My Soul to Take: A Novel of Iceland (28 page)

Robin looked at the pictures. "Yes, funnily enough. I asked her about this rock while we were shooting it from all angles. She translated the verse for me, and because I thought it was rather unusual, I asked her whether it was an Icelandic tradition to write verses on rocks." He put the photographs down. "She said it wasn't, and seemed quite surprised to find an inscription there."

"She didn't offer any explanation for this, or say what she thought the rock was doing there?" asked Thora hopefully.

"Not exactly," Robin replied. "She was wondering whether the verse could have been written by the occupants of the farm, or whether a poet had lived there. Then she speculated that it might have been a pet's grave, although she didn't think the verse was appropriate. She didn't reach any conclusion that I remember."

Matthew tugged at Thora's sleeve. "Here's an interesting one," he said, handing her a picture of Birna talking to an old man in front of the hotel entrance. Thora snatched it from him. "Maybe they were talking about converting his vacation home for year
-
round use," Matthew said slyly.

Robin leaned over to see what had aroused their interest. "Yes, this one," he said. "I just took it for fun. We were setting off from the old farm when this man came out from the hotel and started talking to Birna. I know he's a guest here because I've seen him in the dining room several times."

Thora nodded. "Do you know what they were talking about?"

"No, I have no idea," Robin said. "They spoke in Icelandic, but actually I didn't need to understand in order to realize that it wasn't a friendly chat. I only took the one photograph because they soon started arguing and it didn't seem appropriate."

"Did she tell you what they'd been arguing about?" asked Matthew.

"Well, she muttered something about people having to take responsibility for their actions," Robin said. "She was quite annoyed, so I didn't press her." He thought a little longer. "Then she said something about old sins bearing fruit, just like old debts. I couldn't figure that out, so I changed the subject."

Thora and Matthew exchanged a glance. Magnus Baldvinsson.
Old sins?

The nurse walked over to the old woman’s bed and gently
nudged her shoulder to wake her. "Malla, dear," she said gently. "Wake up. It's time to take your medication."

The old woman opened her eyes without saying a word. She stared up at the ceiling above her, blinked a few times and coughed weakly. The nurse waited in silence. She knew that sometimes it could take the old lady a while to get her bearings. She stood calmly beside her, one hand resting on her skeletal shoulder and a little plastic cup in the other. It contained the white and red pills she was supposed to administer. "Come on," she said kindly. "You can lie back down afterward."

"She came," said the old woman suddenly. She was still staring up at the ceiling and had not yet looked at the woman who was patiently standing at her bedside.

"Who did?" the nurse answered vaguely. She was well accustomed to all kinds of nonsense from the old people, especially when they were only half awake. It was as if they traveled back to times long past, when they were younger, fitter, and not completely helpless.

"She came," the old woman repeated, smiling. "She's forgiven me." She looked up at the nurse for the first time, still beaming. "She wasn't angry. Always so sweet."

"That's nice," soothed the nurse. "It's not good to be angry." She shook the cup of tablets. "Well, let's sit you up and give you your medication."

Instead of looking at the pills, the old woman continued to stare at the young nurse. "I asked her if she was angry," she said, "and she just said, 'Why should I be angry?' " With difficulty she lifted herself on to her elbows. "Always so sweet."

"Do you want me to hold the water, or can you do it yourself?" asked the nurse, reaching out for a beaker on the bedside table. She handed the water to her patient.

"Of course I told her why she ought to be angry," the old lady said, completely ignoring both water and pills. "And I thought she always knew I was there." She shook her head in surprise, her white curls bouncing. "Apparently she didn't," she said, closing her eyes. "But she forgave me all the same."

"That's great," the nurse said, putting down the container of pills and the beaker. "Come on," she said, and gripped under the woman's arms. "You need to sit up more." She lifted her into a better position. Her back was crooked and she couldn't be expected to sit up straight, but this would do. "Now, let's take some tablets." She picked up the pills. "There are more people waiting, so we have to be quick." She held the glass to the woman's thin, pale lips.

The old lady opened her mouth and allowed the nurse to pour the pills into it. She knew the routine by now and didn't swallow until she had been given the water. The pills disappeared with loud gulps that seemed not to embarrass her.

