“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 f
or 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.”
“Are you going to trick the old fellow?” Matthew asked. “That’s not a very nice thing to do—given what the poor guy’s been through.”
Thóra looked over her shoulder on her way down the corridor and smiled at him. “The only way to find out if this is the letter is to take it to Gunnar. He’ll be so delighted when he sees it that he’ll do anything for us. Two or three questions about Bríet can hardly hurt.”
Thóra’s smile had faded by the time they found themselves sitting in Gudrún’s kitchen with the letter on the table in front of them. Gunnar would hardly be pleased to retrieve it in such bad condition. He’d probably wish it had never been found. “You’re sure it wasn’t torn when you took it out of the box?” asked Thóra, carefully trying to smooth out the thick sheet without ripping the part that had almost been torn off.
Gudrún cast a guilty look at the letter. “I’m quite certain. It was intact. I must have ripped it in my agitation.” She smiled apologetically. “They can stick it back together—can’t they? Maybe iron it out a bit?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure they can,” said Thóra, although she suspected that a repair would be a rather complicated procedure, if it was possible at all. “Thank you very much for contacting us. You did the right thing—this is probably the document we were looking for and it really has nothing to do with the police investigation. We’ll return it to its rightful owners.”
“Good. The sooner I get rid of everything to do with Harald and leave all this mess behind, the better. It hasn’t been pleasant for my husband and me since the murder. And I’d like you to tell his family I really want the apartment cleared soon. The sooner I can forget all this, the sooner I can start to get over it.” She placed her slender hands down flat on the table and stared at her fingers, adorned with rings. “Not that I didn’t like Harald himself. Don’t misunderstand me.”
“Oh, no,” Thóra said in a friendly voice. “I can’t imagine it’s been at all pleasant.” After a short pause she asked: “One final question. I’d like to ask if you got to know Harald’s friends—saw them or heard them?”
“Are you trying to be funny?” the woman asked, her tone suddenly turning dry. “Did I hear them? At times they might as well have been in my apartment, there was so much noise.”
“What kind of noise?” Thóra asked cautiously. “Quarreling? Shouting?”
Gudrún snorted. “It was mostly loud music. If music’s the word. And terrible thuds, like they were stamping their feet or jumping. The odd howl, shouting and hooting—I often thought I’d have done better renting the place to animal keepers.”
“Why did you go on renting it to him?” asked Matthew, who had kept himself out of their conversation up to that point. “If I remember correctly, there was a clause about conduct in the tenancy agreement and the right to terminate it in the event of noncompliance.”
Gudrún blushed. “I liked him despite everything. I suppose that’s the explanation. He paid the rent promptly and was a good tenant himself.”
“So was it mainly his friends who made all the noise?” asked Thóra.
“Yes, you could say that,” said Gudrún. “At least, it intensified when they were around. Harald played loud music and stomped around sometimes—but when his friends were with him it was so much louder.”
“Did you ever witness arguments or disagreements between Harald and his friends?” Thóra asked.
“No, I can’t say I did. The police asked me the same question. All I remember was one very heated exchange between Harald and some girl in the laundry room. I didn’t get involved, I was busy baking. I wasn’t in there or anything, I just happened to hear it when I walked past.” The blush returned to her cheeks. Previously, Gudrún had shown them the laundry room to explain how she found the box. The room was off the hallway and it was impossible for her to have walked past unless she had just come in through the front door. She had obviously been eavesdropping and Thóra tried to think of a way to let her say what she heard without admitting that she had had her ear against the door.
“Oh.” She sighed, full of sympathy. “I once lived in an apartment where the door to the laundry room was next to mine, and the things I had to put up with. You could hear almost every single word. I found it awfully uncomfortable.”
“Yes,” Gudrún said hesitantly. “Harald was generally in the laundry room by himself—fortunately. I don’t know if this girl was helping him with the washing or was just there to keep him company, but they were very worked up. It had to do with a missing letter if I recall. This one, I guess.” She gestured with her chin toward the table. “Harald kept asking her to forget about something; calmly at first, but he got very worked up when she demanded to know why he refused to back her up. She kept saying it would give her such awesome leverage—whatever that means. That was all I heard because I was just walking past, as I said.”
“Did you recognize the girl’s voice—could it have been that little blond friend of his?” Thóra asked hopefully.
“I couldn’t really say,” said Gudrún, sarcasm creeping back into her tone. “There were mainly two who came here: a tall redhead and that blond one. They both looked like hookers who’d suddenly been drafted into the army—covered in war paint and wearing those baggy camouflage trousers. Awfully unattractive and rude, both of them. We often bumped into each other but I don’t think they ever said hello to me. There was no way for me to tell who it was without actually seeing her.”
While Thóra agreed that Bríet and Marta Mist were rude, they could hardly be called unattractive. She was beginning to suspect that the woman fancied Harald and had a grudge against his girlfriends. Stranger things happened. She tried to conceal her hunch. “Well, that doesn’t matter anyway. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the case.” She stood up and took the letter. “Thank you very much again, and I’ll pass on your request about clearing out the apartment.”
Matthew stood up, too, and shook the woman’s hand. She smiled at him and he gave a meaningful smile back. “Why don’t you just take the apartment instead?” she said, putting her left hand warmly over his.
“Yes, no, I won’t be in Iceland for too much longer,” he stammered as he tried to think of a way to retrieve his hand.
“Anyway, you could always move in with Bella.” Thóra smiled. Matthew gave her a dirty look, but his expression softened slightly when Gudrún released his hand.
“You give him the document,” said Thóra, trying to get Matthew to take hold of the large envelope. Gudrún had found it for them as they were lea
ving, placing the old letter inside to prevent further damage. As if there was any point.
“Out of the question,” said Matthew, crossing his arms tight. “It was your idea, so I’m just going to sit and watch—I might hand him a handkerchief if he bursts into tears when he realizes it’s in tatters.”
“I haven’t felt like this since the time I came back from my driving test and reversed straight into our neighbor’s car,” Thóra said while they sat waiting. They had been offered a seat and told that Gunnar would see them after his class ended. Since no one seemed to be around, Thóra took the opportunity to stretch out in the chair. “It’s not as if it was me who ripped the letter.”
“But you’re the one who gets to break the news,” Matthew said, looking at the clock. “Is he coming? I have to have a proper meal before you go meet Amelia. Are you sure this caterers’ holiday is only until noon?”
“We’ll be quick, don’t worry. You’ll be eating before you know it.” Hearing footsteps from the other end of the corridor, she looked up. It was Gunnar. He had a pile of papers and books in his arms and seemed surprised to see them.
“Hello,” he said, trying to fish the key to his office out of his pocket. “Have you come to see me?”
Matthew and Thóra stood up. “Yes, hello,” said Thóra. She waved the envelope in front of her. “We wanted to ask you whether a letter that was found over the weekend might be the one you’re looking for.”
Gunnar’s face lit up. “Really?” he said, opening the door. “Do come in. What marvelous news.” He went over to his desk and put down the books and papers. Then he sat down and gestured to them to take a seat. “Where was it found?”
Thóra sat down and put the envelope on the table. “At Harald’s flat, in a box of odd stuff. I must warn you that the letter’s not in good condition.” She gave an apologetic smile. “The person who found it had a little fit.”
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