It was still raining at eleven when two detectives arrived in Flatey. They had left Reykjavik by car, shortly after Johanna had phoned the criminal investigation department in the capital and requested assistance on Grimur’s behalf. A coast guard ship that happened to be a short distance away in the West Fjords sailed to Stykkisholmur to meet them and then take them to Flatey. The ship was now moored to the new pier and looked gray, wet, and bleak in the evening twilight.
Grimur received the investigators on the pier, and the only other people there apart from him were Thormodur Krakur, holding his handcart and dressed in his black suit, and the three generations of men from Ystakot. Valdi had seen the ship approach from the south and went down to grab the ropes as usual. Kjartan, on the other hand, had asked to be relieved of any further participation in the investigation after the discovery in the churchyard, and said he was ill and had gone to bed.
The chief investigating officer greeted Grimur first. “I’m Thorolfur,” he said, before introducing his partner: “Lukas from forensics. He’ll be examining the scene and assisting me in the interrogations.”
Thorolfur was a vigorous and slim man in his early sixties. His white hair had started to thin slightly and was combed back. His weather-beaten and clean-shaven face was wrinkled, as if it had been exposed to too much sun. Lukas, on the other hand, was younger, probably in his thirties, short, and chubby, with thick lips and rugged skin that stretched over a broad face crowned with light brown hair.
Two men were on the deck of the coast guard ship, preparing it for the night at the pier. Figures could be glimpsed through the illuminated windows of the bridge.
The policemen were suitably dressed for walking in the rain, wearing good raincoats and rubber boots. They carried two heavy bags with them and an oblong box, similar to the casket they had used to transport Professor Lund to Reykjavik. The older policeman gratefully accepted Thormodur Krakur’s offer to carry their luggage in his cart.
They set off, Thormodur Krakur at the front with the cart and the others behind him. Grimur recounted the events of the past few days to the policemen and the little he knew of Bryngeir’s movements over the past twenty-four hours. Thorolfur asked how many people were on the island, including both locals and guests.
“There were fifty-two people here this morning,” Grimur answered after some thought.
“How many of them would’ve had the physical strength to do something like this?” the policeman asked.
“Well, that I couldn’t say. Most of the adult men and probably some of the sturdier women.”
“We’ll question everyone from confirmation age up to their eighties tomorrow. How many would that be?”
Grimur silently counted. “That’s probably twenty-two men and fifteen women. There are two old men in their nineties, and the rest of them are kids below confirmation age.”
The policeman was silent and pondered. “This shouldn’t be difficult to solve,” he finally said. “The elimination process should narrow the group down quite rapidly. I just hope that the perpetrator doesn’t panic and do something stupid.”
The sun was still in the air somewhere behind the dark clouds of rain, but was nevertheless beginning to fade. They walked past the doctor’s house, where there was a light on in the window. Grimur didn’t lead them up the shortcut to the churchyard, but instead he took the road that was more manageable for the handcart. Finally they reached the church, which was open. Hogni stood in the hallway, wearing his sailor’s overalls and sea hat, watching the approach of the men. He greeted them with a wave.
The inspectors took their luggage off the cart and carried it into the church. They then thanked Thormodur Krakur for his help and told him he could leave, but that it would be good if they could hold on to the cart. Thormodur Krakur dithered until Grimur said, “Just go to bed, Krakur. I’ll take care of your cart.”
Thormodur Krakur tilted on his toes. “Very well, District Administrative Officer. I’ll be off then, even though I never like to be the first to desert the battlefield.”
Grimur turned to Hogni. “You can go, too, Hogni. You’ve done your shift now. Drop off by my place and get my Imba to make you a cup of coffee. No one wants to be alone tonight.”
Hogni was visibly relieved. He took Thormodur Krakur by the arm.
“Come on, pal. Your good clothes are drenched.”
They walked down the slope from the church, without looking back.
Lukas grabbed two large flashlights before the inspectors ventured into the churchyard. Grimur followed them, since he needed to show them the way. The body was clearly visible from the side of the churchyard because there was still some daylight, even though the rainy clouds had darkened the sky. It was close to the summer solstice, and the night would be very short.
Lukas walked with a stooped back, pointing his beaming flashlight at his feet and the grassy path, while Thorolfur followed behind.
“There’s no trail of blood,” said Lukas. “And no discernible footprints either.”
When they reached the grave the body lay on, the policemen stopped.
“Someone has been walking around here,” said Lukas, pointing at the crushed grass around the grave.
“Yes, I walked there this morning and then the doctor,” said Grimur.
“I’ll examine the whole churchyard more closely,” Lukas said to Thorolfur, “but if we don’t find any trace of blood, then the man was most likely killed on this spot.”
He drew closer to the body and scrutinized its back.
“The man must have been barely conscious when he was carved up. There are no signs of resistance. He seems to have been placed in this position, his clothes were pulled over the top part of his body, and then his back was slashed to pieces.”
