit faded slowly from Ari’s face and was replaced by a more serious expression. His eyes flicked to the side and he stared at the rubbish on the floor by his desk instead of meeting Thóra’s gaze, as he had done until now. ‘I think what frustrated me most is that it seemed like money had been poured into the construction of this centre, but not into other comparable enterprises. I looked briefly into whether this was normal, to throw equipment and employees at an establishment as if we were a wealthy oil empire, and it wasn’t. The only reason that place had as much put into it as it did was because one of the prospective residents had connections in high places. He was accepted instead of others on the waiting list, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Corruption is everywhere, as you no doubt know.’ The sudden look of horror on Ari’s face, which he immediately tried to hide, suggested that he’d accidentally said something he’d been trying not to mention.

‘Who do you mean? Which of the residents?’ asked Thóra.

Ari threw up his hands. ‘Sorry, I don’t remember. I’ll look it up later and send you an e-mail.’ He didn’t ask her for her e-mail address, so clearly this e-mail would never be sent. She would have to find out by other means.

‘Could this corruption, or whatever it was, have been the reason behind the fire?’ Thóra had no idea how that might be the case, but who knew, maybe someone whose child hadn’t been admitted had lost it when it turned out that the offspring of someone better-connected had queue-jumped the waiting list.

‘No.’ Ari shook his head. ‘I’ve told you that Jakob is the guilty party. He started the fire and that’s the end of it. Maybe he didn’t realize the consequences it would have but he did it nonetheless. Isn’t he doing OK at Sogn? It can’t be all that different to living at the residence.’

The image of Jakob’s face as he’d pressed up against the window when Thóra visited the Secure Psychiatric Unit flashed across her mind. ‘I think he’s having a terrible time there. Really terrible.’

‘Aw…’ Ari’s expression of sympathy was entirely devoid of sincerity. ‘Well, at least the people there are more like him. That care home was a bag of mixed nuts, get it? Those poor fuckers had nothing in common. Another shitty idea dreamed up by the bureaucrats.’

‘Oh?’

‘Someone had the genius idea of trying to run an institution for individuals who have totally different disabilities. It was supposed to be a great master-plan for some reason, though I’ll never understand why. It was because they put so much pressure on Jakob’s mother that he moved in. They needed a mongoloid; they’re generally all aborted these days, which meant there weren’t many of them in his age group to choose from when the admissions selections were made.’

‘Down’s syndrome.’ Thóra had to correct him. He was clearly unaware of the proper terms when it came to discussing people outside his narrow definition of normality. And to think she’d been worried about her own use of language.

‘Whatever.’

‘But didn’t the person he leapfrogged at the top of the waiting list also meet a requirement for a particular type of disability, one that others didn’t have?’

Ari waved his hands as if he were being pestered by an invisible fly. ‘What’s that? No – he was autistic and they’re a dime a dozen. It doesn’t show up on the ultrasound, you see.’ He winked at Thóra conspiratorially.

‘Right.’ Thóra tried hard not to frown; she had no desire to encourage any more of these comments, but she also didn’t want to shock the man into refusing to lend her the files. This whole encounter was excruciating, but she would have to put up with it until he handed her the stack of papers that was on the verge of falling over onto the rubbish on his desk. One thing was clear, at least: the person who had jumped the queue must have been Tryggvi, the autistic resident.

Ari suddenly stretched out one hand, nearly knocking over the stack of papers. ‘Just so you know what to expect…’ He unfastened the buttons on his shirtsleeve and rolled it up, revealing a fat pink arm that clearly hadn’t done a scrap of physical labour in years. In the middle of it a large, shiny, horseshoe-shaped scar was clearly visible. ‘Jakob, your current client, did this. That’s how sweet and innocent he is.’

Thóra couldn’t take her eyes off the unsightly, uneven skin. ‘What happened?’

Ari pulled his sleeve back down. ‘He bit me. Just took a piece right out of me.’

‘Unprovoked?’

‘Of course – what, you think I deliberately made him angry?’ He refastened the button. ‘He simply bent me over the table where we were sitting and took a bite.’

‘What were you discussing?’

‘Just some stuff about the case. I don’t remember precisely, but it wasn’t anything upsetting or significant.’

Ari pushed the files carefully an inch closer to Thóra. ‘I didn’t even report it, so no one can say I didn’t protect my client’s interests. I should have bowed out of the case, of course, but we were about to go to court and like a fool, I felt uncomfortable about the idea. You, on the other hand, can still quit – and that’s what I’d recommend you do. A scar like this would doubtless do you more harm than me. And I wasn’t the only one he hurt; he often attacked the people who lived with him, staff as well as residents. This isn’t the only scar that he has on his conscience. He’s prone to violence, as well as being guilty. That’s all there is to it.’

‘You don’t remember how you came to be chosen to defend Jakob? I can tell from what you’ve said that he’s not exactly the kind of client you like to work for.’

‘No, hardly. He’s the worst client I’ve ever had.’ He seemed contemplative, but it wasn’t convincing. ‘But how I ended up defending him… I just can’t remember. Probably the police suggested me.’ He smiled and patted the stack of files. ‘It was a huge mistake for you to take this case, but as I said, you can still back out. My bloody arm still hurts now.’

Thóra took the files. She didn’t think she would withdraw from the case, but she was certain that she would be very careful around Jakob. ‘Thanks for the warning.’ She had arranged a meeting with her client the next day at Sogn, and she was definitely taking Matthew with her. She wouldn’t be alone with Jakob, that much was clear.