House of Evidence (22 page)

E
arlier that morning Halldór had made an appointment to see Thórdur, Jacob Senior’s erstwhile assistant. And despite the fact that it was Saturday, Thórdur said he’d planned on being at his office. Halldór went straight there after the safe opening at Birkihlíd, the picture of the railway train tucked firmly under his arm.

Thórdur’s engineering firm was housed in a new building on Sudurlandsbraut. This was clearly a sizable operation, with a spacious reception area and, beyond it, a large room containing many drawing boards, where a number of people were hard at work. Halldór was shown into a large, well-furnished office.

Thórdur was in his sixties, with gray hair and long sideburns. He was dressed in a woolen jacket with leather patches on the elbows. The office smelled of tobacco smoke, and several pipes hung from a rack on the desk.

Thórdur shook Halldór’s hand and offered him a seat.

“I am here about Jacob Kieler Junior’s death,” Halldór announced plainly.

“Yes, these are dreadful events,” replied Thórdur. “I still haven’t recovered from hearing about Jacob Junior’s death. He was a fine man.”

“Do you recall the death of Jacob Senior?” Halldór asked.

“Yes, of course. I understand from the news that Jacob Junior suffered a similar fate.”

“Were you working for Jacob Senior when he died?”

“Yes, but we were actually on summer holiday at that time. Otherwise it would probably have been me who found him.”

“Have you seen this picture before?” Halldór asked, passing Thórdur the picture of the railway train.

Thórdur took the picture and examined it carefully.

“Yes, I’ve seen it once before.”

“When was that?”

“Jacob Senior received it in the post a few weeks before the war broke out in Europe. Nobody was supposed to know about the trains here in Iceland at that time, but Jacob was so overjoyed about it that he couldn’t resist showing me his treasure. He knew, of course, that I wouldn’t break his trust. I never saw the picture again, and I have never discussed this with a soul apart from Jacob, until this moment.”

“Whose train is this?”

“This is Jacob’s train, of course. After tireless effort, Jacob had found backers in Germany to provide a substantial part of the finance for the railroad, and an operating company, Isländische Bahn AG, was set up there to produce the rolling stock and lease it to the Iceland Railroad Company. This was the first of two trains that the company made. It was a sensitive subject because of the political situation in Europe, and the identity of the company behind the rolling stock had to be kept secret in Iceland.”

“But the tracks, they didn’t even exist here.”

“That’s right. The Iceland Railroad Company was supposed to look after that side of things, and the steel for the first stretch of track was ready on the quay in Hamburg. The cross ties were coming from Norway. That summer they were going to build the
first few kilometers from the harbor, and ship the train to Iceland. Jacob was hoping some local funding for the enterprise would come forth once people saw that it was about to become reality. The war ruined all those plans, of course.”

“What happened to the trains when the war started? Were they used for war operations?”

“No, hardly. You see, Jacob had made the bold decision to use a gauge of just one meter for the track here in Iceland, rather narrower than the standard gauge most commonly found in Europe. As the Icelandic railroad would never be directly linked to another system, he took the view that it didn’t matter if we used a narrow gauge, and it created considerable savings on infrastructure cost.”

“So our trains would have been too narrow for German tracks?”

“Yes. We had some vague news that they had remained dockside in Hamburg, but had eventually been destroyed in the Allied bombardment.”

“They’d have been handsome, those locomotives.”

“Yes, and technologically advanced, able to use either electricity or diesel.”

Thórdur reached for a pipe on his desk and began to stuff it with tobacco.

Halldór decided to change the subject. “You were Jacob’s colleague for some time, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I graduated from the Technical University of Denmark in Copenhagen in 1935, and began to work for Jacob immediately. We had worked together for ten years when he passed away,” Thórdur replied.

“What did you work on?”

“Mainly incidental engineering jobs: surveying, project supervision, and design. There was actually not much of that sort
of thing going on during those years, but when work was scarce, Jacob used the time for research and preparation for the railroad.”

“Were there others working with you?”

“Yes, there was a man called Kristján Jónsson who assisted us with surveying and technical drawing.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Yes. He is a resident of the Grund Nursing Home.”

“Can you describe Jacob to me?” Halldór asked, after jotting down the name of the nursing home.

“He was a short man, less than one meter seventy tall, but well proportioned and so seemed taller. He had a knack for carrying himself in such a way that people did not look down upon him. He was a likable man, extremely intelligent, and a skilled engineer.”

Thórdur lit his pipe and puffed on it enthusiastically before continuing. “Dear Jacob would have appreciated the present times, when there are so many big projects going on and new technology to help us realize them,” he remarked more cheerfully. “Now you can stick a bunch of punched cards into a machine and it calculates equations and curves that previously took us days to work out using slide rules and books of tables. These are great times for the engineering profession.”

Thórdur’s tone changed and he became serious again.

“But Jacob’s problem was that he suffered from depression.” He paused, and then added, “It was, actually, both excitability and depression; he was a manic-depressive.”

“How did it manifest itself?”

