Ashes to Dust

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  ‘I see,’ said Paddi, taken aback. ‘Why didn’t you just say so?’

  ‘I didn’t want to deprive you of a tour and I thought we could combine the two, fishing and conversation.’

  They made their way to the upper deck, which had the best view of the magnificent scenery, and Paddi set sail again. ‘I expect you’ve heard about the bodies in the basement,’ said Thóra. ‘I’m working for Markus Magnusson, who has unfortunately been linked to the case.’

  ‘I have heard,’ said Paddi, looking straight ahead. ‘This isn’t a big town and when something like this hits the headlines everyone follows the story, me included.’

  ‘So you may also know that Alda Thórgeirsdóttir seems to have been murdered, and that Markus is a suspect?’

  The old man snorted loudly. ‘The police in Reykjavik know nothing if they think Markus harmed a hair on Alda’s head,’ he exclaimed. ‘That boy used to think the sun shone out of her in the old days, and although teenage crushes aren’t the kind of thing I’d usually notice, everyone knew about it. With the possible exception of Alda. Even Gudni says the arrest is ridiculous, and he’s made a few blunders in his career.’

  Although Thóra was pleased to hear Paddi’s opinion of the case, she wasn’t looking for witnesses to Markus’s character. ‘Have you any thoughts on who the men in the basement might have been?’ she said. ‘It’s fairly clear that they were foreigners.’

  ‘Yes, Brits, I believe,’ said Paddi. Obviously he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said news spread quickly in the Islands. ‘There were no Brits here the night of the eruption, if that’s your question.’

  ‘What about shortly before that?’ asked Thóra. ‘Anyone who could have disappeared, but who people thought had simply gone away? When someone disappears, people don’t automatically assume they’ve been killed. Especially not a group of men.’

  ‘There were several foreigners in the Islands about a week before the volcano blew,’ he said. ‘But they were gone before it went up. Long gone.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Thóra. ‘Is it possible they didn’t go far, maybe just down into the basement on Sudurvegur Street?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Paddi, steering towards a gannet that had taken off from the water as they approached. ‘I watched them sail away. They were a bunch of numbskulls. They sailed out of the harbour in pretty bad weather. Their old tub was a bit beaten up, and I thought they should have repaired it before continuing their journey. So I kept an eye on them. But they definitely made it out.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to a lot of people, and not a single one has mentioned this to me,’ said Thóra, surprised. ‘Is it because you have a better memory, or is there something else going on?’

  Paddi turned to smile at her. ‘Naturally, some people have a better memory than others,’ he said. ‘In this case there’s nothing going on, there’s a simple explanation: the smack didn’t stop here for long. It came in the evening and sailed away early the next morning, without many people noticing it.’

  ‘But you saw it leave?’ said Thóra.

  ‘Yes, I always had one foot down at the harbour, still have. Not much has changed. My wife used to suggest that we hire a bulldozer and push the house down there to spare me the to-ing and fro-ing.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘May God rest her soul.’ He resumed his story — much to Thóra’s relief, since she never knew what to say at moments like these. ‘So I was messing around down there, securing my boat because the forecast was bad, as I recall, when this smack came sailing into the harbour. The men were yapping something at me in a foreign language, and even though I didn’t understand the words I realized they were asking for mooring. I pointed them to an empty space and that was that.’

  ‘Do you know what nationality they were, or how many of them were on board?’ asked Thóra.

  Paddi the Hook shook his head. ‘Bloody limeys, I think,’ he said. ‘I counted two, but there could have been more as it was quite a big boat.’

  ‘And when was it they left, given that it seems no one but you saw them? In the middle of the night?’

  ‘No, love,’ said Paddi. ‘They waited out the worst of the weather, since their boat wasn’t exactly in the best condition. If I could have spoken to them man to man, in Icelandic, I would have pointed out that they could have repaired most of the damage here, with us. But it didn’t get to that stage, because I was up early the next morning and watched through the kitchen window as they sailed away. Although it was dark outside it was clearly them, because the harbour was lit. I recognized their smack as it travelled out to sea. They definitely left.’

