The Legacy

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Karl heard the faint sound of a voice and saw the man’s lips moving. Rather than trying to pick out the words he concentrated on the face, curious to know the identity of his visitor. He had nobody in the world to visit him now. Not a single soul.

  Since he had woken from his coma, a variety of things, both good and bad, had gradually come back to him. Mostly bad, though. One piece of good news stood out, which was when the doctor told him that he had been exonerated of any involvement in the three murders. After that he had expected more visits but no one came. Börkur still hadn’t shown his face and his mother’s family were apparently hiding behind the excuse of being only tenuously related to him. He guessed Börkur was probably ashamed of having messed up his testimony. Perhaps he had one friend less – which would mean he now had no friends at all. If only Börkur would drop by, Karl could reassure him that he couldn’t give a toss about the stupid testimony.

  The visitor’s words reached him before he could distinguish his face. ‘Are you awake? The nurses told me you’re conscious sometimes.’ Karl knew the voice. He knew it very well, but it took his brain so long to process the information that he had to reconcile himself to waiting a little while longer. From what he could understand, he had suffered a cerebral hæmorrhage and the bleeding had spread over a large part of his brain, which explained why he was so slow. Karl pictured his thoughts being forced to travel further than usual, taking a series of diversions around the damaged area before they could reach their final destination.

  The doctors were optimistic but warned that his rehabilitation would be long, drawn out and challenging, and that he was unlikely ever to make a full recovery. Still, anything was better than nothing.

  ‘It looks as if your eye’s open. Are you awake?’

  Arnar. It was his brother Arnar. Karl struggled to speak but failed. His mouth opened slightly but that was it. No sound emerged – though all he had meant to say was ‘hi’. Some days were worse than others.

  ‘I’ve come to say goodbye, Karl.’ Arnar stared at the open eye, apparently searching for a sign that Karl understood.

  Karl made another effort to speak, if only to moan slightly to show Arnar that he was listening. But nothing happened. He tried to blink his good eye but the message took so long to travel from his brain that Arnar was looking away when his eyelid finally drooped, then lifted again. This often happened when he had just woken up and was trying to communicate with the nurses; by the time he managed to blink they would have turned away or shifted their attention. No one lingered for long; they always seemed to be in a tearing hurry and as soon as they had done their duty they would dash off to the next ward, the next patient.

  ‘I have to go back to the States. I’ve been here far too long; I keep postponing my departure but I can’t any longer.’

  Had Arnar been in the country long? Karl wondered if he’d had the bad luck to be dozing or asleep every time his brother came by. But perhaps he had never been to visit him before. That was the more likely explanation. Why would he have wanted to visit a brother who was believed to be a crazy killer? But the information that Karl was innocent had been available for a while now. Why hadn’t he come sooner?’

  ‘I’m going back to the States to pack up my gear. I’m moving home. There’s nothing to keep me in America any longer except work and I can easily find a good job in Iceland. Alison and I are getting a divorce.’ He fell silent and dropped his gaze.

  The fog in Karl’s head seemed to lift slightly. Had the awful Alison left Arnar because of him? Was she too much of a snob to have a murderer for a brother-in-law? If so, how come Arnar hadn’t corrected the misunderstanding?

  ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about us – about whether I could have treated you better over the years, but I don’t think so. I am what I am, and you are what you are.’ He paused again and looked at Karl, his expression empty of regret. Empty of warmth. ‘The thing I can’t understand … just can’t understand … is why you didn’t tell me who my mother was. When the police informed me that they’d found her name on your computer … that you’d been searching for information about her … my first thought was that you’d discovered the information but hadn’t had time to let me know before you were arrested. Then I saw the date. You knew but you didn’t tell me.’

  Misery had no problem finding its way around Karl’s brain. Regret, depression, grief – these painful emotions always managed to get through. It was so unfair. He remembered clearly his intention never to tell Arnar. But he knew that he wouldn’t have been capable of keeping his promise to himself once the worst of his anger had worn off. Now, though, he had been robbed of the opportunity. And also of the opportunity to defend himself, to convince his brother that he would have told him her name when the right moment came.

  ‘I got my wish fulfilled in spite of you. I found out who my parents were. Or at least who my mother was.’ Arnar fell silent. He turned away from Karl and appeared to be gazing unseeingly out of the window. ‘Like so many other things, it didn’t live up to my expectations.’ Arnar laughed cynically. ‘To put it mildly.’