“When he was overexcited, the railroad and other dreams took over all his thoughts, whereas during the fits of depression he would lie in bed, and we wouldn’t see him downstairs in the
engineering studio for days on end. In between, he was completely normal and a hard worker.”

“Can you describe his manic fits a bit more?” Halldór asked.

“Endless chatter, almost limitless energy, and unrealistic ideas about himself and his abilities. When he was at his worst, he didn’t sleep for days on end and got all kinds of delusions; but when he was in that kind of mood, he could be really persuasive to those who didn’t know him, and I think, for instance, that he must have been on a real high when he got the Germans to invest money in Isländische Bahn. It must have taken a great deal of persuasiveness to get them to build the trains before even one meter of track had been laid here in Iceland.”

“What happened to the railroad company here?”

“By the time Jacob died, it had broken even. A great deal had been spent buying material for the railroad; material that never made it to Iceland and was lost in the war. But the engineering firm had gotten good jobs and received considerable income in the intervening years, so Jacob had been able to pay up all the shares he had underwritten in the company, which was a considerable sum. This money was used to pay outstanding debts. There were, naturally, many others who were fully paid-up shareholders in the company, but it was declared insolvent, even though it owned a nearly perfect railroad design.”

“So did the investors have to write off their shares?”

“Not totally. Jacob had a life insurance policy with an English company for a considerable sum of money, which went to Elizabeth. She was very keen for the railroad company to be honorably wound up, so she made an offer to all the investors to buy their shares at twenty percent of the nominal value. It was her wish that I should deal with these matters, and I went to see every
shareholder about it; people were, on the whole, reasonably satisfied with the outcome.”

“Was the company then dissolved?”

“Yes. When I had got hold of all the shares, a formal company meeting was held and the company was dissolved, with the assets that remained passing to Elizabeth—nothing but valueless designs and documents, of course.”

“Why valueless?”

“It transpired during the prewar years that what Iceland needed was roads. A railroad would never have paid for itself at that time, but Jacob just wouldn’t face that fact, however many times I tried to make him realize it. But I am convinced that the railroad would have been of great value for the nation had we built it earlier, at the start of the century.”

“Did you own shares in the company?”

“Yes. We, the staff, got part of our salary paid in shares, so I was, of course, relieved to be paid this percentage. I made an agreement with the widow that I would deal with the dissolution of the business, and all that that entailed, in return for retaining the engineering firm’s goodwill. She refused to sell the furniture and equipment, but there were a few projects in progress, and I was allowed to take them with me. I have done very well since then, as you can see.”

“Were you aware of Jacob Senior being part of a group of people that wanted to make this country a monarchy instead of democracy?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I heard the rumor long after Jacob Senior’s death, but I was never aware of anything like that at the time. I do remember, though, that he was quite worried about the establishment of the republic here, and that he wasn’t sure this was the right step to take, but then he got swept along like the rest of us when the day arrived.”

“Have you kept in contact with the family?”

“Yes, my wife and I often called in on the widow while she was alive. We bought a house not far from Birkihlíd, and we often popped in there when we went for walks.”

“Have you been there recently?”

“Yes, I visited Jacob Junior last Monday. I was tidying up our document store here and came across some papers of Jacob Senior’s that I had brought from the engineering firm at that time; they had been amongst the contracts in the safe and I hadn’t checked them properly. I delivered these papers to Jacob Junior and he was very grateful.”

“What papers were these?”

“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…

H
aving 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.

Diary XI

March 13, 1930. The latest Engineering Association magazine has a summary of the major construction works undertaken by the state last year. Bridges and roads feature prominently, with a budget of just under one million krónur. The annual number of man days worked amounts to 113,731, a five-fold increase since 1925. I welcome the road improvements, of course, but at the same time worry that the continued emphasis on road works will result in dwindling interest in the railway project…

June 25, 1930. At noon cannon shots sounded twice from the harbor to announce the arrival of King Christian X and Swedish Crown Prince Gustaf Adolf for the Althing Festival…We set off eastward at six o’clock and arrived at the car parking area just after nine o’clock. We found our tent immediately. Hjörleifur had brought our equipment here yesterday and set everything up. Young Jacob is very excited about sleeping in a tent. There is a damp fog that makes it dark despite the fact that the sun hardly sets at this time of the year…

June 26, 1930. There are more than 4,000 tents in the Leirar area. I dug out my college graduation cap, and we marched to the religious service by the Almannagjá waterfall at 9 o’clock. At half past nine we processed up Lögberg with a brass band to the fore. The festival was inaugurated, and the choir sang “Ó, Gud vors lands.” A thousand years have passed since Icelanders, the earliest ones, assembled for the first meeting here at Thingvellir by Öxará River. At half past eleven, the session of the united Althing was formally opened by the king. I have long held the view that this nation needs a head of state. Our king is most stately and gracious, but it is not enough that he only comes here every few years, and then there
is the fact that he does not speak the language. It is my opinion that we need our own king, even if that means severing the link with Denmark…