My Soul to Take Read online

  Thóra nodded gravely, taking care not to show her alarm at this flood of vitriol. “So they never spent any time together?” she asked. “Eiríkur wouldn’t have known what she was up to any more than anyone else?”

  “No, absolutely not,” said Vigdís with authority. “Birna wouldn’t have talked to Eiríkur if they were the last two people on earth.”

  “I see,” said Thóra. “Tell me, did Eiríkur or Birna behave at all differently just before they died? Do you remember them doing or saying anything unusual?”

  Vigdís thought it over, then shook her head. “No, I don’t recall that. I don’t actually remember the last time I saw Birna, but if she’d been acting strangely, I’m sure I’d remember. The last time I spoke to Eiríkur was when he came by looking for Jónas.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, that was probably just before he died.”

  Thóra took a deep breath. “And did he find Jónas?” she asked calmly.

  “Well, I don’t know,” the girl replied. “I told him to try his office, but I didn’t see if they met up.”

  Thóra didn’t know what else to ask about Eiríkur, so she returned to her original question. “Why is it,” she said, “that the west side of the lawn seems to have been mown, but not the east side?”

  Vigdís looked startled by Thóra’s change of direction. “I have no idea.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered,” Thóra answered. “I thought it was a bit odd.” She added quickly, “Do you know whether Jónas had any little holes dug to test that patch of land? Or Birna perhaps?”

  Vigdís gave her a blank look. “Holes to test the land? Do you mean just ordinary holes, dug in the ground?”

  Thóra nodded. “Just little holes, more like scratches in the earth, really. They don’t appear to have been made by earth-moving equipment, certainly.”

  Vigdís shook her head emphatically. “Definitely not. If anyone had been asked to go out there to dig it up, I would have known. I keep an eye on everything here. Jónas is so absentminded sometimes that I have to be the eyes and ears around here.”

  “Did Birna have an office or studio nearby?” Matthew interrupted. “Apart from her hotel room?”

  “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me,” replied Vigdís. “She was often away from the hotel, both mornings and afternoons. She didn’t hang around outside, so she must have had somewhere to go.” She glanced slyly at Thóra. “Maybe she went to see Bergur.”

  “Who knows?” Thóra said, smiling conspiratorially at her. She looked at her watch. “One final question and we’ll stop bothering you: who mows the lawn?”

  Vigdís looked uncertainly at her, then shrugged and answered, “Jökull. He’s a waiter here too.”

  “ARE YOU JOKING?” JÖKULL ASKED, LOOKING AROUND AS IF HE EXPECTED to see a hidden camera. “You want to know why that lawn hasn’t been mown?”

  “Yes.” Thóra smiled. “I’m told it’s your job.”

  Jökull pulled a sulky face, which clashed with his smart black-and-white waiter’s uniform. “Yes, I’m doing it to earn some extra money. There’s nothing to do except at mealtimes, so I have time to do both.”

  “Smart thinking,” Thóra said. “But why isn’t that area’s grass cut? Is it that big rock?”

  “No, that doesn’t get in the way,” muttered Jökull. “There’s some other thing under the grass that plays hell with the mower. Something lumpy. The mower’s always cutting out and I have trouble moving it around, so I just decided not to mow it. No one’s complained. Did Jónas say something?”

  “No, not at all,” Thóra reassured him. She went to leave, then turned back. “Could you lend us a spade?”

  “HONESTLY,” MATTHEW SAID, EMPTYING A SHOVELFUL OF DIRT BEHIND him. “I have to admit you are unique among women. I wouldn’t pick up a spade for anyone else.”

  “Shh,” said Thóra. “Less chat. More digging.” They were back out in the meadow where Thóra had fumbled her way until she found a hillock that she ordered Matthew to dig up. “This is bound to be something.”

  He groaned. “It had better be.” He thrust the shovel into the ground and put his hands on his hips. “There you go.”

  Thóra came up beside him and peered into the shallow hole. “It looks like some kind of foundation.”

  Matthew scratched his forehead. “For a building? Do you think a house stood here?” He picked up the spade and scraped more earth away on either side. “I’ll be damned.”

