My Soul to Take

CHAPTER 34

RER. BER. Thóra set her phone down on the table and stared into space. Matthew, Gylfi, and Sigga waited silently with their cutlery in their hands, keen to hear what she’d found out.

“It might not be Rósa after all,” said Thóra into the silence. “Berta knew about the fox.”

“Remember, she isn’t necessarily guilty, even if she knew about it,” said Matthew.

Gylfi and Sigga listened closely, understanding nothing.

“That’s not all,” said Thóra. “Firstly, she’s got the most to lose, apart from her mother, Elín, and her uncle Börkur. She was here, at the séance, and she believes in ghosts, so she could conceivably have pushed pins into the soles of the victims’ feet to stop their spirits walking.”

“But aren’t you forgetting that Berta wasn’t here when Eiríkur was killed?” asked Matthew. “She’d gone to Reykjavík. The records from the tunnel prove it. Do you think there are two different killers?”

“Not at all,” replied Thóra. “If you think about it, she probably never even went to Reykjavík.”

Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Do you think she lent someone her car?”

“No, I think she swapped cars with Steini,” said Thóra. “It’s far too much of a coincidence that the two of them should have been driving through in opposite directions. He wasn’t watching her drive away as we thought. He must have gone through, waited for Berta, and switched cars at the other end of the tunnel. Then she drove back here to kill Eiríkur. It was probably Berta’s car Thröstur the canoeist saw pull up as he was driving away after he had stopped to check on Steini. It gives her an alibi.”

“But what about Steini?” asked Matthew. “He’s really the one that comes out looking like the guilty one here.”

Thóra shook her head. “Who’d ever believe he could manhandle Eiríkur into the stall with the stallion? You saw him. He couldn’t do it. She’s as strong as an ox, however—she’s been pushing him all over the place in his wheelchair.” Thóra clasped her forehead. “Do you remember the picture of her dead relative, Gudný, in the frame on my bedside table?” Matthew nodded. “When you think about it, Berta looks a lot like Gudný, especially if you imagine her with a different hairstyle.”

Matthew smiled. “I don’t remember Gudný’s face clearly, let alone her hair. Does it matter?”

“That was the photo that upset Jónas,” said Thóra. “He said he’d seen a ghost that was just like the girl in the photo. He had last seen the ghost in his own apartment.” She closed her eyes and recalled the photo of Gudný’s pretty face. “I bet it was Berta, and I bet she stole the sleeping pills too. I don’t know what she was doing there. Maybe she was trying to find out Jónas’s plans for the annex. He must have come back unexpectedly. He was probably high as a kite and couldn’t tell whether he was seeing a real person or a ghost. Maybe she was planning to use the sleeping pills for Birna, then changed her mind after Jónas had spotted her. When she came to kill Eiríkur, she may have thought it was safe, or simply had no choice, if the sleeping pills were the only sedative she had available. She’s probably also the ghost they saw out in the fog behind the hotel. I bet she was out there with a shovel, searching for the hatch. Maybe she hoped to remove the bones before Kristín could be found.”

“What are you going to do about it?” asked Matthew. “I’m pretty sure that speculation alone isn’t enough. Why would she kill Eiríkur, for instance?”

Thóra puffed out her cheeks. “I don’t know. Maybe he was involved, or perhaps he saw her. She’s probably the only person who knows why she did it.”

“Shouldn’t we go to the police with this?” he said. “Thórólfur seems all right really, and he won’t be too offended if you send him off in a different direction, as long as the information is good. Remember, he’s talking to Rósa, who you were sure was guilty an hour ago.”

Thóra sighed and stood up. “I have to go there and tell him. The sooner the better.”

“Cat!” yelled the only person not captivated by the progress of the case. Sóley beamed at Matthew and then turned to her mother. “Tell him I speak English,” she said contentedly.

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” said Thóra, stroking her little fair head. “You can practice some more while I pop out. Matthew will stay with you.”

“Dog!” she heard Sóley proudly pronounce, as she headed out of the restaurant to her car.

Lár a made herself more comfortable on the hard chair, taking care not to crease the coat she held on her lap. The flowers she’d brought with her did not appear to have perked up when put in water and hung limply in a steel vase on the bedside table. In the bed lay Málfrídur Grímsdóttir.

