Last Rituals (13 page)

 

 

What on earth was she supposed to do? She balked at the idea of trying to explain this incident in Icelandic. It wasn't enough to be able to say "hot" and "cold" for this. Besides, she could end up in trouble with the authorities for erasing the murderer's fingerprints by wiping the handle. It could also be embarrassing if she tried to make an issue out of something that turned out to have a perfectly normal explanation. What a mess! She remembered the fuss Gloria made about the questioning she was subjected to—she'd even shed a few tears when she told the others about how tough the police were. Laura was convinced at the time that they were crocodile tears, but now she was not so sure. She looked all around the floor for any signs of blood. If she could find some it would settle the matter, because she had cleaned here more than once since the murder was committed. Then it would have to be a recent event with a normal explanation.

 

 

There was no blood on the floor, not even in the corners where the baseboards met. Laura bit her lip anxiously. She tried to console herself. The police had the murderer in custody. If the blood was connected with the murder it would surely be just one more piece of evidence showing that he was the killer. Laura took a deep breath. She thought about the magazines that were often thrust in her face at the Filipino gatherings, magazines containing interviews with one of the attendees and photographs of them with the most incredible objects that they all seemed to need to hold up against their faces. Laura could not envisage herself holding a window handle up against her cheek on a double-page spread in such a magazine. No, she was being unnecessarily silly—one of the students must have had a nosebleed, felt dizzy, and wanted a breath of fresh air. She breathed more lightly for a minute, until she remembered her own children getting nosebleeds. They went to a bathroom—not an open window.

 

 

All the same. There was nothing to suggest that the German student's murderer had tried to open the window, any more than someone completely unrelated to the murder had been injured and needed some fresh air. Laura took her cloth and decided to see whether there was any blood in the corners—something that could be expected if a major confrontation had taken place in the room. An inexperienced cleaner might not have realized that such traces of evidence could be left. Making the sign of the cross, she decided that if no more blood appeared on the cloth it was a sign from above that she was overreacting. Otherwise she would notify the police even if it meant putting that nice man Tryggvi in a spot of bother. Laura got down on her knees and inched her way along the walls. Nothing. The cloth came up clean apart from some specks of dust and the usual dirt. She felt better and got to her feet, satisfied with the outcome. What silliness—of course there was a normal explanation for that blood. Obviously the fact that it had even crossed her mind was due to her shock when the body was found—a terribly mutilated and ungodly corpse. Once again she made the sign of the cross.

 

 

For some reason, on her way out she could not take her eyes off the doorsill. It was much higher from the floor than the baseboards and she bent down to run the cloth along the gap. The cloth became lodged. Laura bent down for a better look at the obstruction. She caught sight of a silver object and looked around for something to dislodge it from the doorsill. She fetched a ruler from one of the desks. Then she tried to ease the object up, finally succeeding after several attempts. Laura picked it up and scrambled to her feet.

 

 

It was a little steel star, the size of the nail on her little finger. She placed it in her palm and scrutinized it. The star seemed familiar but Laura could not place it. Where could she have seen it before? But she had no time to wonder because she had to finish the windows or be late for her class. She put the star in her pocket, determined to give it to Tryggvi. He might know where it was from. It could hardly be connected with the murder—any more than the blood on the window handle, for which there was a normal explanation. Or could it? An image of the finger suddenly crossed her mind. She made the sign of the cross to ward off the revolting memory. She decided to confide in Gloria. The girl was bound to be working over the weekend, and Laura would be as well. She might know something more than she had told the others and the police.

 

 

* * *

Marta Mist was lolling against the wall in the corridor, annoyed at how long the cleaner was taking to finish. It was not as if cleaning that room was a major job—throwing out a few cans of soft drink, washing up some cups, and scrubbing the floor. She looked at the clock on her mobile phone. Damn it—that jerk must be taking a nap on the sofa. Marta Mist called up Bríet's number from her address book with the push of a few buttons. She had better answer; few things got on Marta Mist's nerves more than knowing that someone she called might look at the screen, see who was dialing, and not pick up. Her worries proved unfounded.

 

 

"Hi," said Bríet.

 

 

Marta Mist skipped the formalities. "I couldn't find it," she said crossly. "Are you sure you put it in the drawer?"

 

 

"Shit, shit, shit," moaned Bríet. "I'm positive I put it there. You watched me do it."

 

 

Marta Mist gave a sarcastic laugh. "That means nothing, I was seeing double that night."

 

 

"I put it there. I know I did," Bríet insisted. "What shall I tell Halldór? He'll go nuts."

 

 

"Nothing. Don't tell him a fucking thing."

 

 

"But—"

 

 

"No buts. It isn't there, so what now? What are you going to do about it?" "Well…I don't know," said Bríet helplessly.

 

 

"Consider yourself lucky, then, as I do," Marta Mist retorted. "I talked to Andri and he agrees—we won't say anything or do anything, because there's not much we can do." She left out the fact that it had taken her twenty minutes to talk Andri out of letting Halldór know. Then she added in a gentler voice: "Don't worry about it. If it was a problem, we'd already have found out."

 

 

The door opened and the cleaner came out. Judging from the look on her face there was big news in the world of sanitary technology. She looked like she had been force-fed a lemon.
About time too,
Marta Mist thought to herself and lurched off the wall. "Bríet," she said into her mobile. "The cleaner just came out. I'll take a better look. Call you later." She rang off without giving Bríet a chance to say good-bye. Everything was such a bloody hassle.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 11

Thóra was sitting at Harald Guntlieb's desk, browsing through the pile of papers. She looked up, straightened her back, and turned to Matthew. He sat absorbed in the same task in an armchair in one corner of the study. They had decided to start by examining the documents the police took away when they searched the flat, which had just been returned. There were three large cardboard boxes full of papers of all descriptions and after almost an hour's reading Thóra was beginning to lose sight of the point behind all this. The papers were a mixed bag, mostly documents connected with Harald's studies in one way or another along with statements from banks, credit card companies, and other official bodies. Many were in Icelandic so they were little help to Matthew, who had to put a large stack to one side for Thóra to peruse later.

