Markus set off down the stairs into the darkness. The beam from his torch was of little use amid the dust and ash and there was no way to see where the steps ended. ‘I don’t know how to describe it,’ said Markus in a strangely calm voice, as he went down the stairs. ‘You’ve got to believe me when I say that this is not what I came here looking for. But it’s clear now that you have to get an injunction against the excavation and have the house covered over again.’
Thóra pointed her light at her feet. She had no wish to trip on the stairs and tumble into the basement head first. ‘Is there something bad here that you weren’t aware of?’
‘Yes, you could say that,’ he replied. ‘I would never have allowed the excavation to go ahead if this was what I wanted to hide. That’s for certain.’ He was standing now on the basement floor. ‘I think I’ve got myself into a really bad position.’
Thóra stepped off the final stair and took her place by his side. ‘What do you mean by “this”?’ she asked, shining her light around. The little that she could discern appeared completely innocent: an old sled, a badly dented bird cage, numerous boxes and miscellaneous rubbish scattered here and there, all of it covered with dust and soot.
‘Over here,’ said Markus. He led her to the edge of a partition. ‘You have to believe me - I knew nothing about this.’ He pointed his torch downwards.
Thóra peered at the floor, but couldn’t see anything that could have frightened Markus that much, only three mounds of dust. She moved her torch over them. It took her some time to realize what she was seeing — and then it was all she could do not to let the torch slip from her hand. ‘Good God,’ she said. She ran the light over the three faces, one after another. Sunken cheeks, empty eye-sockets, gaping mouths; they reminded her of the photographs of mummies she’d once seen in National Geographic. ‘Who are these people?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Markus, clearly in shock himself. ‘But that doesn’t matter. What’s certain is that they’ve been dead for quite some time.’ He raised one of his hands to cover his nose and mouth, even though there was no smell from the corpses, then grimaced and looked away.
Thóra, on the other hand, could not tear her eyes away from the remains. Markus hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that this looked bad for him. ‘What did you want to hide, then, if it wasn’t this?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘You’d better have an answer when this gets out.’ He appeared on the verge of protesting, and she hurriedly added: ‘You can forget about the house being buried again as if nothing ever happened. I can promise you that that’s not an option.’ Why was nothing ever simple? Why couldn’t Markus just have come up from the basement with his arms full of old pornographic pictures? She aimed her torch at him.
‘Show me what you were looking for,’ she said, her anxiety heightened by the nervous expression on his face. ‘Surely it can’t be worse than this.’
Markus was silent for a few moments. Then he cleared his throat and shone his light into a nook right next to them. ‘It was this,’ he said, not letting his eyes follow the torch’s beam. ‘I can explain everything,’ he added nervously, looking at his feet.
‘Oh, Jesus!’ cried Thóra, as her torch clattered to the floor.
Chapter Two
Monday 9 July2007
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know whether I should be happy or not that your bizarre discovery of human remains should have occurred before I retired.’ The police officer looked from one of them to the other. Thóra, Hjortur and Markus all smiled awkwardly. They were at the police headquarters in the Westmann Islands, where they’d been made to wait for a very long time for the chief inspector, who now sat before them. He’d clearly taken his time in the basement, had wanted to see the evidence with his own eyes before speaking to them. ‘My name is Gudni Leifsson. I’m almost retired,’ he added, ‘after a career of nearly forty years.’ He clasped his hands together. ‘I’d like to see others do better.’ Thóra did her best to appear interested in his remarkable career, with limited success; what she wanted most was to ask what time it was, since she couldn’t miss the last plane to Reykjavik. What a waste of time this was.
‘But that’s the way things go.’ The police inspector shook his head slowly and clicked his tongue. ‘I have never seen anything like this.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Maybe it’s fate playing games with the authorities in Reykjavik?’
