"Then what about the missing page in the church records? I think our next move should be talking to the brother and sister who sold Jonas the land," said Matthew. "You could use that ghost nonsense as a pretext to grill them about the history of the farm, and about Grimur and Kristin."
Thora nodded thoughtfully. That wasn't a bad idea . . .
Elin Thordardottir kept her hand on the telephone after hanging up. She heaved a deep sigh, lifted it again and put it to her ear. She quickly dialed a number and waited impatiently for an answer. "Borkur," she blurted, "guess what?"
"What is it, Elin? Now's not a good time." Borkur was always moody when his sister phoned him. "There's a situation here."
"What's going on?" Elin asked, although she knew it must involve Svava, Borkur's wife, who was a bag of nerves, always on the brink of a nervous breakdown over something minor.
"None of your business," growled Borkur. "What do you want?"
Accustomed to his unfriendliness, Elin ignored it. In fact, she enjoyed winding him up. She had always been against selling the land but had given in to his constant nagging in the end. It was a pity their mother had not opposed the idea, because the place had still belonged to her even though the proceeds would go to her children. Borkur had managed to talk her into selling. Now Elin had the chance to take revenge on her brother for his bossiness. "A woman called Thora phoned. She's a lawyer for Jonas, who bought Kirkjustett and Kreppa." She paused deliberately, determined to force him to ask.
"And?" asked her brother, irritated but intrigued. "What did she want?"
"Turns out there's a problem, dear brother," Elin said smugly. "She wants to see us about a hidden defect she says Jonas has found in the property."
"What horseshit! A hidden defect? On a plot of land? They need their heads examined. What the hell could it be? Is it soil contamination?"
Elin let him run on for a while before interrupting. "We didn't go into details. She just wanted to arrange a meeting. On-site if possible."
"On-site? Does she think I've got nothing better to do than trek over to Snaefellsnes?" Borkur was almost shouting now. "I'm up to my eyes in work! Drowning!"
"Oh, poor you," said Elin, feigning sympathy. "Maybe I should just go by myself."
Borkur thought for a moment. "No. I'll come too. When do we have to meet her?"
"Tomorrow," she replied. "Wouldn't it be easier to pop over to Stykkisholmur tonight, so we don't need to drive there early in the morning?"
"We'll see. Call me later. I might, if I can sort some business out before this evening."
"Borkur," said Elin, "one more thing. I think 'hidden defect' might be something weird. The lawyer acted very strangely on the phone."
"How do you mean, 'strangely?' " asked Borkur.
"Just strangely," she told him. "There's something odd going on, that's for sure, but I don't know what."
"Do you think it might have to do with the body that was on the news?" he asked, his voice suddenly shrill with panic.
"Oh. No, that hadn't crossed my mind," Elin said, surprised. Her brother didn't sound like himself.
They hung up and Elin sat by the telephone, deep in thought. She tried to remember what she had heard about the body, and had an idea it had been found just before the weekend. She frowned. That was when Borkur had been out to Snafellsnes on some fool's errand. How odd.
Chapter 16
THIS MUST BE the place." Thora scanned the beach. "We won't learn much from coming out here, really." The rocks at her feet glistened. The tide was out, but the smooth rocks were still damp. Nothing in this dramatic landscape suggested that a body had been found here not long ago, and Thora wondered what she'd expected to see. Yellow police tape, perhaps?
Matthew looked at his watch. "Except that it took us exactly thirty-five minutes to walk here from the hotel."
"But we weren't hurrying," she said. "What's the quickest we could have got here?"
Matthew shrugged. "I don't know. You might be able to get here in twenty-five minutes, not much less, unless you were running."
"So somebody could have come down here from the hotel, murdered Birna, and got back within the hour," mused Thora.
Matthew smiled. "Well, that doesn't give the murderer much leeway. He would have had to come here explicitly to murder the woman, as there wasn't time for them to meet up and argue."
