Someone to Watch Over Me Read online

  ‘From outside. I let him keep them in there.’

  ‘Did he used to just pick them up off the ground? I never noticed him doing that.’ She’d taken countless walks around the neighbourhood with her brother, and he’d never shown any interest in stones – insofar as he’d shown an interest in anything.

  ‘It was a new thing for him. He began doing it just before he moved; you’d just started university and you didn’t have time to go out walking with him any more.’ Her words weren’t accusatory at all; the family had perfectly understood the change in Lena’s situation after she’d started classes. Lena picked one up and rolled it in the palm of her hand. ‘Still, shouldn’t we get rid of them? They’re just rocks; they can’t have any sentimental value.’

  ‘For me they do.’

  This was a huge step forward and Lena was so happy she had to turn her back to hide from her mother how triumphant she felt. It gave her hope that their home life would return to normal over time – or as normal as it could be, at least. She let the stone drop back into the drawer, where it landed on top of the pile and rolled down until it hit the back of the drawer with a thunk. The drawer was hard to shut again but after she’d managed it Lena pulled out the next one, prepared to find more rocks. Instead, the drawer held a stack of loose papers. The top sheets were blank and Lena picked up a few of them to check whether they were all like that.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ Her dad’s voice came from the hallway, sounding strange.

  ‘Nothing special.’ Her mother finally entered the room. ‘Lena suggested we go through Tryggvi’s things if we want to set up the study that you’ve been talking about.’

  ‘Really?’ Her father walked in and looked around. To Lena’s knowledge he hadn’t set foot in the room since Tryggvi had died. ‘Oof, the air is bad in here.’ He went over to his wife and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Thanks, you two.’

  ‘Where did you go?’ asked Lena’s mother, adding a tiny white lie: ‘Lena and I were worried about you.’

  ‘I was out in the garden. The snow’s melted and I wanted to pick up the rubbish from the New Year.’ He turned to Lena. ‘How’s it going?’

  She didn’t reply straight away, as she was too absorbed in browsing through the drawings on the back of all the sheets of paper. They were all alike, showing a figure which could either be standing or lying down, depending on how you turned the paper. It was rather grotesque, with no eyes and no nose, just a big open mouth, which Lena interpreted as a symbol of despair. Tryggvi had added something new to this figure, that she hadn’t seen in other drawings of his: some sort of dark sheet coming from its black, gaping mouth cavity. Lena suspected what the picture was meant to show, but when her father asked what was on all these sheets of paper she just turned one of the drawings towards him in silence.

  ‘Where did you find this?’ Her father ripped the drawing from her hand abruptly. He examined it for a few moments, his face grim, then took the rest of the pictures from Lena.

  ‘In the drawer.’ She pointed to the stack. Her father immediately started to gather up the sheets.

  ‘I don’t like this at all.’ He put the papers on the desk when he couldn’t fit any more in his hands. ‘I’ll deal with this room. There are lots of things in here that people don’t need to see.’

  Fanndís and Lena watched in surprise. Her mother, who hadn’t seen the drawings, rubbed her ear feverishly.

  As her father tore the sheets of paper to shreds in front of Lena, she felt dreadful. She was starting to suspect that the calm, normal family life she longed for was just a crazy dream that would never come true. Could this violent reaction be connected to the lawyer’s investigation? He must have known about the pictures but not been disturbed by them until now, when the fire was being reinvestigated. She still had the lawyer’s German friend’s phone number somewhere; maybe he could tell her how the investigation was going. Clearly her parents weren’t about to. A white scrap of paper fell off the desk and drifted to the floor.

  Chapter 24

  Monday, 18 January 2010

  ‘I need a pay rise.’ Bella’s tone made it clear that this was more of an order than a request, and Thóra felt like laughing out loud. If she hadn’t been late for a meeting with Glódís at the Regional Office for the Disabled, she would have enjoyed continuing this discussion with her secretary.

