My Soul to Take: A Novel of Iceland

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Matthew looked quizzically at Thora. "Was she connected with anyone in a wheelchair?"

  She shook her head. "Not that I know of."

  Matthew asked if the elder man knew who these people were.

  Again the two men exchanged words that the son translated into English for Matthew and Thora. "No, my father didn't know them, but he had seen them before—the woman at the hotel, and the young people nearby." He bowed his head slightly before continuing. "My father says he noticed the young couple because of how especially caring the girl seemed to be toward the crippled boy, but he doesn't know anything else about them, or about the architect. I don't remember the woman myself, so I am of no help."

  Matthew and Thora exchanged a glance. It was pointless to disturb the men any further, so they stood. "Mr. Takahashi, thank you very much," Matthew said with a bow. Thora followed suit. "We hope you have a nice stay."

  "Thank you," the son said, also rising. He helped his frail father to stand. "This is a good place to stay. My father has been ill, but the fresh air makes him feel better."

  "I hope he gets well soon," said Thora, smiling warmly at the old man. He smiled back and they exchanged farewells.

  When they were inside the lobby, she turned to Matthew. "Not much joy there, I'm afraid."

  He shrugged. "You can't have expected them to know who the murderer is." Then he frowned. "But I do think it's odd that the son had no idea who Birna was, although his father had almost certainly seen her. You remember what Vigdis said about those two? The son follows his father everywhere, like a shadow. So where was the son when the father saw Birna with the young couple?"

  "Maybe the father saw them through the window," suggested Thora. "The son would have told us if he remembered. Why wouldn't he?"

  "I don't know," Matthew said pensively. "But it's strange how long they talked to each other when you think how short the answers were when the son translated them. It's also weird that they didn't ask why we were inquiring about Birna."

  "Isn't it something to do with Japanese politeness? Curiosity might be considered as bad as theft in their country." Thora was hungry. She stole a glance at the clock above their heads. "Come on, let's get something to eat before they clear breakfast away."

  Matthew looked at her in surprise, then consulted his own watch. "They don't close the dining room at eight, do they?"

  "Come on," she said again, hopping impatiently from foot to foot. "I'll die if I don't have some coffee. There should be other guests in there who we can talk to as well."

  "Well, I don't want you dying on me," Matthew said, following her. "Even if you didn't believe me about that crying I heard."

  "Whooo," Thora chanted. "We're the ghoooost children—whooo." She chuckled at Matthew's petulant expression. "Don't be so silly," she said. "Some coffee will perk us up."

  Only three tables were occupied in the dining room. An elderly couple Thora had not seen before were sitting at one, at another sat Magnus Baldvinsson, the old politician, and at the third a gloomy-looking young man. He was sunburned and looked as if he were in good shape, although his physique was hard to see under his trendy clothes. Thora decided to concentrate on him. She nudged Matthew and murmured, "That must be the canoeist, Throstur Laufeyjarson, who Jonas said might be connected with Birna's death. Looks pretty moody, doesn't he? Let's take the table next to him."

  They went up to the buffet and Thora quickly threw a few pieces of food on to her plate. To her chagrin, Matthew seemed to be taking his time to explore the selection, strolling around the table. She nudged him again. "Quick. He mustn't leave before we sit down." Matthew looked disappointed, but grabbed a yogurt. They walked over to the table next to the canoeist's. Thora smiled at him as she sat down. "Hello. Lovely weather, isn't it?"

  The man didn't look up, and seemed unaware that she was addressing him. He yawned and took a sip of orange juice. Thora tried again. "Excuse me," she said, loudly enough that there could be no doubt she was talking to him. "Do you know if there's a boat rental around here? We were thinking of renting a boat. Or a kayak."

  The man swallowed, startled. "Sorry, were you talking to me?" he said in English. "I'm afraid I don't speak Icelandic."

  "Oh." Thora was caught a little off balance. Clearly this was not Throstur Laufeyjarson. She smiled apologetically. "Sorry," she said, also in English. "I thought you were someone else." She changed the subject to keep him talking. "Have you just arrived?"

  He shook his head. "No, I've been here a while on and off, because I've been traveling."

