Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

“Oh, yes,” agreed Thóra. “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?” Thóra asked, remembering what young Sóldís had told her.

“Yes,” replied Magnús. “He shut himself away and refused to go to a sanatarium in Reykjavík. He died a few years later.” He took a deep breath. “But not before he’d infected Gudný, 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 Reykjavík to be looked after.” Magnús shook his gray head sorrowfully. “Shortly after that, Grímur moved to Reykjavík with his daughter, Málfrídur. 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 Kristín?” asked Thóra. “Who was she?” Magnús stiffened. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. “Was there anyone by the name of Kristín at either of the farms?”

Magnús’s face was stony. “No. There was no Kristín 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 Magnús, standing up. He swayed a little and Thóra feared for a moment that he might faint, but he regained his balance and gestured at the door. “Goodbye.”

Thóra 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 Kristín? And who was she, anyway?

I advise you to clear your schedule for the next few days,” said Thórólfur, the detective, solemnly. He was phoning from Reykjavík. “That is, if you intend to act as your client’s counsel.”

Thóra sighed. “I don’t know if I can. I need to get back to Reykjavík 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 Jónas. 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. Thóra hated to be patronized, but she had to stay on good terms with the police for Jónas’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 Thóra dialed Jónas, who was borrowing Vigdís’s phone while the police still had his. He had found Thóra an antiquated mobile the size of a brick, into which she’d put her own SIM card. After what had happened before, Thóra doubted the police were in any hurry to return her phone.

Jónas 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?” Jónas sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yes, of course,” replied Thóra. “Have you forgotten that text message? Naturally you’re a suspect.”

“But I didn’t send it. I told you that.” Jónas 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.” Thóra 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 Jónas 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.”

Thóra couldn’t help laughing. “The police will find the murderer, Jónas. Don’t worry. If you’re innocent, you’ll go free.”

“I’m not so sure,” Jónas said dubiously. “I want you there when I’m questioned.”

“Fine,” said Thóra. “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 Thóra. “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 Jónas cheerily. “Children love nature and they’ll find plenty to occupy themselves down on the beach.”

Thóra 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 Thóra groaned as she turned to Matthew.

“What?” he asked, curious. “That’s not a very happy noise.”

“No, it isn’t.” Thóra frowned, fidgeting with her heavy telephone. “Jónas 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.”

Thóra 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,” Thóra 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, Thóra 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. Thóra 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.”

Thóra 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 Thóra’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 Jónas at the interrogation,” Thóra said, then thought for a moment. “We ought to try to meet more guests or locate Eiríkur, the aura reader, who’s the originator of the ghost stories. Jónas said he was expected back yesterday.”

Matthew looked crestfallen. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, and I wasn’t planning on involving the other guests, or an aura reader.”