  ‘Do you by any chance recall the name of the boat?’ asked Thóra.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he replied, avoiding her glance. ‘I’m not so good at reading, I don’t mind admitting. It actually hasn’t been too much of a problem — I’m more one for working with my hands, and it’s often easier when book-learning’s not getting in your way.’

  She smiled at him. ‘But you have got a good memory. How can you remember this, for example? Hundreds of boats must have been through this harbour; what was so special about this smack?’

  ‘There was nothing that special about it - it was a fairly good-looking boat and all that, but it’s true that other, better boats have stopped here.’ He looked back out over the rudder. ‘I remember it so clearly because of what happened the next morning, when Tolli discovered blood on the pier where it had been moored.’

  Thóra’s expression revealed nothing, although she was very excited. ‘I’m guessing you mean the weekend before the eruption?’ she asked. ‘I’ve heard about this but I understood that no boat had been anchored there for a long time before the blood was found.’ She decided not to tell him where she’d heard this, since she preferred not to advertise the fact that she and Bella had been snooping through Gudni’s files.

  ‘That’s because no one knew the smack had been there but me,’ Paddi replied. ‘When I left the harbour it was there, but for some reason the men moved it from that pontoon over to one located a bit further to the east. I watched them sail away, but I’ve never understood why they moved the boat. Maybe the weather seemed worse in the place I pointed them to.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone about the boat?’ said Thóra. She was surprised this hadn’t come up in Gudni’s report, although there was a chance she and Bella had overlooked it in their haste.

  ‘No, actually I didn’t,’ said Paddi. ‘No doubt I would have done eventually, but then the volcano went up and I had other things to think about. No one asked me, and then I had the feeling that this information might be used against someone. So I decided to wait and see, and Mother Nature decided for me. I have to admit that since the bodies were found in Maggi’s - Markus’s father’s - house I’ve often wondered about that blood on the pier, and I expect I’m not the only one.’

  ‘Do you mean the harbour-master who discovered the blood?’

  ‘No, he’s long dead, the old man,’ replied Paddi. ‘I was thinking about Inspector Leifsson, for starters, not to mention all the locals who came down to see it for themselves. You don’t see that quantity of blood on the pier just from a large catch of fish.’

  Thóra thought for a moment. ‘I’m sure you know who Dadi was,’ she said. ‘He was seen there that morning. Do you think he could have had something to do with the blood?’

  ‘That boring old bastard?’ said Paddi bluntly. ‘He may have, though I doubt it. Dadi was a lazy coward who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. He was a real drip, not like a proper Islander. His father wasn’t born here, you know.’

  ‘So do you think he was telling the truth when he denied knowing anything about the blood?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. He could have known more than he let on. Actually, he wasn’t the only one seen there - just the only one the police knew about.’

  ‘Really?’ exclaimed Thóra. ‘There were others there? Why was this kept secret?’

  ‘I should make something clear before we go any furthe
r, so there’s no misunderstanding,’ said Paddi. ‘Maggi was a decent fellow. He was a hard worker from the old school, who wasn’t afraid of anything and worked like a dog for his family. He deserves everything that he has, and I don’t know of anyone who thinks he got it through any funny business. Leifur is a good man too; Markus I only knew as a child, a cheeky little monkey, good fun.’

  ‘But?’ said Thóra. ‘Praise like that is usually followed by a “but”.’

  Paddi smiled at her. ‘But,’ he said, no humour in his voice, ‘when Maggi got ill and started losing his grip… Look, everyone knows about his condition although Leifur tries to keep it secret. He took over the company from his dad, and people are getting worried about how it’s going. Maria doesn’t bother to hide the fact that she’d rather live anywhere else but here. If they move, the company will be sold and the only ones who’d have the means to buy it would be big-city fat cats. And they would move the fishing rights somewhere where it would be more profitable to fit out the ships and process the catch. You might say Leifur has the whole community by the short and curlies, so everyone tiptoes around for fear of offending him. There are others to whom some of us owe our livelihood, but he’s the one who looks like he’s leaving.’

