Last Rituals (18 page)

 

 

Bríet glanced anxiously at Marta Mist, clearly hoping her friend would change tactics. Her wish was granted. Marta Mist heaved a deep sigh but dropped the haughty attitude she had assumed for the fifteen minutes they had been there. "Oh, Dóri." She leaned across the table and took hold of his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Aren't we friends?" He nodded meekly. "Then listen to me. If you go mixing yourself up in this, it won't help Hugi." He studied her face as she went on: "Think about it. Nothing that you're worried about can alter his situation. All it will achieve is to implicate us. This happened long after he was killed. The police aren't interested. They're wondering about who killed Harald. Nothing else." She smiled at him. "The funeral must be just around the corner, and then you're home free." Dóri lowered his eyes and she had to lift his head up to get him to look at her before she continued. "I didn't kill him, Dóri. I'm not going to sacrifice myself on the altar of your guilty conscience. Going to the police is the worst idea you've ever had. The moment you mention weed and being stoned, we're in deep shit. Right?"

 

 

Dóri looked deep into her eyes and nodded. "But maybe—"

 

 

He did not have a chance to finish the sentence. Marta Mist shushed him. "No buts, no maybes. Listen to me now. You're a bright guy, Dóri. Do you think the medical faculty would take you with open arms once they knew you smoked weed, even if it went no further than that?" She shook her head and turned away from him to Bríet, who had watched the proceedings in fascination, ready as always to agree with the last speaker. Marta Mist turned back to Dóri and said slowly: "Don't do anything stupid. Like I say, the cops are only interested in who killed Harald. Nothing else." She spoke her last words emphatically, then repeated them to be on the safe side. "Nothing else."

 

 

Dóri was entranced. He stared straight into the green eyes that looked at him without flinching from beneath pierced brows. Then he gave a tiny nod—the best he could manage with Marta Mist's hand still gripping his chin. It occurred to him that this was precisely why he had told them he was going to the police: he knew that Marta Mist would be able to talk him out of it. He drove the thought out of his mind: "Okay, okay."

 

 

"Brilliant," Bríet mumbled, smiling at Dóri. Clearly relieved, she clenched Marta's arm in delight. Marta Mist showed no sign of even noticing this—her attention did not waver from Dóri and she kept his chin locked in her hand.

 

 

"What's the time?" she asked, without releasing her grip.

 

 

Bríet hurriedly retrieved a pink mobile phone from the bag hanging on the back of her chair. She unlocked the keypad and announced: "Almost one-thirty."

 

 

"What are you doing tonight?" Marta Mist asked Dóri. Her voice suggested nothing, her eyes rather more.

 

 

"Nothing," came the curt reply.

 

 

"Come and see me—I haven't got any plans either," Marta replied. "It's a long time since we've been together and I can see you need a bit of company." She drew out the last word.

 

 

Bríet fidgeted in her chair. "Should we go and see a movie?" She stared expectantly at Marta Mist, who ignored her. Bríet felt her foot being stamped on and when she looked down she saw Marta Mist's leather boot completely covering her neat little shoe. She blushed as she realized that her presence was not required that evening.

 

 

"Do you want to see a movie?" Marta Mist asked Dóri. "Or do you want to drop by my place for something a bit cozier?" She leaned back.

 

 

Dóri nodded.

 

 

Marta smiled. "Which? That's no answer."

 

 

"Drop by your place." Dóri's voice was hoarse and heavy. None of the three had any misconceptions about what was on the agenda.

 

 

"I can hardly wait." Marta released Dóri's chin and clapped her hands. She waved to a passing waiter and asked for the bill. Dóri and Bríet said nothing. She was a little offended, and he had nothing else to say. He fished a thousand-króna note out of his pocket, placed it on the table, and stood up.

 

 

"I'm late for class. See you." As he walked away they both turned round to watch him leave.

 

 

When he had gone, Marta turned round again and said: "He's got a really nice bum, that guy. He ought to leave us more often."

