The Quiet Mother

39

Konrád had entered into his phone the name of the medical lab technician who had worked for years at the National Hospital and could possibly tell him something more about Sunnefa from her days at the Midwifery College. Upon leaving Valborg’s flat, he found the name again and looked it up in the online phone directory. There were several other people with the same name, but one was listed as a lab technician which made it easy to pin down his phone number. Konrád called, but no one answered. He called again and let it ring, but to no avail.

It was evening when Marta said goodbye to him in the car park in front of the block of flats and said that she was going to contact the pharmaceutical company at the first opportunity. Although she had definite doubts, her curiosity was piqued. No newspaper clippings but those were found among Valborg’s recipes for cakes and other dishes. Konrád decided not to tell Marta about Ísleifur and his trip to the glass building because he couldn’t be sure if Ísleifur had actually visited the pharmaceutical company, and he felt no need to mention it without first talking to the man.

He was on his way to the Vogar neighbourhood when his phone rang. Konrád recognised the number immediately.

‘I was called from this number,’ said a man’s voice on the phone. ‘Is that right? My name is Þorfinnur.’

Konrád thanked him for calling back, told him his name, and said he was looking for information about a midwifery student who was at the National Hospital half a century ago and whom Þorfinnur may have known. Sunnefa by name. His search was connected to a murder case, the so-called Valborg case.

The man was dumbfounded, hearing all of this over the phone, but Konrád just carried on and answered the man’s questions as best he could. The man had seen the media reports on the murder case and found it odd to be dragged into it like this. He said he had no idea who he was actually talking to, why, or what the investigation of the case had to do with Sunnefa, but yes, he did in fact recall knowing her. Konrád understood his concerns and wondered whether all medical lab technicians, or biomedical scientists as they were called in modern parlance, were as cautious in their conversations with strangers.

In the end, the man agreed to meet him, saying he was coming from a meeting in the city centre and mentioned a restaurant where they could talk. He’d been planning on getting a bite to eat, anyway. Konrád thanked him for his flexibility, changed course and drove to the city centre, where he parked a short distance from Austurstræti Street. Walking into the restaurant, he stopped at the entrance and looked around, naturally unable to recognise the man by sight and having to trust that he himself looked awkward enough there at the door for Þorfinnur to make the connection. The lab tech did, then signalled to Konrád to come over, and they shook hands and introduced themselves properly. They were of a similar age, but Þorfinnur was quite chubby and said in a great baritone voice that he’d already ordered a steak. A bottle of red wine was on the table. To Konrád, who considered himself something of a connoisseur of good wines, it appeared well chosen, even if it was from the New World.

‘I remember you from the news,’ said Þorfinnur, taking a drink of wine. ‘Weren’t you a cop?’

‘Yes,’ said Konrád.

‘Strange case, that one with the glacier,’ said Þorfinnur. ‘How you guys were unable to solve it.’

‘Do you come here often?’ asked Konrád, who had no interest in discussing that topic.

‘I got divorced recently, just so you know.’ Þorfinnur sighed, as if to explain why he was staying out in the middle of the week. ‘After almost forty years. I don’t like cooking for myself, or can’t, actually. I never really prepared food at home. One of the things the wife took care of. I can barely scramble an egg without burning myself.’

His throat rattled a bit as he laughed to himself. Konrád smiled. He didn’t want to keep the man from his dinner, so turned to the subject and asked how he’d known Sunnefa in the old days.

‘I had a bit of a crush on her,’ said Þorfinnur. ‘We went out together something like three or four times. Nothing happened. I remember kissing her once after a trip to the cinema. That was back in the day.’

‘Was this after she left the college?’

‘You’ve heard all about it,’ said Þorfinnur. ‘No, it was before. We’d both just started at the National Hospital and met through my friend Pála, who was a lab tech. She died recently — lovely woman, Pála.’

‘I know this question might surprise you a bit, but did you know Sunnefa’s position on abortion?’

‘She was against it and was driven from the college because of it, I knew that, but it wasn’t anything she talked about when we were together. I only heard later how she acted. I was a bit shocked because she seemed to me to be a very normal, well-balanced girl. I don’t know, maybe the college overreacted.’