  “Can you see what I can see?” Thóra said as she bent down. She stood up again and showed him the palm of her hand. “Ash.” She looked at Matthew. “This building has burned down.”

  “Like in the child’s drawing?” Matthew asked. He fell silent, then said, “Wasn’t there someone inside the burning house in the picture?”

  CHAPTER 24

  SHE HUNG UP.” Thóra grimaced. She looked at the screen of the mobile Jónas had lent her. “Unless I lost reception.” She shook her head. “No, she hung up.”

  “Are you surprised?” Matthew asked. “She and her brother practically threw you out of their house this morning—she’d hardly be dying to speak to you.”

  “No, perhaps not,” Thóra said grumpily, putting her mobile back in her pocket. “It would just have been really helpful to know what building used to stand here.” She and Matthew were now at the edge of the lawn, as there was no mobile connection by the rock. “Maybe her daughter, Berta, knows something,” Thóra mused. “Hopefully I haven’t offended her too.”

  “I doubt it,” Matthew said. “But she’ll turn her back on you pretty quickly if you start asking questions about that friend of hers with the wheelchair.”

  “No,” said Thóra. “I’ll steer clear of that for the time being. Right now I just want to find out more about this building.” They set off toward the hotel. When they passed the patch where Matthew had dug down to the foundations, Thóra came to a halt. “How come Birna didn’t know about this? She seems to have spent a lot of time thinking about this patch of land, if her diary is anything to go by.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” replied Matthew. “Jökull mows the lawns, so he’s probably the only one who knew about the uneven ground here. There was clearly no love lost between him and Birna, so he wouldn’t have told her about it even if she’d asked.”

  “But someone’s been here looking for something. If they were trying to find the foundation, they can’t have been very observant. None of the holes were anywhere near the raised area.”

  “You can hardly call them holes,” Matthew reminded her. “But I agree that if our mysterious digger was looking for the house that burned down, he wasn’t much of a detective.”

  “I almost want to go back down into the basement to check the boxes thoroughly,” Thóra said, her mind racing. “Maybe something in them would show us what was here. A photo perhaps.”

  He looked at his watch. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Don’t you have to go to fetch your kids and the trailer?”

  “That can wait until tonight,” she replied. “I phoned Gylfi just now and they’re happy enough for the moment. They’re going to walk over to a shop not far from where they parked.” She crossed her fingers. “I just hope his girlfriend’s let her parents know they’re okay. I’m not phoning them, that’s for certain. They never shut up about the trouble Gylfi’s got their little baby girl into. They think it’s all my fault.”

  “What about your ex?” asked Matthew. “Do you think Gylfi will tell him?”

  “I hope not,” Thóra said. “Hannes can worry himself sick for all I care. It’s his fault they ran off in the first place.” She patted the pocket with her mobile in it. “I’ve got hundreds of unread messages from him. I’ll check them when I have time, or—” Her mobile rang and she fished it out of her pocket. It was Bella.

  “Hello,” said Thóra. “How did it go?” While she was talking to her secretary, she rummaged in her pocket for a pen and paper. “No Kristín, you sa
y?” She scribbled down what Bella was saying. Then she rang off and turned back to Matthew. “He’s buried there alone. No Kristín in any of the nearby graves.” She sighed, disappointed. “His gravestone is inscribed with his name, dates of birth and death, and a short verse.”

  “What fun,” Matthew said. “More poetry. Go ahead.”

  Thóra read Bella’s message from the piece of paper:

  A farm is better

  though it be small,

  every man loves his home.

  Bloody is the heart

  of he who needs

  to beg for every meal.

  She looked up at Matthew. “Actually this one rings a bell, unlike the other verse, which I’ve never heard before. I might be able to find it on the Internet. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s from The Sayings of the High One.”

  Matthew tapped her on the shoulder. “The police seem to have called out reinforcements,” he said, pointing to the patrol car pulling up at the hotel. “I don’t think you’ll be going down to the basement just yet.”