  Karl recalled that Arnar’s mother and grandfather had died on the same day and he remembered her tersely uninformative obituary. What had happened? Had they been killed? Died in a house-fire? In a mutual suicide pact? Or had one killed the other, then committed suicide? Thinking about it was too much for his poor, maimed brain. The important part was that it might have been Arnar’s family who were the crazy killers, not him. Karl’s face would have shone if he had been capable of smiling.

  ‘The way I try to look at it is that I had two choices: to know or not to know. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ Arnar sucked in air between his teeth. ‘I lost and I gained. Lost Alison, because she couldn’t face living with me after I told her about my family. Americans are more sensitive about that sort of thing than us Icelanders. She wants children. Her own children. With her husband, not a sperm donor. When I suggested that, she said the idea disgusted her. And she used even stronger words about what she thought about bearing my children. She doesn’t even want to hear the results of the DNA test. Doesn’t trust the science all of a sudden. It makes no difference to her who my father turns out to be. In her eyes my family’s too tainted for her to want anything to do with us.’

  What was he talking about? Oh, why couldn’t Arnar explain properly?

  ‘But I gained too. Gained a sister. Well, maybe only a half-sister. I hope she’s only my half-sister. That’ll become clear when I get the test results. And I acquired a brother too. Or half-brother. I sincerely hope we’re only half-brothers.’ Arnar put his hands on his knees, apparently preparing to make a move. ‘But I’m not having anything to do with him. Any more than with you.’

  Arnar stood up. The beautiful red tie vanished from Karl’s view. Don’t go! Don’t go!

  ‘Goodbye, Karl. You’ll probably never see me again.’ The lean figure disappeared from view and Karl couldn’t lower his gaze far enough to watch him walk out. His retreating footsteps sounded uncompromising, but stopped abruptly. ‘One more thing: I’m glad you turned out to be innocent.’ Arnar stopped speaking but still didn’t leave the room. Then he added, in a rush: ‘I hope your condition improves.’

  Again Karl heard his footsteps, swiftly receding, then dying away.

  It took Karl a while to calm down. Fragmentary thoughts wandered through the one-way system of his brain. He kept having to guide them out of dead ends and set them on the right track again. Only then could he digest the visit. His conclusions were:

  He would never see Arnar again.

  The grim story of his brother’s background had come to light.

  Karl would get over not seeing Arnar again. But not knowing the story of Arnar’s mother would be harder. What could have been so bad about his background?

  Then there was the murder case. The doctor hadn’t told him any details, only that he himself had been cleared. Naturally he would learn all the information later, when he w
as well enough to get up and could communicate better. Either that or he would hear via the news, if they ever got round to fixing the radio by his bed or installing a TV in his room.

  Until then he would be left to wonder who had killed Halli and the women, and what had happened. How had the case been solved, for example? Why had he been dragged into it in the first place? And who on earth had been behind the shortwave broadcasts?

  Or would he spend the rest of his days here, puzzling in vain over the answers?

  His eye closed. He was drifting back into a doze. It wasn’t all bad – at least he had something to think about now. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to look forward to.

  When he came to his senses his eye saw red again. A different kind of red. Softer and full of golden lights. Prettier than that other shade of red. Karl waited for his eye to open fully, then saw to his astonishment that the chair vacated by Arnar was now occupied by a little girl. She had red hair and green eyes, he thought, and was wearing an anorak zipped up to her neck. She was gripping the sides of the chair and swinging her skinny legs, which were too short to reach the floor.

  ‘My name’s Margrét. My daddy works here. At the hospital. He said I could visit you.’ The girl put her head on one side to look him in his good eye. ‘He told me no one comes to see you and I thought that was sad.’ She righted her head again. ‘I can tell you’re looking at me. But I know you can’t talk much. That’s all right. I like talking to people who aren’t always asking me questions.’

  Karl tried to smile and felt one side of his mouth obeying. He hoped the girl would carry on talking and his wish was granted.

  ‘Freyja says I should try and talk about what happened. Happened to Mummy, I mean. If I bottle it up inside me it could do something bad. I don’t know what, though.’

