My Soul to Take: A Novel of Iceland

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Baldvinsson. My name's Thora. This is Matthew. Could we have a few words with you?"

  "Why?" he growled. "Who are you?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm a lawyer working for Jonas, the owner of this hotel, and this is my assistant." Thora suppressed the urge to stick her foot in the door and force it open. "This won't take a moment. I'm hoping you can help us."

  The gap in the door narrowed slightly. Then Magnus opened it all the way. "Please, come in."

  "Thank you," said Thora as she took a seat. "We promise not to keep you for long."

  Magnus glared at her. "I'm not busy, so you needn't worry about that. I've learned from experience that time is only precious when you're young. You'll find that out one day."

  "I'm not sure I agree," said Thora politely. "But we'd like to talk to you about Birna, the architect who was found dead on the beach." She observed Magnus's reactions closely.

  "Yes, I heard about that. Terrible business," he said, displaying little emotion. "I heard they think it was murder, which makes it sadder

  still."

  "That's what they're saying," she agreed, smiling at him. "We're trying to find out who might conceivably have wanted her dead."

  "And you include me in that category?" Magnus asked dryly.

  "No, not at all," Thora replied hastily. "We understand that you knew her and we were hoping you might know something useful."

  "Knew her?" he snapped, startled and unable to conceal his irritation. "Who said I knew her? That's simply not true."

  " 'Knew' may be an overstatement," she said. "I heard you were asking after her at reception, so I just assumed you must have been acquainted with her."

  The old man hesitated. "I don't remember that, but my memory's not so good these days. If I did inquire about her, I must have seen her name somewhere, maybe on a list on the desk. My wife and I are looking for an architect, and her name may well have rung a bell. I seem to recall something of the sort, but I can't be sure. Are you sure that the receptionist meant me?"

  Thora could tell he was lying. She wondered how old he actually was—he didn't look a day younger than eighty. Why would a couple in their eighties need an architect? Her parents had just turned sixty and they balked at the idea of buying a new car, let alone major construction work. "Are you having a house built?" she asked.

  "What? Oh, no," Magnus said slowly. "We have an old summer house by Lake Thingvallavatn that we want to convert for year-round habitation. We need to consult an architect about the plans." His face was blank and guileless. "It's been impossible to find one. The economy's booming at the moment and despite signs on the horizon, the construction industry shows no sign of slowing down."

  "Surely you didn't come here in the hope of finding an architect?" she asked, determined not to let the old man off the hook so easily.

  Magnus glowered at her. "No, of course I didn't. The reason I came here is none of your business, and I would prefer to end this conversation here and now." He stopped, waiting for them to react. They both sat in silence, Matthew because he couldn't understand a word and Thora because she didn't want to anger him further. When it became obvious that they didn't intend to say anything, the old man resumed talking. He seemed less angry now. "I suppose I can tell you why I'm here. Maybe then you'll leave me in peace. You seem to think I have something to hide, but nothing could be further from the truth."

  "No we don't," Thora assured him. "We're simply trying to get to the bottom of what happened. Nothing else." She smiled. "Please excuse us if we sounded aggressive or accusatory; that wasn't our intention."

  "If you say so," Magnus answered warily. "The fact is, I've been ill and I wanted a little rest. Experience has taught me that solitude is the best nourishment for the body, to say nothing of the soul. It's just not that easy to find these days in all the hustle and bustle of modern life."

  "So why did you choose this hotel? It specializes in homeopathy and spiritualism, and I hope you don't take it as an insult if I say that neither are likely to appeal to your generation."

  He smiled for the first time since he'd opened the door. "You're quite right: I don't believe in that nonsense. I came here because I grew up in this part of the country. I was raised on a farm not far from here. 'Strong is the bond that draws men back to the soil their fathers ploughed,' as the poem says."

  Thora's eyes widened. "Really? You know the people from the farm?"

  Magnus was baffled. "Yes, actually, I did. Does that matter?"

  "Probably not. I just know that Birna was very interested in the history of the farm, and I have a hunch that it's somehow connected with her death, but I have nothing to back it up."

