"Come in, gentlemen," said Carter. "I'd like to show you something." He motioned them over to the suitcase that lay open on the bed. "I returned from a business meeting a few moments ago, and this is what I came back to."
The detective lifted out a sport shirt that had been slashed. "I didn't see any evidence that the door had been forced," the man said. "Did you lend your key to someone?"
"Of course not." Carter snapped petulantly. "In point of feet, obviously a master key was used. "He said this looking directly at the assistant manager.
Thoroddson looked away, frowning. He gingerly picked out a pair of designer jeans that looked as though they'd been caught in a lawnmower. "Why are you in Iceland. Mr. Carter?" he asked pointedly.
"I'm investigating the death of a friend."
"I see. Apparently someone doesn't want you to investigate it."
"That thought crossed my mind." said Carter.
"Then it is a private matter between you and the party, whoever it is, who doesn't want you here. It has nothing to do with the hotel."
"A master key was used. Surely this indicates some negligence on the part of your hotel."
"We have many master keys. Every maid carries one," the house detective said.
"Let's discuss it with your staff, in that case," Carter said, raising his voice.
"There is no need to become angry, Mr. Carter," Thoroddson said hastily. "The hotel will make full restitution, of course, provided that you find other accommodations within twenty-four hours."
"No need for that," Carter said stiffly. "I've decided to leave in any event."
"I see," said Thoroddson. "In that case there will be no bill, of course. Within an hour there will be a check for you at the desk to cover the damages. I'm terribly sorry this happened."
"Why haven't you called the police?" Carter asked. "It seems obvious that a crime has been committed."
Thoroddson cast an uncomfortable glance at the detective. "That's certainly an option." he said. "If you wish to call them, by all means…
"I have a feeling I wouldn't get much satisfaction from them, either. Thank you for your time. I'll pack what few intact belongings I have left and check out immediately."
The two men turned and went to the door.
"You can tell Josepsson that it's going to take a lot more than ruining my wardrobe to frighten me out of Iceland," Carter said.
"I… I beg your pardon," said the assistant manager, turning back.
"Just pass along the message," Carter said. When they were gone he closed and locked his door.
He grabbed his coat, slutted his mutilated clothing back into the suitcase, and fastened it as best he could. He left the hotel by the rear exit, throwing his suitcase into a trash bin in the alley.
When he reached the sidewalk, the black Lancia was idling at the curb, the driver casually reading a newspaper. He came up to the driver's window and tapped. The man rolled it down, his eyes round. Carter stuck the Luger in his face.
"Tell your boss to back off," he said. "I'll find out what happened to Lydia Coatsworth… you can assure him of that."
The man swallowed hard but said nothing.
"And stop following me."
The driver nodded but held his silence.
Carter holstered his gun and headed away. The Lancia remained where it was parked.
He started walking and found a small sporting goods store on a back street half a mile away. Inside he told the clerk that he was planning a trip to see the glaciers in the center of the island and needed a complete outfitting. It had been a slow day, and the clerk gave him his undivided attention. Within a short time. Carter had purchased a sleeping bag, a wardrobe of heavy clothing, hiking boots, a compass, line and other things, including packs to carry the gear.
He took a cab out to the airport, and a couple of hours later he was looking down from ten thousand feet on a delta of dry creeks and branches that extended over the landscape like nerve endings. Then the wing flaps ground down, and the plane began its descent into Akureyri.
He had left a clear trail, he thought. Any amateur would know where he was going. He only hoped that he'd made himself appear dangerous enough to whoever was behind all this to warrant the effort of being killed.
He didn't know for certain that it had been Josepsson, although he felt from their conversation in the restaurant that the man was implicated in some way. But whoever it was would have to tip his hand when he sent in the assassin.
They landed, and Carter picked up the Land-Rover. He drove directly to the local police headquarters, where the officer at the front desk greeted him pleasantly enough until he gathered that Carter had come to turn what had already been declared an accident into a possible murder case, at which time his demeanor cooled noticeably, and Carter was referred brusquely to a Captain Einar Einarsson.
The captain, a tall, husky man, was busy in a back room when Carter came in. He looked up and listened to Carter's request, then turned from his typing with a patient sigh and asked Carter to have a seat.
"Mr. Carter, your story and suspicions are interesting, but Dr. Coatsworth was not murdered near Reykjavik and her body transported to Akureyri as you suggest. I was the officer in charge of the investigation, and I can say with certainty that is not the way it happened."
"I see," Carter said. Instinctively he liked the man.
"Dr. Coatsworth died at the foot of Mount Askja, some one hundred kilometers from here. The time of her death and the time of the discovery of her body were much too close together to allow her to have been taken from one place to another."
"Unless she had been packed in ice, perhaps, her body cooled before it was transported." Carter suggested.
"Highly unlikely. Besides, it seems like a lot of trouble to disguise a murder scene."
"What about the people who discovered her? Can their stories be believed?"
"Members of the local outing club. All of them friends of mine. Known them all my life. They are telling the truth."
"I'd still like to look into it myself."
"I don't have the manpower…"
"If you could just show me where her body was found. Perhaps you have a map? It would be a great help."
Einarsson shook his head. "I do not know who you are, Mr. Carter, but very well." He got up and produced a map from a file cabinet. He brought it back to his desk. Carter got to his feet.
"Here." the captain said, pointing to a spot inland. "Her body was just here." He marked the spot with a penciled cross.
"Thank you," Carter said. "I appreciate your help.
But the captain had sat back down and had already gone back to his typing.
That evening Carter downed a heavy meal at the local hotel, then climbed into the Land-Rover and headed south, out of town, the car's big wheels pounding over the ruts on the dirt track.
He rounded the end of Eyjafjordur, the narrow inlet that formed Akureyri's waterway to the sea, then turned southeast toward the fireball sun into some of the most desolate, Godforsaken country he had ever seen.
Akureyri was within sixty miles of the Arctic Circle. No grass grew here away from the sea; there was only rock from one horizon to the other. Along the coasts there was occasional rain. Back here it hardly ever rained, and only a small amount of snow blew down from the mountains.
From the air, he'd thought the place looked stripped, desolate, a far outpost for the machinations of man. Once he'd landed and gotten some perspective on its true size, he thought the place seemed unreal… like a stage set for a play. But now, as the last view of Akureyri faded into the distance, and he confronted the land as a lone individual, he began to realize the true immensity of it.