House of Evidence(73)
“There was the agreement Alfred Kieler made with the contractor who built Birkihlíd; birth certificates for the two brothers, Jacob Senior and Matthías; Alfred Kieler’s will; and other documents of historical value to the family.”
“Do you know Matthías?”
“No. He had moved to Berlin by the time I came back home after finishing my studies. I have only seen him twice in my life, the first time at Jacob Senior’s funeral and then this last Wednesday evening.”
“Was Matthías here in Iceland when Jacob Senior died?”
“Yes, he had just arrived from Germany. He came on Esja along with a large number of other Icelanders who had gotten trapped in Europe during the war.”
“Where did you see him last Wednesday evening?”
“At Birkihlíd. I went for a walk and met him on the sidewalk by the gate.”
“Are you sure it was Matthías?”
“Yes, I’m good at remembering people. He had aged by nearly thirty years and put on a good deal of weight since I saw him at the funeral, but I still recognized him immediately. I said good evening to him, but he didn’t reply and went in through the gate.”
“Are you sure that he was making for the house?”
“Yes, I watched him walk up the steps.”
“What time do you think this was?”
“It must have been between nine thirty and ten. I watched a documentary on Africa on the television and then went out for a walk.”
Diary X
February 23, 1928. My father and I have between us bought an automobile, a 1927 Pontiac. This is a good, sturdy vehicle. Hallgrímur the shop assistant will be my father’s driver, whereas I shall drive myself on my rounds…
March 20, 1928. Took young Jacob for a walk. Made changes to the drawing of Elías the pharmacist’s house. His wife is not happy with the day parlor. My mother is not well…
May 20, 1928. My father was summoned to the town sheriff today. My brother Matthías has been involved in some kind of difficulty. I shall deal with this tomorrow. Made certain that the newspapers were kept out of it…
May 21, 1928. Spent the whole morning talking to my father, then went to see the sheriff. The case has been settled. Matthías will be going immediately to Berlin to begin his studies at the music academy, rather than waiting until fall as had been the original plan. He sails on the Gullfoss next week…
May 27, 1928. Accompanied Matthías to the ship. He gave me heartfelt thanks for my help, but was somewhat miserable. Father had not spoken a word to him…
Having concluded her interview with Yngvi Jónsson, Hrefna carried out an exhaustive, if unsuccessful, search for Elísabet. She tried the Nýi Gardur student residence, at the University of Iceland, but Elísabet was not in her room, nor did any of the students on her hall know where she might be; she also tried the university library, and the various other places on campus where students usually congregated, to no avail.
She decided to phone the number she’d been given for Kirsten when she got back to the office.
“I only need some information from her, it’s nothing to worry about,” Hrefna explained, after asking Kirsten if she knew of her daughter’s whereabouts.
Kirsten didn’t, or if she did, she wasn’t telling.
So Hrefna set about transcribing the notes she had taken of her conversation with Yngvi instead. She was just finishing up when Jóhann arrived at the office clutching a cardboard box.
“This will cheer you up,” he remarked, emptying the box of the things they’d retrieved from the Birkihlíd safe on her desk. He handed her the last seven diaries and then took the rest of the contents over to his desk and began examining a pile of documents, along with the ammunition they’d recovered.
Hrefna inspected the stack of books, which looked very much like the older ones, both inside and out. The entries were quite similar to the ones she had already been studying. Still, there had to be a specific reason why these particular books had been kept in a locked cabinet rather than on the shelf with the others.
She paged to the last entry, near the front of diary number nineteen. It was dated July 8, 1945, and contained only a single sentence: Matthías arrives tomorrow.
After that the pages were blank.
Jacob Kieler Senior had died on July 15, 1945. He had kept a diary continuously from June 30, 1910, until July 8, 1945, writing something every day, whether well or unwell, happy or sad. On the day his brother Matthías arrived home, after many years abroad, Jacob Kieler Senior stopped writing in his diary. Six days later he was shot dead. Hrefna read the last sentence one more time: Matthías arrives tomorrow.