House of Evidence(12)

“What’s happening?” she asked, as she closed the passenger door.

Erlendur told her he wasn’t exactly sure, but it seemed to be serious, perhaps even a murder. They drove in silence the rest of the way, in the direction of the city center, listening to the chatter on the police radio.

The road the house stood on had been closed off, with a police car parked right across the carriageway and a wide yellow ribbon strung between the lampposts bearing the words “Police—No Admittance—Police.”

Erlendur parked the car as close as possible, and they walked the last stretch. The weather was not too bad—though getting colder. For now it was bright and quite still, and they were temporarily sheltered from the strong north wind.

A wide zone of the garden leading up to Birkihlíd had been cordoned off with yellow tape, and Jóhann was sticking labels in the footprints.

“Have we got four suspects?” Erlendur asked, noting the four differently colored labels he was planting.

“Probably two cops, the housekeeper, and one other,” answered Jóhann, greeting Hrefna with a nod and a smile. He was wearing a blue snowsuit and a burgundy-and-gold knitted hat.

A tall, blond young man named Marteinn followed them into the garden, carrying a small yellow gas cylinder. He was a new recruit to the department, an enthusiastic athlete who was always asking for time off to train, here to assist Jóhann.

Hrefna and Erlendur met Egill in the outer lobby. “You’re not exactly supportive of your colleagues,” Egill said sharply, fixing Hrefna with a cold stare. “I’ve had the Super bending my ear all morning over one of your complaints.”

Hrefna remained silent. The previous Tuesday she had been sent with Egill to pick up a man for questioning, a seaman they were acquainted with. He was usually a gentle soul, though apt to get in fights when he’d been drinking. He had knocked someone’s tooth out, and they needed to take a statement. The man had been sober when they arrived at his home and seemed willing to go with them to the department, but Egill had in no time at all managed to aggravate him to such an extent that the man jabbed at Egill, who immediately responded in kind. Then all hell had broken loose, and in the end, Hrefna had to help Egill cuff the outraged man’s hands and feet and then get assistance in transporting him to the cells. Hrefna had, naturally, filed a report on Egill’s conduct, which she had found intolerable: an otherwise under-control situation had escalated to an all-out brawl because of the idiocy of people, at least one person, who should know better.

Her spat with Egill was forgotten as soon as she saw the man lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Halldór approached, explained briefly what had happened, and then asked Hrefna to speak to the housekeeper, showing her the way to the kitchen.

The old woman sat at the kitchen table with one hand covering her eyes; on the table in front of her was a glass of water, half full. A uniformed officer stood in the middle of the room, turning his cap back and forth in his hands.

“You can take a seat,” Hrefna said to the policeman, as she sat down in front of the old woman.

“My name is Hrefna. I’m from the police. Do you feel ready to answer a few questions?”

The woman looked up and nodded. Her eyes were red.

“I was told it was you who called the police,” Hrefna began gently.

“Yes,” replied the woman softly.

“What is your name?”

“Sveinborg Pétursdóttir.”

Hrefna wrote the name on a piece of paper in front of her. “I understand you are the housekeeper here.”

The woman nodded.

“And the man lying out there, who is he?” asked Hrefna.

“It’s Jacob—Jacob Kieler Junior. I suppose he is dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes, that’s right, he is dead.”

Sveinborg bowed her head and wiped a tear from her eye.

“Did he live alone here?” Hrefna asked.

“Yes.”

There was a short silence.

“Have you any idea what happened?” Hrefna asked.

“No, not at all,” the woman answered.

“Please tell me about this morning, when you arrived,” Hrefna continued.

Taking a sip from her glass, Sveinborg began her slow and tentative account. She described how she had entered the house and then gone into the kitchen, where she had noticed right away that things were not as usual. Jacob was in the habit of having his breakfast, and then leaving the crockery in the kitchen sink. She would assemble some cold meats and other things each evening, and leave them for him in the refrigerator. They hadn’t been touched. She described how she had searched the house and then where she had found him.