Lára cleared her throat and took the old lady’s dry hand. “I haven’t been able to think of anything else lately. The memories have come flooding back since my granddaughter, Sóldís, started working at the hotel back west. You know the truth, and I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything now, before it’s too late.” She looked at the drawn features of the woman in the bed. Strange how people aged differently. Málfrídur was much younger than she was, yet here she lay, seemingly incapable of even holding her head up, while Lára sat straight-backed at her bedside. She hoped she would go quickly when her time came. She didn’t want to fade away like this.

A tear formed in the corner of the old woman’s eye. As she was lying down, it didn’t run down her cheek, but pooled by her eye. “I hope God will forgive me,” she said, and closed her eyes, sending the tear trickling down on to the pillow. “I was so young. I didn’t dare go against Dad, and then he got ill and I had other things on my mind.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Málfrídur my dear,” said Lára affectionately, and grasped the woman’s hand tighter. “I quite understand that you couldn’t talk to me about it back then, but now we’re running out of time, both of us, and I can’t bear to think of leaving this world without knowing where the child is. I owe that to Gudný.”

Tears now poured down Málfrídur’s cheeks as she lay with her eyes squeezed shut. “She’s dead,” she said in her cracked voice. “Dad made sure of that.” She started to sob and Lára patiently waited for her to calm down. “He shut her up in the coal bunker, and she died there during the night. I’d gone over to Kirkjustétt to fetch a doll of hers that she was missing, and I saw him out of the window. Oh, God,” said Málfrídur, struck dumb by the memory. She rallied and went on. “After he burned down the outhouses, because of the stench, he flung the remains of the animals down into the coal bunker and turfed over the hatch the following spring. He had closed off the entrance to the bunker from the basement, and later he walled it up so no one could even tell there was a door there.”

“Why?” asked Lára, close to tears.

“The livestock died because Gudný couldn’t care for them after her father died. She was mortally ill herself. When Dad finally got in touch with her, the animals were beyond saving. The smell was horrible. He set the outhouses on fire, and buried the animals, to conceal the fact that he hadn’t helped his brother and niece. Of course, he should have looked after the animals for Gudný, after she was bedridden.” The old woman blinked hard. “He didn’t even check whether all the animals were dead. At least one of the cows was still alive. I saw her at the window, maddened with fear. I still see her today, when I close my eyes.”

“I’m not talking about the cattle,” said Lára. “Why did he do that to Gudný’s daughter? I’m trying to understand.” She felt tears running down her own cheeks now.

“Kristín,” said Málfrídur. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the white ceiling. “Dad hated her. I didn’t understand at first. She was so sweet and gentle, so quiet, but such a lovely girl. She was a few years younger than me, and for the few days she was with us, after Dad brought her and Gudný to our house, she was mostly busy taking care of her mother. Dad didn’t want to go into the room because he was afraid of infection, but the little girl sat with her, fed her, and tried to make her as comfortable as possible, until her mum died one night.

“Kristín was special, but Dad couldn’t see it. I was so happy to have her with us, and I assumed naïvely that she would stay on with us after her mother died. That didn’t happen.” Málfrídur paused. “Instead of allowing her to live with us, he decided to kill her and obliterate any sign that she had ever existed. When Kristín was born, he hoped she would catch tuberculosis from her grandfather and die before she came of age, so he never filled out a birth certificate for her, because he saw a bastard child as a blot on the family. That turned out well for him later.”

“Why did he do it?” asked Lára. “I’d happily have taken in Gudný’s child and loved her like one of my own. She would have been no trouble to him.”

Málfrídur turned to face her. “He was eaten up with rage at being dependent on her. Dad had lost everything. His brother, Bjarni, had helped him out by buying the farm and guaranteeing all the debts, but instead of making Dad happy, it sowed the seed that destroyed him in the end. He committed suicide, mad with self-hatred and shame over what he had done for money. He told me everything before he killed himself. I think he wanted absolution, but I couldn’t give it to him. I was appalled by his cruelty. Although I saw what happened, and I knew the facts, more or less, I was horrified when he confirmed what I’d suspected.” Málfrídur gazed up at the ceiling again. “I had the inscription on his gravestone cut in keeping with the way he lived his life: ‘Bloody is the heart.’ ” She fell silent again, then coughed feebly. “It has affected me all my life. I let her down, and I’ve lived in constant fear that she would come back to haunt me. And she has, in a way. Until now it has only been in the form of a bad conscience, but now she has visited me in a dream.”

