"It's a personalized number plate," he replied. "There weren't that many, so it stood out." He flicked through the list. "Here it is. An hour before Eirikur was killed, this car came through the tunnel from Reykjavik." He handed the list back to Thora and pointed to the entry. "There. 'Veritas,' " he said. "I specifically remember this one because it made me wonder what the owner's job could be. I couldn't think of anything connected with 'truth,' unless he was a mathematics teacher."
Thora took the list from him and read the owner's name. "Not quite," she said, putting it down again. "He's a politician. Baldvin Baldvinsson, the grandson of old Magnus, whom we talked to." She stood up. "What's he doing back here again?"
"Visiting his grandfather, perhaps?" suggested Matthew. "Or maybe he's drumming up votes."
"Let's ask him," said Thora. "If his registration plate is accurate, at least he'll tell us the truth."
BALDVIN STOOD IN THE LOBBY, DRUMMING HIS FINGERS ON THE reception desk while he waited. Vigdis had her back to him, working on the computer. Thora hoped she was reasonably well paid, because she seemed to be at the reception desk around the clock.
"Don't you ever take a break?" she asked as she approached Baldvin with Matthew. Rather than confront him directly, Thora had decided that talking to Vigdis would be a good start. Since he appeared to be waiting for something, he was unlikely to leave immediately.
Vigdis looked over her shoulder at Thora. "Oh! Yes, of course I do. Jonas was going to take this shift but . . ." She hesitated. "You know. He meant to hire someone for the other shift, but he never got around to it." After tapping at the keyboard for a moment, she turned to Baldvin. "You can have room fourteen. It's next door to your grandfather." She handed him the key.
Thora turned to Baldvin. "Aren't you Magnus's grandson? The city councilor?"
Baldvin was startled. He looked tired, which only heightened the striking resemblance to his grandfather. Remembering the photographs of Magnus as a young man, Thora wondered what it must feel like, knowing exactly how the years would treat you. "Er, yes, I am," he answered. "Do I know you?"
Thora proffered a handshake. "No, but I've heard about your grand-father. I was a friend of Birna's." Before releasing her firm grip on his hand, she asked bluntly, "You knew her, didn't you?"
Baldvin looked as if he had swallowed a fly. He gulped convulsively, then was back to his normal self. "A friend of Birna's, you say? Unfortunately I don't think I know anyone called Birna."
"Really?" Thora said, but decided not to push her luck. She still hadn't let go of his hand and his palm had gone clammy. "Are you sure? Weren't you here on Sunday?"
Baldvin tensed up, but she didn't know if this was because of her tight grip on his hand or the question. "Me? No, you must be mixing me up with someone else." He flashed a smarmy smile.
"Am I?" Thora feigned surprise. "I thought I drove up here through the tunnel directly behind you. Maybe I am getting mixed up." She finally released her grip and Baldvin jerked his hand back as if she had leprosy.
"I think you must be. I was somewhere else then." He turned to Vigdis. "Thank you," he said, then, "Nice to meet you," to Thora, with another pearly grin. A true politician.
"You too." Thora beamed back. When he'd gone, she turned to Matthew and whispered urgently, "He's lying through his teeth." Then she asked Vigdis, "Do you remember him being here on Sunday evening?"
Vigdis shook her head and yawned. "No, I've only met him twice before," she said. "The day he dropped his grandfather off and the evening of the seance."
Thora clutched the edge of the reception desk. "Was he here then?"
"Yes, I just told you," said Vigdis indignantly. "He had dinner with his grandfather. Then they went to the seance. I think they soon realized it wasn't their cup of tea, because they'd left by the interval."
Thora widened her eyes at Matthew. He gestured toward Vigdis, who was standing up to leave. Thora realized at once what he meant. She was holding a key identical to the one they had found in the desk at Kreppa.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, surprised that they were still standing there. "Was the kids' room all right?"
"Oh, yes," Thora replied, staring at the key. "Would you mind letting me have a look at that key?" She produced hers. "I came across one just the same and I was wondering what it fits."
