My Soul to Take Read online

  Jónas tore his attention away from his bracelet and looked at Thóra. “They said nothing specific. It was more the way they acted and what they didn’t say.” He looked back at his wrist. “If she’d drowned, for example, fallen on to a rock, something that suggested an accident, they would definitely have asked me about her behavior. You know—did she do a lot of hiking? Kayaking? Swimming in the sea? But they asked me nothing. All they wanted to know was whether anything was missing from here and whether I recognized her from the very rough description they gave.” Jónas suddenly stared at Thóra. “Now that I think of it, it was extremely strange that they made no mention of her facial features. Do you suppose the head was missing?” Before Thóra could answer, he corrected himself: “No, hardly, they described the hair color.” His eyes widened. “Could it be that the killer cut the head off, scalped it, and put the hair on top of the body?”

  Thóra put an end to his conjecture. “I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you. But I do agree that it sounds as if they suspect it was something more than an accident.” Casually, she added, “Did the police examine her room?”

  “One of them took a look inside. The other waited outside in the corridor with me. He was only in there for a minute or two. Then when he came out again, he just shook his head.”

  “So he didn’t say that any unauthorized person had been in there or ask you who had a key?” Thóra’s cheeks flushed slightly.

  “No, nothing like that. They absolutely forbade anyone to enter until the CID had finished its work. Then they asked to see her car. They had the key in a little bag.”

  Thóra nodded thoughtfully. There was really no question of the dead woman’s identity. “Well, I never.” Looking at Jónas, she suppressed the urge to ask him to stop fiddling with the damn bracelet. It probably had some connection with alternative medicine, energy fields or something. “Did anyone want Birna dead? Was she in some kind of trouble?”

  Jónas shook his head slowly. “No, she was just normal.” Thóra couldn’t imagine what he considered normal, but assumed that his criteria were different from hers. “A great person and a brilliant architect.” Jónas smiled awkwardly. “Actually, she was a true Capricorn, consistent and committed. But a lovely person. A genuinely lovely person.”

  “Didn’t anyone really dislike her?” Thóra asked. “Can’t you think of anyone who could have got into a dispute with her, something that could have got out of hand?”

  Jónas pushed his bracelet back under his sleeve and gave Thóra his undivided attention. “Listen, I was wondering if it might be connected with the ghost.”

  Thóra managed not to smile. “Are you implying that a ghost murdered her?”

  Jónas shrugged, then waved his hands. “What do I know? It seems like more than a coincidence. This place is haunted. Birna is found dead just outside. She was working on modifying the premises. Ghosts want to keep their surroundings the same as when they left them. They fight with all their powers against any kind of disruption. What are you supposed to believe?”

  Not a paranormal enthusiast, Thóra had never heard much about the behavior of spirits. “Jónas, I think we can rule out involvement by a ghost.”

  “Are you sure?” the hotelier asked. “Birna was very curious about the history of this place. She felt that she had to find out about it, because without that knowledge it was hard for her to get a feel for the site. We can’t rule out her stirring up the angry spirit of a deceased inhabitant, which cost her her life. Maybe not directly, but perhaps indirectly.” He went on, seeing that Thóra was lost for words. “There might not be a direct connection, but the situation now is this: this place is haunted, and the sellers concealed that fact. A woman has met a tragic death—perhaps because of something connected with the ghost. That will be difficult to rule out, because it can always be claimed that the murderer was governed by forces from beyond. Are you with me?”

  Thóra could only shake her head.

  “Yes, don’t you see? You tell the sellers that a woman has died here and there are stories that a ghost has played a major role. The whole business will be brought up in court. My feeling is that those people wouldn’t care to be linked to a murder, if only indirectly. Would you like to be a witness in a murder case in which the defense implied that you had kept quiet about information that led to such an atrocity?” Jónas shook his head on Thóra’s behalf. “No, you wouldn’t care for that. Nor would they. That might persuade them to negotiate compensation terms.”

