by Paty Jager
He leaned over the crack, navigating the paperclip down near the hood. The first attempt was a bust. The clip didn’t hook. He bent it a bit wider and hooked the hood. Tugging on the cording, the hood came up enough he could reach in with his arm and pull the coat out.
The coat was rolled up and stashed in his daypack when Harlow came around a corner.
“Hawke what are you doing? The guide sent me in to find you the last place I’d seen you.” His gaze landed on the cording on the floor of the tunnel.
Hawke grabbed the cord, rolled it up, and shoved it in the side pocket of his pack. “Are they waiting for me?” He strode along the tunnel with Harlow scratching behind him.
“Yes. They held one Jeep back for us.” Harlow walked beside him. “What were you doing?”
“Nothing that needs repeated.” Hawke stared at the young man.
“You weren’t trying to do harm to the tunnel were you?” Harlow stopped, grabbing Hawke’s coat sleeve.
“No.” Hawke didn’t want to tell him what he was doing. What he knew of Harlow, the man didn’t seem capable of not telling everything he knew to anyone. “I dropped my camera while taking a photo. I tried to fish it out, but couldn’t get it.”
The man studied him a moment, muttered something, and hurried ahead of him.
At the spot where they’d put the crampons on, a new guide stood with another group of people. Hawke quickly took his ice spikes off and hurried up the culvert to the opening. It was growing dark and starting to snow. He understood why the guide wanted to get going.
Harlow took the front seat and left Hawke to sit with an attendee he’d not met.
The man stared at him. “What took you so long?”
“I had to make a stop at the outhouse,” he said.
Harlow coughed. “It’s called a WC here.”
Hawke remembered seeing the sign for an emergency WC as they’d entered the tunnel and put on their crampons. “Right.”
Harlow hadn’t bought his story of losing his camera. He’d probably be even more interested in what he did since Hawke had changed his story for the man sitting next to him. He didn’t care. He had the coat and he’d turn it over to Böðvarsson as soon as he saw the detective.
On the ride back to Reykjavik on the bus, Hawke texted with Böðvarsson. He didn’t want anyone around him to hear the conversation. He’d sat in the front of the bus, ignoring the two women who’d tried to hide the coat.
Rowena and Kanika tried to ditch the coat. He texted.
Where?
The ice tunnel. I found it. It’s in my pack.
Where are you now?
Hawke tapped the driver on the shoulder. “How much farther to the hotel?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Thanks.”
30 out.
I’ll pick you up.
Copy.
Hawke’s phone buzzed. Dani.
“Hello,” he answered. There wasn’t anything in their conversation no one could overhear.
“Where are you?” Dani asked.
“Almost back to town. I went on that Super Jeep tour to the ice tunnel. We are going there later this week.”
She laughed. “It’s on my list. But if you’ve seen it already...”
“I want to see it with you.” He hadn’t meant for that to sound as intimate as it did.
“Oh, then we’ll have to make sure we go. Will you be back to have dinner with me?”
“No. Detective Böðvarsson is picking me up. He wanted to tell me something he learned today.” He would have enjoyed a meal with Dani and spending a couple hours not thinking about the murder.
“I’ll see you when you get here, then.” She ended the conversation before he had time to say he appreciated her acceptance of his job.
Chapter Twenty-four
Böðvarsson’s car sat in the valet parking at the Marina Hotel when the bus pulled up to the door of the building.
Hawke was the first one off the bus. He hurried over to the car as fast as he could with a knee that ached. He tossed his pack in the back seat and dropped into the passenger seat.
“What happened to you? You didn’t limp before?” Böðvarsson asked.
“One of the women tripped me while the other one stuffed the coat in a crevice. I’ve hurt worse.” Hawke wasn’t going to let a spill keep him from getting the two women arrested.
“Want something to eat?” the detective asked.
“Yes. I’m starving. But not here.”
The man nodded and pulled out of the valet parking and onto the street. “I know a place on the wharf that has good food and a quiet atmosphere.”
