My Soul to Take

CHAPTER 4

When she was dressed, Thóra decided to go straight to reception in the hope of finding out more about the body. On her way out, she noticed a bunch of keys the masseuse had left behind in her haste. She decided to hand it in at reception, as an excuse for going there. She strode quickly down the corridor, feeling pleased with herself.

There was no sign of the masseuse in the lobby. A young woman was leaning over the reception desk, deep in a whispered conversation with her colleague behind the counter. She was disturbingly thin and the snow-white tunic she wore over her matching trousers did little to conceal it. Thóra stood beside her and smiled at the two women in the hope of being allowed to join in. She was far from welcome; both looked most displeased to see her, but they recovered themselves and gave her frosty smiles. For a short while she pretended to look at a poster behind the reception desk advertising a séance the previous evening with a well-known medium from Reykjavík. Then she turned back to the others, smiling pleasantly.

“Hi,” Thóra said, to break the ice. Her curiosity got the better of her and she forgot the charade with the keys. “I heard about the body that was found on the beach.”

The women exchanged glances and seemed to come to a silent agreement. The thin one turned to her. “It’s just awful,” she said emphatically, her eyes wide. “You know the cops are here?” Removing her elbow from the counter, she stretched out her hand for Thóra to shake. “I’m Kata, the beautician.” Her teeth shone pearly white.

Thóra greeted her, surprised at the strength of her grip considering her size. “I’m Thóra. I’m looking into a little matter for Jónas. I’m not really a guest.”

The receptionist nodded. “Oh, yeah, he mentioned it to me. I’m Vigdís, the reception manager. You’re one of those lawyers, right?”

Not knowing exactly what “one of those” meant in this context, Thóra nodded. “That’s right.” Looking around, she saw through the glass entrance doors that a police car was still outside. “Where did the police go?”

Vigdís pointed to the right and whispered, although no one else was nearby. “They wanted to talk to Jónas.” She leaned back in her chair and raised her eyebrows conspiratorially. “He wasn’t even surprised when I told him.”

“What did the police say?” Thóra asked. “He might not have realized what the matter involved.”

Vigdís blushed slightly. “Well, no,” she said reluctantly. “They didn’t say anything to me really, just asked for Jónas.”

“So how do you know there’s a body?” asked Kata, the beautician, who was clearly no fool.

Vigdís’s cheeks grew redder. “I heard them say it. I showed them to Jónas’s office, and when they introduced themselves, they stated their business with him.”

Thóra was certain that the woman had put her ear up to the door. “Did they say anything about how this person died?” she asked. “Was the body washed ashore, or what?”

“And was it a man or a woman?” the beautician interjected. “Did they say?”

“It was a woman, apparently,” replied Vigdís, the flush leaving her cheeks. She clearly enjoyed holding all the cards, and when she started speaking again, she drew out every word for maximum effect. “They didn’t mention the cause of death exactly, but I swear they were implying that it was unnatural.” She took a deep, dramatic breath. Kata put her hand to her mouth, her colleague’s theatrics clearly producing the desired response.

“Why did they come here?” Thóra pressed. “Was the body found on the beach?”

Vigdís nodded slowly and pointed to a window overlooking the open sea below. “I don’t know exactly where, but it was in this area. Down there somewhere.”

Thóra and Kata looked out of the window. The weather outside was relatively calm and it was still bright daylight despite it being late. The beach itself was hidden from view because the lawn outside the window was a little above sea level.

“How could it have been directly below here?” asked Thóra, turning away from the window. “Surely you would have noticed if the police had been active in that area.”

Vigdís shrugged. “A huge amount of land belongs to the old farm and you can’t see the whole beach from here by any means. The headland over there is one reason.” She pointed to a hill through the window. “The farthest point west is on the other side of that hill, and we can’t see it from here. That part can be reached by road from elsewhere.”

Thóra and Kata stared at the hill as if hoping to see through it. Then Thóra nodded slowly. “Weren’t there originally two farms here, on two separate plots of land?” Vigdís shrugged. Thóra continued, “As far as I recall, there were two plots of farmland owned by two brothers, but one of them died childless so the other one inherited it. Then he merged them into one. That would explain the question of access. Generally there’s only one driveway up to each farm, not two. Do you suppose the boundary lay across that hill?” Looking back, she saw that neither woman was remotely interested.

“Sure,” Kata said, turning back to her friend. “But who is the dead woman? Did they say anything about that?”