  Thóra interrupted him. “What difference would it make if you won compensation? You’re stuck with the hotel. Presumably you don’t want to break the contract at this stage? If you’re serious about this ghost, I doubt whether you can bribe it to leave.”

  Jónas smiled. “Of course I can’t. But I imagine I’ll have to raise my staff’s wages so that they don’t all quit. They are spiritual people, sensitive toward supernatural matters. Some of them have already dropped hints about leaving. My business plan would be ruined and the small profit I was hoping for might easily be wiped out. Guests at places like this are sensitive too. They don’t seek the company of beings from beyond, especially not if it could cost them their lives.”

  Thóra needed a while to digest this. She had no desire to force people to strike a deal by making absurd threats about linking their names to a murder, but Jónas’s claims about his staff were a concrete contribution. “Let me think it over.” She was about to stand up, then decided to stay put. “Actually, you still have to tell me all about this ghost. How exactly does it manifest itself?”

  Jónas sighed. “Gosh, I don’t know where to begin.”

  “At the beginning, perhaps,” suggested Thóra, a little irritated.

  “Yes, that’s probably best,” agreed Jónas, brushing off Thóra’s slight. “As I told you, most of the staff here are more sensitive than ordinary people.”

  Thóra nodded.

  “They started sensing an uncomfortable presence. If I remember correctly, it was the aura reader—his name’s Eiríkur—who first noticed it. Then others became aware of it gradually. I brought up the rear, really. At first I thought it was just their imaginations.” Jónas regarded Thóra gravely. “It’s almost impossible to describe it to anyone who can’t sense these things, but I can tell you it’s by no means a pleasant feeling. Probably the best analogy is when you feel you’re being watched. As if someone’s sitting watching you from a dark corner. That’s the way I’ve felt, anyway.”

  His story only strengthened Thóra’s conviction that this was a case of mass hysteria. One person had started a vague story and others had joined in until what they imagined had become a fact. “Jónas,” she said firmly, “you have to do better than this. Your claim is absolutely no use to me—I can’t face the sellers of this property and repeat what you’ve just said. We need something tangible. It’s not enough to say you get the occasional shiver down your spine.”

  Jónas looked shocked. “It’s so much more than that. You can ignore a shiver; this feeling lasts. Oppressive may be the best word for it. Almost all of us have heard crying in the middle of the night, an infant crying.” Suddenly he became boastful. “And I’ve seen a fully fledged ghost. More than once, as it happens. Its presence has become more intense recently.”

  “And where have you seen this ghost?” Thóra asked skeptically.

  “Outdoors mainly. Outside here.” Jónas gestured toward the window behind him without looking around. “I can’t describe exactly where the ghost was; I’ve only seen it in the fog. Some ghosts appear in certain weather conditions and this one comes when it’s foggy.”

  “So presumably you can’t describe it in detail?” Thóra asked.

  “No, not really. Except that I know it’s a girl or a woman. The being was far too slight to be a male.” Jónas leaned back in his seat. “I also saw it appear in my mirror. There was no question that it was a girl. It happened quite quickly, but all the same…”

  “You s
aid you recognized the girl from a photograph you found. Surely it didn’t happen so quickly that you couldn’t manage to commit her features to memory?”

  “Well, I don’t know how to describe it. I was brushing my teeth and I heard a rustling noise. I stood upright and watched in the mirror as the being darted past the door. My subconscious obviously managed to capture the features although I can hardly describe them, but I recognized the face from one of the photos.” Jónas opened a drawer in his desk and started rummaging while he continued his account. “I couldn’t even hold the photo after that. I threw it back in the box and closed it. You wouldn’t have any trouble examining it, but I simply can’t.”

  “I doubt it would have much effect on me,” Thóra said, smiling reassuringly. “I’d like to discuss this with some of your staff. This aura reader, Eiríkur, for example.”

  “No problem. He’s not here at the moment, but he’ll be back tomorrow, I think.” At last Jónas found what he was looking for in the drawer. He handed Thóra a heavy key on a large steel ring. “This is the key to the old basement. The boxes I told you about are down there. Take a look—there are some interesting things that might explain the hauntings.”

