Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

“How did you manage to go through so many registration numbers and names?” she asked. “How many are there, anyway?”

“About five thousand, but the police were kind enough to go through the list and mark those that might be linked to the murder. They include the cars of some of the hotel staff,” Matthew said. “The rental cars were the problem, because the company is registered as the owner, so those entries aren’t much use on their own.”

“So you’ve compared the numbers with the plates in the car park?” Thóra asked.

“Yes. I found a few rental numbers outside that were on the list, and I enlisted the services of Vigdís,” Matthew said. “She came into the car park with me and told me who owned what. It’s uncanny how good her memory is.” He reached over to the pile of papers and flicked through it. “Unfortunately that wasn’t much help. The drivers of the rental cars are all foreigners, of course, and none of them looks like a suspect. I do know, however, that neither the Japanese father and son nor Robin the photographer took the tunnel that day.”

“Robin said he’d been in the West Fjords,” Thóra said. “That fits in with not taking the tunnel. According to Vigdís, the Japanese never go anywhere, so I’m not surprised they weren’t traveling. What about the others?”

“I don’t know if this means anything, but out of the cars ticked by the police, Bergur went through the tunnel and back before noon, so he’s still in the picture,” Matthew said without looking up. “That stockbroker on crutches didn’t go anywhere—at least, I couldn’t find his name on the list. Actually, I doubt he drives much in his condition. Thröstur, the canoeist, left here in his car at around six. The murder was committed at dinnertime, so he seems above suspicion. He came back much later.”

“How much later, exactly?” asked Thóra. “There is actually a longer route—you go around Hvalfjördur instead of taking the tunnel. He could have driven through the tunnel, then come back around Hvalfjördur, killed Eiríkur, then driven back again—the long way—to the other end of the tunnel and turned around to come back through it.” She grimaced. “It sounds rather improbable, I suppose. If he went through the tunnel half an hour or an hour before the murder, it’s very unlikely that he could get back here, drag Eiríkur out to the stables, kill him, and drive the whole circuit to the tunnel and back in such a short time. I don’t know the exact time range for his death, but they said it was around dinnertime.”

Matthew compared the times at which Thröstur left and returned. “He came back two and a half hours after he went through the tunnel.”

“It’s out of the question, then,” Thóra said. “It would been pretty much impossible, but I still think we ought to sound him out. He may know something. What else have you got there?”

“The staff seem to have stayed here, by and large; at least, there are only a few cars on the list belonging to them. Of course, there’s a chance that I’ve overlooked something, but as far as I can see, only two employees used the tunnel that day. Jökull drove through the tunnel and back two hours later, so he’s still a candidate. The police have ticked another car that Vigdís says belongs to the masseuse. She left around noon and didn’t come back. There was one more female employee flagged up by the police, according to Vigdís. Her name’s Sóldís and she’s a cleaner. She left just after the murder. Vigdís said she was taking her car to a garage in Reykjavík on the Sunday and got a lift back. I don’t recognize the name, but she could have come back any time, because we don’t know who drove her.”

“Sóldís is just a girl, really. She’s very unlikely to be involved,” said Thóra. “I spoke to her briefly before you arrived and she seemed a decent kid. I don’t really think women are in the frame, anyway,” she added. “Not if we assume the same person committed both murders. Remember, Birna was raped.”

“Quite possibly, but the police have marked the names of women as well as men,” Matthew said. “After all, we don’t know that in each case the car’s driver was its owner. The women might have lent their cars to someone; the murderer could have traveled in a car other than his own. The same goes for the men’s cars, of course. We can’t take for granted that they were driving just because they’re the registered owners.”

“No, that’s true,” said Thóra. “So it’s not much help, then, is it?”

“Well,” replied Matthew, “I browsed through some other names on the list, because you never know what the police are looking for.” He thumbed through the pages. “I saw that Börkur and Elín both drove through the tunnel in this direction sometime before the murder. They didn’t go back. Then there’s that Berta girl; she was on her way to Reykjavík an hour before the murder and didn’t come back that day.”

“Do you suppose the brother and sister could be the murderers?” Thóra asked. She frowned. “I hadn’t even thought of that, but it’s hard to imagine why they’d want to kill those two.”

“You never know,” said Matthew. “Oh, yes, I also asked Vigdís about that old guy, Magnús Baldvinsson, and she said he didn’t come in his own car—his grandson drove him here—so he couldn’t have gone anywhere all day, even if we did think him capable of murder.”

“Then there’s Bergur’s wife,” mused Thóra. “It just seems so unlikely that all this could happen on their doorstep without them being involved. He’s Birna’s lover and stumbles across her body; then Eiríkur is murdered in their stables. She had ample reason to want Birna dead, even though I can’t figure out why she would have murdered Eiríkur.” Thóra looked at Matthew. “Don’t you think she must have killed Birna? She was in quite a state in the stables today. Could she have had an accomplice who carried out the rape?”

Matthew shrugged. “Yes, she could, but who? Her friend Jökull, perhaps?”

Thóra groaned and turned to the computer. “I’m famished,” she said, looking at the clock in the corner of the screen. “Shouldn’t we see if we can get something to eat? If we leave it much longer, I’m scared the kitchen will close. The computer will still be here afterward.”

They left the office. Matthew left the list behind and Thóra took care to lock the door so no one could come in and take it. She was by no means sure that the police would give her another copy if it went missing, since she probably wasn’t supposed to have it in the first place. Even if they did, it was unlikely she’d get another copy that had been marked up so conveniently, so they’d be back to square one.

“I hope there’s shellfish on the menu,” Thóra said, as her stomach rumbled, “or maybe meatballs.”

“I fancy a thick sandwich and a beer,” Matthew said. “Anything but whale meat, and don’t feel you have to share your shellfish with me either.” He stopped talking when Thóra tugged gently at his sleeve. She nodded in the direction of a slender girl who was walking up to the lobby with an elderly woman.

“That’s Sóldís,” Thóra whispered, “the one whose name you didn’t recognize on the list.” As they approached her, Thóra waved. “Hello, Sóldís,” she said.

Sóldís and the other woman stopped, and the girl forced out an approximation of a smile. “Oh, hello.”

Thóra introduced herself to the elderly woman and shook her hand. “I’m a lawyer,” she explained, “working for the owner of this hotel. Sóldís has been very helpful with various matters.” The woman introduced herself as Lára. Thóra smiled at her young companion. “I just wanted to ask you one more question, if you’re not in a rush.”