“I don’t think they have the faintest idea. When they came, they asked me how many guests were registered at the hotel and if any were missing.” She grinned conspiratorially at her audience. “I just told them the truth—that I had no idea. This is a hotel, not a prison.” Then addressing Thóra, she added, “The guests have keys that they can take out with them. They don’t drop off the keys with me, so it’s pure chance whether I notice their movements. They seldom talk to me, unless they’re going for a hike and want guidance about routes.”

“It has to be that drunk couple in number eighteen, either him or the wife. I’ve not seen either of them for two days,” Kata said disapprovingly.

Vigdís shook her head. “No, the kitchen sent food up to their room just a while back. And drinks.” She emphasized the latter firmly. “The woman just phoned down to ask for room service. She said they’d been indisposed and had slept the whole day.”

Kata snorted. “Indisposed, my arse. They were either hungover or pissed.”

Thóra could tell that there was little more of any use to be gained from the two women. She was generally not interested in gossip, especially about people she didn’t know from Adam, so she decided to take her leave and put her hand in her pocket for the key chain. “I have some keys here that my masseuse left behind.” Thóra handed over the bunch of keys, which were on a key ring with a small enameled Icelandic flag.

“Sibba, you mean,” Vigdís said, stretching for the keys across the counter. “She can be incredibly absentminded.” She noticed a large plastic card dangling from the patriotic ring. “Oh, my God, she’s even got the master here. She’s a real—” Exactly what she was was to remain a mystery, because the telephone rang. Vigdís turned to answer it.

Glancing at Kata, Thóra took the keys back. “I’ll just return them to her myself. I forgot to book another session, so I have to talk to her anyway.” She smiled innocently at the young woman. “Do you know where she might be?”

The beautician shrugged. “Maybe in the cafeteria.” She pointed at a corridor to the right. “It’s next to the kitchen.”

Thóra thanked her, then added, “Do you know what room Birna’s in? The architect? I wanted to say hello to her.”

Kata shook her head, but reached over for a book behind the reception desk. Vigdís was still busy on the telephone and paid no attention to them. “Birna, Birna …” Delicate fingers with long French-manicured nails ran down the page. “Aha. Here it is.” She slammed the book shut. “She’s in room five. It’s on the way. She’s definitely here because her car’s parked outside. It’s really flash.”

“That’s nice,” said Thóra, who was not particularly interested in cars. “Thanks very much. I might drop in to your salon tomorrow. I could do with a bit of plucking.” The young woman nodded, rather too vehemently in Thóra’s opinion.

On her way down the corridor, various thoughts ran through Thóra’s mind. What the hell was she thinking? She couldn’t assume the dead woman was Jónas’s missing architect. In all probability it was a completely different woman. And who was this Birna anyway? There was no excuse for going into her room. Thóra thought it over on her way, but the closer she came to room 5, the more determined she became to look inside. If it turned out that Birna was the woman on the beach, this would presumably be Thóra’s only chance to examine her room. If the circumstances of death were suspicious, the police would seal it off. She tried to persuade herself that she had to take advantage of this opportunity, as Jónas’s lawyer. Perhaps he would be a suspect. Eventually she convinced herself that she was doing nothing wrong. She simply wanted to put her head around the door and take a look. Nothing else.

Thóra stopped outside the door and looked around her. The women at reception, deep in conversation, didn’t notice her. She swiped the plastic key card, opened the door, and darted inside. Jónas tried to act like an innocent hotelier, but was finding the role increasingly difficult. He had an instinctive dislike of the police, which had always appeared to be mutual on the rare occasions when their paths crossed. Police officers also had a tendency to look deep into his eyes while they talked to him, and Jónas had the feeling they had been trained to evaluate the truthfulness of replies from the movement of the pupils. He knew he was blinking far too much, which wasn’t making a good impression.

He cleared his throat. “As I told you, the description could fit the architect Birna, but it’s much too general to say for certain. Wasn’t the woman carrying any ID, a bag or something?” He stretched toward the window behind him. “Don’t you find it hot in here? Should I open the window?” Jónas was afraid that sweat would start pouring from his brow to complete the picture of a guilty man.

The police officers exchanged a look. They seemed to be keeping their cool in spite of being clad in full regalia, black uniforms with gold braid. Ignoring the stifling heat in the room, they had not taken off their jackets. They were holding their caps, however. Disregarding Jónas’s inquiries about the window and the ID, they went on questioning him. “When was she last seen, this Birna?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Jónas replied, searching through his memory. “She was here yesterday, definitely.”