  Thóra took the key. “If memory serves, the old farm was called Kreppa, wasn’t it?” she asked innocently.

  Jónas looked surprised. “Yes, that’s right. Originally there were two farms that were merged. One was called Kreppa, the other Kirkjustétt.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Birna spent a long time there on the planned development.”

  “Really? Why?” Thóra asked, even more curious. “Is the old farmhouse still intact?”

  “Yes, it’s still there. Originally we planned to renovate there the same as we did here, but Birna was against it. She thought the two buildings were too far apart. The walk between the two properties is not all that long, but they’re not connected by a direct road so the drive between them would hamper joint operation of various services, such as housekeeping. In addition she found the farmhouse at Kreppa to be too dilapidated to make rehabilitation cost effective. You can look at it tomorrow if you want. The keys are under a stone by the entrance. It’s quite interesting inside, because it’s still fully furnished in the old style.”

  “How come?” asked Thóra. “There were no tenants on the land when the sale was agreed.”

  “I have no idea,” Jónas replied. “Some of that old stuff might have been removed now, as it happens, because the sister…um…” Jónas racked his brains for the woman’s name. He twirled one index finger in the air as he thought about it.

  “You mean Elín Thórdardóttir? The one who sold you the land?” suggested Thóra.

  “Yes, that’s her,” Jónas said. His finger stopped mid-twirl. “Elín, the sister! She phoned me a couple of months ago and told me they were finally going to do something about taking that stuff away. I was in the city, so I didn’t talk to her myself; I just got a message through Vigdís at reception. Her daughter came a while later and was told where to find the key. It was probably a good thing that neither of them met me, because I would probably have fired off a comment or two about that ghost.”

  Thóra was sick of talking about ghosts. “When did it turn out that they wanted those boxes of junk?” she asked. “I don’t remember any mention of that when the sale was going through.”

  “Oh, it was verbal,” Jónas said. “They discussed it with me and I told them just to pick it up whenever they wanted.” Then he added self-importantly, “I told them they ought to get a move on, in case I either wanted to use the house or demolish it.”

  Thóra nodded. “I might take a look over there while I’m here. Who knows, I might even bump into Elín or her brother.” She glanced at her watch. “I think I’ll wait until morning before I go through the boxes. It’s far too late now.”

  Jónas agreed. “It’s not the sort of stuff you want to look at before bedtime, I can tell you.” He grinned mischievously. “Whether you believe in ghosts or not.”

  THE BED WAS THE COMFIEST THÓRA HAD EVER SLEPT IN. SHE YAWNED and stretched, determined to enjoy her sleep to the utmost. The thick feather pillow supported her neck perfectly, and she made a mental note to ask Jónas where he bought his bedding. Reaching over for the remote on her bedside table, she switched off the television. She felt sleep descending upon her the moment she closed her eyes, and soon her breathing had become regular as she drifted into a dream. She did not even stir when an infant’s soft crying wafted in through the open window.

  CHAPTER 6

  SATURDAY, 10 JUNE 2006

  DAD’S NO FUN. He’s asleep. So’s Gylfi. I want to be with you.”

  Thóra rubbed the sleep from her eyes and propped herself up in bed. She had grabbed her mobile from the bedside table and answered it before actually managing to wake up, then cleared her throat and spoke to her daughter. She had a vague recollection of a dream about ghosts and crying babies, but it slipped away before she could remember it fully. “Hello, Sóley. Are you awake already?” Looking at the clock, she saw that it was a few minutes to eight. “Oof, it’s so early. It’s Saturday today. Your dad and Gylfi just want to sleep a bit longer so they can be more fun later.”

  “Huh.” Her little girl’s high, clear voice was full of reproach. “They won’t be any fun. I only like being with you. You’re fun.” The reception was terrible and Sóley sounded as though she were talking from the bottom of a barrel.

  Enjoy it while it lasts, thought Thóra, who had learned from raising Gylfi that this unconditional adoration would not go on forever. Sóley was only six, and although she would soon be seven, there were still a few years left in which Thóra would play the lead role in her life.