"This is the key to my staff locker," she said, reluctantly showing her. "If you found one, it must belong to someone who works here. People do lose them."
Thora compared the keys. They were virtually indistinguishable. She handed back the other. "I don't think it belongs to one of the staff," she said. "Do you know if Birna had a locker at her disposal?"
Vigdis pursed her lips, thinking it over. "Not as far as I know, but she could have. The lockers were only installed recently. She chose them and ordered them. Maybe she kept one for herself." Vigdis walked around the desk. "Come with me," she said, setting off. "There aren't many lockers, so it won't take long to see if it fits."
Thora and Matthew followed Vigdis to the staff room, where there was a row of steel lockers along one wall.
"Shall I just start?" asked Thora, brandishing the key. "I won't rummage around in anything and if the key fits a locker that belongs to someone else I'll close it immediately. I just want to know if Birna possibly kept some of her stuff hidden away. I don't want to bother the police with this if it turns out to be of no consequence."
"Sure, whatever," said Vigdis. "You don't need to try number seven: that's mine."
Thora tried the locks. She didn't need much time, because the key fit on her third attempt. It gave a little click as it turned. She carefully revolved the chrome handle and opened the locker. With a deep breath and a glance at Matthew, she peered inside. Almost at once she pulled her head out, disappointed. "Empty. Damn." She stood aside to let him take a look. When he put his head inside and didn't withdraw it immediately, she tapped his back impatiently. "What? Can you see something?"
Matthew twisted to peer up at the roof of the locker. "Something's been stuck up here," his voice echoed from inside the hollow space. "Do you have any tweezers?" he asked, straightening back up. "We don't want to cover it with fingerprints if it's something important."
Thora looked over at Vigdis. "Is there a first-aid kit here?" Sticking her head into the locker, she noticed a small white rectangle of paper taped to its top. The edges were slightly curled. "What on earth is that?" she wondered aloud, as she took a pair of tweezers from Vigdis. "I guess we should leave this for the police but until we know what it is we can't be sure. For all I know it could be the manufacturer's guarantee for the lockers or an installation guide."
Matthew and Vigdis watched as she tried to remove the tape, although they could see little more than her back.
"Bingo!" she said, extricating herself with the white piece of card gripped in the tweezers. "It's a photograph." She turned it over. "Oh!" She flipped it around to show the others.
"Good God!" exclaimed Vigdis. "Baldvin Baldvinsson! I didn't know he was a neo-Nazi!"
"It's not Baldvin," said Thora, placing the photograph on the staff-room table. "It's his grandfather, Magnus. It was taken years ago."
"Jesus, they're dead ringers," marveled Vigdis. "I'd have thrown that photo away if I were Magnus. Or Baldvin."
"Perhaps they never got the chance," said Thora. She turned to Vigdis. "Don't tell a soul about this," she said.
"God, no," replied Vigdis. "Of course not." She was already trying to remember her friend Gulla's phone number and calculating what time Kata would arrive at the beauty parlor the following morning. Of course, they could be trusted. Everyone knew that telling your best friends counts as not telling a soul.
She collected her handbag from her own locker and went back to reception. As she passed Matthew, she placed a hand on his shoulder and told him kindly that her ex-husband had suffered from bouts of impotence and that Viagra had helped him regain his manhood. Bewildered, Matthew watched her walk away.
It dawned on Thora that the sex therapist's oath of confidentiality was not as sacrosanct as Stefania had implied. Thora shrugged. "They're all a bunch of weirdos around here," she said, feigning innocence. Then she gave a weak smile. "I suppose I should go and put Soley to bed. It'll be a while before I get to bed myself, the way things are turning out."
Thora was back at Jonas’s computer again. “ It all fits,” she said as she scanned the Google results for "Baldvin Baldvinsson." She opened a few links that contained nothing of interest, but she kept idly clicking while they talked.
"How?" asked Matthew. "I admit that a photograph like that, hidden in a place like that, suggests that Birna wanted to prevent it being found. The only person likely to want it is Magnus, but he's too old to kill anyone. Besides, I'm not exactly sure why he would want to murder Birna, even if he knew she had the photo."