  ‘There’s a recession, Bella, and pay rises aren’t on the agenda, not in this office or anywhere else in Iceland. Did you mean a pay cut, maybe? Then we can talk.’

  ‘Cigarettes have gone up, petrol has gone up, everything’s gone up, so now wages should go up.’ Her order of priorities was clear.

  ‘Sorry, Bella. I really am.’ Although there was little love lost between Thóra and her secretary, Bella’s feelings were understandable in light of the recent price increases, and when you added increased taxes into the equation her wages must have been stretched even further. ‘We’ve been hit by inflation too, so there’s no room to improve the terms of anyone’s contract – yours or ours.’

  ‘Then pay me cash in hand.’

  Thóra was in no doubt that Bella was entirely serious. ‘I can’t; you know that.’

  ‘Why not? Then I can claim unemployment benefit and still work, which is like a pay rise, but you don’t have to pay it.’

  ‘It’s illegal, Bella, and the state needs the money to pay those who are actually unemployed. Think for once before you speak.’

  ‘All the state’s money goes to fuck knows where, so I don’t see why I can’t have some of it. It’s up to the people in this country to make a stand.’ Bella exploded in misplaced indignation. ‘So I’m going to leave early today. I’m going to protest, and I promise they’ll regret having made me angry. Arsehole politicians.’

  Thóra frowned. She was quite sure that Bella would carry out her threat, and she hoped the riot police shields were sturdy enough. To her knowledge there were no demonstrations planned, but her secretary alone would doubtless be a match for pretty much anyone in that department. Especially now that there was nothing but instant coffee in the office. ‘You’re not going in your fleece with the company name on it.’ That would be a great photo on the front page of Morgunblaðið: Bella foaming at the mouth with their logo on her chest.

  ‘I will if I don’t get a pay rise.’

  Thóra mentally kicked herself for having mentioned the fleece. Now Bella would definitely wear it. ‘I’ll discuss it with Bragi next week. This week’s bad for both of us. I can’t promise anything but it might be possible to compensate you in some other way. Maybe with a free quit-smoking course, or something that works out as the equivalent of a pay rise.’ She hurried out and closed the door behind her quickly, just in case something came flying at her from behind.

  The weather was still fine even though it looked as if it wouldn’t hold for the rest of the day. It was a touch cooler than when Thóra had arrived that morning, and the dark clouds over Faxaflói Bay appeared to have edged nearer to land. Skólavörðustígur Street was still half asleep even though the shops had already opened and, surprisingly, there were some vacant parking spaces. At the end of the street Leifur Eiríksson continued his dispassionate observation of human life from high up on his plinth, and behind him towered the steeple of Hallgrímskirkja Cathedral. She had parked the car in a car park a short distance from the office when she’d arrived at work that morning, since it was unclear whether she’d have any more luck than before getting in touch with anyone. If she’d known she’d be leaving again so soon she would have parked in a space right outside, at a meter that the parking attendants monitored a bit too diligently for her to park there for very long. She enjoyed the short walk and in her mind she went over what she wanted to discuss with Glódís. She could have just spoken to her over the phone, but Glódís hadn’t wanted to do that, saying she was busy when Thóra reached her and suggesting that they meet. Since it was hit and miss whether the woman answered her phone calls, Thóra agreed to meet h
er. Glódís hadn’t mentioned the e-mails she hadn’t deigned to answer, and Thóra suspected that she’d only picked up the phone by mistake, without checking who it was. In any case, Thóra now had answers to both her questions courtesy of the developmental therapist, Linda: the name of Tryggvi’s therapist and the name of the surviving resident, Ragna Sölvadóttir. But Linda hadn’t known where Ragna was now, so it was important that Thóra extracted that information from Glódís.

