House of Evidence(39)
“The light sharpens the marks,” he said, peering into the microscope. It took a moment for him to synchronize the focus, and then he slowly revolved bullet A to find the deepest mark. He repeated the process with bullet B, turning a fine adjusting screw back and forth until he was finally satisfied.
“Here, take a look at this,” he said.
Marteinn and Hrefna took turns examining the bullets through the microscope. “That’s very interesting,” said Marteinn tentatively.
“What am I supposed to be seeing?” Hrefna asked impatiently. Neither of them had been able to discern anything aside from a mass of horizontal marks bisected by a central black vertical line.
“The horizontal marks fit perfectly together,” Jóhann explained. “You are looking at the two bullets on either side of the black vertical line.”
Hrefna peered into the microscope again. It was true; the marks were unbroken across the whole image.
“Does this mean that the same gun was used to fire both shots?” she asked.
“Probably,” Jóhann replied. He looked again into the microscope and slowly turned both bullets a full 360 degrees. They had been distorted on contact with their targets, but it was very clear that the pattern was the same all the way round.
“Very probably the same gun,” Jóhann repeated.
Diary III
June 22, 1915. Elizabeth met me on my arrival at Leicester and introduced me to her fiancé, Mr. Peter Faidley, a lieutenant in the army. I was, naturally, deeply disappointed but I was also happy for them. They certainly make a handsome couple. I had never asked for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage, nor indicated that I had any intentions of that nature. And she heard nothing from me for two years. I can only blame myself that I have lost her. They plan to marry when Mr. Faidley has completed his military service…
June 23, 1915. Everything in England is much duller than when I was here before. This is of course due to the war. It feels odd to have dwelt among two warring nations in the same summer. In truth, the feeling is very similar for both places…There is nothing for me here as things stand, and I must make a decision as to what to do next. I sent a telegram to Herr Lautmann in Chicago asking about employment prospects in railway engineering in North America. I need to gain practical experience…
June 26, 1915. Received a telegram from Herr Lautmann. He has engaged me as a railway engineer with the Chicago & North Western Railway. He requests me to come as soon as possible…
June 29, 1915. On board the Cunard liner Pannonia. We sailed from London about midnight and are heading, without navigation lights, north of the British Isles. Pannonia is 9,851 tons; she was built in Glasgow in 1902, and can accommodate 90 passengers in first class and 70 in second class. We have no idea when we shall reach New York…
Hrefna sat opposite Halldór, absentmindedly chewing on her Biro pen, while he talked on the phone.
“Yes, I’ll be there soon,” he said, unsuccessfully trying to end the call. Halldór listened on wearily, and finally said, “No, no, I won’t be too late.”
Halldór and Hrefna had been looking through the files she had found on the investigation into the death of Jacob Kieler Senior before the phone rang.
After hanging up, Halldór turned glumly to the pile of documents between them. First was a report by a Detective Constable Andrés Hjörleifsson, who had been called to the scene in the summer of 1945; Hrefna read it aloud, skipping the less important bits:
“Today, July 15, 1945, constables N.L. and O.A. were called to the house named Birkihlíd. Household servant H.J. had found his employer, Jacob Kieler Senior, deceased in the main parlor of the house, with a large wound to the right eye. I, the undersigned Detective Constable A.H., was called to the scene and investigated the situation. My examinations and conversation with household servant H.J. revealed the following:
“A glass pane in the main door had been broken from the outside, making it possible to unlock the door by extending an arm through the broken pane. The deceased was alone in the house during the night, as his wife and two children were out of town, and the staff, who live in the basement of the house, were absent, having been given leave for that weekend. The deceased was dressed in pajamas and dressing gown, and seems to have gotten out of bed during the night when he heard a noise, and encountered his killer in the parlor. No valuables are missing from the house, so it appears that the burglar was discouraged. It was not possible to take fingerprints from the door handle, as several people had passed through and touched it before I arrived at the scene.