“And it turned out that he didn’t have to,” said Matthew. “What did you do, what did you talk about?”
“I can’t remember what we talked about.”
“Did he ever talk about his studies or burning witches at the stake?” Thóra asked hopefully.
“Witchcraft.” Hugi snorted. “No one talked about anything else to begin with. When I started hanging out with them Harald invited me to join their witchcraft society.”
Matthew butted in. “Witchcraft society? What witchcraft society?”
“Malleus something. It was supposed to be a society for people interested in witch hunts and historical stuff.” He avoided Thóra’s glare, blushed slightly, and addressed Matthew. “But it was totally different. It wasn’t Harry Potter, believe me. It involved four things. Sex, black magic, drugs, and more sex.” He smiled. “That’s why I liked going around with them. I couldn’t care less about history or witchcraft or those magic symbols and incantations they did. I just wanted to have fun. The chicks were pretty.” Hugi lost his thread for a moment—presumably reminiscing about an adventure with the “pretty chicks.” “But some of the witchcraft stories were actually pretty cool. I remember one where this pregnant woman got thrown into a fire and she gave birth in the flames. The priests got the baby out alive but decided it might be infected with the mother’s magic, so they threw it back in. Harald said that was absolutely true.”
Thóra pulled a face to bring Hugi back to earth. “Who was in this society? What were the ‘pretty chicks’ called?”
“Harald was the boss, then Dóri, who was his right-hand man really; me; Bríet, who was studying history at the university—she was the only one who was seriously interested in all this, I think; Brjánsi, or Brjánn, who did history too; Andri, who was studying chemistry; and Marta Mist, who was in gender studies. She was awful, always moaning about injustice against women. Sometimes she’d ruin the fun with her bitching. Harald was always messing with her, always calling her ‘Nebel,’ which really got on her nerves. It’s German for ‘mist,’ get it?” Thóra indicated that she understood but Matthew sat poker-faced. “That was the core of the group. Occasionally new members joined but we were the only ones who stuck it out. I didn’t really follow what they did that closely—as I said I wasn’t interested in black magic, just in what went with it.”
“You say Dóri was his right-hand man. What do you mean by that?” asked Thóra.
“Those two were always up to things. I think Dóri helped him with translations and stuff. And it was obvious Dóri would take over when Harald went back to Germany. Dóri was well pleased with that; he was infatuated with Harald.”
“Is Dóri gay?” Matthew asked.
Hugi shook his head. “No, no way. He was just starstruck, you know. Dóri comes from a poor family, like me actually. Harald threw money at him, expensive presents and praise, so Dóri worshipped him. You could tell Harald enjoyed that. Actually he wasn’t always nice to Dóri; sometimes he humiliated him in front of us. But he always made sure to make up for it so that Dóri wouldn’t get fed up and bail out on him. It was quite a weird relationship.”
“You said Dóri was your childhood friend. How did you feel seeing him so infatuated with Harald? Weren’t you jealous?” asked Thóra.
Hugi smiled. “No, no way. We stayed friends. Harald was just in Iceland temporarily and I knew it would pass. If anything I found it quite funny seeing Dóri in the role of the admirer. Up to then he’d always been the one I looked up to; it was sort of a change, seeing him in my role, you know. Not that Dóri ever treated me the way Harald treated him, not so kind and not such a bastard either.” Suddenly Hugi’s expression turned anxious. “I didn’t kill him to get my friend back. It wasn’t like that.”
“No, perhaps not,” said Matthew. “But tell me one thing. If you didn’t kill him, who did? You must have some theories. You know it can’t have been suicide or an accident.”
Hugi’s eyes dropped back to the floor. “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d say. I don’t want to be here.”
“Do you think your friend Dóri killed him?” Thóra asked. “Are you covering for him?”
Hugi shook his head. “Dóri would never kill anyone. Least of all Harald. I told you he worshipped him.”
“Yes, but you also said Harald was nasty to him, humiliated him in front of the others. Maybe he had got fed up and attacked in a fit of rage. That happens,” said Thóra.
Hugi looked up, firmer than before. “No. Dóri’s not like that. He’s studying to be a doctor. He wants to help people live, not kill them.”
“Hugi, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but doctors have killed people for centuries. All professions have their rotten apples,” said Matthew sarcastically. “But if it wasn’t Dóri—who was it?”
“Maybe Marta Mist,” muttered Hugi unconvincingly. She clearly wasn’t his number one. “Maybe Harald called her ‘Nebel’ once too often.”
“Marta Mist, yes,” Matthew said. “That’s a great theory apart from the fact that she has a watertight alibi. Like everyone else in this little witches’ coven of yours. Except Dóri perhaps. His alibi is the shakiest. It’s quite conceivable that he could have popped out of the bar, killed Harald, and gone back in without anyone noticing.”
“And got the same seat? At Kaffibrennslan on a Saturday night? I don’t think so.” Hugi sneered.
“No one else springs to mind?” Thóra asked.
Hugi puffed up his cheeks and then exhaled. “Maybe someone from the university. I don’t know. Or someone from Germany.” He made sure not to look at Matthew when he said this, as if he expected him to be hypersensitive about his countrymen. “I know Harald was celebrating something that evening. He told me he wanted to buy some dope from me to mark some occasion or something.”
“What kind of ‘something’?” snapped Matthew. “You must be clearer. What exactly did he say?”