When she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at the nurse. "She was so good, so sweet. Just imagine."

"Imagine what, love?" the nurse asked politely, privately wondering if the old woman was in full possession of her faculties.

"She forgave me," she said, sounding even more surprised than before. "And I'd done nothing to help her."

"Oh, are you quite sure about that?" The nurse smiled. "I'm sure you did a lot for her. You just don't remember."

The old woman glared. "Of course I remember. She died. How could I forget that?"

The nurse gently stroked the woman's white hair. Just as she'd suspected, the poor old dear was rambling. A dead woman visiting her? Taking care not to smile, she laid her back down in a comfortable position. "There, there, Malla. Just try to go back to sleep."

The old woman closed her eyes the moment her head touched the pillow. "Murdered. Evil is everywhere." She smacked her lips, then muttered sleepily, "My sweetheart. My sweet Kristin."

Chapter
27

IT MUST BE the same fox that was tied to Eirikur's body," said Matthew. "At least, I can't see it anywhere here." He and Thora had followed the path that Birna and Robin had taken to Kreppa and were at the spot where they'd apparently found the fox. It was nowhere to be seen.

"It could have been eaten by another animal, but I'm sure you're right," said Thora. "The only animals I've seen around here are sheep, and I doubt they eat foxes." She looked skyward. "Birds, perhaps, but then the bones would still be here."

"So the murderer would be someone who uses this path," Matthew said, swiping at the tall grass beside the path with a branch he'd picked up while they were looking for the dead fox.

"Either that or he shot the fox and tracked it here after Birna and Robin had left," Thora said. "What I'd give to know why he did it."

"Who knows, Wonderwoman Bella might find that out for us," said Matthew. "Perhaps the fox was supposed to signify something."

"Like a message?" said Thora, unconvinced. "From an animal rights group or something?"

"No, from the murderer," he replied. "It could be some psycho who's trying to communicate something. Have we established that nothing like this was attached to Birna's body?"

"Not as far as I know," said Thora. "They both had pins pushed into the soles of their feet, but no one's said anything about a fox or any other animal in connection with her."

They stopped on the gravel driveway in front of the farmhouse.

"Whose car is that?" Matthew asked, pointing to a newish Renault Megane.

Thora shrugged. "No idea," she said. "No one's supposed to be here." She noticed a light in one of the windows. "Maybe Elin and her brother are clearing the place out. I hope so." She got the key out and they went up to the door, which turned out to be unlocked. Thora opened it and put her head inside. "Hello," she called. "Anyone here?"

"Hello!" someone replied, and they heard approaching footsteps.

"Hi there," said Thora cheerfully when Elin's daughter Berta appeared. She had tied back her hair with a bandana and was holding a filthy duster.

"You scared me to death!" Berta said. "Do come in. I'm packing away some old things for Mum and Uncle Borkur." She brandished the cloth. "Everything's really dusty, so I'm trying to clean every item before I pack it up, even though it's taking me ages."

Matthew smiled at her, delighted that someone had remembered he was a foreigner and was bothering to speak English. "Hello," he said, offering her his hand to shake. "Nice to see you again."

"You too," said Berta. "I had the presence of mind to bring a thermos flask and I've just made coffee. Your timing's perfect because Steini doesn't want coffee and I made far too much."

They followed her into the kitchen, where the young man sat in his wheelchair. As before, he had pulled a hood over his head to cover his face, and when they walked in, he glanced at them from under it but said nothing.

"Visitors, Steini," said Berta, and he mumbled something unintelligible in reply. "Help yourselves," she said, pointing to some china cups by the sink. "Don't worry, I've washed them." She grinned.

"Thank you," said Thora. "I hadn't realized how much I needed a coffee." She poured a cup for Matthew and one for herself. "Isn't this an awful lot of work for you?" she asked, after taking a sip.

"Oh, yes," Berta agreed vigorously. "I don't know what I was thinking when I offered to do it." Then she added, "Actually, it's quite fun.

It's weird handling all these objects that my great-grandparents cared about so much."