  Magnus's face had gone pale. "Isn't that a bit of a long shot?" His voice quavered slightly.

  Studiedly casual, Thora said, "Yes, I'm sure it is. But it's great that you're familiar with this place. Maybe you could tell us a little about the local history, or any ghost stories you might know?"

  Magnus seemed lost for words. He cleared his throat and appeared to recover his composure. "I don't believe in ghosts, and haven't listened to that kind of talk since I was a child. Those stories have been going around here for a long time, but you'll have to ask someone else." Magnus had slumped a little in his chair, but he straightened up before continuing. "I'm no historian, and at the time I didn't have enough interest in my family tree to bother digging up details of what went on here in the old days, so I won't be much use to you."

  "But you knew the farmers who lived here, didn't you? That man... what was his name again...?" Thora tried to remember what had been written on the backs of the photographs. "Bjorn something?"

  Magnus sat frozen, as if rooted to his seat. "Bjarni, Bjarni Thorolfsson, from Kirkjustett."

  "That's right!" exclaimed Thora. "Didn't his brother live on the farm next door?"

  "Yes, Grimur from Kreppa was Bjarni's brother." Magnus grimaced. "Grimur qualified as a doctor. He was older than Bjarni. A terrible tragedy, the whole business with those two. But fate and fortune do not always go hand in hand, as the sagas say."

  "Really?" Thora was curious. She'd had a bad feeling about the photographs at the time, but she'd assumed that was because everyone in them had died and been forgotten. It had made her uncomfortable to have evidence in black-and-white of how quickly lives pass into oblivion, but perhaps something else lay behind her uneasy feeling. "How come?"

  Magnus groaned. "Their father was one of the main operators of fishing schooners out here on the peninsula. He also ran two fishing stations with rowing boats and became very wealthy. Maybe nothing like cod traders or bankers these days, but by the standards of the time he was very well-off. I can't remember how many schooners he owned, but it was quite a few. He was based in Stykkisholmur."

  "Did the brothers run the business with him?" asked Thora.

  "No," replied the old man. "Before they came of age, he'd got rid of the fishing operation and invested the money in land. He bought a large proportion of the farming land on the southern side of the peninsula. It was a very smart move, because the fisheries took a dive soon afterward. The trawlers took over and most, if not all, of the old schooner companies went bankrupt."

  "So did he know that was about to happen?"

  "No, he wasn't psychic, if that's what you mean. He just didn't want his sons to go to sea. He'd seen too many young men drowned or injured to want his sons to go the same way. He sent them to Reykjavik to be educated when they were still young. Grimur was a brilliant scholar and became a doctor, as I said, but Bjarni was less bookish. He was always good fun, sociable, a bit of a practical joker. Nowhere near as serious as his elder brother. It would be hard to find two more different brothers. You should bear in mind that this isn't a first-hand account; I heard it from my father, but he was a truthful man and not given to embellishing his stories."

  "So was Grimur the local doctor here?" Thora asked.

  "Yes, he moved back and had the farm called Kreppa built. He did some farming alo
ngside his medical duties, because he couldn't earn a living as a doctor here. He tried to make farming his main occupation, but he wasn't very successful. When Bjarni devoted himself to farming, on the other hand, he flourished. Later he made a lot of money from investments."

  "So where's the tragedy?" pressed Thora. It all sounded pretty positive so far.

  "Tragedy, ah, yes," Magnus said gravely. "Love was to blame, as is often the case. Bjarni was married very young, to an exceptionally fine woman. Her name was Adalheidur." The old man's expression was almost wistful. "I was just a lad, but I'll never forget her. She stood out from everyone around her. She was the most beautiful woman in the area, and friendly too. She worked hard. Bjarni met her in Reykjavik, and when they moved here, she knew absolutely nothing about farming. She always dressed as if she were on her way to a party, you know the type. Understandably, the locals didn't have much faith in her as a farmer's wife, but she proved them wrong. Made an effort to learn how it all worked. It took a lot of grit and hard work, but she soon silenced her detractors, I can tell you.