  Earlier that morning Thóra had called Sogn and spoken to the director about Jósteinn’s attack on Jakob. According to him, the matter was under internal review and decisions were still to be made concerning what measures should be taken. She got the sense that although the attack was serious, Jósteinn was a sick man; after all, he wasn’t at Sogn for nothing. Since the court had found him not criminally liable, the staff had few available options for correction; most likely they would increase the dosage of his medication and place him under stricter supervision, as well as temporarily depriving him of his privileges. The director admitted that these ‘privileges’ were pretty negligible, mainly consisting of allowing him a radio in his room. In other words, there was no axe hanging over Jósteinn’s head, and with his distorted sense of morality you could hardly expect him to repent, or even realize the consequences of his actions.

  When Thóra mentioned her own theory about the reasons behind the attack, the man didn’t seem that surprised. Quite the opposite, in fact: he thought it was more than likely. The incident had confounded his staff, given Jósteinn’s supposed friendship with Jakob; none of them had been aware of the two men falling out. Jósteinn himself had revealed nothing, claiming memory loss, which was clearly a lie. The director had asked Thóra whether this meant the petition to reopen Jakob’s case would now be shelved, but she told him that was why she was calling, to determine whether Jósteinn still wished to pursue it. She also told him Jakob’s mother had yet to give a definitive answer about whether she and Jakob still wanted Jósteinn’s backing for the investigation – although Thóra was taking Grímheiður’s lack of response as a ‘yes’. The director offered to ask Jósteinn, since he couldn’t allow Thóra to speak to him on the phone; he was still being held in semi-isolation. He was anxious to explain to Thóra that this isolation was not like segregation in prison: Jósteinn’s daily life was completely unchanged, with the exception that he wasn’t allowed to interact with the other residents or to receive visitors. Thóra accepted his offer with thanks and half an hour later the man called back and reported that Jósteinn definitely wanted to continue the investigation. He had actually seemed alarmed, for the first time since the attack, at the idea that the investigation might be brought to a close.

  Afterwards Thóra had contacted Grímheiður and spoken to her for far longer than necessary. This wasn’t Thóra’s choice, but the older woman seemed desperate to share the rationale behind every aspect of her decision; and as she admitted to Thóra, she tended to get confused by her own thoughts, which seemed to move in endless circles instead of lining up neatly. It was different when she talked; speaking required her thoughts to be channelled in a particular direction, making it more likely that they would lead to a specific conclusion. Thóra let her ramble, as clearly this was what she needed to do to get things straight. She had long since lost count of the ‘yes’es and ‘no’s that she’d added to the conversation by the time the woman finally came to a conclusion: it would be best for Jakob if they kept the investigation going, even though accepting Jósteinn’s help went against all her instincts. When the call ended, it turned out to have been worth every minute; a conclusion had been reached – the right one, in Thóra’s opinion. Her other calls were unsuccessful; Ari wasn’t answering the phone, and her random calls to some of the former employees on Glódís’s list had been fruitless. People’s phones were either turned off or they didn’t answer.

  The trip to the Regional Office went smoothly, except when Thóra nearly drove onto the pavement in her irritated attempts to turn off the radio. A newsflash had been announced and this had annoyed her for some reason; she couldn’t take any more agitation. She was only one piece of bad news away from having some kind of minor breakdown, and she didn’t want to behave like a madwoman in front of Glódís. Admittedly, it looked as though Glódís was the one heading for a breakdown; she looked a lot worse than when Thóra had last seen her. The black roots of her two-tone hair had inched out even further, and the bags under her eyes didn’t help.

  ‘Let’s have a seat in my office.’ Glódís didn’t wait for a reply, but turned on her heel mid-sentence and walked away from reception. The secretary who had announced Thóra’s arrival raised an eyebrow and shot Thóra a look that spoke volumes about Glódís’s reputation at the office.

  ‘I have a lot to do, so let’s get straight to the point.’ Glódís sat behind her desk, adopting an expression not dissimilar to Christ’s on the cross. Her workload seemed not to have diminished at all, even though Thóra would have imagined her position at the Regional Office might have been downscaled. ‘You probably want answers to the questions you sent in your e-mails, which I haven’t had time to respond to, but—’

  Thóra interrupted her. ‘I already have them. However, I need to find out where Ragna Sölvadóttir is now. I understand that she’s the girl with “locked-in syndrome” who lived at the residence but escaped the fire.’