  Thora nonchalantly feigned interest in his travels. "Where have you been? There's so much to see."

  The young man didn't seem to mind having company. He swung around in his seat to face Thora and Matthew. "Mainly in the West Fjords. I work for a travel magazine and we feature unusual destinations."

  "That sounds like an interesting job," said Thora, taking her first sip of coffee. She couldn't remember the man's name, but he must be the photographer Jonas recognized on the guest list.

  The young man laughed. "Well, it can be tiring, like any other job. I'm a photographer, which can sometimes mean working long, grueling hours."

  Thora stuck out her hand. "How rude of me not to introduce myself. My name's Thora." She nodded at Matthew. "And this is Matthew, from Germany."

  The young man stood and stretched over the table to shake their hands. "Hi. I'm Robin, Robin Kohman, from the States."

  Thora tried to look as if a thought had just occurred to her. "Wait a minute...didn't I see you with Birna?"

  Robin looked blank. "Birna?"

  "Yes, Birna, the architect who was here... " She trailed off expectantly.

  "Ah, yes, the architect, Birna," exclaimed Robin cheerfully. He pronounced the name completely differently from Thora. "Yes, I know her; I just didn't recognize her name the way you said it. I haven't quite mastered the pronunciation. All your words sound the same." He finished his juice and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Yes, I got to know her a little. I took a few shots for her and she told me about places around here where I could find interesting subjects to photograph."

  "Do you remember when you last saw her?" asked Matthew. He had not bothered to open his container of yogurt.

  Robin thought for a moment. "No, I think it's been a few days. Is anything wrong?"

  "No, I don't think so," fibbed Thora. "We just wanted to meet her." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Magnus Baldvinsson stand up and leave.

  "If you bump into her, perhaps you could let her know I still have her photographs." Robin stood up.

  "In the unlikely event that we see her, we certainly will," said Matthew, smiling cryptically. When Robin had left, he picked up the container of yogurt and waved it in Thora's face. "Can I get something decent to eat now?"

  MAGNUS BALDVINSSON WALKED AROUND THE HOTEL SITE, TRYING to find a signal for his mobile. His room had no reception and he didn't want to talk surrounded by people in the corridor or in the dining room, where he knew all he could get was a weak signal. Twice he stumbled on loose rocks. It was difficult to keep an eye on the display on his mobile and watch where he was going. Breathing a sigh of relief as a few bars of signal appeared on the screen, he hurriedly dialed his home number. He was in the car park, and people would probably start coming outside soon. He waited impatiently as it rang. Eventually it was answered.

  "Frida, darling, did I wake you?"

  "Magnus? What time is it?" His wife yawned noisily.

  "Just past eight," he snapped.

  "Is something wrong?" Frida asked anxiously, the sleepiness gone from her voice.

  "No, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to tell you I'll be staying a bit longer." Magnus watched the hotel door open. A young man in a tracksuit came out. He was relieved when the man headed for the beach, not the car park. "There are some people here asking questions about

  Birna."

  "Questions? What kind of questions? Have they spoken to you?" Frida would have continued fir
ing questions at him had he not interrupted her. The terror in her voice was audible.

  "Frida, stay calm." He took a deep breath and tried to control his temper. Frida's nerves grew worse each year, and it didn't take a murder to unbalance her. When he thought about it, she was actually holding up okay, now that the pressure was really on. "I don't know why these people are nosing around. And no, they haven't approached me yet. I just called to say I'll be a few days longer. It would look suspicious if I rushed off. The police have already been to the hotel twice, and I'm hoping they'll talk to me while I'm still here." He sighed. "Surely they'll want to talk to everyone who was at the scene."

  Frida said nothing for a short while, then murmured, "Baldvin phoned."

  "What did he say?" asked Magnus warily, although he couldn't help swelling with pride at the mention of his grandson in spite of Baldvin's recent tribulations. The lad was an up-and-coming politician, just as his grandfather had been at that age. They even looked strikingly similar, and one newspaper had included a photograph of the young Magnus alongside an interview with Baldvin to show the resemblance. Magnus smiled to himself; surely no one would mix them up in real life, him so old and Baldvin so young and handsome.