  “WHY DON’T YOU WANT TO COME OUTSIDE?” ASKED BERTA, OPENING the curtains. The dim room brightened up at once. “It’s gorgeous weather outside.” She stood looking out for a while, then turned away from the window. “Come on, it’ll do you good.”

  “You go,” Steini said curtly, picking at a little loose flap of rubber on one wheel of his chair with his good hand. “I don’t want to.”

  “Don’t be like that,” said Berta. She walked over and crouched so their faces were at the same level. Often she found he responded better if she made eye contact. “I promise you’ll feel better if you get some fresh air. Something’s clearly bothering you, and who knows, it might help to have something else to occupy you.”

  “It won’t help,” answered Steini, still scowling.

  Berta had got used to his monosyllabic replies. His speech was impaired by the burns on one side of his mouth, where the skin of his lips had somehow fused together. Berta had always been astonished that the doctors hadn’t done a better job, and she had a suspicion that Steini had refused to undergo further surgery; he refused to discuss it whenever she asked. He couldn’t still be on the waiting list, as he had told her once. A much more plausible explanation was that he hadn’t recovered from the pain and discomfort of his first operations and couldn’t face any more. The week before, she had heard a message from Steini’s physiotherapist on his answering machine, asking him to call back to discuss resuming his treatment. Steini had clammed up completely when Berta asked him to return the man’s call. He obviously needed more time to recover, mentally as well as physically.

  “We can go for a drive if you’d rather,” she suggested gently. “I’m up for anything, but I do think we should go somewhere.”

  “Anything?” echoed Steini, looking her right in the eye without blinking.

  “Almost anything,” Berta replied, feigning cheerfulness as she stood up. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but she didn’t feel confident about going there. Not now, and preferably not ever. “You know what I mean.” She put a hand on his knee. “Come on. Please?”

  Steini yanked the little tag of rubber off his tire. “Don’t you ever get scared?” he asked.

  “Scared?” said Berta, taken aback. “What have I got to be scared of?” She smiled. “Summer’s coming.”

  He looked at her in silence for a while. Then he stared down at his lap. “I feel bad.”

  A pang shot through Berta’s stomach. She could not bear to see him in this state. Things were bad enough for him already. It was so unfair. Why had he had to come away from the accident so damaged? Plenty of people walked away from accidents without a scratch on them. If only she hadn’t telephoned him…

  She forced herself to keep smiling. “I know,” she said cheerfully, “let’s go over to Kreppa. I’m way behind with the packing, and we might find something interesting too. You remember how much fun we had last time.”

  Steini laughed coldly. “Fun, you say?” he said. He sighed. “Oh, I don’t care. Let’s just go.”

  “Great,” she said. “I promise you won’t regret it.” She was relieved. As soon as they set off he would cheer up—he always did. Suddenly his hand darted out and clutched her wrist, startling her.

  “Can you forgive me?” he asked weakly.

  “Forgive you?” she said. “Forgive you for what?”

  “If the worst happens, can you forgive me?”

  Berta shook her head, perplexed. This was the longest sentence she’d heard from him in months. “What are you talking about?” She gently loosened his grip on her wrist and moved behind the wheelchair. “The things you say. Me forgiving you?” she said, starting to push. “Silly boy, what have you ever done to me?”

  “Hopefully nothing,” Steini said, pulling up his hood as Berta wheeled him outside.

  THÓRÓLFUR FROWNED AND LEANED AGAINST THE DOOR TO THE makeshift office at the hotel. “We’ve made considerable progress. That’s all I can say for now.”

  Thóra stood in the corridor facing him, her arms folded. She whispered to avoid being overheard by Jónas, who was waiting for them inside. He had asked Thóra to be present when Thórólfur called him in, but no sooner had they sat down than Thórólfur read him his rights, adding that as a suspect he did not have to answer the accusations against him. Now she was arguing with the officer in the corridor.

  “You haven’t answered my question. Why is Jónas suddenly being treated as a suspect?” she asked. “What’s changed?”

  Mirroring her stance, Thórólfur folded his arms, his face stern. “We have spoken to several witnesses, both yesterday and today. The picture they have painted doesn’t look good for your client.”