Thóra raised her eyebrows. ‘What?’ she enquired, although she had no desire whatsoever to prolong this conversation. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I’m not surprised you have to ask. A lawyer from Reykjavik could hardly be expected to keep up to speed with what happens out here in the sticks.’ The old man looked at her reproachfully, but Thóra ignored him. ‘It’s only been a short time since the detectives we had stationed here were moved to the mainland in order to cut costs. The trivial crimes committed here didn’t justify the expense.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Until now.’ He looked at Markus meaningfully before continuing: ‘Three bodies and one head.’ He tutted again. ‘You were always up to mischief as a boy, Markus, but isn’t this taking it a bit too far? It’s quite a leap from stealing rhubarb to mass murder.’
Markus leaned forward, his expression open and sincere. ‘I swear that I know nothing about these bodies. They’re nothing to do with me.’ He sat back again, seemingly satisfied, and brushed dust off the arms of his jacket.
Thóra sighed deeply and decided to interrupt Markus before he got the chance to say that he’d only had something to do with the head. ‘Before we go any further, I would like to ask where this is going. Is this a formal interrogation?’ She thought — but did not say - that if it were it would be ridiculous to interview Markus and Hjortur together. Their interests were completely at odds. ‘If so, I wish to state that as Markus’s lawyer, I question your procedures.’
Inspector Leifsson pursed his lips and sucked air through his teeth as if trying to clean between them. ‘It may be that you work differently in Reykjavik, Madam Lawyer,’ he said coldly. ‘There, you presumably go “by the book”, as they say, although one never actually knows which book they mean. Here, on the other hand, I’m in charge. If I want to speak to you, as, for example, I do now, then I shall do so. It can’t hurt anyone, can it? Least of all your client, Markus.’ He smiled at Thóra, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘Unless you think he’s got something on his conscience?’ He looked at Markus. ‘The bodies appeared to be quite old. Perhaps he killed all of them, back when he was a spotty teenager?’ He paused, regarding her levelly. ‘But my heart tells me it isn’t so. I think we’ll find some sort of logical explanation for this mess, which I was hoping we could just clear up without having to go through formal channels. And I’m happy to take the blame for that.’
Thóra placed a restraining hand on Markus’s shoulder. ‘I wish to speak with my client before we go any further, and afterwards we will go by this famous “book”, so that everything is above board.’
Gudni shrugged. He seemed to be in good shape for a man his age, as far as Thóra could tell; fairly trim, and with a good head of hair. She couldn’t shake the impression that he looked like Clint Eastwood, and she had an overwhelming desire to stick a toothpick in the corner of his mouth to get the full effect. He stared at her for a moment as if he knew what she was thinking, before turning to Markus. ‘Is that what you want, Markus, my friend?’ he asked the other man, who sat mutely at Thóra’s side.
Markus squirmed uneasily in his chair. In front of him sat the authority figure of his youth, who remembered him stealing vegetables from people’s gardens, or whatever it was that the old police officer had mentioned at the start of their conversation. ‘I haven’t done anything,’ he muttered, glancing sideways at Thóra. ‘Is there really any reason why we have to go through all this official stuff?’
Thóra drew a deep breath. ‘Markus, my friend,’ she said calmly, hoping that the words would have the same effect on him as when the inspector had used them. ‘In the basement yo
u asked for my help, and now I’m giving it to you. Come out into the corridor here with me for a moment, where we can speak privately. Afterwards you can decide what you want to do. In other words, you’ll be free to go home with Inspector Leifsson and let him question you at his kitchen table, in the presence of his wife and cat.’
‘My wife is dead,’ Gudni said coldly. ‘And I have a dog. No cat.’
Throughout all of this Hjortur had been waiting on the sidelines, quietly following the conversation. Now he finally spoke up, but what he said made Thóra think that he was the type who hated conflict, even as a silent observer. ‘Wouldn’t it be best for everyone if you two went off on your own for a bit? Then I can tell you about the things that concern me,’ he said, glancing hopefully at Gudni. ‘It would really help me if we could do this quickly. If I don’t get back to my office soon my colleagues will think something has happened to me. They know that I was in the house that you’ve cordoned off, and they must have heard something’s going on there.’
