House of Evidence(86)

Halldór bit his lip; Matthías had a point. He had probably not been directly asked about his whereabouts that evening.

“What was your business with Jacob?” he asked, moving on.

“You could say it was just an ordinary courtesy call.”

“Did you notice anything unusual that evening?”

“No.”

“How long did you stay at Birkihlíd?”

“I arrived there at about ten o’clock and left for home about an hour later. Klemenz will confirm that I arrived home shortly after eleven.”

“We’ll check that later,” Halldór promised. “Now to your father’s will; according to it, your brother Jacob inherited the entire estate. You are not mentioned in it at all, sir. Why would that be?”

“My father was not happy that I went abroad to study music, as he did not feel it was a suitable study. When I refused to comply with his wishes in this matter, he disinherited me.”

“So then how did you come to own half of Birkihlíd?”

“I see. You think that there is something strange about that. Well, it’s quite simple. My brother ceded half the property to me after our father’s death. The title deed was notarized accordingly.”

Halldór looked at Egill. “Get hold of someone at the city magistrate’s office and find out if that document exists,” he said. Then, as Egill made his departure, he turned his attention back to Matthías. “Why did Jacob Senior assign half the property to you?”

“There were personal reasons. You could say that he was not happy about our father’s behavior and wanted to make it up to me.”

Halldór regarded Matthías silently for a long time, and then said, “Do you really expect me to believe this?”

“Yes. It is the truth, my good man.”

Halldór shook his head and glanced at his notebook, where he had listed in advance a number of issues he wanted to address with Matthías. “You arrived in the country on July 9, 1945. Six days later your brother was murdered. On your arrival, he stopped keeping the diary that he had written every day since he was twenty years old. Can you explain this?”

“No. Naturally, my brother’s death was as traumatic for me as for the rest of the family. The fact that I had only just arrived in the country was a coincidence.”

“So you leave the country and don’t visit again for nearly thirty years. And then on this second visit, your nephew is murdered with the same gun.”

“If you are insinuating that I had anything to do with this, you are barking up the wrong tree.”

“So tell me the truth about what you were doing in Birkihlíd on the evening Jacob Junior was shot.”

“The truth? Oh, well. I do not mind telling you exactly what passed between us. Jacob Junior phoned me that evening and asked me to come by. He said it was about the sale of the house. I did as he asked. He had apparently come into possession of a parcel of documents that contained, among other things, my father’s will. He, like you, had come to the conclusion that it threw some doubt on my ownership of half the house. I told him what I told you, that his father had ceded this half of the property to me.”

“How did he react?”

“He was disappointed, of course. He had assumed that it had meant he could acquire possession at less cost to himself.”

“What happened after that?”

“I reminded him that the next payment for the house was due, and went home.”

Satisfied for the moment with his reply, Halldór turned to the next item on his list. “We have learned from Salzburg that everything is not all it seems in your relationship with Klemenz, your manservant. Do you have anything to say about that?”

“Our relationship is our private affair and does not concern you in any way.”

“So you admit there is more to it than an ordinary relationship between master and servant?”

“I don’t have to admit anything of the kind,” he replied coldly. “These are inappropriate questions.”

“I am simply showing that there is more than meets the eye as far as you are concerned, sir,” Halldór said.

At that moment, Egill reentered the room, and Halldór paused, awaiting the detective’s report.

“There was an official at the city magistrates when I called them who was able to look into this,” said Egill. “The document exists, notarized and dated July 12, 1945.”

“Right,” said Halldór, turning back to Matthías. “That’s three days after your return to Iceland and three days before Jacob was murdered. Certainly convenient for you.”