  "He was asking after you. When you'd be home," Frida replied. "I think he plans to come up there."

  "No!" barked Magnus. "Under no circumstances is he to come here. That would make things even worse. Imagine if he'd stayed at home the other day instead of trying to help me."

  "He means well," said his wife. "Maybe it won't make any difference. If that Birna had spoken to anyone, you'd know by now. Perhaps it all died with her." She sighed. "Shouldn't we just hope so and call it a day?"

  Magnus groaned. "We can't be sure, Frida. I've risked too much to give up at the last hurdle. Not to mention Baldvin. I'll stay here and see how it all unfolds. Things will become clearer in the next couple of days, I'm sure of it."

  "Should I come? Are you taking your medication?" Frida sounded on the verge of hysteria.

  "No. Don't come. And for God's sake, stop Baldvin from doing anything stupid like heading up here again." Magnus took a deep breath. "Frida, the signal's so weak here that you probably won't get through to my mobile, but don't call the hotel either. You never know who's on the line. I'll keep phoning you."

  He hung up, stood for a moment surveying the beautiful coastline, then turned to admire the mountains to the north. He waited to be filled with peace and well-being, but nothing happened. He suddenly felt furious. With her devious plotting, Birna had ruined what was most dear to him: his childhood haunts. Now the only feeling they aroused in him was apprehension, and he was too old to deal with fear. He had no self-confidence left. This would end badly, for him and for Baldvin. His rage had died down a little, but it was replaced by melancholy. Perhaps Birna had been the root of the problem, and her murder would put an end to it. But when all was said and done, it was his fault.

  He had read somewhere that past sins haunted you forever, and no one could hide from them. He should have thought of that at the time.

  Chapter 13

  SITTING BEHIND THE reception desk, Vigdis watched Thora and Matthew heading for Jonas's office. She wondered whether to tell them Jonas was out, but decided not to. They'd find out soon enough. She turned back to the online news site she was reading. You couldn't really describe the articles she liked to read as "news," but Vigdis had long ago lost interest in the Middle East, politics, the economy, and all the other stuff journalists were constantly going on about. That kind of news went around in never-ending circles, but the stories Vigdis read were easy to follow and had a beginning, a middle, and an ending. It was always obvious who were the good guys and the bad guys, and they were always illustrated with glamorous photographs. This was celebrity gossip—stories of the rich and famous. She scrolled down excitedly—she now had irrefutable proof that both Nicole Ritchie and Keira Knightley were anorexic. She scrutinized a close-up of the latter's ribs, protruding through a slash in the side of her dress. Vigdis shook her head sadly.

  "Excuse me," a voice said, momentarily distracting her from her concern for the young actress's well-being. Vigdis looked up. "Do you know where Jonas is?" asked Thora.

  Vigdis closed the window on her computer so that the reservations screen showed. "Jonas popped down to Reykjavik. He'll be back this afternoon." She smiled professionally. "Can I help?"

  Thora looked at Matthew, then back at Vigdis. "We were just wondering which guests were in. We'd like to meet anyone who may have known Birna. The canoeist, for example."

  "Throstur Laufeyjarson?" said Vigdis, who was good with names— a talent that had proved useful in her job; in fact, it was one of the main reasons Jonas employed her. Vigdis also had such a command of the computer system that he completely ignored any other skills she might have.

  "Yes, that's him," Thora replied. "Is he in?"

  "No, he's always out training at the crack of dawn. Actually, I saw his canoe on the beach yesterday evening. Maybe he's out in it. If it isn't at the little jetty down below, then he'll be at sea. He always leaves it there."

  Thora interpreted this into German for Matthew and they decided to go down to the shore in the hope of seeing Throstur. Before they left, Thora turned back to Vigdis. "What about Magnus Baldvinsson?

  Is he in?"

  Vigdis shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen him today. He's probably still sleeping or on one of his walks. I take extended breaks during the quiet periods of the day, which includes both the time between breakfast and lunch and then the early afternoon, so he could well have slipped by me. If he's not in his room then he could be wandering around outside. Generally he doesn't go far, just short excursions, never for more than an hour. He's pretty old."

