Her account was disturbed by Jóhann, who wanted to check the soles of Sveinborg’s shoes in order to compare them with the footsteps in the snow. She pointed him toward the shoes in the rear vestibule. He also asked to check the shoes of the police officer still sitting with them in the kitchen.
“What was Jacob’s occupation?” Hrefna asked after Jóhann had left.
“He had an office job in a bank. He had been with them for over twenty years,” Sveinborg answered, adding apprehensively, “They must be wondering where he is. Can you let them know what’s happened?”
“Yes, we’ll do that,” Hrefna replied, catching the policeman’s eye and nodding.
“And Matthías. He must also be told straightaway,” Sveinborg added.
“Who is he?” Hrefna asked.
“Matthías Kieler. He is Jacob Junior’s uncle. He is staying in an apartment not far from here.”
“We will see to that,” reassured Hrefna, writing down the address Sveinborg gave her. “I shall need a good deal more information from you, but I don’t want you to have to stay any longer in this house. Wouldn’t you feel a bit better in your own home?” Hrefna asked kindly.
The old woman nodded with relief.
Diary I
March 4, 1911. My birthday. I am 21 years old and life is very good. I celebrated the day by taking a train to Roskilde and back again. This is the route of the first railroad here in Denmark, opened in 1847. I have never before traveled by train, and I was shaking with enthusiasm as the train set off. It felt as if the platform was beginning to move while the train remained stationary, just as when a ship moves off from the jetty…
March 5, 1911. I am still reflecting on my railway journey yesterday. It is utterly astonishing that no railway has yet been built in Iceland. I know that the Government Chief Engineer has been campaigning for us to build a railroad, but the voices of dissent are always strong. There is an ample sufficiency of arable land in Iceland, but lack of transport has been a hindrance to agriculture. Product sales are held up in winter, efficient feed transport is impracticable, and there are shortages of fertilizer and fuel. If we are to harness the power of waterfalls, there is no question that we must also build a railroad. I have been contemplating whether to focus my studies on building power plants or railroads. I shall probably choose the latter, since they must take precedence over power plants, besides which they interest me far more…
June 5, 1911. Was awarded “udmærked godt” (excellent) in philosophy. Went to the Tivoli amusement park and stayed well into the evening. The fireworks are my favorite feature…
July 10, 1911. Entrance exams finished today. Professor Christiansen bade me welcome to the engineering course this fall…
Jóhann was nearly done examining the footprints, and Marteinn followed him around, carrying a small pocket book into which he jotted down the observations that Jóhann dictated, stamping his feet in between notations to keep warm.
All the footprints had been identified, apart from one trail that led to the front door of the house and back again. The person who made these prints must have been there either early in the morning or during the night, as a considerable amount of snow had subsequently fallen on them. It was possible, by carefully heating the snow with a gas burner, to melt away what had fallen into the footprints, since the snow underneath was packed more densely and could take more heat without melting. Jóhann had thus managed to retrieve good samples of the prints of both the left and right feet. He arranged his camera on a tripod and pointed it down directly above the right footprint, then set a fifty-centimeter ruler, marked alternately black and white at each centimeter, next to the print before taking a picture. He photographed the left shoe print in the same way.
An overview picture was taken of the area and the footprints were measured carefully. The feet were twenty-three centimeters long, with an average stride length of forty-five centimeters. This could not be a tall man, and the shoe size was too small for an adult man at all, so Jóhann guessed that the prints belonged to either a woman with small feet or an adolescent.
Lastly, he set about taking an impression of the shoe print. He mixed hardener with some liquid plastic and poured it into the print, placing a fine wire net on top to reinforce it. The plastic hardened in no time, and the result was a reasonable, if not perfect, reproduction of the print. They would probably be able to discover the size and make of the footwear using the photograph and the plastic cast, but it was not likely that it would suffice to distinguish one particular pair of shoes from another of the same type and size—the prints were not so well defined that any distinctive feature could be made out.