Last Rituals (41 page)

 

 

Thóra sat absorbing all this. She decided to change tack a little—she'd had enough blood and guts for the time being. "Why did you lie to us about your trips to Strandir and Rangá? We know you went there with Harald."

 

 

Halldór looked down. "I didn't want anyone to connect me with the sorcery exhibition. It was there that Harald found the spells for our contract. Nothing much happened there. I waited outside on a bench while Harald talked to the curator. They got on well, I know that much, and they shook hands heartily when we left. I was incredibly hungover and felt like shit so I didn't want to go inside. A friendly raven stayed and kept me company."

 

 

"He didn't discuss it on the way home?" asked Thóra.

 

 

"No, the pilot was with us."

 

 

"What about Rangá? What did he do there? I know you were with him there too."

 

 

Halldór blushed. "I don't know what he did. One thing's for certain, he didn't go hunting. I don't really know anything else. We stayed at the hotel and Harald went somewhere while I stayed in my room and read."

 

 

"Why didn't you go with him?" asked Thóra.

 

 

"He didn't want me to," said Halldór. "He took me along because I'd told him I was up shit creek with one of my courses—he said he knew a place where there was nothing else to do and he'd lock me up with my books for the whole weekend. He kept his word—not literally, but he refused to let me join him on his excursions. I don't know exactly what he did, but Skálholt's close by."

 

 

"You must have spent some time together then too—didn't you talk about it?" asked Thóra.

 

 

"Of course we met up in the evening—had dinner, then went to the bar," Halldór said, smiling at her. "We were discussing completely different things, though, you see."

 

 

"So why did you deny going there?" Thóra asked in surprise. "And why on earth were you booked in under the name Harry Potter?"

 

 

"For a laugh," Halldór said in an irritated tone. "Harald booked me under that name. Nicknames amused him and that time I was the butt of his little joke." He paused. "And why didn't I tell you about it? I don't know—I just lied for the sake of lying. Okay?"

 

 

"Unfortunately I don't think the police were wrong. I think Hugi killed Harald and you took over, possibly without realizing. Maybe he had gone home, that could very well be true. But you're clearly a warped personality—and presumably he's just as crazy as you, so he killed Harald on account of some stupid thing that no one but him understands."

 

 

"No!" Halldór's anger had given way to desperation. "Hugi didn't kill Harald—there's no way."

 

 

"A T-shirt with Harald's blood on it was found in his closet. Hugi hasn't managed to explain how it got there. The police think it was used to mop up Harald's blood." Thóra looked at Halldór. "The T-shirt in question is the same one that someone was wearing when Harald's tongue job was done. It says '100% silicon' on it. Does that ring a bell?"

 

 

Halldór nodded eagerly. "That's the T-shirt Hugi was wearing. Some blood splashed onto it and he took it off. I used it to mop the floor after the operation." Sheepishly he added: "I didn't want to tell Hugi about it. I just threw the T-shirt in his closet. Hugi didn't kill Harald."

 

 

"Who, then, pal?" asked Thóra. "Someone did, and I predict that Hugi will be found guilty of it, not to mention what's going to happen to you and your friends for abusing a dead body."

 

 

"Bríet," Halldór said suddenly. "I think Bríet killed him."

 

 

Thóra pondered. Bríet. That was the little blonde with the big breasts. "What makes you think that?" she asked calmly.

 

 

"I just do," Halldór answered in a weak voice.

 

 

"No, tell me. You must have some grounds for naming her in particular. Why her?" Thóra asked firmly.

 

 

"Because. She slipped out of the bar when we were in town. She said she lost us, but we didn't leave the place—some of us anyway."

 

 

"That's not enough," Thóra said. She couldn't be bothered to ask why he had not told the police about this. According to their testimonies, they all stayed more or less together.

 

 

"The teaspoon," Halldór said quietly. "She was supposed to get rid of the teaspoon but didn't. She can't have been so stupid as to put it in the drawer where the police claim they found it—I can't believe that. Marta Mist disposed of the knife and that's gone. But now all of a sudden the teaspoon materializes. I don't think that fits."