He examined the hands, feet, and finally the head. “There are no signs of him having been tied up and no visible injuries on the head. He is unlikely to have been unconscious from a blow to the head.”
“What about alcohol?” Grimur asked “He was drunk when he arrived on the island, and as far as I know he never sobered up.”
“That’s something the autopsy will reveal,” Thorolfur answered. “We’ll finish our examination of the scene, and then we’ll send the body off with the ship. They’ll take it to Stykkisholmur tonight, and there’s a van ready to take it straight to Reykjavik. We should get a preliminary report back within twenty-four hours.”
Lukas fetched a camera with a big flash. He took several pictures of the body, changing bulbs after each shot. Grimur was blinded by the light when he made the mistake of looking into the flash, and the whole cemetery seemed to completely darken between shots.
“It’s hard to believe the summer solstice is coming soon,” he said, looking up at the overcast sky.
When Lukas had finished taking the pictures, Thorolfur bent over the body and loosened the coat around the waist. Holding the tip of the coat up in the air with the index of his left hand, he searched through the pockets with the other. The only thing he found was an almost empty bottle of rum. The drenched coat and bottle were placed in a large paper bag. Next, Thorolfur loosened the jacket and searched through its pockets in the same way. There was a plastic wallet in one of the inner pockets. Seizing it, Lukas shone his flashlight on its soaked contents. A bus ticket from Reykjavik to Stykkisholmur, a press card with a photo of Bryngeir, and a checkbook with two checks left. From the other pocket he took out a wad that was held together by a thick rubber band. Lukas carefully loosened it. A Danish passport, wallet, and Danish notebook appeared. He opened the wet passport with great caution. The photograph was indistinguishable, but the name of its owner was still legible: Gaston Lund.
Grimur was dumbfounded. “That’s the man who died in Ketilsey. What on earth was this man doing with his belongings?” he finally asked.
“He seems to have made more progress in his investigation into Lund’s fate than you did, District Officer,” said Thorolfur.
“Do you really believe there could be a connection between this deed and the death of the Dane?” Grimur asked.
Thorolfur silently pondered the question before answering: “If there is a connection, it’s strange that these papers should still be in the reporter’s pocket. If he’d been killed because he knew too much about the Dane’s death, the papers would probably have been removed from his pocket. At the same time, it’s unlikely that two events of this kind could have occurred in a small community like this without them being connected to each other in some way or the perpetrator being the same person.”
Grimur shook his head dejectedly. “I thought I knew all my people.”
Lukas finished his job and then fetched the casket from the church. The policemen then lifted the body between them and carefully placed it in the casket. The paper bags with the clothes were also placed in the box. The body no longer looked like a red angel, and Grimur felt it now looked like a giant squashed bluebottle fly at the bottom of the box. He was relieved when the lid had been placed over the casket and screwed down. He felt he ought to say something appropriate, but the best he could come up with was the fragment of an old psalm:
“I lit my candles by the cross of the holy tree,” he muttered softly, but then he couldn’t remember the rest and just muttered a silent, “Amen.”
The policemen carried the box out of the churchyard and placed it on the handcart. They then set off across the island toward the coast guard ship.
It was almost three in the morning by now, and there were no lights on inside the houses, except for the doctor’s residence. Another corpse lay within those walls, and the daughter was alone in the house, so it wasn’t surprising that the light was on. Reverend Hannes had told Grimur that she wanted her father to be buried in Flatey. Gudjon in Radagerdi was bound to have started making the casket. The body would be transported to the church after the closing of the casket.
The only lights that glowed on the coast guard ship were those on the bridge where four men were on watch. Two of them stepped on shore, lifted the casket between them, and carried it on board the ship. The inspectors followed them to collect small suitcases containing their personal belongings. Then they stepped back on shore again. The disembarkation bridge was pulled back on board and the moorings untied. The ship slipped away from the pier and smoothly backed out of the strait. It was only when it was far out in the open sea that it finally veered south and advanced at full speed.
The ship had been ordered to go straight to Stykkisholmur to deliver the casket and then return to Flatey. The crew would then remain on standby to assist the inspectors whenever needed in the days ahead. The ship would also to be used as a communications center. Everyone on the island could eavesdrop on conversations that went through the regular radio channels, but the coast guard could send messages that the general public were unable to decipher, and the policemen therefore needed it to be able to communicate with their colleagues in Reykjavik where the investigation was also still being pursued.
Grimur and the policemen watched the coast guard ship sail off and then walked toward the village. Accommodation had been set up for the guests in the school.
Question twenty-five: What did Ivar lack? Second letter. Ivar the Boneless was king in England for a long time. He had no children because it was said that he lacked carnal desires, but he wasn’t short of cunning and cruelty. He died of old age in England and was buried there. The answer is “desires,” and the second letter is e.