time the Friday before the eruption. We got completely wasted, and things got a bit crazy. I was grounded because of it and wasn’t supposed to go out for two months, but that fell apart after the volcano, of course.
If Alda was in a bad mood, it was probably because her parents were so angry with her.‘
‘Where were you drinking? At someone’s house?’ asked Thora, thinking back to her own youth.
‘No, it was a school dance,’replied the woman. ‘It was actually stopped and we were all sent home, even though not everyone had been drinking.’
Thora pressed her for more information but got little for her trouble. The kids had made plans to steal alcohol from their parents; each of them had filled a Coke bottle with whatever they could get their hands on, and most had taken small amounts of many different spirits so as not to arouse suspicion. Some strange cocktails had resulted and everything got out of control, as might be expected. The woman Thora was talking to had got sick herself, which meant that she was one of those whose parents were called and asked to come and pick them up, vomiting and crying. Thus she had no idea if Alda had managed to get herself home, or whether she had also had to be collected. She couldn’t remember anything from the latter part of the night, because of her drunkenness. Thora decided not to press her any further about this, but to take it up with Markus in good time. Hopefully he hadn’t been as badly affected and could remember more details.
‘There’s just one more thing and then I promise to let you go,’ she said. ‘Do you know why Alda was unhappy about her hair?’ Thora expected the woman to be baffled, but she wasn’t.
‘Oh, that,’ she said sadly.‘That was horrendous.’
‘Did something happen to her hair?’ Thora’s mind spun with all the horror stories she’d heard over the years about hairdressers who accidentally burned the hair off their clients with perming solution or hair bleach that was too strong.
‘It was all cut off,’ replied the woman. ‘Our class stayed over in the gym one night after our exams, before Christmas. When Alda woke up in the morning someone had hacked off her hair, presumably while she slept. They never found out who did it.’
Thora frowned. ‘Who was there, or had access to the gym?’
‘The whole class was there, as far as I can remember. Of course there were a couple who either didn’t want to come or were off sick, but most of the kids came. There were also two teachers there, and the teaching assistant. There might have been other adults, but I don’t remember who. I would probably have forgotten it if it hadn’t been Alda’s hair. Naturally, she was hysterical, because she had particularly beautiful hair, long and blonde. It had been hacked off with scissors and it was such a mess afterwards. Of course what was left was tidied up at the hairdresser’s immediately, but it still looked pretty ridiculous. Far too short, like a boy’s.’
Thora thanked her and hung up. She was dumbfounded, since she well remembered how sensitive adolescents could be about their hair. She doubted this ugly event could be connected to the case in any way, but you never knew. Yet another detail to ask Markus about, along with what the woman had said about the teenagers’ drunkenness the weekend before the eruption – the night before the blood was found at the pier.
Thora turned her attention to the doctor’s office where Alda had worked. An Internet search revealed that it was run by two plastic surgeons, Dis Haflidadottir and Agust Agustsson. Thora thought she recognized Agust’s name, having heard it mentioned in her sewing circle when they’d discussed beauty treatments. Those of her friends who thought they were in the know said he was the best breast man in town. There were even unconfirmed stories about people who’d travelled all the way from Hollywood to go under his knife, but Thora remembered thinking that sounded ludicrous. If you couldn’t find decent breasts in Hollywood you were hardly going to get them in Reykjavik. Surely practice made perfect? Dis hadn’t been mentioned, though; if people flocked to her from the other side of the world for operations, no one in Thora’s sewing circle knew about it.
The answering machine informed Thora that appointments could be made before noon on weekdays. Those who needed to speak to the doctors about operations that had already taken place could call the phone number printed in their aftercare pack; this emergency number was clearly not up for grabs. Thora left a message.
That left only the A &E, whose number Thora knew off by heart thanks to a long marriage to a doctor who often worked past the end of his shifts. Those nights had always seemed to drag on and on. She recognized the voice of the woman who answered, even though she and Hannes had been divorced for around five years. The woman on the other end clearly had no such recollection: Thora’s voice appeared to ring no bells with her, nor did her name awaken any friendliness. Thora tried to console herself with the fact that the staffwas large and her name was quite common. After asking to speak to Alda Thorgeirsdottir’s supervisor, Thora was informed sullenly that the phone call would be transferred to the head nurse on call. She tried to thank the woman, but before she could do so the call was transferred and Thora’s eardrums were assailed by a frightful, tinny tune that sounded like nothing she had ever heard.
Several minutes later a chilly female voice announced itself as belonging to Elin, who sounded as if she had no overwhelming inclination to relieve the suffering of the sick and wounded.
Thora introduced herself and explained her business. She said she was seeking information about Alda Thorgeirsdottir, and asked whether she might stop by and speak to her former colleagues about a case concerning a childhood friend of the recently deceased nurse. ‘I’m familiar with the workings of your busy department, and I promise to trouble you as little as possible,’ she concluded hopefully. These people had enough to do, and no one knew this better than Thora. She fully expected to have to interview the hospital staff over open wounds.
‘Alda Thorgeirsdottir was no longer working here when she died,’ said the head nurse. ‘She was never actually a full- time employee; she just took shifts on weekends and the occasional evening. She worked at a clinic in town, so perhaps you should try them.’
How helpful, telling Thora something she already knew. ‘Of course I’ll be doing that,’ she replied, echoing the woman’s frosty tone. ‘But I would also like to speak to your staff.’
‘I can’t see how that would help,’ came the reply. ‘Firstly because there is nothing to tell, secondly because I’m not sure such a thing would be proper, and thirdly because we simply have no obligation to speak to some lawyer who appears from out of the blue. We value propriety very highly here.’
Propriety? How old was this woman – a hundred? A hundred and fifty? ‘Naturally you’re not obliged to speak to me,’ Thora replied, ‘unless of course I were injured. If you prefer, I could always have you subpoenaed to find out whether you have any information that might count. Might that be the best solution, do you think?’
‘Subpoenaed?’ exclaimed the woman, sounding noticeably less assured than before. ‘That’s completely unnecessary. I told you she wasn’t working here any more.’ She hesitated. ‘What is this about, may I ask? Alda’s death?’
‘It’s a case I’m working on for a man who knew Alda,’ replied Thora, enjoying holding the cards.
‘Is this about the rape case?’asked the woman, her voice now full of suspicion. ‘We have no comment. We’re not protecting anyone, and you’ll find nothing out by snooping around under false pretences. The case is on its way to court, where guilt or innocence will be determined and our part will be finished. We follow the rules for such cases, and there’s no leeway for letting a lawyer in off the street to chat about God knows what.’
Now it was Thora’s turn to hesitate. Rape? She had to be careful not to get involved with something unconnected to Markus’s case. Actually, the nurse had been quite correct; the hospital had no obligation to her or to Markus, and the interests of those who came to them for assistance naturally took precedence. ‘No, this has nothing to do with a rape. That I can promise you,’ said Thora earnestly. ‘Unfortunately it seems as though this can’t happen, so we’ll have to leave it. You have enough to worry about.’
Thora hung up. She hadn’t given up her efforts to speak to the staff of the A &E out of respect for the hospital or the Hippocratic Oath. She simply planned to make her way in through the
