Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

He groaned. “It had better be.” He thrust the shovel into the ground and put his hands on his hips. “There you go.”

Thóra came up beside him and peered into the shallow hole. “It looks like some kind of foundation.”

Matthew scratched his forehead. “For a building? Do you think a house stood here?” He picked up the spade and scraped more earth away on either side. “I’ll be damned.”

“Can you see what I can see?” Thóra said as she bent down. She stood up again and showed him the palm of her hand. “Ash.” She looked at Matthew. “This building has burned down.”

“Like in the child’s drawing?” Matthew asked. He fell silent, then said, “Wasn’t there someone inside the burning house in the picture?”

She hung up.” Thóra grimaced. She looked at the screen of the mobile Jónas had lent her. “Unless I lost reception.” She shook her head. “No, she hung up.”

“Are you surprised?” Matthew asked. “She and her brother practically threw you out of their house this morning—she’d hardly be dying to speak to you.”

“No, perhaps not,” Thóra said grumpily, putting her mobile back in her pocket. “It would just have been really helpful to know what building used to stand here.” She and Matthew were now at the edge of the lawn, as there was no mobile connection by the rock. “Maybe her daughter, Berta, knows something,” Thóra mused. “Hopefully I haven’t offended her too.”

“I doubt it,” Matthew said. “But she’ll turn her back on you pretty quickly if you start asking questions about that friend of hers with the wheelchair.”

“No,” said Thóra. “I’ll steer clear of that for the time being. Right now I just want to find out more about this building.” They set off toward the hotel. When they passed the patch where Matthew had dug down to the foundations, Thóra came to a halt. “How come Birna didn’t know about this? She seems to have spent a lot of time thinking about this patch of land, if her diary is anything to go by.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” replied Matthew. “Jökull mows the lawns, so he’s probably the only one who knew about the uneven ground here. There was clearly no love lost between him and Birna, so he wouldn’t have told her about it even if she’d asked.”

“But someone’s been here looking for something. If they were trying to find the foundation, they can’t have been very observant. None of the holes were anywhere near the raised area.”

“You can hardly call them holes,” Matthew reminded her. “But I agree that if our mysterious digger was looking for the house that burned down, he wasn’t much of a detective.”

“I almost want to go back down into the basement to check the boxes thoroughly,” Thóra said, her mind racing. “Maybe something in them would show us what was here. A photo perhaps.”

He looked at his watch. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Don’t you have to go to fetch your kids and the trailer?”

“That can wait until tonight,” she replied. “I phoned Gylfi just now and they’re happy enough for the moment. They’re going to walk over to a shop not far from where they parked.” She crossed her fingers. “I just hope his girlfriend’s let her parents know they’re okay. I’m not phoning them, that’s for certain. They never shut up about the trouble Gylfi’s got their little baby girl into. They think it’s all my fault.”

“What about your ex?” asked Matthew. “Do you think Gylfi will tell him?”

“I hope not,” Thóra said. “Hannes can worry himself sick for all I care. It’s his fault they ran off in the first place.” She patted the pocket with her mobile in it. “I’ve got hundreds of unread messages from him. I’ll check them when I have time, or—” Her mobile rang and she fished it out of her pocket. It was Bella.

“Hello,” said Thóra. “How did it go?” While she was talking to her secretary, she rummaged in her pocket for a pen and paper. “No Kristín, you say?” She scribbled down what Bella was saying. Then she rang off and turned back to Matthew. “He’s buried there alone. No Kristín in any of the nearby graves.” She sighed, disappointed. “His gravestone is inscribed with his name, dates of birth and death, and a short verse.”

“What fun,” Matthew said. “More poetry. Go ahead.”

Thóra read Bella’s message from the piece of paper:

She looked up at Matthew. “Actually this one rings a bell, unlike the other verse, which I’ve never heard before. I might be able to find it on the Internet. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s from The Sayings of the High One.”

Matthew tapped her on the shoulder. “The police seem to have called out reinforcements,” he said, pointing to the patrol car pulling up at the hotel. “I don’t think you’ll be going down to the basement just yet.”

“Why don’t you want to come outside? ” asked Berta, opening the curtains. The dim room brightened up at once. “It’s gorgeous weather outside.” She stood looking out for a while, then turned away from the window. “Come on, it’ll do you good.”

“You go,” Steini said curtly, picking at a little loose flap of rubber on one wheel of his chair with his good hand. “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t be like that,” said Berta. She walked over and crouched so their faces were at the same level. Often she found he responded better if she made eye contact. “I promise you’ll feel better if you get some fresh air. Something’s clearly bothering you, and who knows, it might help to have something else to occupy you.”

“It won’t help,” answered Steini, still scowling.

Berta had got used to his monosyllabic replies. His speech was impaired by the burns on one side of his mouth, where the skin of his lips had somehow fused together. Berta had always been astonished that the doctors hadn’t done a better job, and she had a suspicion that Steini had refused to undergo further surgery; he refused to discuss it whenever she asked. He couldn’t still be on the waiting list, as he had told her once. A much more plausible explanation was that he hadn’t recovered from the pain and discomfort of his first operations and couldn’t face any more. The week before, she had heard a message from Steini’s physiotherapist on his answering machine, asking him to call back to discuss resuming his treatment. Steini had clammed up completely when Berta asked him to return the man’s call. He obviously needed more time to recover, mentally as well as physically.

“We can go for a drive if you’d rather,” she suggested gently. “I’m up for anything, but I do think we should go somewhere.”

“Anything?” echoed Steini, looking her right in the eye without blinking.

“Almost anything,” Berta replied, feigning cheerfulness as she stood up. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but she didn’t feel confident about going there. Not now, and preferably not ever. “You know what I mean.” She put a hand on his knee. “Come on. Please?”

Steini yanked the little tag of rubber off his tire. “Don’t you ever get scared?” he asked.

“Scared?” said Berta, taken aback. “What have I got to be scared of?” She smiled. “Summer’s coming.”

He looked at her in silence for a while. Then he stared down at his lap. “I feel bad.”

A pang shot through Berta’s stomach. She could not bear to see him in this state. Things were bad enough for him already. It was so unfair. Why had he had to come away from the accident so damaged? Plenty of people walked away from accidents without a scratch on them. If only she hadn’t telephoned him …