a free lunch,’she said. ‘But it’s not always the right person who has to pay.’
Thora didn’t understand.‘What do you mean? Did they want to be paid for keeping it quiet and disposing of the bodies?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘In return, Magnus was supposed to take the blame for everything in a case for which Dadi was under suspicion. Smuggling liquor, which he’d been doing for years. Magnus agreed to it, since he hardly had a choice. Murder and smuggling aren’t exactly comparable crimes in the eyes of the courts, nor of the public for that matter.’ The woman paused and drew a deep breath. ‘Our payment was even higher. Valgerdur had persuaded Alda to tell her at the hospital where she was in her menstrual cycle. If she turned out to be carrying a child, they wanted to take it in secret and bring it up themselves.’ She looked into Thora’s eyes. ‘Alda paid her debt to those barbarians; she agreed to it after we worked up the courage to tell her everything. Under normal circumstances, she would have had an abortion. Valgerdur threw out her medical report and made sure Alda was discharged before the doctors came round the wards the next morning. She told the nurses on the night shift that Alda w.is there to sleep off her drunkenness, that she was the daughter of a friend of Valgerdur and that she was doing her a favour. She asked them to keep quiet about it, which they did. So no one looked in on Alda until we returned early the next morning to fetch her – what was left of her. She was never the same again.’
‘Did Markus have anything to do with it?’ asked Thora. ‘Was he connected to the murders in any way?’
‘No,’ said the woman. ‘He was just one of the kids who drank too much. He was lying at home on the couch dead drunk, according to Magnus. He never came near any of it.’
Thora exhaled slowly and shuddered. She was standing outside the Midtown Church again, but now she relished the unrelenting rain; it felt as if the cold drops were renewing and cleansing her after her conversation with Alda’s mother. She took out her mobile and called the police.
‘I think we’d better talk, Stefan,’ she said. ‘Something tells me that you’ll drop your appeal to extend custody when you hear what I have to tell you.’
Tinna woke with tears on her cheeks, sobbing weakly. She had no idea why she was crying. She was still in hospital, but didn’t recognize the room. There was no dust at the bottom of the lampshade on the ceiling, and the paint on the walls was a different colour, but only slightly; this one was just a little more yellow. She tried to turn over but felt a pain in her left arm and breast. The pain wasn’t sharp, but felt as if she’d been frozen and was just thawing out. Tinna looked down. She appeared to have bandages beneath her gown, both on her left breast and just below her shoulder. What had happened? Had she been injured in her sleep, but been so tired that she hadn’t woken up, either then or when her wounds were dressed? She was still tired and felt dizzy. Had she taken pills? She couldn’t remember, and in any case that was irrelevant. There was only one thing that mattered. She had to talk to someone. Someone adult who would listen to her, not just look at her and pretend to pay attention. She could almost see what went through their minds while they feigned interest in her: She’s sick. She’s pathetic. We know best. We know best. We’ll let her talk but we know best.
Tinna pushed the red button and waited impatiently for the nurse to come. Why was it taking so long? The hospital corridors were short. It shouldn’t take more than a few seconds. Maybe no one cared about her. What am I going to do with you, Tinna? Her mother’s words echoed in her head. Maybe she had decided to leave Tinna here, and told the people at the hospital not to bother with her. Tinna’s breathing was irregular and she felt queasy. The door opened and a woman in the too-familiar white uniform appeared. What if this one was foreign? Or deaf?
‘How are you feeling?’ asked the woman in Icelandic, coming over to the bedside. Tinna relaxed a little.
‘I need to talk to my mother,’she replied. Her voice sounded whiny, although she hadn’t intended it to come out that way. ‘Now.’
‘Your mother is coming tonight,’said the nurse, leaning over the bed. She lifted one of Tinna’s eyelids and stared into her eye. ‘Are you feeling okay?’ We know best.
‘I want to talk to my mother. I need to tell her about the man. No one knows about this man but me.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the nurse.‘We know about that.’ She’s pathetic. We know best. ‘I think it’s time for your medicine, dear. You’ll feel better afterwards.’ She turned and walked towards the door.
‘I need to talk to my mother. I know his name and everything.’ The nurse did not react. She quickly returned and put four white tablets in Tinna’s mouth, lifting her head from the pillow and pressing the glass of water to her lips. She poured the cold liquid in and held Tinna’s chin until she was certain that the girl had swallowed everything. Tinna coughed weakly as the last mouthful of water got caught in her throat. ‘We can find out what his name is. The note fell out.’
‘All right, sweetheart,’ said the woman with a smile. ‘Now you should sleep for a while, and when you wake up your mother will be here.’
A while later her mother came, but Tinna was still under the influence of the drugs and was groggy all through visiting hours. Every time she forced her eyes open she saw the same thing – her mother crying. ‘I can find out his name, Mum,’ she mumbled. Her voice was as thick and fuzzy as her tongue. She wanted water, but it was more important to tell what she knew. She had to do it. ‘He’s called Hjalti,’ she said.‘I couldn’t read his last name, it was so poorly written.’Her mother stroked Tinna’s forehead, still crying. ‘The bad man. He’s called Hjalti, Mother.’
Her mother wiped her eyes. ‘Shhh, my Tinna. Sleep. Just sleep.’
Tinna gave up and closed her eyes. We know best.
Chapter Thirty-six
Even though not everything had been cleared up, the events from long ago were starting to take shape. Thora couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked for so long -not sober, anyway. Despite the aching in her jaw and the dryness in her mouth, she was happy with her monologue, since her words appeared to have had the desired effect. Stefan and the police department lawyer were on the verge of coming to the same conclusion as her – that Markus was innocent. The three of them sat in Stefan’s office, where Thora had rushed after leaving Alda’s mother in the church. Though there was an hour to go before they were due in court, Thora was fairly sure the custody request would be dropped. Officers had been sent to fetch Alda’s mother, but her formal questioning had been delayed because of the funeral. Stefan had settled for speaking to her for long enough to confirm Thora’s story. A plain-clothes policeman would accompany her for the rest of the day, in the unlikely event that she should try to get away. Thora watched as she was brought to the police station. She walked bent over, her face set hard.
There was no way to put yourselfin her shoes. How did a woman feel, faced with the knowledge that she had made a terrible mistake in bringing up her child? Thora was unable to comprehend how she could have sent her daughter with strangers to the Westfjords and forced her to carry a child for another woman; a child that had been created in such an abominable way. Alda’s mother had told her how Valgerdur and Dadi wanted Alda to have the child under Valgerdur’s name, since they had no chance of adopting a child the traditional way. They had tried before, but had been refused.
At the time there had been no option to adopt children from abroad. And Valgerdur had tried and failed to carry a pregnancy to term herself. For them, this was their only hope of having a child.
In order for the deception to work, Dadi and Valgerdur had to move to an isolated place with Alda and see to it that she had contact with as few people as possible, which meant limited medical check-ups. On the few occasions that she was around other people, Alda had to pretend to be much older, so as not to arouse suspicion. According to Alda’s mother that wasn’t that difficult after the rape; it was as though