  Glódís lifted a pencil from the table and tapped it against her palm rhythmically. ‘You can’t know much about the syndrome if you think you’ll get anything out of her in person.’

  ‘I completely understand her situation and I’m not planning to speak with her in private – I’ll have the assistance of a therapist or someone who’s capable of communicating with her effectively.’

  ‘It’s not a good idea to upset her, and I see no reason for you to do so. As I’ve said, I’ll answer all your questions – which I’m much more capable of doing than Ragna, since she generally just stares into the middle distance. It’s not like she has anything to add to what’s already come out, so you don’t need to disturb her.’

  Thóra didn’t recall Glódís saying that she was going to answer all her questions; in fact her response had been entirely to the contrary. ‘I must insist on meeting her, though I’m certainly very grateful for your willingness to give me more of your valuable time. But as they say, “two heads are better than one”, and your answers have sometimes been a little inconsistent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Glódís was now tapping her palm more forcefully, but more slowly. ‘I’ve been completely open with you – too open, in fact.’

  Thóra smiled politely. ‘You didn’t tell me about Ragna, or that Tryggvi Einvarðsson had undergone special treatment that seemed to be having some positive results. I understood from you that Jakob was the only male there capable of moving about freely. Nor did you mention that the night watchman Friðleifur and his friend had been suspected of drinking at work and possibly stealing drugs. Perhaps there are other things you forgot to mention.’

  ‘None of this is relevant to the fire.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant to my investigation.’ If they were to avoid just sitting there bickering, Thóra needed to change her tactics. She had deliberately spoken brusquely, because she wasn’t going to make any progress by listening to half-truths and outright lies. ‘But I must emphasize that I am very grateful for what you’ve told me. I do realize that you’re concerned about those who died, but it simply isn’t fair that their rights should outweigh those of Jakob, who’s still alive.’ She was trying to give Glódís a way out that would encourage her to continue the conversation. Still, Thóra decided to drive the point home a bit further: ‘I could probably get this information from Einvarður, Tryggvi’s father. He has made it clear several times that he wants to be of help to me.’ She didn’t mention that he too appeared to have carefully selected the information that he’d chosen to share with Thóra.

  ‘There’s no need t
o trouble him with this.’ Glódís’s arrogance seemed to have diminished. ‘I’ll find out where Ragna is and let you know, as long as she has no objection to meeting you.’

  ‘I’d really appreciate it.’

  ‘I doubt it’ll do any good, though,’ said Glódís, putting down the pencil and rubbing her hands together. ‘I think I should also mention that Tryggvi did indeed display a certain amount of progress – not inconsiderable, in fact – but you need to keep in mind that it was all relative. He was severely autistic, so even major advances still left him seriously disabled.’

  ‘So do you think it’s possible that he could have roamed about the unit at night?’

  ‘I very much doubt it. The progress he made was mainly to do with expressing himself. All of a sudden he started interacting a little with people around him, though not in the sense that he had conversations with them, more that he started to take in some of what was directed at him and attempted to respond.’

  ‘Did he speak?’

  ‘No, he had a long way to go before that was likely to happen, if he ever would have achieved it at all. He expressed himself in another way; through drawings, clapping and gestures. It was all very primitive, but it was still a huge success if you consider that up until then, Tryggvi had gone through life without giving any indication that he was aware of those around him. Well, that may be a bit of an exaggeration; he was aware of people, but he made no attempt to communicate with them. He found their presence uncomfortable, especially if they were strangers or there were too many people at once.’

  ‘So in your professional opinion, he couldn’t have played any part in the fire?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Glódís sounded confident, even more so when she added: ‘It’s out of the question.’