"I can imagine," said Thora. "We dropped in to take a look at the room Birna was working in. We understand she'd set up an office here, is that right?"

"Yes, upstairs," Berta replied. "Shall I show you? There's not much in there, only drawings and stuff—no computer. She used a laptop and never plugged it in here." She gestured at the socket where the coffee maker was connected. "The plugs are so old that you need an adapter for them. Birna was afraid the electricity was unreliable and didn't want to risk damaging her computer. She always charged it at the hotel before she came."

"That doesn't matter," said Matthew. "We're not necessarily looking for her computer. We just want to see what she was up to."

Berta narrowed her eyes skeptically. "Do you think her murder was connected somehow with the building she was designing? Doesn't it seem obvious to you that the mur
derer was some psycho who raped
her?"

"No, it's not at all obvious," Thora replied, deciding not to mention Jonas's arrest just yet. That might make Berta think Thora and Matthew were working for the murderer, and she might refuse to assist anyone connected with her friend's death. "But it seems unlikely that her architectural designs had anything to do with the murder. We just want to see whether there's something in there that could help explain it."

"I see," Berta said. "I haven't been in there since the murder," she added. "I expected the police to search the room, so I didn't want to disturb anything. They haven't come, though, so perhaps it doesn't matter." She looked at Thora. "You're a lawyer, aren't you? For Jonas and the hotel?" she asked.

"I am," Thora said, praying the girl wouldn't start asking about her client.

"Then I don't see why you can't go in there," she said. "You'd hardly compromise the investigation, would you?"

"God, no," Thora lied fervently. "I'd never do that. We're not going to take anything, just have a look around." She sipped her coffee. "This is great coffee." She smiled.

"Thanks," said Berta. "Some people think I make it too strong." She tilted her chin toward Steini.

"It is too strong," said a voice from beneath the hood. "Much too strong."

Matthew clearly didn't feel as awkward as Thora, because he answered Steini at once: "Put more milk in it. That's the trick," he said in a perfectly normal voice. "You ought to try it. Cream's even better."

"Maybe," said Steini. "I prefer Coke."

Berta smiled warmly at Matthew, and Thora wished she could think of something to say to the young man. The girl's affection for him was rather touching.

"Shall I show you, then?" Berta said suddenly. "Steini and I were about to call it a day anyway." She went over to the hall door.

"Please do," Thora replied, putting down her cup. Matthew did the same. "You can leave if you want," she said as they followed Berta. "We won't take anything or do any damage."

"That's okay," Berta said. "I have a few bits to finish off."

The three marched in single file up the stairs and to the door to Birna's room. It turned out to be the room that Thora and Matthew hadn't been able to get into when they first visited the house.

"I locked it as soon as I heard about the murder," said Berta, rattling the key in the stiff lock. With a deft twist she finally managed to turn it and she opened the door. There was a bottle of fizzy drink on the desk, an ashtray stood on the windowsill, and various other trappings of modern life were scattered around the room. As in Birna's hotel room, drawings were pinned to the wall, mostly sketches, but some printouts.

Thora examined the drawings on the wall, showing the planned location of the annex and several cross sections. "What's this?" she asked, pointing to a sketch of a building with pine trees behind it. Buses and pedestrians had been added to the picture. "Surely this wasn't her idea for the annex to Jonas's hotel?" The building was a mass of glass and she could hardly imagine hotel rooms with only windows for walls.

Berta walked over to the drawing as well. "God, no," she said. "Birna showed me her plans for the building and they were nothing like this." She stooped to examine one corner of the printout. "It's dated a week ago," she said, "and it wasn't here last time Birna invited me in."

"But it was here when you locked the room, wasn't it?" Matthew asked. "It can't have been hung up after she died, surely?"

The girl wrinkled her brow as she tried to remember. "I honestly don't know," she said. "I only put my head around the door before I locked the room and I simply can't remember if this drawing was on the wall or not." She looked embarrassed, almost guilty, as if she had been somehow negligent. "But no one's been in here since I locked up. I'm sure of it."

"When exactly was that?" asked Thora.