Gudni stared at Hjortur without replying. These silences must be his secret weapon during interrogations, thought Thóra. Perhaps he hoped that people would start speaking, to fill the embarrassing pause. The archaeologist did not fall into his trap. There was a brief silence, then Gudni’s face broke into a chilly smile and he said: ‘Fine. I don’t want your colleagues pulling out their pens and writing obituaries about you, my dear Hjortur.’ He looked from the blushing archaeologist to Thóra. ‘Suit yourselves. No one will disturb you in the corridor outside the office.’ He waved them to the door. ‘We’ll be here if you decide to honour us with your presence.’ As Thóra and Markus reached the door they heard him say to their backs: ‘But you’ll not be coming to dinner at my house.’
‘What are you thinking?’ muttered Thóra through gritted teeth, once they were outside the office. ‘You go there to fetch a severed head, and then think you can sit and chat with the police without having any idea of your legal position. Do you realize how much trouble you could end up in?’
Markus looked angry for a second, then his anger gave way to resignation. ‘You don’t know how things work here. This man is the law in the Islands. Him alone. There might be other policemen, but he’s the one who calls the shots. He often settles cases without making any trouble for those involved. I think it would be best for me to just talk to him, and after he’s heard what I have to say he’ll make things easier. Especially since I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Thóra wanted to stamp her foot in frustration, but she clenched her fists and settled for knocking lightly on the wall for emphasis. ‘This case will soon be taken out of Gudni’s hands. Corpses and severed heads aren’t a matter for small police departments, no matter how powerful particular officers may be in their own jurisdictions. He might be able to solve cases his way when they concern stolen rhubarb, but this is another matter entirely. It’s my understanding that in the light of the seriousness of this case, and because of the unusual circumstances, it won’t go to the Criminal Investigation Department in Selfoss, which usually handles such cases here in the Islands. It’ll go straight to the Reykjavik police and their Crime Lab, and you can be sure that they won’t conduct themselves like Gudni. So it’s all the same to me what you do, but it’ll work out much better for you if things are done in the proper way. When you’re being questioned informally, he can use everything that you say in court. And to make matters worse, Hjortur would be able to confirm everything that you said. It’s completely crazy.’
‘But didn’t he say that the Criminal Investigation Department had shut up shop here in the Islands?’ asked Markus, who to Thóra’s relief finally appeared to be showing some concern.
‘The Westmann Islands are not outside the jurisdiction of the CID and the Crime Lab, even though they no longer have offices here. The detectives will simply hop on an aeroplane and start snooping around.’
‘I see,’ Markus said softly.
Thóra sighed. She couldn’t help but feel for this man, who was so unlike her. It seemed as though all the stubbornness, short temper and rudeness he had previously displayed were now gone. He had clearly been badly shocked by what he’d found in the basement, and she believed him completely when he said that was the first time he’d seen the bodies, and even the severed head that he’d gone to fetch. Thóra had had no time to ask him about this strange paradox in the commotion that had arisen when they’d come up from the basement and told Hjortur to call the police. The sight of the bodiless head’s contorted face - which had almost looked as if it were sticking out its tongue - had made her feel so claustrophobic that it had been out of the question to speak to Markus down there. ‘How about you tell me why you were so eager to get to the basement to fetch a head that you say you didn’t even know was there? I’ve tried to come up with an explanation for it, but I have to admit defeat.’ She paused for a moment and looked Markus in the eye. ‘After I’ve heard your version of the story we’ll wait here quietly for Hjortur to come out, then we’ll go in and let Gudni decide whether he wants to question you formally or leave it to whoever takes over the case.’
‘Fine,’ replied Markus, taking a deep breath. ‘You’re probably right.’
Thóra was pleased with his change of heart, but wasn’t certain it would last. ‘You have to understand that if you say something to him and I interrupt you, you keep quiet and let me do the talking. The same goes if I advise you not to answer a particular question.’
‘Okay,’ said Markus. ‘You’re the boss.’ He smiled ruefully at her. ‘Where were you when the big rhubarb case came up? They made me pull up chickweed in the school garden every night for a month.’
