Bl?ndal paused to gauge the impact of his words upon Tóti.
‘Fridrik confessed to their murder, Reverend. He confessed that he took a hammer and a new-sharpened knife into the badstofa and killed Pétur first, crushing his skull with one blow of the hammer. He either believed it was Natan, or wished to be rid of a witness – I do not know. But he then certainly attempted to kill Natan. In his confession Fridrik said that he raised the hammer and aimed the blow at Natan’s skull, but missed. He said he heard the crunch of bone, and, Reverend, examination of the remains revealed that Natan’s arm was indeed broken.
‘Fridrik told me that Natan then woke, and thought, in what was likely a stupor of pain, that he was at Geitaskard and that it was his friend Worm before him.
‘He said: “Natan saw Agnes and me in the room and he started begging for us to stop, but we continued until he was dead.” Note his words, Reverend. “Agnes and me.” Fridrik said that Natan was killed with the knife.’
‘Agnes did not kill them, then.’
‘That she was in the room cannot be disputed, Reverend.’
‘But she did not handle the weapon.’
Bl?ndal settled back in his chair and placed his fingertips together. He smiled. ‘When Fridrik confessed to the murders, he was unrepentant, Reverend. He thought he had done the will of God. He thought it was justice for past wrongs committed by Natan, and claimed both murders as his own. I am of the opinion that it was not quite as he said.’
‘You think Agnes killed Natan.’
‘She had incentive to, Reverend. More incentives than Fridrik.’ Bl?ndal daubed his finger against the crumbs remaining on his plate. ‘I believe Fridrik killed Pétur. The man was killed with one blow, and a hammer is a heavy tool to wield.
‘Fridrik said Natan woke and saw what it was they were doing to him. I believe that he lost his nerve, Reverend. How easy it is to forget that Fridrik was only seventeen on this night. A boy. A thug, certainly – it is well established that he and Natan were enemies of a kind. But think, Reverend . . .’ Bl?ndal leaned closer. ‘Think of how it must be to kill a man for his money. Imagine if he begged you for his life? If he promised to pay you whatever ransom asked, no authorities notified, if you would only let him live?’
Tóti’s throat was dry. ‘I cannot imagine such a thing.’
‘I must,’ Bl?ndal said. ‘And I have. I am of the opinion that, on seeing Natan wake and beg for his life, Fridrik lost his nerve and faltered. He wanted money, and it would undoubtedly have been offered to him in those moments.’ His voice was low. ‘I am of the opinion that Agnes picked up the knife and killed Natan.’
‘But Fridrik did not say that.’
‘Natan was stabbed to death. Fridrik was a farmer’s son; he knew how to kill animals with a knife. The throat is slit.’ Bl?ndal reached over his desk and jabbed a finger in Tóti’s throat. ‘From here . . .’ He dragged the nail across Tóti’s skin. ‘To here. Natan did not have his throat cut. He was stabbed in the belly. This indicates motives more sordid than theft.’
‘Why not Sigga?’ Tóti asked in a small voice.
Bl?ndal shook his head. ‘The maid of sixteen who burst into tears as soon as I summoned her? Sigga didn’t even attempt to lie – she is too simple-minded, too young to know how. She told me everything. How Agnes hated Natan, how Agnes was jealous of his attentions to her. Sigga is not bright, but she saw that much.’
‘But women may be jealous and not murder, District Commissioner.’
‘Murder is unusual, I’ll concede that, Reverend. But Agnes was twice the age of Sigga. She had travelled to Illugastadir from this valley – a not inconsiderable distance – where she had spent all her life. Why? Surely not just for employment – she had sufficient opportunities here. There was something else, surely, that made her go to work for Natan Ketilsson.’