House of Evidence(104)

“An automatic gun swallower!” Hrefna said.

Jóhann continued. “We have testimony that Jacob Junior was seen up on the roof a few days ago.”

“But what was the dining room chair for?” Halldór asked.

“I assume that when Jacob Junior’s big moment came, he found it difficult to stand on his own two feet, and got the chair so he could do the deed sitting down,” Jóhann replied.

“Perhaps this shows how different father and son actually were,” Hrefna observed. “Jacob Senior stands and looks straight into the barrel of the gun as he fires. Jacob Junior sits and tries to aim for his heart, but misses; he falls off the chair and tries to crawl off to call for help. He must have been in a lot of pain, poor man.”

“Well,” Halldór remarked, standing. “All this is very plausible. I hope the forensics will support your conclusions. If it proves true, we need not tell the media; we’re usually spared that when it’s suicide.”

As he reached the door, Halldór turned and asked Hrefna, “Who is this man that told you about the gun?”

“Pétur. He’s the janitor in the house where I live.”

“I see,” Halldór said. Adding as he left, “The Almighty has his own way of answering people’s prayers.”

Hrefna didn’t quite understand what he meant; the state of her appearance was more concerning to her at the moment. She was absolutely covered head to toe in dust and soot. It’ll be great to get into a shower, she thought, but then remembered that her bath was out of commission.

She looked at Jóhann, who was examining the gun. She liked the way he furrowed his brow over it.

“It must have been fully loaded,” he remarked.

She had noticed before that his gaze was gentle and intelligent, but hadn’t thought anything about it at the time. She had been determined to keep her work colleagues at a suitable distance. Now, however, she had left this job, left it for good.

“Would you mind if I took a shower at your place?” she asked. “Mine isn’t working at the moment.”



Diary XIX


April 25, 1945. We had a telegram from the Swedish Red Cross. My brother Matthías is alive.





On the way home from Birkihlíd, Jóhann thought about the day to come. It would be strange to start working on another case after tonight; the investigation had lasted only five days, but he felt as if many weeks had passed since he had first examined those footsteps in the snow outside Birkihlíd. Hrefna sat in silence beside him, and he wondered what she was thinking about.

He parked the car in one of the central parking bays on Hringbraut, and they walked, against the wind, toward the house.

“You’ve made this very homey,” Hrefna remarked, looking around his apartment.

Jóhann looked around, too. He had tried to make the apartment comfortable, but it was nice that she thought it seemed homey.

Hrefna caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror.

“Just look at me! I’ve got to have that shower,” she said. “Can you lend me a towel and something clean to put on?”

Jóhann handed her a big towel, and while she showered, he rummaged through his wardrobe and dug out a GWU T-shirt and some cotton shorts; much too big, he thought, but they’ll have to do. He slipped them inside the bathroom door.

When Hrefna came out, she had rolled up the sleeves of the T-shirt and the bottom of the shorts some.

“I’ve got a bottle of white wine in the fridge. How about I open it?” he offered.

“Okay, if you have some, too,” she said.

“I can’t. I’ll have to drive you home later.”

“I think you’re just as much in need of refreshment as I am. Why don’t I just stay over?” Hrefna suggested. “Your bed looks big enough for the two of us.”

“Yes, yes, of course you can stay,” Jóhann stammered. He didn’t know quite what to say or do next.

“The white wine,” Hrefna reminded him.

“Yes, of course,” he said, smiling broadly and fetching the bottle and two glasses.

“Cheers,” Hrefna said when he handed her the glass.

“Here’s to a job well done,” added Jóhann.

“A job done, anyway,” Hrefna said. “I don’t feel we can say this case had a good ending.”

“That’s very true.”

“But it’ll be good to wake up in the morning and not have to start the day trawling through those old diaries, trying to work out who might have had a motive for killing the pair of them.”

Jóhann nodded. “That family will stick in our minds for some time, I imagine.”