When they were settled at the restaurant on the second floor of an old building on the wharf and had ordered their meal, Detective Inspector Böðvarsson pulled his notepad out of his suit pocket.
“I had a long discussion with Kanika’s superior. He didn’t know where she was. She asked to take these two weeks off for vacation in February. He thought she was visiting relatives. She had to have used her own money to attend the conference and fly here.”
“Around the one-year anniversary of Mari’s death, she booked this conference.” Hawke had a suspicion he knew what Böðvarsson was going to say next.
“Mari Odeyna and Kanika were partners on the police force in Machakos. When Mari took her life, he said, Kanika was put on leave for a month and sent to the psychiatrist.”
“It sounds like she is unhinged, too.” Hawke said.
“Unhinged?” Böðvarsson asked.
“Her mind is messed up. Mental issues like Mari.”
“Ahh, yes. He did mention that Rowena Albright attended the funeral. Paid for both the mother and daughter’s burials. He didn’t seem to know Wanza’s condition. He said it was unfortunate that Wanza became sick and died. Which ultimately ate away at Mari.”
Hawke nodded his head. “It seems Mari kept her daughter’s condition a secret from everyone but her psychiatrist, and possibly Kanika.”
“Who, if Mari hadn’t contacted Rowena, must have filled her in when she came to the funeral.” Böðvarsson drank his coffee and plucked a roll from the basket on the table. “I can question Rowena about the coat, since the act of trying to get rid of it, shows one of them wore it to get the rental car and leave the keys and note. However, I don’t know how we can keep Kanika around. The coat belongs to Rowena. It will be tough proving the other woman wore it.”
Hawke had his notes of the interview with Kanika in front of him. He’d been reading them as Böðvarsson mentioned his conversation with Kanika’s superior. He glanced down at the photo of the woman delivering the keys to the hotel. Kanika had complained her feet were cold during the interview. He’d glanced down at her boots. That was why the ones in the photo looked familiar. “The hiking boots. They’re Kanika’s. She must have borrowed Rowena’s coat with the big hood when she went back to get the car and when she was hiding from the surveillance cameras.” He put the photos together along with the notes he’d written while interviewing the woman Wednesday evening. The time frame would fit for when she went back to get the rental car. It also made sense why she walked down to the mud pool asking if they could return to the bus. She’d put her boot prints at the scene in case the others were visible enough to trace. The woman had thought of everything.
“We need to bring her in for questioning, too. I think I’ve figured it out.” Hawke leaned back as the waitress set his heaping plate of seafood on the table in front of him.
Böðvarsson picked up his utensils. “When we finish eating, I’ll go to the office and request they come in for questioning.” He glanced at Hawke. “Do you wish to come with me or go see your friend who arrived today?”
Hawke raised a forkful of white fish to his mouth. “I think we can wait to pull them in until the morning. That will give us more time to pull everything together and give forensics some time to see if there is anything on the coat that will prove they killed Nonni.”
<<>><<>><<>>
“If you’re going to the police station today, I’m going to walk around town,” Dani said, as Hawke rose from the bed and dressed.
“That’s a good idea. If you find something you want to go see close by, go. I’m sure I’m going to be busy all day.” Hawke dropped a kiss on her head as he walked to the door. He’d told her when he’d returned the night before that he appreciated her not complaining about his being caught up in a murder. She’d said what he’d expected. “It is in you to seek justice. That is one of the traits I like about you.” It was sappy, but it made his heart thump with pride and open even more toward the woman.
It was closer to two hours later when the taxi driver dropped him off. Hawke walked in through the front doors of the Hafnarfjörður police station.
The sergeant at the reception area motioned for him to come on through. “Detective Inspector Böðvarsson is waiting for you.”
Hawke nodded and walked down the hall to the detective’s office. The man was on the phone. He waved for Hawke to take a seat.
“Yes, I understand that your husband is arriving today. Yes. I would be willing to meet you at The Kvosin. And Kanika? Where might I catch up with her?” He frowned. “Thank you.”