  "Kristrun, Grimur's wife, was completely different. She was from these parts, hardworking like Adalheidur but not in the same way. She slogged away very reliably, but Adalheidur always had a smile on her face and laughed if anything went wrong. They were good matches for their husbands, that's for sure. Bjarni was very jolly, but Grimur always had a face like thunder."

  "Did Adalheidur die young?" asked Thora suddenly, remembering the woman's disappearance from the photographs.

  "Yes." Magnus sighed. "They had a child, a little girl called Gudny. A beautiful girl, the spitting image of her mother. Not long before, Grimur and his wife had had a daughter too. Her name was Edda, but she died around the time Gudny was born and that caused friction between the two women. Grimur's wife accused Adalheidur of poisoning her daughter, which was preposterous, but the woman was beside herself with grief and probably not in her right mind when she said it.

  The brothers' friendship cooled, so much so that they weren't on speaking terms any longer by the time disaster struck." "Disaster?" echoed Thora.

  "Yes, Adalheidur died of blood poisoning and they say Grimur's wife went crazy. Nobody saw her for years, so the two brothers were left behind: one a young widower with a baby daughter, and the other with a mentally ill wife but no children. Their pride prevented them from rebuilding their friendship, so each of them battled his private demons alone. Then Grimur and Kristrun had another daughter much later. Her name was Malfridur; she was born just before the war. The wife supposedly died in childbirth, although there was a rumor that she committed suicide and Grimur fiddled the death certificate. He wrote it himself. But I don't think there are any grounds for believing that: by that time Kristrun was getting on a bit, and childbirth is more difficult for a woman as she gets older, as you know."

  "Oh, yes," agreed Thora. "And were the brothers never reconciled?"

  "No, but there was a little contact between the two households when Bjarni fell ill."

  "Wasn't it tuberculosis?" Thora asked, remembering what young Soldis had told her.

  "Yes," replied Magnus. "He shut himself away and refused to go to a sanatarium in Reykjavik. He died a few years later." He took a deep breath. "But not before he'd infected Gudny, his daughter, who was taking care of him. It wasn't long before she went too. His brother kept the farm going while they were ill, but it would have turned out differently if Bjarni had just gone to Reykjavik to be looked after." Magnus shook his gray head sorrowfully. "Shortly after that, Grimur moved to Reykjavik with his daughter, Malfridur. He inherited his brother's whole estate, so he didn't need to sell the farms or other property here on the peninsula. He didn't live long either, though—in fact, he died about ten years after they moved away. He had serious mental problems, a bit like his wife."

  "And what about Kristin?" asked Thora. "Who was she?" Magnus stiffened. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. "Was there anyone by the name of Kristin at either of the farms?"

  Magnus's face was stony. "No. There was no Kristin here." He coughed. "I think that will do."

  "One last thing—do you know anyone who could have been connected with a Nazi organization in this area?" she asked quickly, before he could show them the door.

  "I have nothing more to say," said Magnus, standing up. He swayed a little and Thora feared for a moment that he might faint, but he regained his balance and gestured at the door. "Goodbye."

  Thora saw that it was futile to grill the man any further. But what did Nazis have to do with the fate of the farm? Or Kristin? And who was she, anyway?

  Chapter 14

  “I ADVISE YOU to clear your schedule for the next few days," said Thorolfur, the detective, solemnly. He was phoning from Reykjavik. "That is, if you intend to act as your client's counsel."

  Thora sighed. "I don't know if I can. I need to get back to Reykjavik today."

  "Well, you do what you must," he replied. "I just wanted to let you know that we'll be there over the next few days taking statements, mainly from tourists whom we can't be sure of getting hold of later. We fully expect to spend some time talking to Jonas. You've declared yourself as his lawyer, so we just wanted to keep you informed. Of course, you are free to do as you see fit."

  "Oh, am I?" she said bitterly. Thora hated to be patronized, but she had to stay on good terms with the police for Jonas's sake, so she softened her voice. "Thank you for notifying me. I'll see if I can sort something out."

