Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

“Hello, Gylfi. It’s Mum. Having fun in Selfoss?”

“You go first,” said Thóra, giving Matthew a gentle shove. “You can pretend to be a horse lover. They’ll believe that, what with you being German.” They were standing in the yard at Tunga hoping to meet Bergur, the farmer. To Thóra’s mind, he had to be the prime suspect in the murder of which Jónas was now accused. They had walked right up to the farmhouse, which seemed to have been built on the cheap. It looked like any other small detached house from the early 1970s, but in worse repair than most. Large blotches showed on the corrugatediron roof where the paint had flaked off, and there were rusty streaks down the dirty yellow walls wherever the steel reinforcing rods were exposed. “Go on, don’t be shy,” urged Thóra.

“You know it’s not that, my dearest,” replied Matthew, wrinkling his nose. “What’s that disgusting smell?” He looked around the yard.

“Isn’t it just a good old country smell?” Thóra inhaled deeply through her nose. “Unless that beached whale is upwind of us. Come on,” she said. “On second thought, I’ll do the talking. It’s probably best just to be honest about it.” She knocked on the weathered front door. On it was a wooden sign with the names of the occupants painted in flamboyant script: BERGUR AND RÓSA. Thóra hoped that the lady of the house wouldn’t answer. Their business was with Bergur, and Thóra didn’t even know if his wife was aware of his relationship with Birna. She didn’t want to be the bearer of news like that, and there would be no way to talk to Bergur without the subject cropping up. She crossed her fingers.

The door opened and a man in his thirties peered out. He was lean but well built, with broad shoulders and powerful biceps. Thóra couldeasily understand what Birna had seen in him—there was something very appealing about his strong features and dark curly hair.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you Bergur?”

“Yes,” the man replied warily.

Thóra smiled. “My name’s Thóra, and I’m a lawyer working for Jónas from the hotel. This is Matthew from Germany. He’s backing me up, so to speak.” Matthew nodded politely. “We wanted to have a quick word with you.” She looked him in the eye. “About Birna’s murder, and the other body that’s been found.”

Bergur glared at them. As Thóra had anticipated, he was far from happy to see them. “I’m not sure I have anything to say to you,” he said wearily. “I’ve been grilled endlessly by the police and I’m simply exhausted. Can’t you just read the witnesses’ statements? I’ve got nothing more to say.”

Thóra’s face fell. “Actually, I prefer to talk to people in person instead of reading their accounts. And the questions I need answered aren’t always asked.” She sighed lightly. “But if you don’t want to talk to us, maybe we’ll just contact your wife tomorrow. I presume she won’t be as tired as you are.”

Bergur hesitated. “She won’t want to talk to you any more than I do.”

“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” replied Thóra. “I’ll call her to explain my business. I’m sure she’ll want to see me.” That should do it, she thought, putting on her best poker face.

Bergur glanced back inside the house, then glowered at Thóra. He pretended not to notice Matthew. “All right,” he said grumpily. “I’ll talk to you, but not here. There’s a little coffee room in the stables where we can sit.” He reached behind the door, put on some shoes, and called loudly, “Rósa! I’m going out.” Then he shut the door behind him without another word, even though his wife had shouted back something unintelligible. He set off in silence.

“These stables,” Thóra called after him as he strode ahead toward a fairly new, corrugated-iron-clad building, “are they where Eiríkur’s body was found?” When Bergur didn’t answer, Thóra rolled her eyes at Matthew—they weren’t making much progress. Then she pointed to her mouth to indicate that he should join in the conversation. He just smiled and shook his head.

They followed Bergur to a large door, which he threw open. “Come inside,” he said.

“Thanks,” Thóra said, amused by Matthew’s expression when the smell of horse dung hit them like a slap in the face. “That’s a nice horsey smell,” she said, out of earshot of Bergur, and winked at him. Matthew had clamped his mouth shut so tightly that it was impossible for him to smile, but his face relaxed a little when they reached the coffee room.

“You can sit here,” said Bergur, pointing to three hard chairs around an old kitchen table. He leaned against a little sink unit on which stood a dirty coffee cup and box that had contained rifle ammunition.

“Thank you,” Thóra said as she sat down. She could see Bergur’s lip curl as he watched Matthew dust off his chair before sitting. “I don’t know if you heard me ask just now,” she said, “but are these the stables where Eiríkur’s body was found?”

Bergur nodded. “Yes,” he said reluctantly.

“And it was you who discovered him, wasn’t it?” Thóra continued. When he nodded silently, she went on. “And you stumbled upon Birna’s body too. Isn’t that weird?” she said disingenuously.

Instead of answering, Bergur stared fixedly at her from beneath his heavy brow, until Thóra was forced to blink. Only then did he speak. “Are you trying to insinuate something?” he snapped. “If so, I’ll say the same to you as I said to the police—I had nothing to do with either of those deaths.”

“Murders,” she corrected him. “They were both murdered. Be that as it may, we know you were having an affair with Birna. So was everything going well?”

Bergur flushed, and Thóra was unsure if it was from anger or shame at discussing his infidelity with a stranger. When he spoke, his voice suggested the latter. “Things were just fine,” he said, thin-lipped.

“And did your wife know about it? What’s her name again?” said Thóra. “Rósa, that’s it. Did Rósa know?”

His blush deepened. “No,” he said. “She didn’t know, and I don’t think she’s heard about it yet. Not from me, anyway.”

“So it was just a fling?” asked Thóra. “I only ask because you kept it hidden from your wife.”

“It had become more than that,” Bergur replied, stung. “I was going to divorce Rósa. The time just wasn’t right.”

“I understand,” she said. “So there’s probably no point telling her now, given what’s happened?”

“That’s none of your business,” he cried, his face blazing now.

“No, you’re right,” agreed Thóra. Her chair creaked as she tried to make herself more comfortable. “I heard one thing about Birna today that strikes me as odd in light of what you’ve just said.” She fell silent, as if wondering whether to let Bergur in on the secret.

“What was it?” His curiosity was aroused.

“No, I’m sure it wasn’t true,” said Thóra, and started examining her fingernails. Then she looked up. “Okay. The day Birna was murdered, she had sex with two men. You, I presume, and someone else—perhaps the murderer, perhaps not. Is it possible your relationship was just a bit of fun for her?”

Bergur drew himself up to his full height and took a deep breath. “I don’t know where you got your information from, but I was told that she’d been raped. You don’t have to be a genius to conclude that the second time was against her will,” he yelled.

“So you’re saying you were one of the two?” asked Thóra.

Bergur sagged back against the sink. “Yes,” he said. “It was fully consensual and hours before she died. We were together in the afternoon, and she was murdered that evening.”