Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Last Rituals

"Guten Abend, Frau Gudmundsdottir," said Matthew's dry voice. He asked if it was an inconvenient time.

"No, it's okay," Thora lied. She thought Matthew would be upset if he knew the truth, namely that she was sitting down to dinner. He seemed a polite man, somehow.

"Have you had time to look at the documents I gave you?" he asked.

"Yes, I have, but not in any great detail," Thora replied. "Actually, I did notice that the police investigation documents were incomplete. I suggest a formal request to obtain them. It's a terrible drawback having only part of them."

"Definitely." An uncomfortable silence ensued. Just as Thora was about to add something, Matthew began speaking again.

"So you've made your mind up?"

"About the case, you mean?"

"Yes," he said curtly. "Are you going to take it on?"

Thora hesitated for a moment before agreeing. She had a feeling that when she said those words, Matthew heaved a deep sigh of relief. "Sehr gut," he said in an exceptionally perky tone.

"Actually, I still have to study the contract. I brought it home to read tonight. If it's true that it's 'fair and normal,' I can't see any objections to signing it tomorrow."

"Great."

"Listen, one thing made me curious: why wasn't the section about the autopsy in the folder?" Although Thora knew this could wait until morning, she wanted to know the answer now.

"We had to make a special application to obtain the documents and I didn't get them alljust a summary of the main points. I thought it was rather sparse, so I've insisted on seeing the entire report," Matthew replied.

After a moment's pause he added by way of explanation: "It complicated the matter a little, me being a representative and not a relative, but fortunately it's been settled now. In fact, that's why I rang now instead of waiting to hear from you tomorrow as we had discussed."

"Sorry?" Thora said, not quite grasping the context.

"I have an appointment at nine tomorrow morning with the pathologist who performed the autopsy on Harald. He's going to present me with the documents and go through various aspects of them with me. I'd like you to come along."

"Well," Thora said in surprise. "Okay, that's fine. I'm game."

"Good, I'll pick you up from the office at half past eight."

Thora bit her tongue to stop herself saying that she generally did not turn up that early. "Half past eight. I'll see you then."

"Frau Gudmundsdottir" said Matthew.

"Do call me Thora, it's much simpler," Thora interrupted him. She felt like a ninety-year-old widow every time he called her Frau Gudmundsdottir.

"Okay, Thora," Matthew said. "Just one more thing."

"What?" asked Thora.

"I'd resist having a heavy breakfast. It's not going to be a pleasant conversation."

Finding a parking space at the national hospital was definitely not the easiest task in the world. Matthew eventually found one some distance from the building where the pathology lab was located. Thora had turned up at her office early and drafted a letter to the police, demanding access to the documents as the representative of the family. The letter was in its envelope and waiting in Bella's tray; hopefully it would be posted today, but Thora still decided to up the odds by labeling the envelope with the words: "Must not be posted before the weekend."

Thora had also called the aviation school to inquire about a debit from Harald's card in September. She was told that Harald had hired a small private plane and pilot to fly up to Holmavik and back the same day. After checking Holmavik on the Internet, Thora soon realized what had attracted Harald thereits museum of witchcraft and sorcery. She had also telephoned Hotel Ranga to investigate Harald's trips there, and she was told that he had booked and paid for two rooms for two nightsthe names in the guest book were Harald Guntlieb and Harry Potter. As a pseudonym, the latter displayed a singular lack of imagination. She told Matthew about this and Harald's trip to Holmavik as they circled the parking lot.

"At last," Matthew said, slipping his rental car into a newly abandoned parking space.

They walked in the direction of the laboratory, which was located behind the main building. It had snowed during the night and Matthew walked ahead of Thora, stomping through the piles of slush and ice. The weather was blustery and the bracing north wind tugged at Thora's hair. That morning she had decided to wear her hair down but regretted that decision now as the wind swept it in all directions. I'll look really good by the time I get inside, she thought. She stopped for a moment, turned her back to the wind, and tried to protect her hair by wrapping a scarf over her head. It was hardly fashionable but earned her hair a respite from the gusts. After this ceremony, she hurried after Matthew.

When they finally reached the building he looked around for the first time since they had left the car. He stared at her with the scarf over her head. She could just imagine how elegant she looked, which he confirmed when he raised his eyebrows and said: "There's bound to be a bathroom you can pop into when we get inside."

Thora yearned to fire a retort at him, but restrained herself. Instead she gave him a rigid smile and threw open the door. She strode over to a woman pushing an empty steel trolley and asked where they could find the doctor they were supposed to meet. After asking whether he was expecting them, the woman directed them toward an office at the end of one of the corridors. She added that they should wait outside because the doctor was not yet back from a morning meeting.

Thora and Matthew sat down in two battered chairs by the window in the corridor.

"I didn't mean to offend you. Sorry," Matthew said without looking at her.

Not interested in discussing her appearance, Thora ignored the remark. She took the scarf off her head with as much dignity as she could muster and put it in her lap. Then she reached over for a pile of tattered magazines that were lying on a little table between the chairs.

"Who could ever be interested in reading this stuff?" she muttered as she flicked through the pile.

"I don't think people come here looking for something to read," Matthew answered. He was sitting up straight, staring ahead.

Thora put down the magazines, irritated. "No, maybe not." She looked at her watch and said impatiently, "Where is that man, anyway?"

"He'll be here," came the curt reply. "Actually I'm starting to have second thoughts about this meeting."

"What do you mean?" she asked peevishly.

"I think it may be too shocking for you," he replied, turning to face her. "You don't have any experience with this sort of thing and I'm not sure it's a good idea. It would be best if I just tell you what he says."

Thora glared at him. "I've given birth to two children, with all the accompanying pain, blood, placentas, cervical plugs, and God knows what else. I'll survive." She folded her arms and turned away from him. "So what do you know about gross stuff?"

Matthew did not seem impressed by Thora's experience. "Lots of things. But I'll spare you the details. Unlike you, I have no need to beat my chest."

Thora rolled her eyes. This German wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs. She decided to find out what The Watchtower had to say rather than try to sustain a conversation with him. She was halfway through an article on the bad influence of television on world youth when a man in a white coat came hurrying along the corridor toward them. He was around sixty, starting to gray at the temples, and very tan. His eyes were flanked by wrinkles from smiling, which led Thora to conclude that he had had a good time in the sun. He stopped in front of them and Thora and Matthew both stood up.