 

 

She looked at her girlfriend who was watching her, hurt. "For God's sake. Don't sulk. He's in pieces at the moment. There's too much at stake." She slapped Bríet on the arm. "He fancies you, that hasn't changed."

 

 

Bríet forced a faint smile. "No, maybe not. But it looked to me like he was pretty into you."

 

 

"Come on. It's nothing to do with fancying people. You're the one everyone fancies. I'm—well—I'm good in bed." She stood up and observed Bríet coldly. "You know what?" No answer. "I live for the moment. You could try that too. Stop waiting for people to rescue you—enjoy life."

 

 

Bríet fumbled for her purse. There was no answer to that. She had taken part in all kinds of escapades with that crowd—she blushed just thinking about it. Wasn't that enjoying life? Had she ever implied that she wanted to be rescued? What crap! On the way out she consoled herself with the thought that boys went after her. Not after Marta. But the stakes were still too high to provoke her into trying to make a statement and competing over who was more desirable. Marta Mist behaved like a female Harald. She controlled Dóri. Bríet did not want to go to prison. No, thanks—forget Dóri. She could get him later. Bríet straightened her back to show off her bust. As they walked toward the door she enjoyed the fact that the three men in suits who were sitting by the window were ogling her—not Marta. Bríet smiled to herself. The little triumphs were often the sweetest.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 15

"Nothing," said Thóra, looking up in frustration from her computer screen. She and Matthew had dropped by her office after visiting Hugi to check for a reply to her e-mail to the mysterious Mal.

 

 

Matthew shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe you'll never get a reply."

 

 

Thóra refused to give up as easily as Matthew. "Harald might have some information about him on his computer."

 

 

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Do you keep information about your friends on your computer?"

 

 

"Oh, you know what I mean, a contact list, address book."

 

 

Matthew shrugged again. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean. Maybe Harald had one. You never know."

 

 

Thóra turned her computer screen back to its normal position. "Why don't you give the police a quick call to ask about Harald's computer?" She looked at the clock on the screen. "It's only just past two so the office is open." The letter requesting the case documents was not in Bella's tray that morning, so everything suggested it had been posted the day before. It had probably arrived, but that didn't mean it had been dealt with. It would be sensible to wait a day or two and then phone about the computer and the documents at the same time. But Thóra's curiosity outweighed her common sense at the moment. She could see little else to do in the situation. In the Internet directory, Thóra had already checked Harald's friends' mobile phone numbers and managed to find Marta Mist, Bríet, and Brjánn. They had all refused to talk to her—Bríet half hysterically—and pointed out that they had all made statements to the police. So Thóra and Matthew had little to work on for the time being. "Phone," she insisted.

 

 

Matthew gave in, and it turned out they could indeed collect the computer from the police. An officer by the name of Markús Helgason would be there to meet them.

 

 

* * *

At the police station Markús greeted Thóra in Icelandic, then addressed Matthew in English with a strong Icelandic accent: "We've met twice before. Once when we searched the flat and then when you went to see my boss, Árni Bjarnason." The officer smiled awkwardly. "You didn't exactly hit it off, so they decided to send me this time. I hope you don't mind."

 

 

He was a youngish man, wearing the blue shirt and black trousers of the police uniform. Markús was fairly short; he must have joined the force after the minimum height requirement was abolished. In other respects he was very ordinary-looking, neither handsome nor ugly, blond with unremarkable gray eyes. When he smiled as he shook their hands, Thóra's initial impression of him changed completely. He had beautiful white teeth and Thóra hoped for his sake that he always had plenty to smile about.

 

 

When Matthew and Thóra assured him that they didn't mind not meeting his superior, the young officer gladly carried on. "I'd like to have a chat with you. We understand you're looking into the circumstances of the murder, and since our investigation isn't formally over it would be normal for us to have a little talk." He hesitated, embarrassed, then added: "The computer's being packed in a box now with some other evidence we were supposed to return. So you'll have to wait a while anyway. We can sit down in my office."