  "Is he a widower?" asked Thora. "Jonas said he was here on his own."

  "No, I don't think so," Vigdis replied. "His wife has phoned him here several times."

  "Strange that she isn't with him."

  "Maybe she's ill," suggested Vigdis. "Housebound or something." "Perhaps we'll have a look for him later," said Thora. Vigdis nodded emphatically. "Yes, you really should."

  "Should we?" said Thora. "Why?"

  "Well, because he knew Birna," Vigdis answered. She paused, then added, "At least, I think he did. He made a point of asking after her when he checked in."

  "Really?" Thora was surprised. Jonas had not mentioned any connection between Magnus and Birna. "Do you know how they knew each other?"

  Vigdis shook her head. "No idea. I don't really know any more than that. He asked after her and I answered his question. I never saw them together. He didn't ask where he could find her, and she never mentioned him."

  Throstur Laufeyjarson laid the paddle across his canoe and looked at the stopwatch on his wrist. In spite of all his training, he seemed to be doing worse than before. The canoe rocked gently in the sea as he pondered how to improve his training schedule, which seemed to be making no difference. He took a deep breath and exhaled with a groan. The problem was obvious, really: it must be because he wasn't working out enough. The small gym at the hotel was not well equipped, making it difficult to maintain a reasonable muscle mass, let alone increase it. Throstur rotated his shoulders three times to release the tension and felt a drop of sweat drip down his spine inside his wet suit. The prospect of a hot shower, perhaps followed by a massage, incited him to turn the canoe slowly landward. That was enough for the time being. He would go out again after lunch, and paddle harder.

  When the prow of the boat was pointing toward the hotel, he hesitated, eased his tight grip on the paddle, and squinted at the shoreline. Who were those people on the beach? It looked like they were waving at him. He groaned. Was there anything more boring than tourists and their stupid questions? "Do you hunt whales in that thing?" "Have you ever paddled to Greenland?" He considered his options. Should he resign himself to meeting these idiots or paddle away and go ashore elsewhere? That way, he would be left in peace, but he'd end u
p much farther from the hotel. Licking his dry lips, he tasted the tang of salt. The people were waving even harder now, and Throstur thought he recognized the woman as a recent arrival at the hotel. It looked like that woman who was asking about the architect when he walked through reception the day before. He had no intention of talking to her. Who knew what she might ask? Calmly, he turned the canoe back around. Before setting off, he looked instinctively at the paddle, half expecting still to see blood on it. Of course it was gone. He had washed it off himself, and whatever he did, he was always thorough. He paddled away.

  "WHAT'S GOING ON?" SHOUTED THORA WHEN THE CANOE STARTED moving away from them. She had been waving madly to attract the canoeist's attention, but now lowered her arms. "He definitely saw us. What's wrong with him?"

  Matthew put one hand to his forehead as he watched the man paddle determinedly westward, away from the beach. "Yes, he definitely saw us. Either he's busy or he's avoiding us." The boat moved out of sight behind some rocks. "I think he didn't want to talk to us. Maybe

  he's shy."

  "Shouldn't we wait here a while?" asked Thora, who was eager to meet the unfriendly canoeist as soon as possible. Whatever might be said of Jonas, he was pretty canny, and he'd been suspicious of Throstur. "I think it's obvious that he's hiding something, otherwise he'd talk to us."

  "Not necessarily," argued Matthew. "Perhaps he's just tired and can't be bothered to talk. He doesn't know what we want to ask him. Why don't we just go back inside? We're bound to run into him later. Come on, we can talk to that old Magnus guy instead."

  Thora had to admit that this was a much more sensible plan than standing on the beach on the off chance Throstur might return, so they went back inside, where Vigdis told them that she still hadn't seen Magnus that morning, so he was probably still in his room. They went to the top floor.

  "Leave the talking to me," Thora whispered as she knocked firmly on the door. They heard movement inside. "He's so old that I'm not sure he speaks any language except Icelandic, and possibly Danish." A crack appeared in the door and Baldvinsson peered out. "Hello, Mr.