The final task was to carefully melt all the snow from a selected area in front of the house and around the back door, in case this should reveal prints formed just after it started snowing; that night’s snow had fallen on bare ground, so if there were any prints, they would be fresh ones.
Jóhann found no further prints, however, so they could assume that nobody else had come to the house during this time.
Egill emerged from the house with his coat on; he was to organize a search of the garden and its surroundings. A team of officers were to comb the snow with garden rakes to see if anything lay hidden there. It was possible the gun might have been thrown into the garden, in which case it would be preferable to discover it now rather than waiting for the spring thaw.
Some of the snow that had piled up on the roof of the house broke away and slid down the slope, falling from the eaves with a substantial thud. Jóhann glanced up. The roof looked wet where the snow had been. That meant the insulation was poor and the snow had no doubt been melted by the heat coming from the house. It must be an expensive house to run, he thought to himself.
Jóhann saw Hrefna coming down the path beside the house with an older woman on her arm. Hrefna smiled to him as they walked carefully past. Watching the women go out into the street, Marteinn asked Jóhann, “Is she married?”
“No.”
“Seeing someone?”
“No.”
Marteinn sniffed. “So one could ask her out.”
“No,” answered Jóhann, “I’ve tried. She says she doesn’t want to date colleagues.”
“Oh, well. Of course, she’s much older than me,” Marteinn said.
She would only laugh at you, thought Jóhann, but sympathizing, said instead, “Yes, she is too old for you.”
Diary I
September 17, 1911. We are now well into the university term. During the first semester we study principally mathematics, physics, thermodynamics, and structural engineering. The practical projects will be in the second semester. I have, out of interest, taken note of the senior students’ projects…
November 21, 1911. It is my mother’s birthday today. She is 41. It is now well over a year since I have seen my parents, and it will probably be a long time before I return to Iceland. But I write home frequently, so they know that I am prospering in all respects…
November 30, 1911. The new train station, Københavns Hovedbanegård, was inaugurated today. This is an impressive construction. The main entrance faces Vesterbrogade near Rådhuspladsen. Over the entrance is a square tower with pinnacles on the top and all four corners. Inside is an enormous ticket hall, with steps leading down from it to the platforms. They are 6 in all, which means that 12! trains can be dispatched simultaneously. The tracks run under the station…
February 10, 1912. I have visited the train station frequently this winter. I have been examining both the buildings and the railway itself. I intend to study railway engineering for my master’s degree. I think it must be a most rewarding occupation to build a new railroad. I have been thinking about all the potential back in Iceland. The trip I took to Akureyri the year before last would have been so much quicker by railroad. I can visualize a train speeding through the Öxnadalur valley with people looking up from haymaking to wave to the engineer…
February 17, 1912. Had an interview with Professor Christiansen this morning. He thought well of my idea of studying railway engineering. He recommends that I should complete my Bachelor of Science degree here at the engineering college in the spring of 1913, and go from there to the Technische Hochschule in Berlin. I can use the time to study German. The professor knows a German lady who might be able to give me lessons…
February 23, 1912. Went for my first German lesson to Mrs. Sabine Heger. She is in her thirties, a widow of a Danish professor of law. We agreed that I should begin by reading the works of Goethe, starting with Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. She had a used copy, which she sold to me…I have now come to the end of the last page in this, my first diary, which I started writing on June 30, 1910. I have already purchased another book, similar to this one, which I shall commence to write tomorrow.
Through the parlor window, Halldór watched Hrefna walking Sveinborg to the street. It was quite sensible of Hrefna to take the old woman back to her own home and continue talking to her there. It must have been a difficult experience, and she would probably feel better in more familiar surroundings.
Erlendur had gone to report the death to the uncle, and Egill had begun the search of the garden, so Halldór was now alone in the parlor. Putting on a pair of fine white cotton gloves that he kept in his pocket, he walked back to the lobby. He found the number of the bank in the telephone directory on the shelf under the telephone and then picked up the receiver, holding it by the bottom of the mouthpiece to avoid destroying any fingerprints that might be on the handle. Using his pen, he dialed the number of the bank, and when the receptionist answered, he was put through to Jacob’s superior.