 

 

"Why would she sneak it back in there? That doesn't exactly sound logical."

 

 

"She wanted to get me into trouble. She never held the spoon with her bare hands like I did. She was wearing mittens. She's mad at me for dumping her. I don't know." Halldór rocked in his chair. "She was acting a bit strange that night. When we found the body she was the only one who didn't howl and scream. She kept her cool. She just looked at it without saying a word while the rest of us completely freaked out. Not a word until she reminded me of the contract. She was going to set me up. Just ask the others if you don't believe me." He leaned forward and grabbed Thóra's arm across the table. "She knew about the window—maybe she climbed out of it earlier that evening, how should I know? She was mad at Harald for not talking to her the previous week—he didn't talk to any of us, but that's beside the point. Maybe she got mad or something; she had a date with him and he stood her up. Whatever. Believe me, I've thought about this a lot and I know what I'm saying. Check it out—talk to her for my sake, if nothing else."

 

 

Thóra freed her arm. "People react to shock in different ways—maybe she's the type that goes into a trance. I don't want to talk to her. Leave that to the police."

 

 

"If you don't believe she's crazy, ask around at the university. She did some project with Harald and fucked it up completely. Ask them." He fixed his eyes on her imploringly.

 

 

"What project, and what went wrong with it?" Thóra asked slowly.

 

 

"Something to do with collecting and documenting all the contemporary accounts of Brynjólfur Sveinsson from different archives. She got this idea into her head that some documents had been stolen. It caused a hell of a scene. Then it turned out to be crap. She's such a nutter, I couldn't see it until now. Talk to the university—if nothing else."

 

 

"Who supervised this project?" Thóra asked, and regretted her question immediately. She was sounding as though she was starting to accept this theory of his, which couldn't have any foundation.

 

 

"I don't know—it must have been that Thorbjörn guy—they know at the university. Go and ask. Please, I promise you won't regret it."

 

 

She stood up. "See you later, baker boy. I'll find you a lawyer if you want."

 

 

He shook his head and stared into his lap. "I thought you'd understand—you wanted to help Hugi and I thought I could get you to help me too."

 

 

All at once, Thóra began to pity him. Her maternal instinct kicked in. Or was it her grandmotherly instinct? "Who said I wasn't going to help you?" she said. "Let's see what I can find out. I wouldn't touch your defense with a ten-foot pole, but I'll be in court. I wouldn't miss the trial for all the tea in China."

 

 

He looked up with a faint smile. Thóra knocked on the door and the police let her out. It was drawing to a close. She could tell.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 32
DECEMBER 12, 2005

Thóra sat drumming on the edge of her desk with a pencil. Matthew watched her in silence. "I hear the Rolling Stones are looking for a drummer. Your newfound grandmother status should qualify you immediately," he said.

 

 

Thóra stopped tapping and put the pencil down. "Very funny. That sure helps me think."

 

 

"Think? Why do you need to think now?" The day before, Thóra had told Matthew about Halldór's desperate attempt to turn the focus on Bríet, and he had scoffed at the theory. Thóra found it far-fetched, too, but after lying awake all night tossing and turning she was not so certain. Matthew continued: "It seems to be falling into place apart from a few loose ends. Believe me, when the police investigate Halldór the money will turn up; the manuscript, too, if it exists."

 

 

He looked out the window. "Let's go to a restaurant and have a late breakfast." Matthew had just arrived at Thóra's office after oversleeping.

 

 

"We can't. It's the catering union's anniversary today," Thóra lied. "They don't open until noon." Matthew groaned. "You'll survive—there are some biscuits in the kitchen," she said. She reached for the phone and called Bella. "Bella, could you bring in the packet of biscuits that's by the coffee machine?" Sensing the "no" that hung in the air she quickly added: "It's for Matthew, not me. Thanks." She turned to Matthew. "Don't you think there are grounds for checking what he said about Bríet? There may be something to it."