"What an awful noise those birds make," Thora said, facing the cliffs. "Their poor chicks." She watched the chaotic mass of birds for a moment, before turning back to Matthew. "No one would have heard her scream. Not through this din."
Matthew waved his arms. "Who was there to hear, anyway? There's never anybody out here."
Thora looked around, and was about to agree when she noticed two people at the top of the incline leading down to the beach. "You may have spoken too soon," she said, nodding in their direction.
They watched the pair slowly descend the pebbled slope—a young woman pushing someone in a wheelchair. They could not discern the sex of the occupant, whose head and face were concealed by the hood of his or her coat. The girl seemed to be struggling to move the wheel-chair through the loose shale on the track.
"They must be the young people the Japanese mentioned," Thora said. "The ones they saw talking to Birna. Should we have a word with them?" She looked at Matthew.
"Why not?" agreed Matthew. "It wouldn't be the silliest thing you've done for this weird investigation." He added hastily, "Not that I'm complaining. I'm enjoying it, even though I don't have the faintest idea where it's all leading."
Thora elbowed him in the ribs. "Have you suddenly turned anarchist in your old age? Come on."
They set off slowly up the slope toward the pair. At first, when they drew nearer, Thora thought she must have had something in her eye—no matter how she tried, she couldn't focus properly on the face visible beneath the hood—but soon she realized there was nothing wrong with her eyes. Her stomach knotted, and she fought the urge to turn back and run. What was wrong with the wheelchair occupant's features? Although she tried to concentrate on the girl, who was rosy cheeked and smiling, her eyes kept involuntarily returning to the face under the hood and the stretched, shiny pink skin that covered its entire left half. Thora couldn't look directly at the man's disfigured eye sockets, the tragic remnants of his nose, and the scarred, plasticky skin that went from his chin to his forehead, as far as she could see under his deep hood. Thora prayed that the poor man—who looked young—was unaware of the effect he had, but deep down inside she knew he couldn't be. She hoped Matthew was coping better than her, but didn't dare glance over at him in case her expression revealed her horror.
She squeezed out a smile. "Hello," she said, addressing the girl.
"Hello," the girl answered, smiling warmly. She had a thick blond ponytail that swung when she spoke. She looked vaguely familiar, but Thora couldn't place her. "I'm not sure we'll make it down here," the girl said. "And if we do, it'll be even harder getting back up."
"There's not much to see," replied Thora. "If you want, Matthew here can help you down." She pointed at Matthew without looking at him. "And back up, of course."
"Well, maybe," the girl said, bending her head over the wheelchair. "What do you reckon?" she asked the man. "Should we accept their help or just turn back? Apparently there's nothing to see." The young man mumbled something that Thora couldn't hear, but the girl seemed to understand. "Okay, if that's what you want." She looked up at Thora. "I think we'll just head back. Could he lend me a hand, perhaps?"
Matthew took control of the wheelchair and they all set off up the slope.
"I could have done with your help last Thursday." The blond girl grinned.
"Thursday?" Thora said, startled. "Were you here in the evening?" Might the girl and the young man have witnessed something without realizing its significance, or could they be implicated in Birna's murder? Thora waited eagerly for the reply, but was disappointed when it came.
"No, we weren't here,"
the girl said, still panting after the ordeal. "We were both planning to go to the seance at the hotel but in the end I went by myself because I couldn't get the wheelchair over a huge hole that had been dug across the driveway. That was quite a drag because there's not much going on around here and Steini was looking forward to it." She rolled her eyes at Thora. "Actually, he didn't miss much. It was pretty ridiculous, and I think the medium was a fraud."
Thora decided not to ask whether the girl thought any mediums were genuine. She looked back down at the bay. "Were you going beach-combing?" she asked.
"We were just going to see where the body was found," replied the girl, as if nothing could have been more natural. "We knew the woman who died."
Deep down, Thora was relieved. Now she didn't need to tiptoe around the topic of the murder. "How funny," she said, as casually as she could. "We were here for exactly the same reason. We wanted to see the scene."