“You haven’t had anyone bring them in yet?” Hawke asked.
“I arrived to find my commissioner wanting an update on the homicide. We have to visit Rowena at the Valkyrie suite at the Kvosin Hotel. She’s moving there in preparation for her husband’s arrival. I must get someone to catch Kanika at the airport.” He picked his phone back up and spoke in Icelandic.
Hawke stood and paced the office. “She said she wasn’t going home until Wednesday. Why did she change her mind?” Kanika had to be brought in before she got on the plane. Otherwise she could get lost in her own country once she returned.
Böðvarsson ended the call and stood, grabbing the car keys off the top of a pile of folders. “Come on. Perhaps we will have enough from Rowena to help build the case against Kanika when they bring her to the station.” He picked up the case file folder.
Hawke followed the detective out the back of the station and into his sedan. The drive back toward downtown Reykjavik went faster than his trip to the station. Less than half an hour. Böðvarsson pulled up in front of an impressive four-story building that, while it was sided with metal, looked a bit like an old-time saloon and hotel. It had balconies on the middle section of the building and the square tops seen on old west buildings in the movies where the villains stood, waiting to shoot the good guys when they rode into town.
They entered the hotel. Böðvarsson walked straight to the elevators and up to the top floor. It was apparent he knew the Valkryie suite. He knocked on a door with the word Valkryie on a plaque beside the door.
Rowena answered the door. “Come in. Oh, and you brought the Yank cop.” She smiled at Hawke and stepped aside.
He followed the detective into an open seating area that resembled a living room in a residence with large windows and a view of the downtown area. Rowena led them to a long dining room table with a sideboard along the inside wall and a row of windows, looking over roof tops and a view of a clock tower. This high up the view of the smattering of colorful roofs brightened the gloomy day.
“Please have a seat. I ordered coffee and biscuits. They should be arriv—” There was a knock on the door. “That must be them.” She walked over to the apartment door.
Hawke followed Böðvarsson’s lead and remained standing. He’d not dealt with royalty or shirttail royalty before, but it was plain the detective had.
Rowena and a hotel staff person returned.
“Would you like me to stay and serve?” the young woman asked.
“Not today, thank you.” Rowena sat down at the end of the table.
The staff person let herself out.
Böðvarsson sat on Rowena’s right. Hawke walked around and sat on her left.
The woman glanced at him as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him. “I hope you like coffee and biscuits.”
He studied the baked goods on the tray. They looked like cookies to him. “We aren’t here for you to entertain us.”
She stared at him.
Böðvarsson cleared his throat. Hawke glanced his direction and received a frown.
“Mrs. Albright, as I said on the phone, we have some questions to ask you about the woman you roomed with at the conference.” Böðvarsson pulled a curled file out of an inside pocket of his coat.
“Kanika? I don’t know why you’d want to ask me questions about her. I met her when I went to my cousin’s funeral in Machakos. When I learned she was coming to the conference, I thought it would be nice to room together. We could talk about Mari and perhaps heal from her unfortunate death.” The woman sipped her coffee, glancing back and forth between Hawke and the detective.
“Did she ask to borrow your coat Wednesday evening?” Hawke asked.
Rowena studied him, sipped her coffee, and said, “She returned from her outing with your group, freezing, and said she was going to walk to a store and get something for her stomach. I offered my coat because it was much warmer than hers. My clothing is more suited to the weather here than anything she’d brought from Kenya.”
“How long was she gone when she went to the store?” Böðvarsson asked.
Hawke was glad the detective was in sync with the questions he wanted answered.
“I can’t tell you. I met some other Brits and we had drinks and talked until close to midnight. When I came in, she was in bed. My coat was hanging in the closet.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking all of these questions?”
“And Friday? Did she ask to borrow your coat again?” Hawke asked instead of answering her question.
“I’m not sure. I know I wasn’t wearing it. I was at the seminar I’d signed up to help with.” She scowled at him. “Why are you asking these questions? Did Kanika do something wrong?”
