Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

“Even if she knows something, we have to hope she’s willing to share it with us,” said Thóra, standing up. “We can’t be sure she’ll give him up, even when she realizes what he’s done. Let’s not expect her to jump for joy when we tell her that her friend and relative may be a murderer. It may take longer for her to realize fully what a terrible thing he did.” She frowned. “If he did do anything. I’m far from sure.”

Thóra clapped her hand to her forehead. “Now I know what it is that’s been bothering me,” she said. “It’s the order of inheritance. If the child outlived her mother and grandfather, all the assets are in completely the wrong hands. Of course Grímur wouldn’t have inherited from the child.” They were sitting in the car in the drive outside Kreppa, where they had hoped to find Berta. There was no sign of her car, and the house was deserted.

“What do you mean?” asked Matthew. “Wasn’t he next of kin, once the mother and grandfather were dead?”

Thóra shook her head. “It was the father, of course. The child’s father would have inherited everything upon her death.”

“And that’s probably Magnús,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that. Grímur should never have inherited anything, of course. That’s why he hid the girl and tried to destroy any information about her life, what there was of it.”

Thóra gasped. “What’s more, if his daughter Málfrídur knew about the murder, her inheritance was unlawful too.”

“Doesn’t that go without saying?” asked Matthew. “If her father got the inheritance fraudulently, he isn’t entitled to it, so neither is she.”

“I’m not absolutely sure, but I think the case is different if she knew nothing about the crime. If my theory’s right, she did know, and what’s more, she’s still alive. Her children had power of attorney to sign on her behalf when the land was sold to Jónas. They haven’t formally inherited anything, so whether they knew is irrelevant. The power of attorney stated that their mother was in charge of the parental estate, which hasn’t been through probate, so the question of complicity wouldn’t apply to them.”

“They’ve got a lot to lose,” said Matthew, “and there’s a lot to gain for the child’s father, Magnús.”

“Yes, it’s pretty clear that he wouldn’t have gained much by killing Birna to prevent the child being discovered. Quite the contrary.” Thóra gazed at the old farmhouse through the windshield. “But it’s a different story for Elín and her family. Berta, for instance, wouldn’t have a place to stay here in the west. The house in Stykkishólmur belonged to Bjarni after Grímur got into financial difficulties, and his farm too. If Berta had no home here, Steini would have a pretty lonely life.” She looked at Matthew. “Shouldn’t we speak to him in person?” she said. “We’ve no idea when and where we’ll catch up with Berta. Sóldís must know where he lives, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“But what about Thórólfur?” asked Matthew. “Shouldn’t we let him know, or even get him to go instead?”

Thóra thought for a moment. “No, no. It’s like with the wall. We have to be sure we’re right before we inconvenience the police, and they’ve got their hands full at the moment.”

Matthew and Thóra stood waiting at Steini’s. He’d called out that he was just coming, but they had been waiting a while.

“He’s not very fit—it’s taking him ages,” said Matthew, pulling his jacket closer around him. The temperature had dropped suddenly, and the air was damp, so they were chilled to the bone. “Brr. Are you sure it’s June?”

Before Thóra could answer, the door was opened, but only halfway. “What?” they heard, from beneath the familiar hoodie.

“Hello,” said Thóra as warmly as she could manage. “Do you remember us? We came out to Kreppa yesterday and met you with Berta, and we met down at the inlet too.”

“Yeah, so, what do you want?” Steini’s voice was so muffled that he sounded like he was talking with his mouth full. Thóra suspected this was because he found it hard to open his mouth. She hoped it wasn’t painful for him to speak. Whatever he had or hadn’t done, she felt truly sorry for him.

“We wanted to speak to you,” said Thóra, hoping he would agree to let them in. “It’s about Sunday evening.”

The wheelchair backed away and the door opened wider. “Come in,” he mumbled. Because of his impediment, it was impossible to tell whether he was worried at the prospect of speaking to them. Thóra and Matthew exchanged discreet glances as they entered, but said nothing.

“Have you lived here long?” she inquired companionably as they sat down in the modest living room. At first glance, Steini’s home seemed rather depressing. Everything was neat and tidy, but there was no sign that anyone lived there: no pictures on the walls, no personal effects, only his crutches propped up in the doorway to the living room, which was more welcoming than the hall. There was a vase filled with wild flowers. Thóra supposed Berta had brought them, since it seemed inconceivable that the young man in the wheelchair would have picked flowers and arranged them in a vase.

“Yes,” answered Steini, without elaborating.

“I see,” said Thóra. “I’d better get to the point. We were wondering whether you drove through the tunnel on Sunday evening. A car registered in your name went through at about dinnertime.”

Steini said nothing. His head drooped even more. Then he spoke. “Yes, it was me,” he said. As before, it was impossible to tell from his tone what he was feeling.

“May I ask what you were doing in Reykjavík?” she said.

“No,” replied Steini. He glanced up suddenly from beneath the hood, and Thóra had to steel herself to show no reaction. “Do you think I killed that man?” he asked. Now his feelings were clear enough. He was obviously furious. “Is that what you think?” He pushed himself up out of the wheelchair. He managed to keep his balance by grasping the armrests. One of his legs looked twisted and shrunken. There was no way a healthy limb could stay at that angle.

“No,” she replied hurriedly. “That’s not what we think at all.” She added a white lie to cover her embarrassment. “We thought you might have lent someone your car. We’re trying to work out who was where when Eiríkur was murdered.”

“I was nowhere near there, and not when Birna was murdered either,” said Steini, collapsing back into the wheelchair.

Thóra had grown accustomed to his strange voice, and now she could distinguish almost every word. He still looked very angry, and his breathing was shallow and uneven. Thóra hoped he wasn’t having a fit of some kind.

“An old grave has been discovered at the old farmhouse by the hotel,” she said, hoping to take him by surprise and defuse his temper.

“Get out,” he said unexpectedly. “I don’t want you here.” He rolled the wheelchair toward Thóra.

Matthew, while not understanding the conversation, could see that the interview was over, and that the exchange between Thóra and Steini had taken an unfortunate direction. “Well,” he said, “let’s be going.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. He then turned to Steini to thank him before walking out of the room, making sure that Thóra went first.

“He’s not all there, but he’s hardly capable of murder,” he said when they’d shut the door behind them. Steini hadn’t seen them out.

“But there’s something strange about it,” said Thóra. “His reaction to the news about the grave wasn’t quite natural. Or what he said about the tunnel, for that matter. Could he be covering up for the murderer?”