The girl looked astonished. "Really? Did you know her too?"
Thora shook her head. "No, not properly. We were connected with her, indirectly. My name's Thora."
The girl held out her hand. "Berta." She turned away and scanned the beach. "It was awful," she said sadly. "I heard on the news that she'd been murdered." She looked back at Thora. "Why would anyone want to kill her?"
"I have no idea," Thora said truthfully. "Perhaps it was nothing to do with her personally. She might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met some lunatic."
"Do you think so?" Berta asked, a hint of fear on her face. "Here?"
"No," Thora said. "I doubt it. But it's still more likely than a ghost being involved."
"A ghost!" exclaimed Berta, the color draining from her face. "The fishermen, maybe? This is the same beach where they were washed up." She shuddered. "I've always had a funny feeling about this place."
Thora stared at the girl, taken aback. She had expected her to laugh when she'd mentioned ghosts. Clearly the undead were no joking matter in these parts. "Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked carefully.
"Oh, yes," Berta replied fervently. "It's haunted around here for sure. I get really scared after dark."
Not knowing how to answer, Thora made a mental note that Berta was a potential witness if the compensation claim for the "haunting" ever went through. They made good progress up the slope and Thora decided to skip ghosts for the moment and get straight to the point. "How did you know Birna?"
"She was the hotel architect. My mother used to own the land, and I helped her out." She glanced up ahead to where Matthew, with some difficulty, was pushing the wheelchair up the slope. "She was really decent."
Thora did not push it, but took the glance to mean that Birna had been kind to the boy in the wheelchair. Then it dawned on her why the girl looked familiar: she closely resembled Elin, her mother, whom Thora had met when the deeds of sale were drawn up. Perhaps it would be unfair to make her testify against her own family in court, and Thora hoped it wouldn't come to that, though it was definitely good to know about her. "What did you do to help Birna out?" she asked.
"She was interested in local history, but neither my mother nor my uncle Borkur could be bothered to discuss it with her. I told her what I knew and looked for old plans and drawings for her. Actually, I couldn't find any, but I did dig out a few photographs. She was really pleased."
"Do you remember what they showed?" Thora asked. She was puzzled. There were plenty of photographs in the basement, more than enough for Birna. Maybe they were all too similar—always the same wall, although with different people.
"Yes, they were mostly of the old farm, my great-grandfather and great-grandmother. There were other people as well, but I didn't know who they were." The girl fell silent, then shot an anxious look at Thora. "Do you reckon I'll get the photos back? Mum and Uncle Borkur don't know I lent them to her."
"I'm sure you will," said Thora. "Just ask the police. They should be here tomorrow. Do you live locally?"
"No, not really. We have a house in Stykkisholmur where I can stay. I try to come as often as I can." Staring intently at Thora, she whispered, "Because of Steini. He doesn't want to live in Reykjavik."
Thora nodded. "Are you related?" she asked. She and the girl had dropped back, but they weren't far enough away for Thora to risk asking what had happened to the young man. She didn't want him to hear her asking about his appearance.
"Yes, he's my cousin on my father's side."
In front of them, Matthew stopped and turned, clearly out of breath. They had reached the top of the slope. Thora hurriedly changed the subject back to the murder. "Do you have any idea who could have killed Birna? Was she in a relationship with anyone, or had she made enemies?"
The girl shook her head. "She didn't have any enemies, I don't think. At least, she never mentioned it. We met quite a few times—I'm clearing up some family stuff in the old farm at Kreppa and she often used to go there. It was great, chatting to her. I don't know if it's relevant, but she said she had a boyfriend."
"A boyfriend?" Thora asked eagerly. "Do you know anything about him?"
Berta thought hard before replying. "Well, I don't know whether I ought to tell you. He's married, so they kept it a secret. She confided in me, so she obviously wanted to talk to someone about it. I don't want to break Birna's trust, even if she is dead."
