‘She was here in my office, so it was a bit difficult to talk to you.’ Glódís realized that she was speaking too loudly, as she did when she was anxious. She’d felt as if Thóra was never going to leave, but she knew that Einvarður was waiting for her to call. She hadn’t wanted to irritate him, but she couldn’t tell him who was sitting in front of her. As a result, he’d probably thought that she was being difficult; he certainly sounded tetchy when he answered on the first ring.
‘What did she want?’
‘She wants to meet Ragna. And she was asking about the night watchman Friðleifur, as I explained; she’d heard about the alleged discipline violations at the residence and wanted an explanation. I told her the truth, that the rumour turned out to be nonsense.’ Glódís didn’t dare tell him what they’d said about his son. She was afraid he would want a word for word account of the conversation and would subsequently find fault with everything she’d told the lawyer.
Einvarður was silent. ‘Did Tryggvi have anything to do with this Ragna? I don’t really remember her.’
‘No. I doubt he even knew she lived there.’
‘How about the night watchman, did he know him?’
‘Not well. Friðleifur and the other night watchman went into the apartments several times a night to make sure that everything was all right – in fact, no, they only went into the apartments whose residents were connected to machines. It’s possible that they might have had to enter Tryggvi’s apartment at some point, if they’d heard a noise, perhaps, but it would have been something completely incidental. They also interacted with the residents a bit in the mornings, since they helped get them out of bed and prepare a light breakfast.’
‘I see.’
Glódís didn’t like his tone of voice and was apprehensive about what he was going to ask her next. It would be better if they discussed her conversation with Thóra as little as possible. ‘When you called before, you mentioned some files. What did you mean?’
‘Oh yes.’ It was clear from his tone that he was not at all keen on changing the subject. ‘Yes, I wanted to be absolutely clear on whether files from the centre are in circulation or in storage somewhere.’
‘What?’ Glódís didn’t know what he was on about. The files were scattered throughout the administrative system and beyond. There was a whole heap of them at the Regional Office; some at the Ministry of Welfare and copies of this and that had found their way to the police and the courts for the trial, and then from there to the lawyers who had been connected to the case. There were even quite a few at his own ministry.
‘Are any files concerning my son still in circulation? I expect you to tell me the truth, and I would remind you that it’s thanks to my intervention that you still have a job.’
She stuttered. It was unusual for him to mention what he’d done for her so directly. She couldn’t deny that she would have been out on the street if he hadn’t stepped in in the wake of the fire. She was grateful for that, of course. On the other hand, he shouldn’t forget that she herself had done him a favour, so he was out of line speaking to her like this. But instead of pointing this out to him, she decided to swallow her pride and simply answer the question. ‘Well… I… it…’ She pulled herself together. ‘Yes, there are numerous files on all the residents and the home’s operations, here in this office and elsewhere.’
‘I’m not asking about reports and suchlike; I mean things that belonged to my son. His property. Did everything get burnt or was there anything of his that might have been kept elsewhere?’
‘Everything got burnt.’ Glódís wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. ‘None of the residents’ belongings were removed from the home, except perhaps by their relatives. We had nothing to do with them.’
‘I’m not talking about clothes or anything like that. What I want to be sure of is that we, Tryggvi’s family, get everything that belonged to him that might be in your possession. Things that are important to us, but meaningless to anyone else. His drawings, for example.’
Glódís was relieved. He didn’t want her to start deleting files. For a moment she’d thought he suspected his son of being involved in the fire and wanted to get rid of some piece of evidence, to keep it hidden from the lawyer’s investigation. ‘No, we don’t have anything like that. Definitely not. It was all at the home and would have burned along with the building. I’m absolutely certain.’
Einvarður seemed relieved and his tone became more natural, even friendly, as it had always been before. He thanked her warmly and said goodbye, though only after a brief and stilted attempt at polite small talk, as if nothing out of the ordinary had been discussed. After hanging up she stared at the phone in surprise, as thoughts began to run through her mind. Could it be that he’d discovered something linking his son to the case, or was he doing the same thing he’d done when he and his wife had pulled Tryggvi out of treatment without warning? Then, he’d asked to be given all the pictures that his son had drawn, and had been very determined about it. Glódís had only taken him seriously when he called a second time, furious, after his wife had mentioned that pictures had been put up again on all the walls of their son’s apartment. And what had she got for her trouble besides a terrible pain in her back, after Jakob attacked her for taking one of the drawings from him? Perhaps this Thóra woman was looking under stones that were better left unturned. But it wasn’t this thought that was causing Glódís the most distress. In her agitation she’d misled Einvarður: she’d forgotten about Tryggvi’s developmental therapist, Ægir. When his services were no longer required, he’d packed up all his things – including a whole heap of papers he’d used in the young man’s therapy sessions. Not all of Tryggvi’s drawings had been destroyed in the fire.
CHAPTER 25
Monday, 18 January 2010
Ragna Sölvadóttir’s condition turned out to be much worse than Thóra had imagined. She lay on her back, but the nurse had turned her head so that the young woman could look straight at the person speaking to her. A therapist sat close beside Thóra. A thin blanket was spread over Ragna’s wasted body and her shoulders stuck out from beneath it like coat hangers, her collarbone jutting through her skin. Thóra was sure it must require the utmost care simply to handle the girl so that she didn’t break. It wasn’t her scrawny body that made Thóra most uncomfortable, though, but how still the girl was. The lack of movement was so absolute that Thóra felt as if she herself had to be completely still, as if the slightest twitch would be rubbing the girl’s face in the difference between their lives. Considering how the therapist was moving around in her seat, however, Thóra was probably being unnecessarily sensitive. The therapist was an employee of the Regional Office who had been drafted in to assist her, although the speed at which everything had occurred after Glódís had called and given the green light for her to meet Ragna had made Thóra’s head spin somewhat, and she would have liked to have been better prepared. She had expected it to take several days to organize this meeting, not a few hours. She had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps this had been precisely the aim – to surprise her in order to ensure that her conversation with Ragna would be as muddled as possible. Unless Glódís had finally realized that it was pointless being stubborn; Thóra’s investigation would follow its course with or without her help.
The therapist placed her hands on the cards that she’d laid in her lap. She had a gentle voice and her enunciation was very precise. There was no risk of her words being misunderstood. ‘So to be clear, you understand who this is, and are prepared to answer her questions?’ The woman’s whole demeanour was relaxed, and her brief introduction of Thóra and the purpose of her visit had been clear and reasonable, as if Thóra were meeting with a fully capable woman. There was no pity in her voice nor any trace of the childish tone that Thóra felt trying to emerge in her own questions. She would have to get a grip on herself and be careful about talking down to the young woman; although her body had almost entirely given up, her mind was clear.