  ‘I see,’ said Thóra. She knew that the Islanders’ fears were not ungrounded - in such a small community, every employer mattered. ‘And you think Leifur uses this to keep people quiet?’ She was starting to convince herself that Magnus had been one of those seen down at the harbour that fateful night.

  ‘No,’ said Paddi. ‘I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. In some ways Leifur is a simple fellow, like me, and doesn’t care much about what others are thinking. He just does his own thing and is probably pretty happy with how everything’s going, and no one argues with him when he suggests something. I predict that if things go on this way, he’ll get a big head.’ Paddi steered the ship closer to Heimaey and pointed out the land formed of new lava, which was impressive when you thought how short a time had passed since it had poured out. ‘The problem is that different people have different views on what’s best for Leifur and Markus, and on what can and can’t be said as far as this case goes. Almost all the Islanders will only say what they think will be best for the brothers. Whether that’s the right thing to do, that’s another question. Some people may actually be keeping quiet about the good things and discussing stuff that could make the brothers look bad, without realizing it.’

  ‘And what about you?’ Thóra asked. ‘Don’t you fit into that group? You love this place, so you must want to do whatever’s best for it?’

  Paddi clicked his tongue. ‘That’s not the way I’m made -

  I don’t try to avoid the inevitable. All that does is make things worse. Maggi’s company will be sold. Maybe not today or tomorrow, perhaps not until Leifur wants to retire. However, on the evening of the day his children take over, the company will be sold. That much is certain. They’ve found their calling elsewhere and there’s no point ignoring the fact.‘

  ‘But why didn’t anyone mention the blood, since so many people have put two and two together? I don’t understand how people could decide that the story makes Markus look bad, or Leifur for that matter?’ Thóra wanted to hear what Paddi had to say about Magnus, though she suspected he wanted to leave the story untold and make her read between the lines.

  ‘Let’s make one thing clear. People couldn’t care less about Markus. In this case he and Leifur are in the same boat and he’s the one who’s copped it. But if Markus is locked up, Leifur will go to visit him, which might mean Leifur spending more time on the mainland. One thing will lead to another, and in the end Leifur will move away.’ Paddi glanced at Thóra. ‘You know what I mean?’ She nodded. ‘Neither Markus nor Leifur was seen there; just their father.’ Paddi raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. ‘And there’s not much left to say, since ever-increasing numbers of those who can remember these events have lost their voices. None of us are spring chickens any more.’

  ‘But even if Magnus was seen there, it doesn’t mean he had anything to do with the blood,’ said Thóra, a little lost.

  Paddi snorted. ‘That may be, but it’s what people thought at the time, and that hasn’t changed.’ He shrugged. ‘The one who started the rumour was the same one who told the police about Dadi. He was a grumpy old man,’ he grinned, displaying his decayed teeth. ‘Kind of like I am today. He was there for some reason in the middle of the night and stumbled across those two — Dadi and Magnus - in a heated argument, both looking wrung out. When they saw him they were startled, and went off in separate directions. The old guy was surprised they didn’t even say hello, but it wasn’t until later in the morning that he made the connection. He hadn’t noticed the blood, so the first he heard about it was when everyone started gathering down at the harbour to see what the police were looking at.’

  ‘How could this old man tell the police he’d seen Dadi without mentioning Magnus?’ asked Thóra.

  ‘That’s simple,’ said Paddi, steering the boat in a wide arc. ‘Everyone likes Magnus, and this old man was no exception. No one liked Dadi, so the man probably had no qualms about implicating him. It meant he could make things difficult for Dadi, who wasn’t a full Islander, and win himself a bit of the Islanders’ attention at the same time.’

  ‘In other words, he told the police one thing and the rest of the town another?’ asked Thóra. ‘It’s not a big town. The real story must have made its way to the ears of the authorities.’