Thora thought Birna must have been very lonely if she confided her secrets to such a young girl. Berta couldn't be older than twenty. "I think you'll have to tell us. Silly as it may seem, it's usually love affairs that lead to situations like this. You don't want the person who did it to get away with it, do you?"
Berta shook her head vehemently. "God, no." She dithered, standing with Thora beside Matthew and Steini.
"Can we go now?" said a hoarse voice from beneath the hood. "I want to leave."
Berta took hold of the handles of the wheelchair. "Okay, Steini," she said, and thanked Matthew for his help. Then she turned to Thora. "See you around, maybe. Do you have a vacation home here?"
"No, we're at the hotel," Thora said, annoyed that she hadn't learned the boyfriend's name. She watched as the girl waved goodbye and set off slowly, pushing the wheelchair.
Berta had only gone a few steps when she suddenly turned. "His name's Bergur. He's the farmer from Tunga." Then she continued on her way without another word.
Thora and Matthew stood and watched the young girl plodding away over the bumpy track. When they were out of earshot, Matthew turned to Thora. "What on earth happened to that poor boy?"
Vigdis stuck his head over the reception desk and peered around. No one. Looking at the clock, she decided that no guests would be back just yet. In spite of their diverse nationalities and interests, most seemed to fall into a fixed pattern after checking in—getting up between eight and nine, and going out for a stroll after breakfast. As a rule they didn't come back until the afternoon. She knew this worried Jonas, because his original plan was for people to spend more time—and money—within the walls of the hotel. The masseuses, healers, sex therapist, aura reader, and all those other experts were equally annoyed, because they were paid for performing actual treatments. They were mainly busy in the evenings and on weekends, and most of them had been forced to dream up special offers in order to make a living. Jonas expected that the specialists would have more to do when winter set in and the weather became less appealing for outdoor activities. Guests would probably spend more time within the hotel grounds during the colder season and as a result be more likely to purchase the services on offer. But the summer was only just beginning, and it seemed obvious that some staff members would fall by the wayside if demand for their services did not pick up.
Vigdis didn't care about those charlatans' employment prospects; the current situation suited her just fine. She was dying of curiosity. After the police made her and Jonas promise that Birna's room was off-limits to everyone, she was seized by an overwhelming urge to disobey. Jonas had taken a quick peek inside when he opened th
e room for the detectives, but said there was nothing much to see. Even so, Vigdis had to see it for herself. Maybe there was blood—or worse—that Jonas had missed from where he was standing, or perhaps he'd seen something that he couldn't or wouldn't talk about.
Vigdis stood up, taking the master key with her. After checking there was no one down the corridor, she marched to the door of Birna's room and stuck the key in without a moment's hesitation. Swiftly she pushed the door open, slid inside, and closed it behind her. The instant she heard the lock click shut she realized she'd made a terrible mistake. It was a total mess. There was no blood, but clothes were spread everywhere, torn papers mixed in with them. Vigdis realized that she would have to tell the police that someone had broken into the room, but what was she supposed to say she had been doing inside? Dusting? Perhaps she could lie and say she had heard a noise inside, but that would confuse the investigation—they might think it had just happened. With a groan, Vigdis fumbled behind her for the door handle. As she slipped back out, she desperately tried to think up a credible excuse for having sneaked inside.
"IS THIS MEANT TO BE A JOKE? WHO WAS IN CHARGE OF THE CRIME scene?" Thorolfur glared at his subordinate. He gestured at a heap of steel trays containing the objects retrieved from the area around the body on Snaefellsnes. "Shells and dead crabs!" He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temple. A major headache was on its way.
"Um, it was Gudmundur. He's new," Larus mumbled.
"It looks like a ten-year-old's been on a school beachcombing trip. What did this Gudmundur think he was supposed to do? Vacuum the bloody beach? Maybe I should be glad I haven't got an in-box full of sand." He walked around the desk and examined the trays.
"Pebbles," Larus muttered, regretting it immediately when Thorolfur spun around and glared at him. "The . . . the beach is pebbly, not sandy."
My Soul to Take: A Novel of Iceland Page 15
