My Soul to Take

CHAPTER 9

Thóra had never tried anything like the box’s former contents, but she was quite convinced that such devices paled in comparison with the real thing, just like all other surrogates. Smiling to herself, she sat up in bed. Her dressing gown lay crumpled on the floor and she stretched out lazily to pick it up. She should do this sort of thing more often, she thought as she wrapped it around herself and looked for her clothes. Although she had been completely uninhibited before, she wanted to be wearing something when Matthew came back. He had popped out to his rental car to fetch his luggage and throw it into the room he had booked. Thóra couldn’t see what use he had for a room of his own, but she appreciated the courtesy he had shown her by not assuming that he could jump straight into bed with her—even though he had. She smiled again at how terribly pleased she was to see him, glad that he had come in spite of her objections. The problem was, their relationship was already doomed. He was a foreigner and unlikely to thrive in Iceland. When he arrived, she had awkwardly tried to find a topic of conversation and asked him what he thought of the Eurovision Song Contest winner. He had given her a blank look and asked if she was joking. Anyone who was not interested in Eurovision would hardly last a week in Iceland. She dressed hurriedly.

Matthew reappeared just as she was putting on her second sock. “Damn,” he said, disappointed. “I’d forgotten that you’re the world champion in speed-dressing.” He smirked at her. “Of course, the upside is that you’re pretty quick at undressing too.”

“Very funny,” said Thóra. “What do you think of the hotel?” Matthew took a look around and shrugged. “Great. A bit off the beaten track. But what on earth are you doing here?” He added quickly, “Not that I’m complaining, not at all.”

“I’m working for the owner. He’s thinking of suing the people who sold him the property.”

“Ah. Was he ripped off?” Matthew asked. He walked over to the window and pulled open the curtain to admire the view. “Lovely,” he said, and turned back to Thóra.

“Oh, it’s all quite silly, really. He claims this place is haunted and the previous owners must have known.”

“Haunted, yes.” Matthew’s expression was the one she expected to see on the judge’s face, if the case ever went that far. “You don’t say.”

“The business here is vulnerable to that kind of thing, so it’s not quite as absurd as you might think.” Thóra smiled at him. “It’s a New Age hotel. They focus on things such as healing, clairvoyance, organic food, crystals, magnetic fields, aura readings, and all that. Most of the staff are clairvoyant, or worse, so they’re not very fond of ghosts.”

“Indeed,” said Matthew, pulling a face. “So, all perfectly normal.”

“God, no,” Thóra hurried to say. “But in fact it’s not that unusual in a place like this, which has long been considered a center for belief in the supernatural, so to speak. Legend has it that the glacier is inhabited by a man named Bárdur who went inside it in a bout of depression after his daughter drifted away to Greenland on an iceberg. He’s considered to be the guardian spirit of the area, and the glacier’s supposed to have supernatural powers. I don’t know whether the powers belong to this Bárdur or the glacier itself.”

“Supernatural powers from a glacier?” Matthew’s disbelief was written all over his face. “It’s just a mountain with snow on it that never melts, correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Ha, ha,” Thóra said. “I’m just telling you the background, not my opinion. Faith in the power of the glacier goes way beyond Iceland—people flocked here from all over the world to welcome aliens from outer space just before the turn of the century.”

“And of course that wasn’t a wild-goose chase, was it?”

Thóra shrugged. “Opinions differ. The spokesman for the group said they had come, but just in spirit. No spaceship or anything. Some kind of mental transportation.”

“ ‘Mental’ being the operative word, I suppose?” Matthew grinned.

Thóra returned his smile. “Could well be. But it is an incredibly powerful mountain.”

“And where does the body fit into the picture?”

“Oh, that. The body’s nothing to do with this spiritual stuff, actually. I don’t think so, anyway. The owner doesn’t agree entirely. He thinks the ghost’s involved somehow. He’s quite an unusual character.”

“You don’t say,” rejoined Matthew, frowning. “Was the body found here at the hotel?”

Thóra gave Matthew a brief account of where the body had been found, telling him that it was a woman who had been working for Jónas and she was thought to have been murdered.

“And is there a suspect?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Thóra replied. “I doubt whether the police have even formed an opinion yet. The case is still at the most prelimi

nary stage.”

“I hope for your sake that it’s not this Jónas,” said Matthew.

“No, it’s definitely not him,” Thóra said airily, then added cautiously, “As it happens, I do have something that might shed light on the matter.”

“You’ve got something? What kind of something?” asked Matthew. His eyes were bright with curiosity.

“Well, I have the diary of the woman who is very likely the murder victim. A sort of notebook, really,” Thóra replied, blushing but affecting nonchalance.

“What?” Matthew exclaimed. “Did you know this woman?”

“Never met her.”