"On Saturday," Berta replied. "I don't remember the time, but it was in the afternoon. Does that matter?" she asked anxiously. "Do you think the murderer came here?"

"No," Thora reassured her. "I doubt it very much. Not many people seem to have known about this hideaway of hers."

She went over to the desk. More drawings were spread all over it, along with a few credit-card receipts. They told her nothing, except that Birna was a customer of Esso and the Hvalfjordur Tunnel. The desk drawers were warped shut, and it took all her strength to open them. Two were completely empty, while one contained a pencil, a sharpener, and a key on a metal fob stamped with a logo she didn't recognize. She picked up the key. It was too small to fit a door, a car, or anything else Thora could think of. "Do you know what this is for?" she asked.

Berta shook her head. "No idea," she said, "but it's certainly Birna's because it wasn't in the drawer when she moved in. I cleared the room out before that."

Thora put the key in her pocket. "I'm just borrowing it," she told the girl. "Don't worry about the police. I'll hand it over if they want it."

"I don't care," Berta said. "I just want the murderer to be found. I don't mind who does it."

"Are we done here?" Matthew said when they had searched the whole room. "Are there any more of her belongings in the house?"

"There could be a glass downstairs," Berta said. "Yes, and boots in the hallway. Do you want them?"

Thora smiled. "No, no. But tell me one thing," she said. "Birna was particularly interested in a hatch
outside. Do you happen to know
why?"

The girl shook her head slowly. "No, but it was presumably when she was considering an extension to this building," she said. "That was almost two months before I first met her here."

"No, this was after that, very recently," Matthew said. "Do you know the hatch we're talking about?"

"Yes," she said. "I think so. There's only one hatch outside. Do you want to take a look at it?"

Thora looked at Matthew and gave a shrug. "Why not," she said.

They followed Berta out of the room and stood by her side as she conscientiously locked it behind them. On the way out, Thora grabbed the chance to ask her whether she had come across any old Nazi memorabilia while packing, or whether Birna had mentioned it at all.

Berta spun around on the front steps and looked at Thora, baffled. "No, why do you ask?"

"I just wondered," Thora said. "There's some in boxes in the hotel basement."

"Really?" Berta said, not attempting to conceal her surprise. "That does seem strange. Could it belong to someone outside my family?"

"Maybe," said Thora, although she knew better. "And another thing," she went on as they resumed walking, "do you recognize the name Kristin?"

"Kristin Sveinsdottir?" Berta said without turning around. Thora's heart skipped a beat. "We were in school together for years. I haven't seen her for ages, though." Then sh
e turned to Thora. "Do you know
her?"

Thora tried to hide her disappointment. "No, I was thinking about another Kristin who might have lived here or locally a long time

back."

Berta shook her head. "No, I don't recall anyone by that name. I'm not the right person to ask about the old folks. Mum might be able to help you on that."

Fat chance, thought Thora. "Is this the hatch?" she asked, pointing to a steel plate with a welded handle where Berta had stopped. They were about twenty meters behind the house.

"Yes," said Berta. "There's nothing remarkable about it. Do you want to open it?" she asked, signaling that Matthew should do so if he wanted.

He bent down and struggled to lift the heavy cover. The hinges creaked when he tugged, but he couldn't open it. "What's down there?" he asked.

"Nothing," Berta said. "It was used for storage, as far as I remember. There's an entrance from the basement. I think coal used to be kept here for heating the house in those days. It hasn't been opened since God knows when. The house has had electrical heating for as long as I can recall."

"Could we have a look in the basement?" asked Matthew, wiping his dirty hands on the grass.

Berta nodded, but warned him that there was nothing down there. She accompanied them down the steps, and after walking through a little door at the far end of the basement and along a short, almost tunnel
-
like corridor, they reached a steel door, which she pushed open. Inside was nothing but darkness. In the tiny light from the basement they managed to see that the coal store was covered in black dust with occasional black lumps on the floor.

"It's gross, really," Berta said as she closed the door again. "Birna wouldn't have been interested in this. I don't remember her ever even coming into this basement." She walked over to the stairs. "Of course, she was usually here by herself, so she may well have taken a look, but I can't imagine why she would have."