  They rang off and Thora dialed Jonas, who was borrowing Vigdis's phone while the police still had his. He had found Thora an antiquated mobile the size of a brick, into which she'd put her own SIM card. After what had happened before, Thora doubted the police were in any hurry to return her phone.

  Jonas picked up after a few rings. From the sound of it, he was in a car. She told him the police would want to talk to him the following week while taking statements from the hotel guests.

  "They want to talk to me?" Jonas sounded genuinely surprised.

  "Yes, of course," replied Thora. "Have you forgotten that text message? Naturally you're a suspect."

  "But I didn't send it. I told you that." Jonas sounded almost hurt.

  "I know what you told me. That doesn't alter the fact that it makes you look suspicious, to put it mildly." Thora heard a car beep in the background at his end. "Do you want me to be present when you give your statement, or can you manage it by yourself?"

  "I can't do it alone," said Jonas fearfully. "I don't know how to handle it. You have to help me." Then he seemed to perk up slightly, adding, "It would be best for me if you could find the murderer so they stop suspecting me. I'll pay you."

  Thora couldn't help laughing. "The police will find the murderer, Jonas. Don't worry. If you're innocent, you'll go free."

  "I'm not so sure," Jonas said dubiously. "I want you there when I'm questioned."

  "Fine," said Thora. "So I'll have to make arrangements for prolonging my stay. Is there a room free at the hotel?"

  "There are bound to be. It's not fully booked until July."

  "Then I'll stay on here, as long as I can find someone to look after the kids," said Thora. "It was their father's weekend to have them, but it's Sunday now and they're supposed to come home afterward."

  "No problem—just have them sent up here!" suggested Jonas cheerily. "Children love nature and they'll find plenty to occupy themselves down on the beach."

  Thora smiled to herself. Gylfi would be happy pottering around on the beach as long as it had a computer and an Internet connection. "Hopefully that won't be necessary," she said. "I'll let you know." They exchanged farewells and Thora groaned as she turned to Matthew.

  "What?" he asked, curious. "That's not a very happy noise."

  "No, it isn't." Thora frowned, fidgeting with her heavy telephone. "Jonas has asked me to be present for his police interrogation."

  Matthew grinned broadly. "That's great, isn't it? I'm in no hurry to leave."


  Thora smiled wanly in response. "Sure. It would be great if it weren't for the children. They're with their father now and I was meant to pick them up later."

  "Ah," he said understandingly, although he clearly couldn't identify with her situation. "Can't you phone and ask for them to stay there a bit longer?"

  "Yes, I have no choice," Thora said grumpily. She hated having to ask Hannes for favors because she knew how he enjoyed making her jump through hoops before agreeing—only because she behaved exactly the same toward him whenever possible.

  After a lot of wrangling by telephone, Thora and Hannes reached an agreement that the children would stay an extra night with him, but no longer. Hannes had to go to the gym and run various errands he had been forced to postpone because of the time he had spent with his children. Thora sweetly told him that she understood, and that she'd been wondering if he'd put on weight recently. Then she hung up, praying he'd rupture something on the treadmill. She even gave in to the urge to poke out her tongue at the phone before putting it down.

  "Nice to see how mature you are about your divorce," Matthew said. "Not all men have such understanding ex-wives."

  Thora pulled a face at him too. "Are you speaking from experience?" she said, then added, "The children can only stay there one extra night, so I'll have to make other arrangements or go home."

  "I'm not divorced. I've just had trouble finding the right woman," Matthew said. "Although things have been looking up a little lately." Seeing Thora's disapproving look, he clapped his hands and changed the subject. "Well, since there isn't much time, we ought to use it wisely. I think we've done enough walking. What do you fancy doing?"

  "One thing I'm sure about is the more I know, the better equipped I'll be to help Jonas at the interrogation," Thora said, then thought for a moment. "We ought to try to meet more guests or locate Eirikur, the aura reader, who's the originator of the ghost stories. Jonas said he was expected back yesterday."