Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

“I doubt it,” said Matthew, holding the car door for her. “If he’s not the killer, then it must be either Bergur or Baldvin. According to your theory, Steini has a grudge against Bergur because he’s related to the person who caused the accident, and as far as we know, he has no connection to Baldvin, so he could hardly be covering for either of them.”

“Damn,” said Thóra. “It was such a good theory.” She got into the car and waited for Matthew to get behind the wheel. “But I quite agree that he couldn’t have done it. He hasn’t the physical strength. I also have my doubts about Bergur. He could have walked over to the hotel, taken the canoe, and paddled across to the inlet to kill Birna, but it’s so illogical. Why wouldn’t he simply drive over there? He wouldn’t have had to pass over the hole in the road, as he wasn’t coming from there. And when is he supposed to have stolen Jónas’s phone and sent the text message to Birna?” She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s in the frame. Baldvin, however, was at the hotel, and he could easily have taken the phone. He was at the séance, but he left before the interval, so he could have hurried down to the jetty, stolen the canoe, gone over to the inlet, and attacked Birna. He had plenty of motive.” Thóra’s phone rang.

“Hi. I’ve found it for you,” said Gylfi. “It’s the Latin name for aloe vera.”

Thóra thanked him and hung up. She looked at Matthew, who was fastening his seat belt. “What?” he asked when he realized she was staring at him.

“Why would a woman put aloe vera in her vagina? Is it used as a lubricant?” she asked.

Matthew laughed. “Why are you asking me? Do I look that worldly? Talk to your friend the sex therapist, not me.” He backed out of the parking space. “Baldvin’s VERITAS car was still outside the hotel when we left,” he said. “Shall we go and have a word?”

“Good idea.” Thóra grinned. “He’s bound to tell the truth, right?”

Matthew turned the wheel and skidded off down the gravel road. “Absolutely. He’s a politician.”

Matthew knocked loudly on the door of Magnús’s hotel room. There had been no answer in Baldvin’s room, so Matthew and Thóra were hoping he was with his grandfather. VERITAS was in its usual place outside, so they must still be around somewhere. Thóra rubbed her hands together as they heard a noise from inside. The door opened and Magnús stood before them. When he saw who his guests were, he scowled, but he looked too exhausted to be intimidating. “What do you want?” he snarled.

“We’re actually looking for Baldvin,” said Thóra politely. “Is he here?”

“Who’s asking?” called another voice from inside the room.

“It’s the lawyer and the German,” Magnús replied, his frail hand still on the doorknob.

“Let them in,” said Baldvin. “We’ve got nothing to hide.”

Magnús opened the door fully.

“Have a seat,” said Baldvin, indicating two chairs. He sat in a third, while his grandfather made do with sitting on the bed. “What can we do for you?” he asked, resting his forearms on the table in front of him. Thóra was transfixed by his large, strong hands, recalling Thröstur’s remark that physical strength was needed to paddle a canoe. Baldvin would have no trouble, even in rough seas.

“I just wanted answers to a few questions,” said Thóra, shifting in her seat. “As I expect you know, I represent Jónas, the hotel owner. He is in police custody, in my view unjustly, for the murders that have been committed here.”

“We know all about that,” snapped Magnús. “If you’re here to try to fit one of us up for the murders, it won’t work. Neither Baldvin nor I had anything to do with them. In general the police arrest the right person, my dear. Maybe you should accept that fact, instead of pestering us.”

“Now, now,” said Baldvin to his grandfather, darting an apologetic smile at Thóra. “We’re both a little bit annoyed because we can’t go home. The police asked us to stay here, as they want to talk to both of us. I’m not qualified to judge this Jónas’s guilt or innocence, but I can declare in good conscience, like my grandfather, that we had nothing to do with it. Just ask your questions and maybe we can convince you.”

“What brought you here on Sunday evening?” Thóra asked bluntly. “Your car was driven though the Hvalfjördur Tunnel.”

Baldvin leaned back in his chair and took his hands off the table. “You don’t mince words,” he said. “I didn’t come here to kill that poor man, if that’s what you mean.”

“So what did you come for?” demanded Thóra. “Surely you didn’t drive all this way just to see your granddad?”

“No,” said Baldvin. “I can tell you everything—I’ve decided to come clean. Although I’m not proud of what brought me here, I won’t try to conceal it.” He sat up straight. “I gather you found the photo, and I understand from the police that you’re aware of Birna’s attempt to blackmail me into ensuring she would win the competition for the new bus-station project.” Thóra nodded. “That woman was extraordinarily greedy,” he said, adding hurriedly, “I’m not saying that justified someone killing her. Not at all. She phoned me; she e-mailed me; she hounded me, basically. She did the same to Granddad, who ended up discharging himself from a rehabilitation program to come up here and try to talk her around. He was devastated that his past had come to be a threat to me.”

“That’s very sad,” remarked Thóra sarcastically, “but you still haven’t told me what you were doing here on Sunday.”

“I came to break into Birna’s room,” Baldvin said candidly. “I’d heard the police hadn’t finished searching the room properly and I was hoping to find the photo. It wasn’t there.”

“And on Thursday?” asked Thóra. “The two of you left the séance just after it started and didn’t go back. What happened?”

Baldvin smiled and gestured toward his grandfather. “Granddad felt faint. He wasn’t well, so we left the séance. We weren’t really interested in it, anyway. We only went because we were hoping to see Birna.”

“Can anyone corroborate this?” Thóra asked.

“Yes, absolutely,” answered Baldvin cheerfully. “I took Granddad up to his room and called a doctor. I got the phone number of a colleague of his who was on duty locally and he came here. I should think he arrived about nine and left around ten.”

Thóra realized at once that this excluded both of them as suspects— in Birna’s murder, anyway. She didn’t need to ask for the doctor’s name; she would leave it to Thórólfur to corroborate the story. “I see,” she said, glancing at Matthew. “Well, I don’t think there’s anything else.” She stood up. “Actually, there is one more thing. I probably ought to tell you, Magnús,” she said, “that the skeleton of a child will be found here shortly. I believe the child was your daughter by Gudný Bjarnadóttir, little Kristín.”

“What?” croaked the old man. “My daughter?”

“Yes, the one Gudný wrote to you about,” said Thóra, taking a chance. “I think Grímur, Bjarni’s brother, who lived on the next farm, killed the child to ensure that he, and not you, would inherit his brother’s assets.”

“Me? Inherit?” echoed Magnús, gray-faced. Thóra noticed that he did not deny having received a letter.

“Actually,” she interjected, “I believe you’ve forfeited your right to the inheritance by your failure to pursue the matter. You knew about the child, and you should have put in your claim for inheritance at that point. In fact, there’s plenty more you should have done. For instance, you could have asked what had happened to the child, or acknowledged paternity at the time.” She went to the door, followed by Matthew. “Perhaps if you’d done the right thing, there’d be no skeleton in the basement.”