The food arrived and the waiter asked Konrád if he would like a menu, but Konrád said that he wasn’t going to eat. Þorfinnur asked politely if Konrád minded if he tore into his steak; he was starving. He tucked a large white serviette into his shirt collar and smoothed it out.

‘Did you talk to Sunnefa after it happened?’ Konrád asked, before saying he should go right ahead and eat.

‘I think she went abroad for some time,’ Þorfinnur said. ‘I never saw her again. I don’t really know what she ended up doing. I haven’t thought about her for years, so you can imagine how surprised I was at your call.’

‘I understand she was very religious,’ Konrád said.

‘She was indeed. Devout. I wasn’t at all, and wonder if that’s what tipped the scales. I didn’t like the look of it when I found out she believed every word in the Bible. And then she told me she was joining some congregation.’

‘Do you remember what congregation it was?’

‘No, it was something very religious, its name,’ said Þorfinnur. ‘She said she paid a tithe to it. A tithe. How medieval!’

Þorfinnur laughed to himself as if he’d never heard anything madder.

‘Did they know each other?’ he asked. ‘This Valborg and Sunnefa?’

‘Possibly,’ Konrád said. ‘A little later. In the early seventies. Valborg was pregnant with a baby she didn’t want to have. Maybe Sunnefa got in touch with her.’

‘And what?’

‘Do you remember Sunnefa mentioning a foster home? People who adopted children? Friends or acquaintances of hers who held the same views as her about abortion? Even people from her congregation? People who’d adopted children?’

Þorfinnur thought this over. It had been a long time since he’d heard Sunnefa’s name mentioned. He knitted his brow and Konrád could see how he was trying to recall memories that had long since grown cold.

‘I don’t remember anything like that,’ Þorfinnur said. ‘I don’t remember any of her friends. But, as I say, I didn’t know her very well.’

‘No, and it’s been a long time, of course. One other thing. I’m wondering how Sunnefa could have got access to women who were pregnant and considering abortion. She never graduated. She didn’t work in the Women’s Health Unit. How did she know about them? How did she know what they were thinking?’

‘Sunnefa would never have considered an abortion,’ Þorfinnur said.

‘No, I know that. I’m asking you about something entirely different. Whether Sunnefa could have persuaded those pregnant women not to have an abortion, then helped them have their babies and then arranged to place them in foster care.’

Þorfinnur looked up from his meal. Put down his knife and fork. Wiped his mouth with the serviette and stared at Konrád.

‘Persuaded women?’

‘Yes.’

‘This Valborg who died... what...? Were they friends?’

‘She got pregnant.’

‘And had a child that Sunnefa delivered and then put into foster care?’

‘That’s basically the idea I’m working with,’ said Konrád. ‘I understand that Sunnefa was a very promising student.’

‘She was. And truly hated terminations of pregnancy, as people might call them nowadays.’ He smiled. ‘That’s how it is. Medical laboratory technician becomes biomedical scientist. New words for new times.’

‘For religious reasons?’ Konrád asked.

Þorfinnur nodded, and finally, it was as if a light came on in his head.

‘Shouldn’t it be registered somewhere?’ he said. ‘If a child was placed in foster care?’

‘Well, it can be avoided if you want it to remain a secret. I’m sure there are some methods for going about it, although I don’t really know how it’s done. It was probably easier at that time, around 1970. Maybe today’s strict monitoring system didn’t exist then.’

‘Now you mention it, I do remember that Sunnefa had a friend who worked at the hospital, but I don’t know if she was in that congregation with her,’ said Þorfinnur, grabbing his knife and fork and turning back to his steak.

‘A nurse? Doctor?’

‘No, a secretary,’ said Þorfinnur. ‘In the Women’s Health Unit.’

‘A secretary? Do you mean...?’

‘Yeah, she worked in the office. Would have seen all the reports. Even met some of those mothers-to-be. If you’re wondering about that. She and Sunnefa were good friends.’

‘Do you remember her name?’

‘No, it’s completely gone,’ said Þorfinnur. ‘I’m no good at remembering names.’