  Paddi looked at Thóra as if she were a retarded child. ‘Under normal circumstances it would have,’ he said, straightening the rudder. ‘But the volcano erupted a few days later and the Islanders were scattered all over the place. The ones that stayed behind had more pressing business than a puddle of blood on the harbour. And then another man started saying he’d seen Dadi sail into the harbour in a dinghy that night, but most people agreed he made the story up for attention, wanting to play a part in the police investigation.’ He looked at Thóra. ‘But do you know what I’ve never understood?’ he asked, rhetorically. ‘Why that shithead Dadi didn’t mention Magnus when the police spoke to him. If the blood had nothing to do with him he could have simply said the two of them were there together, and explained what they were doing. And if Dadi was involved somehow, it still makes no sense. If they had been in on it together, surely Dadi would have told the police about Magnus? Then Magnus would either have confirmed Dadi’s alibi or gone down with him. And since Dadi was such a mean old bastard, he wouldn’t have thought that was so bad.’ Paddi held Thóra’s gaze. ‘Either way, the question is: why didn’t Dadi tell the police he’d been down at the harbour with Magnus?’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Saturday 21 July2007

  Tinna’s English wasn’t good enough to speak to the nurse. Maybe she would have trusted herself to say a few words if the drugs hadn’t made her too tired to speak Icelandic, let alone a foreign language. She watched as the woman in white took away the bag that had emptied into her through a needle in the back of her left hand. Tinna couldn’t see the needle, which was covered with a dressing. The nurse that inserted it had been Icelandic and had talked constantly throughout the process, afraid that Tinna might find it uncomfortable and start crying or screaming. She had tried to tell the woman that she couldn’t care less, that needles didn’t hurt, they just felt strange. The nurse hadn’t believed her, and when she stuck the needle in for the third time in search of a vein she had raised her voice and talked even faster. Tinna had trouble following what she was saying and understood only every other word, even though the relentless chatter was all in Icelandic. It went in through her ears and didn’t seem to go up into her brain, but to somewhere entirely different. Maybe down into her stomach? Hopefully there weren’t any calories in words. Tinna’s heart skipped a beat. Didn’t they say words were food for the mind? Could they change into food for the stomach?

  ‘Okay, now,’ said the foreign nurse, patting the
blanket she had spread carefully over Tinna. ‘Try to get some sleep.’

  Tinna stared at her, not replying. She couldn’t tell whether the woman had said ‘sleep’ or ‘sheep’. She spoke enough English to know what both words meant, she just wasn’t sure. Maybe the woman wanted her to count sheep, like cartoon characters did. Tinna closed her eyes and tried it. In her mind’s eye, one, two, three sheep hopped over a green-painted fence. The door to the room opened and closed with a faint thud. The woman had probably gone, but Tinna didn’t want to ruin the sheep-race by opening her eyes and looking. She focused again on the fence and the sheep. It wasn’t going well. The sheep were disgustingly fat, and the fourth one couldn’t jump at all. It stood by the fence, breathless and panting. Then it started to expand, and soon its snout disappeared into its white belly, which stretched wider until finally there was a loud bang as it burst. Blood and guts flew everywhere. Tinna opened her eyes quickly to rid herself of this vision. She was alone in the room. Her breasts heaved up and down. This was what awaited her if she didn’t get out of here. She would get fatter and fatter until she blew up. Tinna turned and looked at the clear bag hanging from a steel frame next to the bed. She watched the drops fall into the regulator, which controlled how much liquid ran into her veins.

  She gasped when the first clear thought she’d had all day jumped into her head. The drops were full of calories. Maybe even pure calories, but Tinna had no idea what those looked like. They might be like water, and splash around in her body after they’d gone in. Tinna’s hand throbbed beneath the needle, and she felt as if she were burning up. She tried to think more clearly. Heat, calories. The needle was hot because calories were streaming through it now. Hot, evil calories. She felt a tear forming in the corner of her eye. Was it good to cry? Could she empty the evil liquid from her body? Her head started aching from all these thoughts and she pressed her right hand against the spot on her forehead where it hurt. The pain eased a little, but returned as soon as she removed her hand. Should she ring the bell for assistance?