Thóra smiled back and looked around to make sure that none of Gudni’s subordinates were listening in. ‘So, tell me about the head that you went to collect without knowing anything about it.’
Gudni leaned back in his chair and took the last page out of a battered electric typewriter. He placed it carefully face down on the other pages that had been piled there, then lifted them and shuffled the stack into order. He put the pages on the table so that Thóra and Markus could read them. ‘Just as the law prescribes. Read these through, then I would be very happy if you could verify your statement with your signature, Markus, so that all the formal details are in order and your lawyer can breathe easier.’
Thóra flashed him a pro forma smile. She couldn’t care less if he were dissatisfied with the procedures, as long as the interests of her client were guaranteed. In the end, everything had gone quite well for her. Markus had been questioned as a suspect, but that was to be expected considering the circumstances. The main point was that he hadn’t got himself into any more trouble by saying too much too soon. Thóra jerked her chin in the direction of the report. ‘Doesn’t it match what was stated? You haven’t added anything, have you?’ she asked, enjoying a small moment of revenge.
‘Yes, in the main, this is what was stated,’ replied Gudni sarcastically. He clasped his hands and leaned forwards. ‘To summarize the police report, I understand the sequence of events to have been as follows,’ he said, looking at Markus. ‘Late on the evening of 22 January 1973, Alda Thórgeirsdóttir contacted you and asked you to get rid of a box for her. You had a crush on Alda, who was by far the prettiest girl in the Islands, so you took the box without any further discussion. You brought it to your own basement, thinking you could hide it better later. That didn’t happen, since the eruption started that same night and you were woken by your parents and put on board a ship that sailed with you, your mother and your siblings to the mainland. On the boat you met Alda again, and when she asked whether you’d got rid of the box and where you’d put it, you told her the truth; the box had been left in the basement in the rush. You didn’t ask Alda what was in the box, since you didn’t want to displease her, her being so pretty, et cetera.’ Gudni grinned at Markus, who reddened. ‘Then nothing happened for around thirty years, until the Pompeü of the North project made the news and Alda cont
acted you. She implored you to prevent the house from being dug up from the ashes, because of the box that was there, and you still didn’t ask her what was in it. Maybe you’ve still got a crush on her?’
Markus blushed again. ‘No, it’s not that. It just didn’t come up in our conversations.’
‘Never mind,’ said Gudni, and continued with his summary. ‘In the end it was agreed that you would get to go down to the basement and take from there whatever you wished, and when she heard the news Alda calmed down. You planned to fetch the box and take it to her as requested. Then something happened: you finally decided in the basement that you wanted to know what was in the box, and out rolled a dried- up severed head. At the very same moment, you clapped eyes for the first time on three corpses that were not there that fateful night.’
‘Actually, the head didn’t roll out,’ replied Markus, looking oddly affronted. ‘I was so shocked when I saw what was in the box that I dropped it. Then the head fell out and bounced to the spot where it is now. It didn’t roll. I actually think that I may have kicked it in my hurry to get out of there, but I’m not certain. Anyway, it stopped right next to the bodies and that’s when I noticed them. I hadn’t noticed them before, since it was dark down there.’
Thóra interrupted Markus before he got any further with his description of the head’s travels around the floor of the basement. ‘Well, I think it’s best that you read this over, Markus, despite this fine summary by Gudni, and then we’ve got to get going. The police have other things to take care of in the light of your statement. I assume that you’ll want to speak to this Alda, who appears to know more about the origins of the head than Markus does.’ She looked at the clock. If God and good fortune were with her there was still a chance that she’d catch the last flight home. It looked as if Markus would be cleared of all charges, even though the CID would probably want to speak to him later. She hoped Alda would verify his statement. If she didn’t, then his position would worsen considerably, both regarding the head and the three corpses. But Alda would surely confirm his story and explain about the head. Thóra glanced at her watch out of the corner of her eye, and then at Markus. He was still working his way through the first page of the police report. She hoped her flight had been delayed.
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