Hugi looked affronted. “Exactly? I can’t remember exactly but it was something to do with something he’d found at last. He shouted something in German and clenched his fist. Then he put his arms around me and squeezed me really hard and said I’d have to fix up some Es because he was in a really good mood and wanted to party like hell.”
“Was that when you left the party?” Thóra asked. “After he squeezed you and asked for some Es?”
“Yes, soon after. I was so out of it. I’d drunk too much and tried to sober up with some speed. It didn’t work. I was way too drunk. Anyway, we took a taxi back to my place and all I remember was that I couldn’t find any Es. I was so hammered I couldn’t even have found the milk in the fridge. I remember Harald was pretty pissed off with me and said it was a fucking waste of time. And I remember lying down on the sofa because my head suddenly started spinning.”
Thóra interrupted Hugi. “Did you say you didn’t let him have any ecstasy?”
“I couldn’t find them,” Hugi replied. “I was out of it, like I said.”
Thóra looked at Matthew without saying a word. The autopsy report stated that the active substance from ecstasy had been found in Harald’s blood, so at some stage he had got hold of some. “Could he have taken some earlier that evening? Or found them at your place when you passed out?”
“He hadn’t done any at the party, that’s for sure. He wasn’t acting that way and I know the effects. And there’s no way he found them at my place because the police dug them out from the storage room in the basement when they searched my flat. I’d stashed them there and had the key in my pocket. Harald couldn’t have looked in the storage room; I doubt he even knew about it. Maybe he went home to get some. I know he had a few that he said weren’t much good. Why are you so interested in this?”
“Are you sure Harald didn’t look in your pockets and find the key? You might not remember now, but maybe you told him at the time,” said Matthew. “Try to remember. You were lying on the sofa with your head spinning, and then what?”
Hugi squeezed his eyes shut and d
id everything he could to recall the incident. Suddenly he opened his eyes and looked at them in astonishment. “Yes, I remember. I didn’t say anything, but Harald said something to me. He bent down and whispered something to me. I remember I really wanted to answer him and ask him to wait for me but I couldn’t.”
“What? What did he say?” Matthew asked impatiently.
Hugi looked unsure of himself. “Maybe this is bullshit but I think he said: Sweet dreams. We’ll celebrate later. I came to Iceland looking for hell, and guess what? I’ve found it.”
CHAPTER 14
“Don’t be a jerk.” Marta Mist pursed her lips and blew out a long stream of smoke. She tipped the ash from her half-smoked cigarette and then stubbed it out. “You’re just making things worse, so don’t think you’re doing anyone a favor.” She narrowed her green almond-shaped eyes at the young man who was sitting, or rather lounging, on a chair on the other side of the table. He glared back but said nothing. Marta Mist sat up straight and ran her slender fingers through her curly red hair.
“Come on, don’t give me that look. You got us into this, so don’t imagine you can suddenly turn into a model citizen with a guilty conscience.” For support she looked at her girlfriend who was sitting beside her. The best she got out of the young blond girl was a wide-eyed nod. The girl had a crew cut and was boyish-looking, but she could never be mistaken for a boy. She was buxom but petite. From the rear she must have looked like a child sitting beside willowy Marta Mist, who had more to say. “That’s typical male crap and it makes me puke. Chickening out when the shit hits the fan.” She leaned back in her chair, contented. Her friend, not daring to look at either of them, concentrated on her soda.
“For God’s sake,” Dóri replied, pretending to ram his finger down his throat. “How about dropping those fucking clichés just for once?” Annoyance crept over his features and as he stared at Marta Mist his upper lip curled involuntarily, revealing his white teeth. He looked the other way and took a drag off his cigarette. When he exhaled his anger was waning and he added in a slightly calmer tone: “You ought to be glad if I went to the police. Don’t you think the women’s prison would be utopia? Nothing but women there.” He gave her a sarcastic grin.
Marta Mist gave as good as she got. “Then we could phone each other and swap happy tales. You’d be popular in prison too, sweetie, a pretty little boy like you.” She returned his nasty grin.
“Aw, cut it out.” Bríet spoke up at last. The others only looked at her in mute surprise, so she went back to peering into her glass, blushing now. Then she muttered into her cleavage: “I’m not interested in going to the women’s prison, and I don’t want you going to prison either.” She looked up and stared at Dóri. “I’m terrified.”
Dóri smiled at her, genuinely. He liked her. In fact, he realized he was really very fond of her—although he had still not decided whether it was anything more than sexual. “No one’s going to prison.” He looked up at Marta Mist. “Look what you’ve done, scaring Bríet out of her wits with all this bullshit.”
Marta Mist affected shock. “Me? Hello? You started talking about prison—not me.” She looked at Bríet, rolled her eyes, and groaned. “Whose bright idea was it to come here anyway?”
They were at Hótel 101 on Hverfisgata, sitting in the lounge in front of the smokers’ bar. Harald’s other friends had frequented the place while he ran that strange group. Without him the bar seemed to lose its charm.
Dóri bowed his head and shook it in confusion. “For God’s sake, Marta. I’m cracking up. Can’t we talk like friends? I thought you’d be able to help me. I think it’s terrible that Hugi’s inside. Surely you realize that.” He looked up but avoided her eyes and reached over for the packet of cigarettes lying in the middle of the table. “And that snake’s driving me crazy. When’s the fucking funeral anyway?”
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 a
gain 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.
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