“When you and Kanika talked about Mari, was Wanza brought up?” Böðvarsson asked.
“Wanza? What does she have to do with all of these questions?” The woman was starting to get angry.
Hawke glanced at the detective, he nodded, which Hawke took as meaning ‘tell her what we know.’
“We believe Kanika came here to kill the young man who got Wanza pregnant.” He decided not to say more than that and see how she responded.
Rowena leaned back in the chair, her gaze flitting back and forth between them. “You think Kanika killed that young man? Einar’s son?”
“How did she seem when she talked about Mari and Wanza?” Böðvarsson asked again, more gently.
“She talked of Mari as if she had loved her like a sister. They had been close as police partners and spent a lot of time together. She talked a little about Wanza. Mostly that she had broken Mari’s heart when she’d planned to move to Iceland and go to school.”
“Did she tell you that Mari forced Wanza to have an abortion and that was what killed her?” Hawke didn’t believe in being subtle when trying to find a murderer.
The woman gasped and stared at him. “Why would she force Wanza to do something so horrible? Who was the father? Wouldn’t he have helped with the baby and perhaps married her?”
“I believe he would have, had he known about the pregnancy.” The pain he’d seen in Bragi’s eyes when they’d talked about Wanza, he was pretty sure the young man would have married her, and they would have been happy. Instead three lives had been lost by a mother’s misguided beliefs.
“Wanza didn’t tell him?” Rowena appeared perplexed.
“She’d stopped all correspondence with him three months after she left the conference two years ago.” Hawke watched the woman. She appeared as unsettled as anyone would learning all of this news about a family member.
“And the young man who was killed, was he the father?” She studied him closely.
Hawke had a feeling she hadn’t killed Nonni, but he didn’t want to give away the real father in
case she was in this with Kanika. “No, he wasn’t.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Kanika’s revenge wasn’t even on the right person.”
“Correct. We need to get enough proof she did this to hold her for his murder. If she learns she killed the wrong person, she may try again.” Böðvarsson slid the photos of the woman leaving the messages at the two hotels and getting into the taxi in front of Rowena. “Does that look like your coat?”
She picked each one up and studied it closely. “I can’t be certain but it looks like it.” She set the photo down and pointed to the person. “You think that is Kanika?”
Hawke pointed to the hiking shoes. “Do those look like her shoes?”
Rowena leaned down and studied them. “They could be. Again, I couldn’t prove it, but they look similar.” She tapped the photo taken in the Center Hotel. “What is she doing? This one isn’t our hotel.”
“That is my hotel. She was leaving a note for me, trying to put me onto someone else as the killer.” Hawke studied the woman. She seemed to take that in and didn’t say anything.
“And here? She told me she walked to a store, why is she getting in a taxi?”
“She took that back to Krýsuvík to get the rental car she ‘borrowed’ back to the owner.” Böðvarsson emphasized borrowed enough that the woman’s gaze latched onto him.
“By borrow you’re saying she stole it?”
“She returned the keys. That is the photo of her at your hotel.” Hawke decided to tell a bit more and see if she could shed a light. “Tuesday night when a gathering of several ladies were in Kevin Largess’s room at the hotel, Kanika took the keys to his rental car. I don’t know if he made a comment about not going anywhere until Saturday and she figured he wouldn’t even miss the car or she was just being bold and decided that was better than stealing or renting a car to take her to Krýsuvík and follow Nonni.”
“Did you happen to see her take the keys or have them in her possession on Tuesday night or Wednesday morning?” Böðvarsson asked.
Rowena sipped her coffee, picked up a cookie and nibbled on it, and then her eyes widened. “She did spill a glass of water when we were in Kevin’s room. It was on the glass case with all the fishing gear. I remember there being keys on it when I watched her wipe up the mess, but that’s all.” She nibbled the cookie some more. “And Wednesday, I asked her why she was leaving so early when the schedule said the workshop with you didn’t start until nine. She said she wanted to talk with someone.”
