“What is 13 times 15.4?” he repeated, closing his eyes and bobbing his head once again.
Jóhann began again to calculate with his slide rule.
“I know; 13 times 15.4 is 200.2. Absolutely,” Halli said.
“That’s right; it is…about 200 grains. Now you can finish your picture,” he said kindly, dismissing the boy.
“Finish the picture, absolutely,” Halli said, scurrying happily back to his corner.
“About 200…I’m beginning to get some ideas,” Jóhann said. He took out an American ballistics manual and leafed through some tables.
“I know the type of gun this might come from. It was often called the 38/200. Smith and Wesson in the United States started to produce these for the British army in 1940, and a few of them remained in circulation here in Iceland after the war, left behind by British officers, but it was difficult to get ammunition for them after the British army left.”
Jóhann read from the manual: “Rifling: Five-groove right-hand. I think that means that there are five grooves in the bore that spiral around to the right.” He looked at Marteinn. “Do you know what that is for?”
“So that the bullet spins as it flies, then it goes straight and doesn’t tumble. I learned that at Police College,” Marteinn replied, clearly pleased with himself.
“That’s right,” Jóhann said, examining the bullet under a magnifying glass. “One, two, three, four, five grooves turned to the right. It figures.” He put the magnifying glass down and added, “The parts of the bore between the grooves are called the lands. When the bullet is fired, it gets hot and expands into the grooves as it goes down the barrel, so the lands leave marks on it. There are five such marks on this bullet.”
Jóhann retrieved a wooden box from the bottom of a closet in one corner of the lab. “I brought this back from the States,” he said, placing the heavy box on the table. It had several labeled, shallow drawers, and Jóhann opened the second to last drawer, marked Smith & Wesson etc. The drawer was divided into many compartments, each containing one unused cartridge and one used bullet, along with an information sheet.
“This box contains samples of the most common ammo used in the States,” Jóhann said. “I’m sure there is a 38/200 here somewhere.” He ran his finger across the compartments as he read the information. “Yes, it’s here.” He took the used bullet and compared it with the bullet that had killed Jacob Junior. The color finish was slightly different but the shape was identical.
“That’s the one,” he said, flipping through the manual to the index. He turned to the relevant page and found some good color photographs of the gun from both sides, together with a comprehensive description. “Repeating handgun with revolving cartridge cylinder.” On the left side of the barrel was the maker’s name, SMITH & WESSON; on the left side of the butt the trademark; and, attached beneath the butt, a lanyard loop.
Jóhann read out some numerical information, writing it down as he did: “Length 10 inches or 254 millimeters. Weight 29 ounces or 820 grams. Length of barrel 5 inches or 127 millimeters. Six rounds fully loaded. Muzzle velocity 198 meters per second.”
He referred to a table listing the muzzle energy and velocity of handguns.
“This gun seems to me to have been rather underpowered compared with other types of the same caliber,” he said after comparing some numbers.
Just then Hrefna entered the lab and sneezed; her face was gray with fine dust. “I went to the document store and finally managed to find the file on the death of Jacob Senior,” she announced, then sneezed again and blew her nose into a tissue. “I must be allergic to this stupid dust,” she said. “Here’s the bullet.” She handed Jóhann a brown transparent paper envelope, its glue long since dried out. Jóhann took out the bullet and examined it.
“This is interesting. Another 38/200, as far as I can see.” He told Hrefna what he had discovered about the other bullet as he marked each one on its flat end with a felt-tip pen, A on the new bullet and B on the old one.
“Now let’s check to see if this could be the same weapon,” he said. “We’ll use the comparison microscope.”
This was the largest piece of equipment in the lab, and it was composed of two gray-colored microscopes linked by a white crossbar, with lenses for both eyes. Jóhann carefully clamped the bullets in place, one under each microscope. The clamps were designed so that objects under observation could be aligned in any direction, and miniature lamps enabled Jóhann to illuminate both bullets from exactly the same angle.