"I don't think he's the only one, actually," Thora said. "His grandson, Baldvin, has much more to lose. It says here that he's entering the primaries for the parliamentary election next spring and a recent newspaper article pointed out just how much he resembles his grandfather in every way. A photo of his grandfather in Nazi uniform, which could just as easily be of him, could sink his campaign." She looked up. "This man drives around in a car with a registration plate that says veritas. It's obvious what impression he wants to give. Nazis aren't exactly part of his image. Part of the reason for his stellar political career is his grandfather. If the old man's reputation is tarnished, it will smear Baldvin, although he wasn't even a twinkle in his eye at the time."
"So what was Birna's motive?" wondered Matthew. "Why didn't she simply hand over the photograph? Was she trying to blackmail them? Neither of them looks seriously rich. That car with the veritas plates is just an old Jeep."
"When she found the photograph, presumably in that old album in the basement that seemed to have one missing, she might have taken it out just to examine it more closely. Obviously she was shocked to see a well-known person in it. Then she must have realized that she could turn it to her advantage, and I suspect that she wanted something other than money from them," Thora said, clicking yet another link. She read briefly, then looked up again. "This is quite interesting," she said. "Baldvin is on the council committee to select a design for a new bus station they're building in Reykjavik. You remember that drawing of the glass complex on the wall at Kreppa? There aren't many wooded areas in Iceland. The proposed site by the hill on Oskjuhlid is one of them. There were buses in the drawing." She stabbed her finger in the air triumphantly. "She was clearly determined to win that commission. That could also explain why she phoned him."
Matthew looked dubious. "Are you saying she would blackmail Baldvin into swaying the committee, just to win this project?" He shook his head. "I'm not sure I believe that."
"For an architect in Iceland, that sort of project is like a lottery win," she said. "It's a large public building in a busy place, and the designer becomes a household name at once. People queue up with new projects for them. That's the way it works here, and surely in other countries too."
"But how can one member of a committee sway its choice?" he asked. "The others must have some say as well."
"Of course," said Thora. "But he has access to information that isn't available to the other architects competing for the project, so he can find out the other members' priorities and so forth. Although all design competitions usually have to stipulate the basic requirements, the winning proposal often deviates slightly from the original specifications. For instance, if an architect knows that the committee actually wants a larger building than they're asking for"—Thora shrugged—"he or she has a definite advantage. And I'm positive that one person can swing the rest of a committee if he's a smooth talker who knows what he wants. I saw on one Web site that when Baldvin was at school, he was the debating champion two years in a row. He must be a very persuasive speaker."
"So what are you going to do?" asked Matthew. "This isn't watertight, and it doesn't explain Eirikur's murder either."
"Do you remember Baldvin's e-mail in Birna's diary?" Thora asked.
"Yes," Matthew said. "Are you going to mail him?"
"No," Thora said. "I'm considering taking a little chance." She picked up the telephone. "I'm going to ask the police to search her computer for e-mails to Baldvin. They must have it in their custody, and it's by no means certain that they would have been looking for e-mails to
him."
When the telephone was finally answered after a long wait, Thora introduced herself and tried to sound as official as possible. "Could you put me through to Thorolfur Kjartansson, please? I know it's late, but this is in connection with the murders on Snaefellsnes. I need to pass on an urgent message, or preferably speak to him in person."
She whistled along with the Muzak on the line as she waited to be connected. After a while it stopped and a weary Thorolfur said,
"What?"
Thora lay on the bed with her arms around her daughter. She had carried her—fast asleep—out of Gylfi and Sigga's room and into her own, more from fear that Sigga would give birth all over her daughter than anything else. Matthew had moved back to his room without protest, and she was extremely grateful because she had quite enough to occupy her mind. Mainly she was apprehensive about the following morning, afraid that Thorolfur would not take the bait, which would leave her little more to do for Jonas than put up a standard defense. That was an awful prospect.