“But you have her diary? How did that come about?”

“I came across it,” she said, then added more truthfully, “I stole it, really. Accidentally.”

Matthew shook his head. “Accidentally, right.” He clasped his hands in prayer and looked up to heaven. “Dear God, don’t let her have killed the architect for the diary. Even accidentally.”

Jónas stood in the lobby watching three plainclothes detectives prepare to examine Birna’s car. They had driven up in a customized van and parked it to one side. There, they had jumped out and, without announcing themselves to anyone at the hotel, begun photographing the little sports car and the ground around it. Vigdís had phoned Jónas from reception to let him know as soon as she noticed the van, and he had run down to the lobby.

“What are they doing, anyway?” Vigdís asked.

Jónas jumped. He had been so preoccupied with watching the detectives at work that he hadn’t noticed Vigdís. Clutching his heart, he looked at her. “Christ, you scared me.” Then he went back to watching what was going on outside. “They’re examining Birna’s car, as far as I can see. God knows why.”

Vigdís squinted for a better look. “Do they think she was murdered in the car, or what?”

Jónas shook his head. “Hardly. The car hasn’t been moved for days. I’m sure I told them that.”

“What difference does that make?” Vigdís asked. “I mean, she could still have been killed in the car, right there in the car park.”

Jónas spun around to face her. “That’s fucking nonsense. For a start, we don’t know whether it was murder yet, let alone where it might have happened.”

Vigdís shrugged. “Who do you think would drown on the beach here? It’s this deep.” She held her thumb and index finger a centimeter apart. “She must have been murdered.”

Jónas was about to tell Vigdís not to exaggerate when he saw one of the detectives take his mobile out of his pocket. The distant ringing could be heard from where they were standing. The detective answered the call and they watched him talking. Suddenly he looked up in the direction of the lobby. His gaze fixed on Jónas, who felt his stomach sink.

The officer ended the call without taking his eyes off the hotelier, and walked over toward the entrance.

“Wow,” Vigdís whispered to Jónas. “Did you see that? He’s definitely coming to talk to you.”

Thóra rushed to Jónas’s office. He had phoned and asked her to come, without any explanation except that the police were making allegations against him that he knew nothing about. She had a weird feeling that Matthew’s remarks about Jónas had been a premonition, and for an instant the thought crossed her mind that the glacier might have strange powers after all.

“Excuse me,” she said after knocking on Jónas’s office door and opening it. Jónas was sitting behind his desk, facing someone, his face bright red. The other man had his back to her. He looked around when she said brightly, “Everything all right in here?”

“No, it’s certainly not all right,” the hotel owner snapped, standing up to pull up a third chair.

The police officer was middle-aged and very tall. He lifted himself five centimeters out of his seat and extended his hand to Thóra. That was enough for her to realize that he was also extremely wide and well muscled. “Hello. I’m Thórólfur Kjartansson, detective.”

“Hello. Thóra Gudmundsdóttir, lawyer.” They shook hands. “What’s the problem?” she asked, directing her words at Jónas.

“They seem to think that I’m somehow involved in that woman’s death,” Jónas snarled. He gestured at the man facing him and added, “He gets to take away my computer and printer, and he says he has a warrant to take my mobile phone.” In his fury, Jónas was suddenly lost for words and made do with scowling at Thórólfur.

“I see,” Thóra said calmly. “May I see the warrant? I’m Jónas’s lawyer and he’s asked for my legal counsel.”

Thórólfur silently handed her a printout. Skimming it, Thóra saw that it was a warrant issued by the West Iceland District Court to seize Jónas Júlíusson’s mobile telephone, citing as grounds that it was in the interest of the investigation into the murder of Birna Halldórsdóttir. Thóra’s heart skipped a beat. Here it was in black-and-white.

“May I inquire why the telephone is needed?” she asked levelly.

“We think the phone may contain information that could be of use to us,” Thórólfur answered, equally impassive.

“Various kinds of information are stored on mobile phones,” Thóra said, stalling as she tried to recall the model that Jónas owned. Some information could be obtained from the telephone company, so they were hardly trying to establish whom Jónas had called. They must have been after his calendar or photographs, if such features were included. What made the warrant unusual was that the police were interested only in the telephone. They were not insisting on a regular search of premises, unless such a request had been turned down. “Actually, it says here that you may take the phone, but there’s no mention of the SIM card. Can he keep that?” Thóra asked, vainly hoping that whatever they wanted was stored on the card and not in the phone itself.

Thórólfur snatched the warrant out of Thóra’s hands. “It says mobile telephone number”—he scanned the page and when he had found it he turned it around proudly for Thóra to see, stabbing at the number with his finger—“667 6767. See, that’s Jónas’s number. It even states that he is the registered user. If you give me the phone without the card, you’re not handing over what the warrant requires.” Smugly, he leaned back in his seat and addressed Jónas. “You have to hand the phone over to me.”

