When he’d stopped punching heat into himself, the lapping of the waves caught his attention and he held his breath to enjoy it to the utmost. He turned to look across the bay and stare at the ocean. A loud electronic jingle suddenly tore through the peace and quiet, giving him a massive shock; he had thought that he was there alone and felt uncomfortable at the thought that someone had snuck up on him unawares. He turned around to look but saw no one. The ringing continued, however, now higher and more intense. The jogger quickly worked out where it was coming from; he noticed a blue gleam beneath the bench and reached down to pick up a rather cheap-looking mobile phone. On the blinking screen he saw the word Mum and for a second he considered answering, but he was still so exhausted that he didn’t trust himself to explain to this person who he was and how he had come to be answering a stranger’s phone. Instead he stared at the screen until the ringing stopped, at which point a message appeared: 7 missed calls. Some drunk idiot must have lost his phone last night and was probably still asleep at home. The jogger turned back to the sea; the phone could wait, he would take it home with him and then call the mother to let her know where she could come and get it. He decided to check whether the guy’s wallet might also be around somewhere, so that he could return it along with the phone.
It was then that he spotted the feet in the brown scrub where the land sloped steeply down to the sea. He actually had to think about it for a minute before he realized what they were; at first he thought they were funny-looking rocks, but then saw that they were black shoes, and that in the shoes were feet, which also looked oddly blackened. The realization shocked him out of his fatigue, and he forced his stiff legs to walk over towards the dip. He was afraid of what he might see when the rest of the body became visible; hopefully it was just the drunk owner of the phone who’d had too much fun the night before, but the completely motionless feet and the rather uncomfortable position of the body suggested otherwise. He noticed an odd burnt smell coming off the brown scrub as he approached, and thought to himself how strange it was that someone had decided to lie down in the one place where the scrub had been burned and the smell was so bad; although this was a trivial point when you also considered that he was partly lying in the grass and partly hanging down a rocky slope. Just before the entire body came into view, the jogger realized that no one, either living or half-dead, would choose this as a place to rest.
As he ran off in search of help, having forgotten all about the phone that he was clutching in one hand, the jogger felt neither pain nor fatigue. The only feeling left was nausea.
‘I just thought you should know.’ Thóra took the old woman’s hand, which was rough and cold, and felt it jerk at her touch. Thóra had called Grímheiður after her visit to the hospital to tell her what she thought she’d understood about the reason for Jósteinn’s attack. The panic this seemed to have provoked in Jakob’s mother had prompted Thóra to drop by and see her on her way home. Now she and Matthew sat with her in the narrow kitchen that Jakob missed so much. The apartment was small but welcoming and reminded Thóra of her grandparents’ home when she was a child, which had had ornaments along all the walls whose sentimental value far outweighed their actual price. Here, framed photographs took pride of place, most of them of Jakob at various ages, but also some of his deceased father. ‘I completely understand if you want to think about this a bit; even if as a result you might prefer me to resign from the case.’
‘What’s your hourly rate?’ The woman bit her thin upper lip, which was almost the same colour as her face. When she released it again all the blood rushed back and it reddened as if she’d put lipstick on it but forgotten the lower one. Thóra named the lowest possible rate, the one she offered her closest friends. The woman’s face revealed that she’d been expecting something lower. ‘Can’t I have a discount?’
Thóra was in a quandary; there was no way the woman could afford to pursue the case unless the firm simply did the work for free. ‘The rate doesn’t tell the whole story. The number of hours worked does tend to pile up in these kinds of assignments, but if everything goes to plan the majority of those hours would hopefully be reimbursed. In the part of the law that covers the reopening of cases, it’s stated that the cost of the petition – and of the new trial, if the petition is approved – will be paid by the State Treasury. On the other hand, we don’t know whether Jakob’s case will be reopened and even if it is, there’s no guarantee that the courts will consider the entire portion of the expenditure recoverable.’
‘But… ‘ Grímheiður stared open-mouthed, the colour now drained from her upper lip.
‘On the other hand, if I’m right, and Jósteinn still wants Jakob’s case to be reopened, then he’ll hopefully stick to his word about paying the cost. If that’s totally unacceptable to you after what’s happened, I will of course stop working for him, and then we can take the chance that the case will go well and the costs will be paid by the Treasury.’ Thóra felt sorry for Jakob’s mother; it didn’t take a psychologist to see that the woman had two choices, both of them bad. She could give the green light and indirectly receive money from a man who had maimed her son, or she could refuse any further assistance from this odious benefactor and effectively prevent Jakob from having any chance of returning home.
‘What would you do?’ Grímheiður directed her question to Matthew. She was of the old school; his words had more weight than Thóra’s, since he was more likely to come to a rational conclusion, being a man. Thóra didn’t let this bother her and smiled wryly to herself.
‘Me?’ Matthew had been following the conversation but clearly hadn’t expected to be directly involved. He carefully put down the doughnut that he’d been intending to enjoy, after Grímheiður placed a box full of them on the table in front of him, along with some coffee that she’d brewed the old-fashioned way. ‘Well, I guess I would let the investigation proceed. Look at Jósteinn’s payments as compensation for the injury. The damage has already been done and although it goes completely against your instincts to accept anything from this man, it’s the most sensible decision when you put aside your feelings and look at the bigger picture.’
‘In other words, it doesn’t matter where the assistance comes from.’ The woman appeared satisfied with Matthew’s answer and she filled his cup. ‘But what will people think?’
‘Does it matter?’ Matthew meant this sincerely; he cared little about others’ opinions. ‘The case is about Jakob, not some strangers in town.’
Grímheiður put the coffeepot down carefully on a tray that Thóra would have bet everything she owned Jakob had made. Her pale eyes suddenly filled with tears, which she self-consciously wiped away with her hands. ‘Sorry. I really don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘You don’t need to apologize for anything. I have a son; a daughter, too, and I understand how you feel. What Jakob’s been through, both last night and over the years, is more than most mothers have to deal with. You deserve credit for your endurance.’
‘Thanks,’ muttered Grímheiður, so softly that she could barely be heard. ‘He’s got to be allowed to come home. I’m so worried about him. What if he’s sent back to Sogn? What will this Jósteinn do then? Stab him again to send him back here? The hospital’s had its own cutbacks and they can’t keep readmitting him.’
‘I’d advise you to speak to the Icelandic Prison Service and even try to get the hospital on your side. Sogn is categorized as a hospital, not a jail, so these institutions could act jointly to get Jakob placed elsewhere, in consultation with the court – which would also have to get involved, since he was pronounced not criminally liable. It must be possible to find some sort of interim solution to his predicament. Unfortunately, Ari will probably have to be involved as well, as Jakob’s supervisor, but I can speak to him if you’d prefer not to.’ Thóra was afraid that no matter what solution the authorities chose, it would be one that neither Jakob nor his mother would be happy with – although at least he would be safe.