  “I’ll be back home tomorrow evening. Then we’ll do something fun. I’ll bring you some shells from the beach, if you want.”

  “Beach! Is there a beach out there?” Sóley sighed. “Why can’t I be with you? I really want to go to the beach.”

  Thóra kicked herself for mentioning the beach. Since they lived on the coast, it had simply not occurred to her that a beach would arouse the girl’s interest. “Oh, sweetie, you know you’re supposed to spend the weekend with your dad. Maybe we can come back here later in the summer.”

  “And take the trailer?” Sóley asked excitedly.

  Thóra stifled a groan. “Maybe. We’ll see.” If there was one thing she could not stand it was driving with that contraption behind her, and she had still not learned to reverse with it. The few trips they had made with the trailer had been carefully planned so that Thóra hadn’t needed to reverse once. “Go and turn on the television—the cartoons have started. Dad and Gylfi will be up soon. Okay?”

  “Okay,” muttered Sóley crossly. “Bye,” she added.

  “Bye-bye. I miss you,” said Thóra, and hung up.

  She stared at the telephone for a while, wondering how things had ended up like this. Her marriage had fallen apart pretty quickly, and she had never given herself the time to deal with it. For eleven years they had got on fine; then things went rapidly downhill. She and Hannes were divorced a year and a half later. Her conscience nagged her a little about shuttling the children back and forth between their two homes, but there was not much to be done about it now, as she wouldn’t take Hannes back even if he were the world champion at trailer-reversing. She got up, shook off these depressing thoughts, and took a shower. Then she put on a pair of jeans, running shoes, and a hoodie, and felt ready to clamber around in the dusty basement. In the large mirror she saw that all she needed was a balaclava to make a convincing bank robber.

  A lavish buffet awaited her in the dining room. Thóra was generally not one for large breakfasts, but the food was so tastefully arranged and looked so tempting that she gave in and took a large plate, which she filled with poached egg, bacon, and toast. She threw some fruit on top, for appearances’ sake, but soon after sitting down she abandoned the idea of health food. Half the tables in the dining room were occupied. Thóra was curious to k
now what kind of people stayed at such a hotel, which was exorbitantly expensive but based on a hippyish philosophy. She could not identify any common characteristics among the guests, who—although of all ages and various nationalities—seemed to be mainly Icelanders.

  At three tables were single guests like Thóra: two men, one old and the other young, and a middle-aged woman. Thóra guessed that they were Icelandic. In some indefinable way, the older man seemed out of place. Thóra guessed his profession as lawyer or accountant. The woman appeared out of sorts too, sitting in melancholy silence with her eyes glued to her coffee cup. On her plate was a pile of food that looked untouched. The woman was such a picture of misery that Thóra instinctively felt sorry for her. The young man, on the other hand, fitted right in, and Thóra allowed her gaze to linger on him. It helped that he was extremely good-looking—dark-haired, tanned, and well muscled, but not a steroid-popping bodybuilder. Thóra smiled wryly, but her face froze when the young man looked over and smiled back. Embarrassed, she drained her coffee and stood up. The young man did the same. One of his legs was bandaged, and he picked up a crutch from the chair beside him. He followed her, hobbling, toward the exit.

  “Are you Icelandic?” Thóra heard him say from behind her.

  Turning around, Thóra saw that he was no less handsome close up. “Me? Yes, I am, actually,” she said, wishing that she were not dressed like a burglar. “And you?” she asked.

  He returned her smile and held out his hand. “No, I’m a Chinese Icelandophile. My name’s Teitur.”

  “Thóra.” She shook his outstretched hand.

  “You must have just arrived,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “I’d definitely have noticed you.”

  Here we go, Thóra thought to herself, but played it cool. “I arrived yesterday. What about you? Have you been here long?”

  The young man showed his sparkling teeth again. “A week.”

  “And you like it?” Thóra asked stupidly. As a rule she was very awkward in her dealings with the opposite sex if there was the slightest hint of flirtation.