More thoughts plagued her, though. If either Magnus or Baldvin had murdered Birna, there was no visible explanation for their wanting to kill Eirikur, nor any link with them. Was he Birna's accomplice? What purpose did the fox serve, and what did "RER" mean, if anything?
Kristin was bothering her most. Thora had discovered that she was Gudny's daughter, but that seemed irrelevant to the case. More thoughts crowded her mind but she was too tired to focus on them and they soon merged into one amorphous mass: coal, walls, horses, deeds of sale, lapsed claims, a broken leg . . .
She woke with a start to the sound of a baby crying. In a daze, she freed her arm from beneath her sleeping daughter's head and sat up. The sound came again and she got out of bed and went to the window, but could see nothing in the half-light. Somewhere out there, the strange wailing resumed, then stopped as suddenly as it had started. Thora shut the window and arranged the curtains securely to block the view outside. A newborn infant dragging itself along by one arm in bloodstained swaddling clothes suddenly did not seem as preposterous as it had when she was teasing Matthew. She jumped back into bed with her daughter, determined not to mention this to anyone. She must have imagined the whole business. Through the closed window, she vaguely heard the pitiful crying start up again.
Chapter 30
TUESDAY, 13 JUNE 2006
Dressed in a black robe trimmed with dark blue satin, the judge glared at Thora. He had cupped his hands over his chin, covering his mouth, and she felt he might just as easily be poking his tongue out at her behind them, or hiding a grimace of boredom. "Would the defense counsel please continue," he boomed. "This is most interesting."
Thora smiled politely. "As I have pointed out, I came across this piece of evidence by sheer coincidence and informed the police of its existence immediately. I reject the prosecution's argument that I should have contacted them before removing the photograph, because I couldn't tell what significance it would have for the investigation until I saw what it showed. To do so, I had to remove it. I took every precaution not to disturb anything and touched it only with tweezers."
"CSI: Miami?" asked the judge, and removed his hands from his mouth. He smiled at Thora.
"Yes, you could say that," said Thora, smiling back.
The judge turned to the official from the district commissioner's office, which had requested that Jonas be detained in custody. "It appears that the commissioner's office did not make a
proper investigation. Instead of objecting to the defense counsel's arguments, you ought to thank her for her assistance, otherwise the photograph in question might never have come to the notice of the authorities."
The official asked permission to respond and stood up. "It's true that we welcome this piece of evidence, and of course we shall examine this new angle on the case. An officer was sent to the scene immediately, even though this happened late last night, and the photograph is being examined as we speak." He cleared his throat. "However, we see no reason to reject the request to remand the suspect on these grounds alone. His alibi is inadequate, and he is still the chief suspect in these heinous crimes. The photograph alone does not alter that fact."
"How do you answer this, counsel?" the judge asked Thora.
"The photograph is far from being the only evidence. Baldvin Baldvinsson's car went through the Hvalfjordur Tunnel on Sunday at 17:51. That would have taken him to Snaefellsnes in time to commit the second murder, even though he denied to me ever making that journey. The police presumably have a comparable list of traffic for the day that Birna was murdered, and I am informed that Mr. Baldvinsson was also present at the hotel on that day. He attended a seance that was held in the evening but left before the interval, which means that he had every opportunity to kill Birna. The police are undoubtedly in possession of email communications between Baldvin and Birna, but I have not been given the chance to see them, or indeed any other evidence apart from the list of traffic through the tunnel on Sunday, which they were kind enough to pass to me." Out of the corner of her eye, Thora saw Thorolfur shift in his seat. He was clearly burning to correct this fabrication, but the only way to do so was to admit that he had accidentally left the list behind, so he had to restrain himself.
Thora continued, "I should also point out that Eirikur may have intended to abbreviate the name of Reykjavik on the wall but did not manage to write the final letter correctly. The K may have come out as an R. It should be remembered that throughout his efforts a crazed stallion was in the process of trampling him to death. 'R-E-K' could refer to Baldvin's position as a Reykjavik city councilor. REK is a common abbreviation for Reykjavik."
My Soul to Take: A Novel of Iceland Page 28