 

 

"What are we looking for, anyway?" she asked suddenly.

 

 

Matthew put his sheaf of papers on a small side table and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Basically, we're looking for a lead, something the police overlooked. For example, an explanation of what happened to the money Harald had transferred here. We could also come across—"

 

 

Thóra interrupted him. "That's no help. What I meant was that we should maybe try to establish who could possibly be connected with the murder or stand to benefit from it. I have absolutely no experience investigating murders and I'd like a better picture before I go through any more papers. I'm not particularly excited by the idea of having to do all this again if we have a bright idea later."

 

 

"No, I understand that," said Matthew. "But I'm not quite sure what to say. We're not looking for anything specific we already know about, unfortunately. Maybe we're not looking for anything at all. We're really just trying to figure out what Harald's life was like before the murder so that we have some idea about the circumstances and events that led up to it—if something crops up that points us toward the murderer, that's just a bonus. If it helps you narrow things down, you could say that the main motives for murder are jealousy, anger, financial gain, revenge, madness, self-defense, sexual perversion."

 

 

Thóra waited for more but Matthew had completed his tally. "Nothing else?" she asked. "There must be more motives."

 

 

"I didn't claim to be an expert," Matthew retorted. "Sure, there are more motives, but that was all I could think of offhand."

 

 

Thóra thought before answering him. "All right, let's say those are the main motives. Which of them could apply to Harald's murder? Was he involved with a woman, for example? Could it be a case of jealousy?"

 

 

Matthew shrugged. "I think he was unattached. But jealousy could still play a part. Maybe someone loved him and it was unrequited." He paused for a moment, then added: "Actually I think women rarely murder by strangulation, so it's unlikely to have been a crime of passion."

 

 

"No," agreed Thóra pensively. "Unless it was a crime of passion committed by another man. Was Harald gay, perhaps?"

 

 

Matthew shrugged. "No, he definitely wasn't."

 

 

"How do you know?" she asked.

 

 

"I just know," he replied. Seeing the dubious expression on Thóra's face, he added: "It's quite remarkable. I can usually tell straightaway if a man bats for the other side. I don't know how, but I'm very intuitive about it."

 

 

Thóra decided not to pursue the topic but knew from her own experience that there was an overwhelming probability Matthew was no better than anyone else at identifying people's sexuality. Her ex-husband had the same misconception and Thóra had proved him wrong countless times. She changed the subject: "It doesn't seem to have been rape and there were no signs of recent sexual activity, so we can rule that out."

 

 

"So now there are fewer possible motives," Matthew said with a wry grin. "We'll get there soon."

 

 

Thóra ignored him. "So why do
you
think he was killed?"

 

 

Matthew studied her for a moment before answering. "It was probably something to do with money. But I still can't shake off the feeling that it was somehow connected with his studies of sorcery. What happened to his eyes and the symbol carved on the body clearly suggest that. I can't figure out the motive and that annoys me. Why commit a murder for sorcery or something that happened centuries ago?"

 

 

"Isn't that a bit far-fetched? The police found no link between the murder and black magic, in spite of what was done to the corpse. They must have investigated that possibility," Thóra said, hurriedly adding: "And don't say that they're just stupid. That's far too simplistic."

 

 

"Actually, you're right," said Matthew. "They checked if there was any link. I think they thought Harald's research was either madness or some kind of mumbo jumbo. They came here, saw what was hanging on the walls, and took Harald for some kind of weirdo. To them, these precious antiques are just plain disgusting, which isn't so different from your reaction." Matthew waited, but when Thóra made no response he went on. "The presence of drugs in his blood didn't help. In the eyes of the police he was a crazy sadistic junkie who was last seen in the company of the same sort of crowd. His companion had no alibi and was stoned out of his mind for good measure. It's not such an unreasonable conclusion to draw but I'm not satisfied with it at all. Too many questions are left unanswered."

 

 

"In other words you think Harald's studies of witchcraft and sorcery are linked with the murder?" asked Thóra, hoping that he would say no. If they were irrelevant to the investigation, she could put more than half the papers to one side immediately.

 

 

"Well, I'm by no means certain," said Matthew. "But I've begun to have a strong suspicion that they are. Look at this, for example." He flicked through the pile of papers in his lap and handed Thóra a printout of an e-mail from Harald.

 

 

Thóra read it. The heading showed that it had been sent by Harald to a certain [email protected] and was written in English, dated eight days before the murder.

 

 

Hi Mal,

 

 

Well, take a seat, buddy. FOUND IT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Call me Your Lordship from now on. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it…not that I want to accuse you of skepticism. Honest.

 

 

Just a few tiny details left—some fucking idiot's trying to back out. So—get ready for the news—totally brilliant, I'm thinking of celebrating, if you know what I mean. I'll be in touch, you old wanker.

 

 

H

 

 

When Thóra had finished reading it she looked at Matthew. "Do you think it's a clue?"

 

 

"Maybe," said Matthew. "Maybe not."

 

 

"The police must have contacted this Malcolm. They would hardly have made do with just printing it out."

 

 

"Maybe." Matthew shrugged. "Maybe not."

 

 

"Well, at least we can contact him to learn what Harald found."

 

 

"And whether he knows anything about the fucking idiot Harald mentioned."

 

 

Thóra put down the e-mail. "Where's his computer? He must have had a computer." She pointed to a mouse pad on the desk.