House of Evidence(48)
“Mother,” Elísabet suddenly interrupted, “you know perfectly well that man was innocent. Also, he’s been dead a long time.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t know that,” Kirsten said.
Hrefna looked at Elísabet. “Do you know of this old case?”
“I have familiarized myself with it, to the extent that I know that it is recognized as one of the most serious abuses of authority in this century. The man was kept in prison for months on end without justification, a gross infringement of the principle of in dubio pro reo, since he was never charged with any offense. The case is considered to have been instrumental in shifting the burden of proof to the prosecution; thankfully, it’s no longer acceptable to stick people in jail for months in the hope that they’ll eventually confess to all charges.”
Hrefna was taken aback by young Elísabet’s statement. She was far more knowledgeable about the case and the law than she had expected.
“Have you kept in touch with your uncle?” Hrefna asked.
“No. When I came south to go to university, the plan was for me to live in Birkihlíd, but I moved out after a couple of days.”
“Why?”
“I was supposed to sleep in my grandmother’s room, and I wasn’t allowed to change anything in there. I was scarcely allowed to change the bed linen, and I couldn’t empty the wardrobe at all. He expected me to keep my clothes in my suitcase. I couldn’t smoke in there and nobody was allowed to visit. It was like living in the National Museum.”
“It would, of course, have been ideal if Ella could have made a little apartment in the basement,” Kirsten added. “There was plenty of space, but my brother didn’t understand at all.”
Elísabet continued, “On top of that he expected me to help Sveinborg clean the house, but never lifted a finger himself.”
“Did you never go back to Birkihlíd after that?” Hrefna asked.
“I would occasionally drop in for a cup of coffee with Sveinborg when Jacob was at work. She has always been a kind of auntie to me, and I like seeing her. I think she enjoyed the company as well,” Elísabet replied.
Diary V
January 30, 1918. Went to a concert. One of the pieces the orchestra played was the New World Symphony, which I had not heard since that concert long ago with Elizabeth. I had a bit of a lump in my throat…
June 5, 1918. I am mesmerized by the locomotives. They are almost human; the pipes are the arteries, the boiler the lung. A rigid body that breathes, clears its throat, and sighs. She groans with effort when she labors, and she sings as she runs at full speed. Her heartbeat ticks as the cars run over the rail joints: clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack…
October 6, 1918. The new German Chancellor, Prince Max von Baden, has sent a request to the President of the United States to conclude a peace treaty. An end to the war seems to be in sight.
November 12, 1918. The newspapers report that a cease-fire was signed yesterday. The war has ended; God grant that there never be war again…
November 25, 1918. Matthías writes to me that Iceland is to be a free and independent state. The Act of union was agreed in a referendum with a majority of votes. He also writes that the British consul came to see my father and asked for my address. I wonder why…
It was midday, and Jóhann and Hrefna were on their way to Birkihlíd to conduct a thorough search of the house for any clues that might possibly help the investigation. In particular, Halldór had asked them to look for the gun, which he suspected had never left the house.
The sun had broken through, and it was getting warmer. Hrefna drove, while Jóhann leaned comfortably back in his seat; both were silent, lost in thought. Jóhann was reflecting on Birkihlíd itself; it was an unusual house and he suspected that this case would have an unusual conclusion. In addition, he was not totally satisfied with the results of his investigation the day before. He had the feeling he had overlooked something.
He could smell the faint fragrance of Hrefna’s perfume. He felt good being close to her, and was sorry they reached their destination so quickly.
They broke the seal on the front door and let themselves in with a key. Something obstructed the door as Jóhann tried to push it open—it was a copy of Morgunbladid, lying on the floor in the lobby. He picked it up and scanned the front page. The main story was on the Kiel Marine Research Institute review, and a smaller story on the Kieler murder.
“This is today’s paper,” he said.
“Yes, of course,” Hrefna replied. “What else would it be?”