Viktor Ingolfsson - The Flatey Enigma

The priest and his wife then arrived at the school at eleven thirty on the dot.

Hogni knocked on the door of the school, stuck his nose inside, and announced their arrival. Stina from the telephone exchange was finishing her statement and had nothing new to add, much to her regret. She remembered that the goodwife from Radagerdi had confidentially told her that the Reykjavik reporter had bragged that he’d solved the Ketilsey mystery. It could also be that she had confided the story to someone else later that evening, she couldn’t quite remember.

“Let the priest’s wife come in first,” Thorolfur said to Grimur, once Stina had left the room. It was clear to him that most of the inhabitants of Flatey had been privy to the reporter’s secret by Sunday evening.

Grimur vanished out of the room and then reappeared in the doorway again.

“The priest’s wife refuses to talk to you without her husband being present,” he said. “I wouldn’t argue with her if I were you. She’s quite adamant,” he added.

Thorolfur smiled. “Bring them both in.”

An extra chair was placed in front of the desk.

“I’m sorry for troubling you,” said Thorolfur with a smile. “We felt we needed to question all the islanders. We feel it’s particularly important for us to talk to the more educated and intelligent members of this community, since you obviously have a clearer perspective on things than some of the local workers around here.”

Frida seemed thrown by this flattering welcome and decided to remain silent and allow Reverend Hannes to answer the questions.

“We’re happy to be of any assistance,” he said.

“Did you meet the reporter this case revolves around?” Thorolfur asked.

“No, not really. He actually knocked on our door early on Saturday evening, but he’d gone to the wrong house. He was looking for alcohol. I shooed him away. After that we spotted him every now and then, strolling around the village or up the pass. We have such a clear view from our living room window.”

“Can you put a time to these movements, particularly on Sunday?”

Reverend Hannes thought a moment. “On Sunday we first saw him at around noon, probably at eleven thirty, when he was coming from Thormodur Krakur’s barn. He prowled around the village a bit after that. Then, of course, we were busy preparing the mass and didn’t see him again until late that afternoon when Benny in Radagerdi escorted him up to Krakur’s shed. Benny then came back on his own at around eight. Krakur brought us his half pot of milk at eight and told us that he had authorized the reporter to sleep in his barn if he needed to. Krakur is a generous man, and people sometimes take advantage of that. He’s also a bit gullible and into spiritism.”

Reverend Hannes glanced at his wife. “Wouldn’t you say that’s true, Frida dear?” he asked. She nodded.

“Was there anyone else walking on the pass that evening?” Thorolfur asked.

This time Frida answered: “Hogni, the teacher, came out from the district officer’s house after dinner at around eight, and the magistrate’s envoy came down at around nine and walked across the village to the interior of the island. Krakur then went back up to the shed at around ten. After that we went to bed and therefore didn’t witness anyone else’s movements.”

Thorolfur jotted down some notes on his sheet and then asked, “Is there anything else you can think of that might be of help to us in this investigation?”

“No,” Reverend Hannes said, shaking his head, but Frida nudged him.

“Don’t you remember?” she whispered.

“Remember what, Frida dear?”

She took the initiative. “People here on the island have been gossiping about the fact that the Dane had been our guest and that we were the last people to see him. That’s simply not true, and I want it to be known.”

“Who saw him last then?”

“When he left us he was going to go to Doctor Johanna to buy seasickness pills. He was so afraid of being seasick. That’s why he left so early. That means that she was the last person to see him, not us, so you can write that down for the record.” Frida punctuated this statement by tossing back her head and crossing her arms.

Thorolfur thanked the priest and his wife for the chat, and the couple said good-bye, telling the policemen that they were welcome at the vicarage anytime. They could even stay with them if the school was uncomfortable. Frida had taken a shine to them.

“We need to talk to the doctor,” Thorolfur said to his assistant when the priest and his wife had left. “All our leads end with her.”

A member of the coast guard crew appeared with an envelope. Thorolfur opened it and read its contents. “Yes, we definitely need to speak to the doctor,” he said, folding the paper again.

Question thirty: The greatest sorcerer. First letter. On the eve of Yule, Svasi the dwarf came to King Harald Fairhair and, using sorcery, turned his mind to a Finnish woman by the name of Sn?frid. Harald married her and loved her to distraction, blinded by Svasi’s spell, which made her seem like the sweetest woman in the world. They had a son together. When Sn?frid died, a veil made by Svasi was draped over her. It possessed such a powerful spell that King Harald found her corpse so bright and vibrant that he refused to bury her and sat by her side for three winters. Then a wise man suggested the veil should be removed from her body and it was done. The body was rotten and gave off a foul smell. Following this, King Harald was so angry about the spell and all the sorcery that he banned the practice of all magic in his kingdom. The answer is “Svasi,” and the first letter is s.

After lunch, Hogni was sent down to the doctor’s house to summon Johanna to an interview. It was still raining and cold. Hogni walked swiftly against the wind, tightly clutching the collar of his jacket under his chin. In less than twenty-four hours, everything seemed to have taken a turn for the worse in Flatey, including the weather. And instead of attending to their seal nets and picking eiderdown, farmers sat at home and waited for the inspectors to track down the monster who had started to kill people.

Hogni knocked many times on the doctor’s hall door and, when no one answered, opened it and stepped into a little hallway. The islanders were not in the habit of locking their houses on Flatey, and it was all right to pop one’s head through the door if the matter was urgent.

“Hello?” he called out, hearing nothing but the echo of his own voice in the small, dark hallway in reply. He could smell odors from the infirmary and pharmacy. All kinds of peculiar scents combined to produce that special mysterious hospital aroma that could feel both menacing and comforting, depending on the circumstances.

Hogni penetrated deeper inside and saw a patient’s room to his right in which there was a hospital bed containing a corpse veiled under a white sheet. Bjorn Snorri Thorvald was lying there, waiting for his removal and final farewell to the house. A flame glowed on a candlestick by the side of the bed.

Johanna wouldn’t have left the house like this, Hogni thought to himself. She must be home.

“Hello?” he called out louder than before.

This time he heard a door open on the floor above, and Johanna appeared on the stairs.

“What is it, Hogni? Are you sick?” she asked.

“No, no, no one is sick. But the inspectors from Reykjavik would like to talk to you. They’re talking to everyone.”

“Yes, I know. Is it my turn then? I won’t be a minute.”

“I’ll wait,” said Hogni. “We can go together.”

Johanna vanished for a moment before reappearing at the bottom of the stairs in her coat. She walked over to her father’s bed, blew out the candle, and locked the room behind her. In the hallway she grabbed an umbrella off a hook.