“I shall have her dug up,” said Lára, who wanted to leave. She had had enough. “And have her buried next to her mother. I can’t keep quiet over this.”

Málfrídur raised herself up from the bed a little, for the first time since Lára’s arrival. “There’s no need. I’ve made sure that it happens.”

Lára looked at her without comprehension. “The child hasn’t been found yet,” she said.

“Then something’s gone wrong,” said the old woman. “I told my granddaughter, Berta, Elín’s girl, about it, and she said everything would be all right. She promised to take care of it.” She smiled feebly at Lára. “It’s strange—I couldn’t tell my children about it, but then Berta came to see me. There’s something about the lass that reminded me of Gudný and the little girl. She’s a good soul, Berta. She’ll do the right thing.”

Lára stood up. Rage suddenly flared up in her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned out to have more in common with your father than with Gudný and her daughter.”

“We’ll simply have to hope that Málfrídur’s remorse can withstand the challenge. She may not be so truthful when she realizes what’s in store for her own grandchild,” said Thóra. She said goodbye and hung up. No more evidence was needed: Lára’s telephone call confirmed that Berta was the killer. Thóra had pulled over when Lára phoned, and now she drove on at a snail’s pace through the thick fog toward Tunga. Here and there the fog lifted slightly, and bizarre shapes appeared in the mossy lava field. She felt a shiver down her spine as the fog thickened once more, swallowing the weird forms. Thóra hoped she was on the right road. It was only a stone’s throw, but due to the poor visibility, she drove slowly and she’d lost her bearings.

Suddenly an outstretched arm seemed to appear out of the fog; it was the sign for the farm of Tunga. She turned down the drive and speeded up slightly. A little farther on she saw the farmhouse looming in the fog, with Thórólfur’s car outside. She parked next to it and saw it was empty. She went over to the entrance, but after a few steps she froze. From the fog she could hear a baby’s low wailing. She turned, trying to determine where the sound was coming from, but without success. The crying stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Thóra rubbed her arms to calm the shudder that had run through her. What the hell was that? Could a woman be wandering around with a baby in the fog? Thóra squinted, attempting to see better. She jumped when she saw a movement where she thought the stables ought to be. Propelled by curiosity, she went in that direction, taking care to tread softly on the gravel.

She had reached the stables when the crying started again. She looked back, but saw nothing, then jumped when she heard a loud crash behind her. The stable door was unfastened, and it was banging against the wall. Someone had clearly left it open. Thóra hurried out of sight when she heard movements inside the stables. She pressed against the wall, hoping she couldn’t be seen in the fog. She caught a glimpse of a human figure in the doorway, and watched someone emerge from the stables and close the door. Thóra quickly realized she couldn’t hide any longer.

“Hello, Berta,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

The girl was taken aback. She turned and looked at Thóra, wideeyed. “Me?” she said. “Nothing.”

“I saw you come out of the stables,” said Thóra. “Do you know the people here?”

The cries started up again and Berta peered out into the fog. “I heard the crying and I came out to check,” she said, shuffling her feet.

“Inside the stables?” asked Thóra. “That noise is clearly coming from outside.” She looked at the girl, who was chewing her lower lip. “Berta, you must realize it’s over,” she said calmly. “Kristín’s body has been found. There’s no point in trying to put off the inevitable. Why don’t you come with me and talk to Thórólfur? He’s from the police and he’s here at the farm.” Thóra pointed in what she thought was the direction of the farmhouse. She could now hardly see anything in the fog.

“What do you mean?” asked Berta. Her attempt at nonchalance was belied by the tremor in her voice. “What’s that?” she asked, as the wailing grew louder and more insistent.

“It’s probably the ghost of a baby left out to die,” said Thóra calmly. “Or your relative, little Kristín. I gather your grandmother’s already seen her.” Thóra was relying on Lára’s hazy account of Málfrídur’s dream, in which Kristín had supposedly appeared. “Come on,” she said, “we’re better off going indoors than standing out here, waiting for the ghost to circle us three times. I think it may already have gone around once.”

Berta looked at Thóra feverishly. She was deathly pale, her eyes bloodshot. “How did they find Kristín?” she mumbled.

“That’s not important,” said Thóra. “It had to happen, and it’s just as well it has. Now you have to face the music.”