Thóra looked at Jónas. “Are you opposed to giving them the phone?”

Jónas bristled indignantly. “Of course I am! What am I supposed to do without a phone? Admittedly, the reception out here isn’t up to much, but I don’t care. It’s my phone.”

“I advise you to advise your client to hand over what the warrant demands. Doing otherwise would be extremely unwise.” Thórólfur could not conceal his irritation at the delay.

“I didn’t kill Birna!” Jónas slammed his fist down on the desk. “How could you think I did?”

“No one’s claiming that. Least of all me,” Thórólfur replied, more calmly than before. “However, your behavior does raise certain questions.”

“What are you insinuating?” Jónas bellowed. He hit the desk again, this time so hard that a pen stand and other loose objects shook on its surface. “I had nothing to do with this murder, and I insist on taking a lie-detector test to prove it, but you shan’t have my phone.”

Thóra leaned over to Jónas and gently gripped his hand. “Jónas, lie detectors aren’t used in Iceland. They’re inadmissible as evidence in this country. I advise you to hand over the telephone. Especially if you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s out of the question,” said Jónas firmly. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair as if to emphasize his determination. Then he inclined forward and whispered into Thóra’s ear, “They mustn’t take the phone under any circumstances. Believe me, that would be a seriously bad idea.” He leaned back away from her and smiled at the police officer.

“Okay, I understand. Give me your phone.” She stared him in the eye. “Trust me.”

Jónas looked at her suspiciously. “No. You’ll give it to the police.”

“Jónas. Trust me, I said.” Thóra held out her open hand.

Jónas just stared dubiously at her. After a moment’s thought he took his mobile out of the pocket of the jacket hung over his chair. He handed the phone to Thóra, but did not let go. “I mean it; you mustn’t let him have the phone.”

Thóra nodded. “I know. You can let go.” She heaved a sigh when he finally released his grip. She was relieved to see that it was not a camera phone.

“Please hand the phone over to me,” Thórólfur said, holding out the sheet of paper to affirm his right.

“One moment,” Thóra said, and put her own mobile on the table. She opened the back and removed the SIM card. Then she did the same to Jónas’s mobile and swapped the cards. “Here you are. One mobile phone, number 667 6767, registered user Jónas Júlíusson.” She handed her mobile to the police officer. “Completely in accordance with the warrant, if I have not misunderstood the wording.” She smiled at Thórólfur.

“Brilliant, brilliant,” Jónas was enthusing as they burst into Thóra’s room. They had gone straight there with the mobile phone, after Thórólfur had made a call to confirm that Jónas was considered to have fulfilled the conditions of the warrant. However, a new and more precisely worded warrant was pending, so Thóra didn’t have long to find out what it was that Jónas didn’t want the police to see.

“Matthew—Jónas. Jónas—Matthew.” A brief introduction would have to do, since Jónas was short of time. Matthew simply nodded. Although clearly startled by the intrusion, he asked no questions. She turned to Jónas. “Why on earth didn’t you just let the man have the phone?”

“There are numbers in it that I definitely don’t want him to see. And texts too.” Jónas lowered his voice. “I smoke a hash pipe every now and again. There are two guys I score from and their numbers are on my phone. There are probably texts that I’ve sent when they don’t answer their phones. If you read them, the exact nature of our business is pretty obvious.”

Thóra nodded, astonished at Jónas’s stupidity, although actually she thought this was an excellent indication of his innocence in Birna’s murder. Judging from the way he bought drugs, he would have left a note on the body with his name on it.

She handed him the phone. “I can’t advise you to do anything illegal, but here’s the phone. I should remind you that time is running out. My PIN number is 4036.”

Jónas switched on the mobile and entered the PIN. He went straight into his address book and erased two names, which Thóra studiously avoided seeing. Then he went to the message menu and erased several that he had received. As he scrolled through the sent messages, he suddenly said, “What?” and held the mobile away to focus better on the screen. “What the fuck is this?”

Thóra leaned over and grabbed for the phone. “What? What have you found?”

Jónas let her take it. “That’s not right.” Something had clearly shocked him deeply.

Thóra read the header of the top message, which was presumably the most recent. “Meet me @ cave …” This filled the screen line, so she opened the message. She groaned when she read it in its entirety. “Meet me @ cave @ 9 2nite need 2 discuss ur idea Jónas.” The message had been sent the previous Thursday at twenty-five past seven, the evening before the body was found.

“Please tell me that’s not Birna’s number,” Thóra said anxiously, handing the phone back to Jónas.

He looked at the mobile, then up at Thóra, and slowly nodded his head.