Theodóra was in bed. Elínborg peeked into her room. A small reading lamp shone from the bedside table but Theodóra was asleep. Her book had fallen from her hand and lay open on the floor. Silently Elínborg approached the bed, intending to switch the light off. Theodóra was absolutely self-sufficient. She never had to be reminded to tidy her room — unlike her brothers. She tidied it every day, and even made her bed before leaving for school. Her dozens of books were kept in perfect order in a large bookcase, and her little desk was always as neat as a pin.
Elínborg picked the book up. It was one of her own from childhood. She’d passed it on to her daughter: an adventure story by a well-known British writer whose language was probably a little ornate for modern children. It was one of a long series of books which were great favourites with Theodóra. Elínborg remembered reading them voraciously as a child, and waiting impatiently for each new story. She turned the thick yellowed pages with a smile of remembrance. The spine was damaged and the cover tattered by the many young hands through which it had passed. She noticed that she had written her name in clumsy joined-up script on the title page: Elínborg, class 3G. The thrilling events were illustrated by excellent drawings, and Elínborg paused over one image; she had a feeling that there was something important in the picture. She stared at it for a long time until she identified what had caught her attention. After gazing at the drawing again, she woke her daughter up.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she apologised, once Theodóra’s eyes were open. ‘Your Gran sends lots of love. Can I ask you something?’
‘What?’ asked Theodóra. ‘Why did you wake me up?’
‘This book — I don’t remember, it’s such a long time since I read it. Look, this man, in the drawing, who is he?’
Theodóra screwed up her eyes and peered at the illustration. ‘Why are you asking about him?’ she asked.
‘I just want to know.’
‘Did you really have to wake me up to find out?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, darling. But you’ll drop straight off to sleep again. Just tell me, who’s the man in the story?’
‘Did you go to Grandma’s?’
‘Yes.’
Theodóra squinted at the picture again. ‘Don’t you remember who it is?’ she asked.
‘No,’ replied her mother.
‘That’s Robert,’ explained Theodóra. ‘He’s the villain.’
‘Why does he have that thing on his leg?’ asked Elínborg.
‘He was born that way,’ said Theodóra. ‘He wears the brace because he was born with a twisted foot.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Elínborg recalled. ‘It was a deformity.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I borrow your book? I’ll give it back to you by tomorrow evening.’
‘What for?’
‘I want to show it to a lady called Petrína. I think she may have seen a man with a brace on his leg, like that one, walking down her street. What was it that this Robert did in the story?’
‘He’s horrible,’ said Theodóra, yawning. ‘They’re all scared of him, the children, and he tries to kill them. He’s the malefactor.’
15
Petrína did not recognise Elínborg. She stood at the half-open door of her flat, looking sceptically at Elínborg as she tried to explain who she was and what she wanted. She reminded Petrína that she had called on her a few days ago to ask about a man in the street outside her home.
‘What man?’ asked Petrína. ‘From the power company? They haven’t been here.’
‘They haven’t come round yet?’
‘They haven’t turned up, those men,’ said Petrína, and took a deep breath. ‘They’re not interested in me,’ she added sadly.
‘I’ll ring them for you. Can I come in for a minute and talk to you about the man you saw the other day?’
Petrína gazed at her. ‘All right, come in,’ she said.
Elínborg followed her inside and closed the door behind her. She entered the same fug of cigarette smoke as before. She glanced towards the room lined in aluminium foil, but the door was closed. The two rods that Petrína had used to detect the electromagnetic field in the flat lay on the living-room floor, as if she had flung them down there. Elínborg regretted that she had been so dismissive of the old lady’s story; in a case where clues were few and far between, days had been wasted. The lame man whom Petrína had spotted from her window might be an important witness: perhaps he had seen something significant, heard something, noticed someone. It was possible that the ‘aerial’ Petrína had described on his leg was simply some form of brace, fitted due to an accident or a physical disability. Petrína was so obsessed with her massive electromagnetic waves and uranium that she had interpreted it in her own fashion.
Petrína looked more weary than at their first encounter. She was less vehement than before, as if her zeal had faded in the past few days and she had given up the battle with the electromagnetic waves. Perhaps she was worn out by waiting for the men from the power company, who Elínborg suspected would never visit the poor woman. She remembered that she had intended to call Social Services to check on Petrína’s situation but had not yet got around to it. The woman appeared intensely vulnerable, with nowhere to turn for protection against the invisible waves that threatened to engulf her. Elínborg noticed that she had now wrapped her television in aluminium foil. Then she saw another, smaller, foil-wrapped package on the kitchen counter: a radio, she deduced.
‘I’d like to show you a picture in a book of mine,’ said Elínborg, producing Theodóra’s adventure story.
‘A picture in a book?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is the book for me?’
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Elínborg.
‘Yes, no, you’re afraid not?’ Petrína was offended. ‘No, of course you can’t be bringing me anything. Who do I think I am?’
‘I’m sorry, it’s my daughter’s …’
‘You’re the policewoman?’
‘That’s right,’ said Elínborg. ‘So you do remember me.’
‘You promised to hurry them up, at the power company.’
‘I will. I’m afraid I forgot,’ Elínborg said, embarrassed at letting Petrína down. ‘I’ll ring them as soon as we’ve finished.’
Elínborg opened the book and flicked through the pages until she found the picture of the villainous Robert. One of his legs was fitted with a strange device from the knee down to the ankle. The brace comprised two metal bars that were fixed to his shoe and fastened with leather straps.
‘You told me that you saw a man walk past the house during the night, at a time when a serious crime was being committed in the next street. You were at the window, waiting for the men from the power company.’
‘They never turned up.’
‘I know. You said the man walked with a limp and had something on one leg, like an aerial, and it transmitted massive waves.’
‘Oh, yes, massive waves,’ agreed Petrína, with a smile that revealed small nicotine-stained teeth.
‘Was the fitting on his leg anything like this?’ asked Elínborg, passing her the open book.
Petrína put down her half-smoked cigarette, took the book, and carefully examined the illustration. ‘What book is this?’ she asked at last.
‘It’s an adventure story that my daughter’s reading,’ replied Elínborg, gagging on the cigarette smoke. ‘That’s why I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry. Is that like the aerial you saw on the man’s leg, here outside the house?’