“Mum and I will lose everything,” said Berta suddenly. Thóra was not sure whether she was talking to her or to herself. “And Steini. We own the house he lives in. His parents sold up and moved to Reykjavík. He’ll have to move in with them.” She looked out into the fog and took a deep breath.

Thóra saw tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead and temples. The wailing grew quieter and then faded away. Berta seemed to calm down a little.

“There are worse things than losing your property,” said Thóra. She couldn’t help adding, “Like losing your life.”

Now Berta looked at her. “Birna didn’t deserve to live, and neither did Eiríkur. They weren’t nice people. She blackmailed the old man, and Eiríkur tried to get money out of me. He rang me and said he’d seen me leave the séance. He said he’d tell Mum and get her to pay him to keep his mouth shut. He thought we were filthy rich because of all the properties we own here. I told him to meet me at the riding stables, and then . . . you know.”

“Yes, unfortunately I do,” said Thóra. She wondered how the girl could give the impression of being so sane and normal when she was clearly deranged. “I read Birna’s autopsy report. It said she was struck repeatedly in the face with a rock. Were you hoping she wouldn’t be identified?” asked Thóra.

“No,” gasped Berta. “I was going to hit her in the back of the head, but she turned around too quickly and I hit her in the face. She must have heard me coming. I was going to make it look as if her head had knocked against the rocks on the shore when she was being raped, but hitting her in the face made that impossible. I’d planned it so carefully. I picked the day of the séance and made sure people noticed me there. I sat at the back and sneaked out once the medium had the audience’s attention, and then I used the canoe to get there quickly. I heard about the boat from Sóldís, and I knew the owner wasn’t staying much longer, so I had to do it then.” She gritted her teeth. “Sóldís talks a lot. I heard about Jónas’s medication from her, and also that he was in the habit of leaving his mobile phone lying around. She also told me what the sex therapist sold, and other things that came in useful.” Berta sighed, and her eyes filled with tears. “It was all supposed to go perfectly, but it still went wrong. Birna didn’t die from the first blow, so I had to hit her again and again. And again.” She looked down at her feet. “I thought I’d throw up when the gulls flew down.”

Thóra was close to vomiting herself, but she steeled herself and kept talking. This was clearly her one chance to talk to the girl. “Why did you stick pins in the soles of their feet?”

“I wanted to make sure their spirits wouldn’t walk. That does no one any good, neither the departed nor those of us who live on,” said Berta, who looked like she was about to faint.

“Are you all right?” Thóra asked anxiously. “What were you doing in there?” Thóra wondered if she had taken something. Then she realized that it was because the girl’s life was collapsing around her.

“I was planting the drugs,” said Berta tonelessly. “I hoped it would cast suspicion on Bergur and Rósa if Jónas was released. I was worried the police might find out that Jónas didn’t send Birna the text message.” She sighed and looked up at Thóra. “I took his phone. It was all so easy, once I’d decided how to do it. Birna had to be stopped. She wouldn’t listen to me when I told her it was the wrong place to build. If she’d only done as I said, it would all have been all right.” Berta hesitated, then said, “I did it for Steini.” Thóra couldn’t be sure if the girl was justifying herself to her or to herself. “It was the least I could do. What happened to him was my fault—I’d called to ask him to pick me up on the night of the accident. Now he feels bad because he thinks it’s his fault I did it, and he keeps asking me to forgive him. But it was my decision to do it for him, so there’s nothing to forgive. I only did it for Steini.” She collapsed.

“Do you think so?” said Thóra, as she helped the girl to her feet. “I really doubt it.” They walked toward the farmhouse, Thóra supporting Berta so she wouldn’t fall again.

They heard the wailing once more, then just as suddenly it stopped. Thóra was feeling quite unsettled by the time they reached the farmhouse steps, and the girl was shaking like a leaf. Thóra glanced over her shoulder as she rang the doorbell, hoping someone would come quickly. The door opened, revealing Rósa. She said nothing, but gazed past them. Thóra turned, half expecting to see a spectral child pulling itself laboriously up the steps with one arm.

“Gulli!” called Rósa. “There you are, you naughty cat. Where have you been?” The crying had resumed as she opened the door, and now it stopped as she finished speaking. “Puss!” she called in a soothing falsetto. “Come here, you silly cat!” A marmalade tomcat casually strolled up the steps.