“So you saw her yesterday?” asked the younger officer. He looked like a tough guy, and Jónas preferred the older one, who appeared to be a softer type in all respects.

“What?” Jónas asked rather idiotically, then hurried to add, “What, yes. I met up with her. Several times in fact. She was struggling to complete the plans for the annex that’s to be built here and came to me throughout the day to consult me on various points.”

The officers nodded in unison. After biting the inside of his cheek for a few moments, the older one asked, “What about today? Did she come and see you today?”

Jónas shook his head fervently. “No. Definitely not. We were supposed to meet this morning only she didn’t turn up. I’ve been keeping an eye out for her but haven’t bumped into her or seen her. I kept calling her mobile, but it was switched off. I just got her voice mail.”

“What kind of mobile did she have? Can you describe it?” the younger man asked.

Jónas did not need to think about that question. Birna’s mobile was very distinctive. He had seen her with it many times. “It’s bright red, a clamshell phone. Shiny. Quite small. I don’t know the make, though. There was a big silver peace sign on the front, but I don’t think it was a brand logo, just a decoration.” The police officers darted glances at each other, then stood up together. Jónas stayed seated. He was feeling more confident after finally being able to answer one of their questions. “This woman who was found … did she die in an accident?”

Neither of the officers answered him. “Would you please show us to Birna Halldórsdóttir’s room?” Thóra took a last look around the room. She had not found anything significant. Admittedly it was different from other hotel rooms, because the architect had clearly moved in for longer than most people. She had fixed sketches of buildings—which Thóra presumed to be proposals for the annex that Jónas had said he was planning to build—to the walls. Notes had been scrawled on several of the drawings, some of them comprehensible to a layman, others not. Calculations had been made in some of the margins, and the sums were underlined in red ink. The figures were large ones, and Thóra hoped for Jónas’s sake that they were not cost estimates.

Thóra had opened the closet mostly out of curiosity, as she’d never expected to find anything important there. She had stuck a pencil through the handle to open the door, so as not to leave fingerprints. She needn’t have bothered, because all the contents told her was that Birna was an exceptionally tidy person. There weren’t many items of clothing: blouses, smarter trousers, and jackets were on clothes hangers, and the other garments were neatly arranged on the shelves. The woman must have worked in a boutique at some point, as they were all folded perfectly. Birna had good taste; her clothes were unpretentious but stylish and looked expensive. Thóra tried to peek at the label on a sweater at the top of the stack, but couldn’t read it without disturbing the pile. Closing the closet, she went over to the telephone on one of the bedside tables. She used her fingernail to press the recall button and see the last numbers she had dialed, then took a blank sheet of paper from the hotel notepad beside the telephone and wrote down the three numbers. She folded the sheet of paper and put it in her pocket.

Looking around, she saw nothing that merited closer examination except the desk drawer. She had already gingerly shuffled the papers on the desk, but was none the wiser for it. They all seemed to be connected with the design of the annex, mainly brochures from manufacturers of construction materials. Thóra nudged the desk chair to one side with her foot to reach the drawer. Now she faced a problem, because there was no handle on it. Pulling her sleeve over her right hand, she opened the drawer by tugging it from underneath. It contained two books: the New Testament and a leather-bound diary with Birna’s name on it. At last she had found something useful. Still using her sleeve, Thóra fished the book up out of the drawer. She flipped it open. Bingo. The pages were filled with neat handwriting. Thóra grinned, but then her smile vanished. She could hear noises in the corridor, just outside the door.

In desperation she looked around. She had to get out. She couldn’t possibly explain what she was doing there—she didn’t even know herself. She ran over to the floor-length curtains and prayed that all the rooms were the same. Fortunately for her, they were, and with trembling hands she unlocked the French window and stepped out on to the deck. Then she pushed the door closed as carefully as she could and hurried away.

As Thóra rounded the corner of the building, she took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding. What had she been thinking? She must be insane. It had been a close call; she was certain she had heard the room door open just as she had closed the balcony door behind her. She inhaled deeply again. Her heartbeat slowed down, then leaped once more. The desk drawer! She had left it open. She tried to calm herself. So what? Everyone would assume Birna had left it like that. She sagged in relief, then jumped again—in her hands she was still holding a diary marked “Birna Halldórsdóttir, Association of Icelandic Architects.”