  Thóra inhaled sharply. “Meaning what? Are you going to arrest him?”

  “That depends on what he says during questioning.” Thórólfur shrugged. “Who knows, perhaps he can explain a few things.”

  “A few things?” said Thóra. “Like what? He’s told you everything you need to know so far.”

  “As I said, there were various developments yesterday and today, things we didn’t know last time we talked to him. And anyway, I haven’t found his explanations thus far at all satisfactory,” Thórólfur replied. “Shouldn’t we just get on with it? Then you’ll know what it is we want to ask him.”

  “Give me two minutes alone with him,” she said. “I need to explain this change in his status to him.”

  He didn’t like it, but he had to capitulate. Now that Jónas was a suspect, she had the right as his attorney to provide private counsel prior to an interrogation. The detective called his assistant out of the office, and Thóra went inside. She hurriedly sat down beside Jónas, who looked at her in confusion.

  “What’s going on?” he asked anxiously. “Why did you leave?”

  Thóra put her hand on his knee. “Jónas, things have changed,” she said. “Until now you’ve been questioned as a witness and been informed of your rights accordingly at the beginning of questioning. Now you’re a suspect.”

  “What?” exclaimed Jónas, his voice cracking. “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” she replied. “We don’t have much time, so let’s not waste it. Listen to me.” She looked him in the eye. “Thórólfur told me that various developments have occurred during questioning of witnesses, the outcome of which is that you’ve become a suspect.”

  “What? I didn’t do anything, I told them that,” said Jónas, almost shouting. “They must be lying.” Thóra could feel his leg trembling.

  “It’s possible the witnesses aren’t telling the truth, Jónas,” she said, tightening her grip on his knee in an attempt to steady him. “Now it’s vital that you explain your whereabouts and give convincing answers to Thórólfur’s questions. If he’s dissatisfied or unhappy with them in any way, you risk being arrested.”

  Jónas’s leg stopped moving. He turned pale. “Arrested? What do you mean?”

  “Arrested by the police, Jónas,
” said Thóra. “You’ll be driven to the station in a police car, then appear before a judge tomorrow morning with the recommendation that you be detained in custody.” Thóra had only handled three cases involving short terms of custody, so she was not overly familiar with the process. Those cases had been quite trivial, but Thóra decided this was not the time to make Jónas aware of her inexperience.

  “I can’t go to prison,” Jónas said, shuddering so expressively that Thóra didn’t doubt he meant it. “I just can’t. It’s Monday.”

  Thóra raised her eyebrows. “Monday? Is that any worse than any other day?”

  “No, no,” he said distractedly. “I just don’t want to get caught up in all this today. Monday is my unlucky day.”

  Thóra interrupted him before he could begin rambling about stars and auras. “Listen carefully. We’ll let the police back in, and they’ll question you. Hopefully you have an explanation for everything they think proves your guilt, and if so, I promise that you’ll walk out of here with me.”

  “What if I can’t?” Jónas asked, grabbing her hand. “What then?”

  “Then we’ll just have to take things as they come,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “Chin up, and try to act as normal as possible under the circumstances.” She stood up and walked over to the door. “Ready?” she asked, one hand on the doorknob. Jónas nodded, but he didn’t look ready.

  “UM, I DON’T KNOW,” JÓNAS SAID, GLANCING NERVOUSLY AT Thóra, who was sitting beside him.

  Thórólfur affected a look of exaggerated surprise. “Really? If you asked me whether I’d had sex with a beautiful young woman last Thursday, I wouldn’t have any trouble remembering. Maybe it’s a regular occurrence for you?”

  Thóra groaned inwardly. “My client chooses not to answer that question,” she said impassively.

  “All right,” said the detective. “We’ll be demanding a DNA sample, so the answer is immaterial.”

  No DNA test was required to answer the question. Jónas sat rigidly by her side, guilt radiating from every pore. It was obvious to everyone that Jónas had had sex with the architect that day, which unfortunately was also the day she met her grisly end.