Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

“But . . .” said the old man, his words trailing off. Baldvin said nothing, merely regarded his grandfather inscrutably. “How can you say that?” Magnús managed to say.

Thóra turned in the doorway. “Because if Grímur had realized that Kristín had a father who knew of her existence, he wouldn’t have been able to make her disappear.” She smiled at the two men. “Goodbye. Nice to make your acquaintance.” They left their hosts sitting as if turned to stone.

“That only leaves Bergur,” Thóra said, once they were outside. “He’s the least likely of all, really. I can’t see him getting in a canoe unless he had to, let alone sticking pins into someone.”

“Life is full of surprises, though,” said Matthew, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Who would have thought, for instance, that I would fall for a woman wearing dirty trainers?”

Thóra looked down at her feet and grinned. Her trainers were rather shabby in comparison with Matthew’s freshly buffed shoes. “Maybe the same person who could imagine I would fall for a man with a shoeshine fetish.”

Thóra paced back and forth, trying to jump-start her thought process, with little success. She and Matthew had returned to her room, where she hoped to find inspiration. She marched up and down past the bed, while Matthew sat serenely in the armchair by the window, sipping a beer. “It must be Bergur. There’s no one else left,” he said, setting his glass down. “Unless it’s Jónas.”

Thóra sighed. “We’re screwed if that’s the answer.” She clutched at her hair, and continued pacing. “Is there really no other possibility?”

“I really don’t think so—we’ve run out of men. Bergur and Jónas are the only two left.”

“Pity the killer can’t be a woman,” said Thóra. “I liked Rósa and Jökull as Bonnie and Clyde types. That rather lost its appeal when they turned out to be siblings.” She stopped in her tracks and looked at Matthew. “Have you ever heard of a criminal brother and sister?”

He shook his head. “No, never. Only brothers. The Kray twins, for instance. Never brother and sister.”

“Is it completely out of the question that Rósa could have come across Birna after the rape and killed her?” wondered Thóra aloud. “No, that doesn’t make sense,” she continued.

Someone knocked at the door. Expecting it to be one of the children, Thóra was a little surprised to open the door to Stefanía.

“Hello,” said the sex therapist, smiling nervously. “I just wanted to bring you something. I was actually hoping you’d come to me of your own accord, but apparently that’s not going to happen.” She shifted from one foot to the other, her hands behind her back, and Thóra wondered what she was hiding there. “I can help you,” Stefanía added, still smiling.

Thóra felt a knot form in her stomach. Surely the woman wasn’t here to give her and Matthew advice on sex with an impotent partner? She swallowed the saliva that suddenly flooded her mouth. It would be hard to blame language problems, or claim this was a misunderstanding. “That’s very kind of you,” was all she could say. She didn’t step back from the door, fearing that Stefanía would come in and start talking to Matthew about his imaginary impotence. He would not see the humor in it, that was certain.

“Anyway,” said Stefanía. “I can see you’re busy, so I’ll just leave this with you.” She handed Thóra a small bag and went on. “You can call me anytime. I’ve put my business card in the bag. The appliance is selfexplanatory—it’s a dildo, but the design is completely new and really innovative. Once it has been on for some minutes, it squirts gel out of the front end. It makes the experience far more realistic. It’s new on the market.” She beamed proudly.

Thóra stood gazing into the bag. “Oh. Gel. I see,” she said, embarrassed. Suddenly she had a flash of inspiration. She shoved the bag back to Stefanía and hurried back into the room. “Hang on,” she said to the sex therapist, who was staring at her openmouthed. She returned with the box she’d borrowed from reception when collecting things from the basement. “Is this the same thing?” she asked, pointing out the words “Aloe Vera Action.”

Stefanía gaped at Thóra, clearly doubting her sanity. “Um, no,” she said, watching as Thóra’s enthusiasm gave way to disappointment. “This is the older model. Yours is newer.” She regarded Thóra suspiciously. “Those sold out recently. They were hugely popular. Actually, the last one was stolen,” she added. “Only last week there was a breakin, and I’ve just done inventory and found out what’s missing. I was intending to give you the last one.” She looked at Thóra, still a little confused. “The model I gave you is just as good. The only difference is that the lubricant gel isn’t made with aloe vera.”

“A break-in?” exclaimed Thóra. “When did this happen?”

“Last week,” said Stefanía. “Let me see, I left on holiday on Tuesday and everything was in its usual place, but when I got back on Friday, I saw that the lock had been forced. Birna’s murder was more important, of course, and in any case I thought at first that nothing was missing. Not until just now, when I was looking for the toy for you.”

Thóra hastily thanked the sex therapist and shut the door. She turned back into the room, still holding the box. “Guess what?” she said. “Rósa’s back on the list. Right at the top of it, in fact.”

Matthew gazed at her, bemused by her agitated state. “How did that happen?” he inquired.

“Birna wasn’t killed by a man; it was a woman. The rape was staged to mislead the police.” Thóra placed the box on the floor. “Who would do such a thing?” She answered her own question. “A woman, of course. A woman who didn’t know about the aloe-vera gel.”

Matthew was still regarding Thóra quizzically. “I think you may need to explain this to me a little more clearly,” he suggested, taking another sip of beer.

Thóra took the file of police documents, flipped through it, and passed it to Matthew. She pointed out a photocopied picture of a dildo lying in a steel tray. “It was found on the beach, with a load of other stuff, so the police may not have picked up on it.” Thóra waved a hand toward the box she had borrowed. “It’s the same model as was in there, if you’re wondering how I happen to suddenly be an expert on sex toys.”

Matthew looked at the box, grinning. “I see,” he said, looking back at her. “But I still don’t quite get how it fits together.”

“According to the description on the box, the thing squirts aloevera gel,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. “Don’t ask me why.” She pointed to the picture again. “It’s quite possible that two men’s semen was found in Birna’s vagina, but neither came from a rape.”

“But how can you know that?” asked Matthew. “Although two men have admitted having sex with her, it may not have been consensual.”

“I think the murderer tried to make it look like rape,” she replied, “using the sex toy. It’s the only plausible explanation for the presence of aloe vera. A woman who’s just had sex with two men in one day is hardly going to wander down to the beach with a gadget like this.” She pointed to the picture again. “And why would anyone want to make it look like rape? To deceive the police. It can only mean that the murderer was a woman. Women don’t rape other women, so by making it look like a rape, the murderer would have diverted suspicion away from herself.”

“Well,” said Matthew, “you have a point, but there are plenty of other women who could have killed her. It needn’t necessarily be Rósa.”

“True,” said Thóra, “but it has to be a woman with a good motive, and Rósa certainly had that.”