Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

“Visitors, Steini,” said Berta, and he mumbled something unintelligible in reply. “Help yourselves,” she said, pointing to some china cups by the sink. “Don’t worry, I’ve washed them.” She grinned.

“Thank you,” said Thóra. “I hadn’t realized how much I needed a coffee.” She poured a cup for Matthew and one for herself. “Isn’t this an awful lot of work for you?” she asked, after taking a sip.

“Oh, yes,” Berta agreed vigorously. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I offered to do it.” Then she added, “Actually, it’s quite fun. It’s weird handling all these objects that my great-grandparents cared about so much.”

“I can imagine,” said Thóra. “We dropped in to take a look at the room Birna was working in. We understand she’d set up an office here, is that right?”

“Yes, upstairs,” Berta replied. “Shall I show you? There’s not much in there, only drawings and stuff—no computer. She used a laptop and never plugged it in here.” She gestured at the socket where the coffee maker was connected. “The plugs are so old that you need an adapter for them. Birna was afraid the electricity was unreliable and didn’t want to risk damaging her computer. She always charged it at the hotel before she came.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Matthew. “We’re not necessarily looking for her computer. We just want to see what she was up to.”

Berta narrowed her eyes skeptically. “Do you think her murder was connected somehow with the building she was designing? Doesn’t it seem obvious to you that the murderer was some psycho who raped her?”

“No, it’s not at all obvious,” Thóra replied, deciding not to mention Jónas’s arrest just yet. That might make Berta think Thóra and Matthew were working for the murderer, and she might refuse to assist anyone connected with her friend’s death. “But it seems unlikely that her architectural designs had anything to do with the murder. We just want to see whether there’s something in there that could help explain it.”

“I see,” Berta said. “I haven’t been in there since the murder,” she added. “I expected the police to search the room, so I didn’t want to disturb anything. They haven’t come, though, so perhaps it doesn’t matter.” She looked at Thóra. “You’re a lawyer, aren’t you? For Jónas and the hotel?” she asked.

“I am,” Thóra said, praying the girl wouldn’t start asking about her client.

“Then I don’t see why you can’t go in there,” she said. “You’d hardly compromise the investigation, would you?”

“God, no,” Thóra lied fervently. “I’d never do that. We’re not going to take anything, just have a look around.” She sipped her coffee. “This is great coffee.” She smiled.

“Thanks,” said Berta. “Some people think I make it too strong.” She tilted her chin toward Steini.

“It is too strong,” said a voice from beneath the hood. “Much too strong.”

Matthew clearly didn’t feel as awkward as Thóra, because he answered Steini at once: “Put more milk in it. That’s the trick,” he said in a perfectly normal voice. “You ought to try it. Cream’s even better.”

“Maybe,” said Steini. “I prefer Coke.”

Berta smiled warmly at Matthew, and Thóra wished she could think of something to say to the young man. The girl’s affection for him was rather touching.

“Shall I show you, then?” Berta said suddenly. “Steini and I were about to call it a day anyway.” She went over to the hall door.

“Please do,” Thóra replied, putting down her cup. Matthew did the same. “You can leave if you want,” she said as they followed Berta. “We won’t take anything or do any damage.”

“That’s okay,” Berta said. “I have a few bits to finish off.”

The three marched in single file up the stairs and to the door to Birna’s room. It turned out to be the room that Thóra and Matthew hadn’t been able to get into when they first visited the house.

“I locked it as soon as I heard about the murder,” said Berta, rattling the key in the stiff lock. With a deft twist she finally managed to turn it and she opened the door. There was a bottle of fizzy drink on the desk, an ashtray stood on the windowsill, and various other trappings of modern life were scattered around the room. As in Birna’s hotel room, drawings were pinned to the wall, mostly sketches, but some printouts.

Thóra examined the drawings on the wall, showing the planned location of the annex and several cross sections. “What’s this?” she asked, pointing to a sketch of a building with pine trees behind it. Buses and pedestrians had been added to the picture. “Surely this wasn’t her idea for the annex to Jónas’s hotel?” The building was a mass of glass and she could hardly imagine hotel rooms with only windows for walls.

Berta walked over to the drawing as well. “God, no,” she said. “Birna showed me her plans for the building and they were nothing like this.” She stooped to examine one corner of the printout. “It’s dated a week ago,” she said, “and it wasn’t here last time Birna invited me in.”

“But it was here when you locked the room, wasn’t it?” Matthew asked. “It can’t have been hung up after she died, surely?”

The girl wrinkled her brow as she tried to remember. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “I only put my head around the door before I locked the room and I simply can’t remember if this drawing was on the wall or not.” She looked embarrassed, almost guilty, as if she had been somehow negligent. “But no one’s been in here since I locked up. I’m sure of it.”

“When exactly was that?” asked Thóra.

“On Saturday,” Berta replied. “I don’t remember the time, but it was in the afternoon. Does that matter?” she asked anxiously. “Do you think the murderer came here?”

“No,” Thóra reassured her. “I doubt it very much. Not many people seem to have known about this hideaway of hers.”

She went over to the desk. More drawings were spread all over it, along with a few credit-card receipts. They told her nothing, except that Birna was a customer of Esso and the Hvalfjördur Tunnel. The desk drawers were warped shut, and it took all her strength to open them. Two were completely empty, while one contained a pencil, a sharpener, and a key on a metal fob stamped with a logo she didn’t recognize. She picked up the key. It was too small to fit a door, a car, or anything else Thóra could think of. “Do you know what this is for?” she asked.

Berta shook her head. “No idea,” she said, “but it’s certainly Birna’s because it wasn’t in the drawer when she moved in. I cleared the room out before that.”

Thóra put the key in her pocket. “I’m just borrowing it,” she told the girl. “Don’t worry about the police. I’ll hand it over if they want it.”

“I don’t care,” Berta said. “I just want the murderer to be found. I don’t mind who does it.”

“Are we done here?” Matthew said when they had searched the whole room. “Are there any more of her belongings in the house?”

“There could be a glass downstairs,” Berta said. “Yes, and boots in the hallway. Do you want them?”

Thóra smiled. “No, no. But tell me one thing,” she said. “Birna was particularly interested in a hatch outside. Do you happen to know why?”

The girl shook her head slowly. “No, but it was presumably when she was considering an extension to this building,” she said. “That was almost two months before I first met her here.”

“No, this was after that, very recently,” Matthew said. “Do you know the hatch we’re talking about?”

“Yes,” she said. “I think so. There’s only one hatch outside. Do you want to take a look at it?”