He wondered briefly whether he should phone his lawyer and speak to her – that always made him feel better. She always managed to come up with something to quash any negative thoughts he was having about the case. Sometimes she did this by telling him good news about the other case that she was handling for him, making the hospital in Isafjördur realize that unfortunately they would not be able to wriggle out of paying Adolf compensation for his mother’s death. He smiled just thinking about the sum she’d mentioned. He couldn’t complain about his financial situation; he had inherited his parents’ mortgage-free house and everything that they had managed to scrape together in the course of their lives, for the most part unconditionally, if you didn’t count that wretched inheritance tax. The additional compensation would just be the icing on a delicious cake that had pretty much landed in his lap. Nevertheless, he decided not to call. She would probably start talking about Alda and he didn’t want to hear it right now. He’d gladly never hear her name again, especially right now. He didn’t want to think about what had happened when they’d met. Nor did he want to have to explain to his lawyer that Alda would not be testifying for him as they had been hoping. Not a hope in hell of that, now.
‘Tomorrow,’ replied Thóra, in answer to her daughter’s usual question: When are you coming home? ‘Early, in fact. Probably before lunch.’
‘Good,’ said Sóley, happily. She dropped her voice to a whisper, so Thóra had to strain to hear her. ‘Grandma’s making those disgusting meatballs wrapped in leaves.’
‘Aha,’ said Thóra, smiling to herself. Cabbage-balls hadn’t been her favourite either when she was Sóley’s age. ‘I’ll make you something for lunch. Don’t worry.’ She said goodbye to her daughter, who told her that Gylfi wanted to talk to her. Her son’s husky voice took over.
‘Can you find me a place to stay in the Islands for the festival?’ he said, without saying hello or wasting time on small talk. Ah, the August Bank Holiday festival, thought Thóra. She’d forgotten that was coming up. The Westmann Islands were famous for it. ‘Everything’s fully booked and I can’t stay in a tent with Sigga and Orri,’ he went on.
‘I would have thought the main obstacle to staying in a tent would have been you,’ replied Thóra. Gylfi was hardly an outdoors man. ‘And it’s out of the question that you take the baby to the festival with you. He’s far too little.’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘In fact, you’re too young yourselves.’ It was extremely unfortunate that the human body matured so early. It had no doubt been a benefit when people died around thirty, but it was absurd for longer lifespans. ‘It’s a bad idea for you to come here.’
‘I thought maybe you’d come with us,’ said Gylfi quickly. ‘We could rent an apartment for all of us to stay in, including Sóley. Then you could look after Orri if Sigga and I need to go off somewhere, food shopping or whatever.’
At first Thóra was amazed and pleased to hear that Gylfi wanted to have her with them, but then the penny dropped. She was supposed to pay to rent an apartment, do the cooking and cleaning and take care of Orri as well. She had to hand it to Gylfi: she could hardly say he’d been sneaky about it. He’d gotstraight to the point, at least, which was a definite plus. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but I think it’s pretty much impossible to find an apartment here now,’ said Thóra after thinking for a moment. She could think of far worse things than a little holiday with her children for the Bank Holiday weekend. Mind you, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have been invited to go with Gylfi and Sigga if they hadn’t had the baby.
‘Awesome,’ said Gylfi.‘Check on a flight for us too,’ he added, as a parting shot.‘It looks like they’re all booked too.’
Thóra rolled her eyes and said goodbye. In the wake of this call she made several unsuccessful attempts to find accommodation for the weekend in question. She was in her hotel room, so she started by ringing reception in the hope that two rooms might be free. Her question was actually met with laughter, and the same occurred when she tried other accommodation in the Islands. One woman who ran a guesthouse felt sorry for her and offered to check on whether there were still any apartments open. There were always people willing to rent their apartments that weekend, to families rather than groups of teenagers. She took down Thóra’s number but told her not to get her hopes up. Thóra didn’t feel like checking on flights or sea crossings until it was clear they could get accommodation. It wasn’t much good being able to come to the festival if they’d be out on the street. She was getting ready to go down to meet Bella for something to eat when the phone rang again. It was Matthew. His voice sounded cheerful even though he hadn’t yet decided whether he would take the job in Iceland. Reading between the lines, Thóra thought he was waiting to see if she would make his decision easier: he would come if she encouraged him, but would stay put if she indicated that she would rather he didn’t.
He seemed to have resolved not to discuss his decision, although it made conversation embarrassing and awkward. She wanted him to come, but was nervous about how it would go if their interest in each other started to dwindle over time. She decided to change the subject so that there would be no danger of her giving in and asking him to take the job.‘Why would you cut someone’s genitals off and stuff them in their mouth?’ was the only thing that she could think of saying. The part of the autopsy report concerned with the head was preoccupying her. It had stated that the mouth of the severed head had contained a man’s reproductive organ, likely from the same person. That was the unexpected element Gudni had hinted at.
There was a long silence at the other end of the phone.
Finally Matthew spoke: ‘I’m just wondering what it is you wanted to say, whether I’ve misunderstood. I can’t come up with anything, so I’m starting to think I didn’t mishear you at all.’
‘No,’ said Thóra.‘You didn’t mishear me. At the moment I’m working on a case that concerns, among other things, a head in that very same condition.’
‘A head?’ said Matthew, clearly baffled. ‘I see you haven’t yet switched over to divorce cases, like you were thinking of doing. Or is this one of them?’
‘I wish I knew whose head it was,’ replied Thóra sadly, before running through the case swiftly with him. When she had finished she repeated her original question. ‘If I knew what would drive a murderer to do such a thing, perhaps I could narrow down the number of possible suspects.’
‘It sounds to me as if this case is one of those that will never be solved,’ said Matthew, tacitly declining to discuss the mutilation. ‘So much time has passed that I doubt you’ll get anywhere.’
‘That would be bad news for my client,’ said Thóra. ‘He doesn’t want this allegation hanging over his head for the rest of his life, which is what might happen if the truth doesn’t come out.’ She paused before adding: ‘I mean, it’s the best he could hope for in the event that the guilty party isn’t found.