 

 

Matthew leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling before answering. "You realize that Halldór's cornered, of course?" Thóra nodded. "Nothing we've seen or heard suggests Bríet's implicated apart from being a little crazy and taking part in strange rituals involving baked body parts."

 

 

"Maybe we've simply overlooked something," said Thóra without much conviction.

 

 

"Such as?" Matthew asked. "Unfortunately, Thóra, it looks like Hugi killed Harald after all and then his friend took over. All that remains to be established is whether they were working together and pocketed the money. There are overwhelming odds that they told Harald a pack of lies about the manuscript and pretended to know where to find it. You must admit Halldór was in a key position to invent a story when he helped Harald with his translations. They could have pretended to arrange the deal and then swiped the money. When the time came to hand over the manuscript they had to take measures to keep Harald quiet. Halldór's explanation for the T-shirt has to be made up."

 

 

"But…" At that moment Bella stormed in with the biscuits, without knocking. She had arranged them neatly on a plate and poured a cup of coffee. One cup of coffee. Thóra had a hunch that if the biscuits had been for her, Bella would have lobbed the unopened packet from the doorway, aiming straight for her head.

 

 

"Thank you very much," Matthew said, taking the refreshments. "Some people don't understand the importance of breakfast." He nodded toward Thóra and winked at Bella. Bella frowned at Thóra, then gave Matthew a wide smile and walked out.

 

 

"You winked at her," Thóra said, astonished.

 

 

Matthew winked twice at Thóra. "Two for you. Happy?" He put a biscuit in his mouth with a dramatic gesture.

 

 

Thóra rolled her eyes. "Watch it, she's unattached and I might just tell her what hotel you're staying at." Her mobile rang.

 

 

"Hello, is that Thóra Gudmundsdóttir?" asked a woman's voice that Thóra vaguely recognized.

 

 

"Yes, hello."

 

 

"This is Gudrún, Harald's landlady."

 

 

"Ah, yes, hello." Thóra scribbled down her name and who she was and showed it to Matthew. She added a double question mark to indicate that the purpose of the call was unclear.

 

 

"I don't know if I'm phoning the right person but I had your card and…anyway, I found a box belonging to Harald here this weekend, with all sorts of things in it." She fell silent.

 

 

"Yes, I know what was found," Thóra said to spare the woman from describing the baked body parts.

 

 

"You do?" The relief in her voice was tangible. "I was terribly shocked as you can imagine, but I just now realized that I took a piece of paper with me when I ran out of the laundry room."

 

 

"Which you still have?" Thóra felt she had to help the woman stay focused.

 

 

"Yes, right. I took it with me when I went to phone the police and just found it in the kitchen by the telephone."

 

 

"Did this piece of paper belong to Harald?"

 

 

"Well, I honestly don't know. It's an old letter. Ancient really. I remembered that you were looking for something like that, and thought it might be better to let you have it rather than the police." Thóra heard the woman take a deep breath before continuing. "They've got enough on their plate. I can't imagine this has anything to do with the case."

 

 

Thóra wrote on the piece of paper: "Old letter??" Matthew raised his eyebrows and took another biscuit. To Gudrún, Thóra said: "We'd like to take a look at it at least. Can we come to see you now?"

 

 

"Um, yes. I'm at home. There's just one thing." She paused.

 

 

"What?" Thóra asked cautiously.

 

 

"I'm afraid the letter got quite crumpled in my rush. I was in total shock. It's not ruined, though." She hurried to add: "That was really why I didn't tell the police about it. I didn't want them fussing about me damaging it. I hope you understand how it happened."

 

 

"No problem. We're on our way." Thóra put the phone down and stood up. "You'll have to take the biscuits with you, we're leaving. We may have found the lost letter from Denmark."

 

 

Matthew grabbed two biscuits and had a last sip of coffee. "The letter the professor was looking for?"

 

 

"Yes, hopefully." Thóra swung her bag over her arm and went to the door. "If it is, we can return it to Gunnar and maybe try to get some more details out of him about the story Halldór told me about Bríet." She smiled triumphantly, pleased at her good fortune. "Even if it's not the letter, we can pretend to think it is."