  Freyja. Wasn’t that the name of the woman who had some connection to the dogs he had been questioned about? Karl pricked up his ears. It was a pity he could only hear out of one, but at least he was lying on his incapacitated side.

  ‘So I’m going to talk to you. About Mummy. About the bad man. Because you can only listen.’

  The girl sat back a little in the chair. ‘Freyja shot the bad man. You were lucky she didn’t shoot you when everyone thought it was you. But I always knew it wasn’t.’

  Karl felt warm inside. He wished he could have talked to this girl when he had been at rock bottom during the police interrogation. But why had she said she recognised him from a photo? This must be the same Margrét the police had mentioned.

  ‘The police thought that I thought you were the murderer too. But Freyja showed me a bad picture. A picture with your brother in it. He’s the murderer’s brother. They look quite alike. I wasn’t talking about you.’ The girl looked sad. ‘I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean them to think it was you.’

  Karl managed to emit a sound that they both interpreted as meaning that he accepted her apology.

  ‘But the murderer didn’t die. Freyja shot him in the tummy, not in the heart. I don’t know if that’s good or not. I haven’t decided. If he was dead I’d never have to think about him again.’ The girl’s account wasn’t very coherent, but he understood her well enough. ‘But perhaps I would anyway. I often think about Mummy and she’s dead.’

  Karl managed to nod slightly, if a bit crookedly, and the girl smiled at him.

  ‘You’re going to get better. Daddy says so. Not quite like you were before but better than now.’ She made a face. ‘There’s blood on your brain.’

  She fell silent and seemed to be casting around for something else to say. ‘One of the policemen got into trouble because he thought you were the bad man. He didn’t know it was his friend. He was a cop. The bad man was a cop!’ The girl’s face radiated astonishment and disbelief. ‘I didn’t know cops could be bad men. But Freyja shot him. And he can’t be a cop any more because he’s going to prison. The other policeman might have to stop being a cop too. Because he didn’t work it out. Policemen need to be able to work things out.’

  The girl turned to look out of the window. ‘Freyja went on holiday. She’s not allowed to work for a long time because she shot a man at her office. At the Children’s House. That’s not allowed. But I was glad she shot him. And she must be happy to be on holiday. Everyone’s happy on holiday.’

  Her white fingers pulled up the sleeve of her anorak to reveal a large, colourful watch on her wrist. ‘I’ve got to go. I can only stay a little while. Daddy’s waiting outside.’ She stood up, her red hair vanishing from view, and Karl found himself staring at the light blue anorak instead. Again he felt an overwhelming sense of loss and wished the girl would sit down beside him again.

  ‘I’ll come back. Daddy said I can come as often as I like.’ She fell silent and seemed about to walk to the door. ‘Bye for now. I’ll come back tomorrow. I wanted to bring Molly with me. You’d like to see her. But I wasn’t allowed. Oh well, maybe later. When you get out of here.’

  The girl disappeared and Karl listened to the sound of her footsteps receding. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy. Now he had visits to look forward to; the girl had managed to rekindle the sense of hope that he had been so desperately lacking.

  Karl concentrated on clenching his fingers as the physiotherapist had shown him. Clench. Release. Clench. Release. He could swear he was doing better than last time. Clench. Release. Clench. Release.

  Finally he dropped off to sleep. From tiredness this time, not lethargy. Her parting words were the last thing to wander through the blind alleys in his brain.

  Maybe later. When you get out of here.

  Have you read …

  WHY DID YOU LIE?

  ‘Yrsa Sigurdardottir’s chillers get better and better’ Sunday Telegraph

  A journalist on the track of an old case attempts suicide.

  An ordinary couple return from a house swap in the states to find their home in disarray and their guests seemingly missing.

  Four strangers struggle to find shelter on a windswept spike of rock in the middle of a raging sea.

  They have one thing in common: they all lied.

  And someone is determined to punish them …

  THE UNDESIRED

  ‘Disturbing and compelling’ Daily Mail

  Aldis took a job in a juvenile detention centre in rural Iceland because she would have done anything to get away from home. She soon realises it was a terrible decision. The boys are unruly, the owners are unpleasant, and there are strange noises at night. And then two of the inmates die …

  Decades later, single father Odinn is looking into alleged abuse at the centre. The more he finds out, though, the more it seems the odd events of the 1970s are linked to the accident that killed his ex-wife. Was her death something more sinister?