 

 

Thóra darted a sideways glance at Matthew, who shrugged to indicate that he did not mind. She knew that the explanation about packing the computer was mere pretense—a one-handed man could do the job in no more than three minutes. But with a smile she played along and said it was fine. Visibly relieved, Markús showed them into his office.

 

 

There were no personal articles apart from a coffee mug with a Manchester United logo. Markús invited Thóra and Matthew to take a seat and waited until they were comfortable before sitting down himself. No one said anything while they went through these motions, and the silence had become uncomfortable by the time they eventually got themselves settled.

 

 

"Well, that's that," the police officer said, pretending to sound jolly. Thóra and Matthew just smiled but neither said a word. Thóra wanted Markús to speak first, and judging by the tight line of Matthew's mouth he felt the same. The officer got straight to the point. "We understand that you went to the prison this morning and met Hugi Thórisson."

 

 

"Yes, that's right," said Thóra curtly.

 

 

"Quite," said Markús. "What came out of this meeting?" He looked expectantly at each of them in turn. "It's a rather strange position to claim to represent the family as you do here and also to assist the prime suspect—which I understand you did this morning at the prison."

 

 

Thóra looked at Matthew, who waved his hand to indicate that she should answer. "Let's just say that the situation is strange and unconventional and we're simply acting on that. But we're obviously still working for Harald's family; Hugi Thórisson's interests just happen to coincide with theirs." She paused briefly to allow the officer to protest, which he did not. She continued: "We're not at all convinced that he's guilty. If anything, our talk with him this morning reinforced that belief."

 

 

Markús raised his eyebrows. "I must admit, I don't understand how you can be quite so certain. Everything that our investigation has revealed points in the opposite direction."

 

 

"We feel there are many questions unanswered, I suppose that's the main reason," replied Thóra.

 

 

The officer nodded, apparently in agreement. "Actually that's quite true, but as I say, our investigation is not entirely over. But I'd be surprised if anything was found to overturn the theory that Hugi Thórisson murdered Harald." He counted on his fingers. "First, he was with the victim just before the murder was committed. Second, Harald's blood was found on the clothes he was wearing that evening. Third, we found a T-shirt hidden in his closet that had been used to wipe up a considerable amount of blood, which also came from the victim. Fourth, he was a member of the murdered man's black magic cult, so he was familiar with the magic symbols carved on the body. And fifth, he was stoned enough to be able to gouge out the eyes. Believe me—no one in their right mind does that. He was a dealer and presumably planned to smuggle drugs into the country. The murdered man had plenty of money to finance that and a sizable sum vanished from his account shortly before the murder was committed. Without a trace. That doesn't happen in normal business transactions. You can always trace them somehow." The officer looked down. He was gripping his left hand tightly with his right. "In all honesty, most convictions are made on a lot fewer counts. All we lack is a confession, which I readily admit would normally have been made under such circumstances."

 

 

Thóra tried to look nonchalant. The blood on Hugi's clothes had caught her off guard. She had seen nothing about it in the police reports or the other documents in her possession. She spoke quickly so Markús would not notice that he had unnerved her. "Doesn't it bother you that he hasn't confessed to the murder?"

 

 

The officer looked at her candidly. "No, not at all. You know why?" When Thóra did not seem likely to answer him, he carried on. "He can't remember. So he clings to the hope that he didn't do it. Why should he confess to an act that he can't even remember when there's so much at stake?"

 

 

"How do you explain the body being transported to the university?" asked Matthew. "This dope dealer hardly had access to the facilities there. It was a weekend, and presumably everything was locked."

 

 

"He stole Harald's key. Very simple. We found a bunch of keys on the body—including a key to the department, or rather an access key, because there's a security system. From the system we could see that the key was used to enter the building just after the murder."

 

 

Matthew cleared his throat. "What do you mean, just after the murder? Couldn't it just as easily have been before the murder? The timing in this case isn't that precise."