Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Last Rituals

Thora's eyes widened. Bird's blood? That repulsed her even more than human blood. "What did the letter say?" Thora asked. "Do you have it with you?"

"I don't have the original, if that's what you mean," Matthew answered. "His mother wouldn't hand it over, nor a copy of it. She may well have destroyed it. It was quite disgusting."

Thora looked disappointed. "So what? I have to know what it said. Did you get someone to translate it?"

"Yes, we did. It was a love poem that began sweetly but soon turned rather nasty." He smiled at Thora. "You're lucky that I managed to copy it outyou see, I was given the job of translating it, with the help of an Icelandic-German dictionary. I probably wouldn't win a prize for the translation but the meaning was obvious." While he spoke, Matthew produced a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. He handed it to Thora. "I might not have written some of the letters down properlyI didn't recognize all of them, but it ought to be fairly close."

Thora read the poem. It was long, considering it had been written in blood. She could not imagine how much blood it would have taken to write all those letters. Matthew had written it out in capitalspresumably to match the original. On the sheet of paper was written:

I look at you,

but you bestow on me

love and dearness

with your whole heart.

Sit nowhere,

stay nowhere,

unless you love me.

I ask of Odin

and all those

who can decipher

women's runes

that in this world

you will nowhere rest

or thrive

unless you love me

with all your heart.

Then in your bones

you will burn all over

and in your flesh

half as bad again.

May misfortune befall you

unless you love me,

your legs shall freeze,

may you never earn honor

or happiness.

Sit burning,

may your hair rot,

may your clothes rip,

unless willingly

you wish me yours.

Thora felt odd reading itthe poem was quite macabre. She looked up at Matthew. "I don't recognize it, unfortunately. Who does that sort of thing?"

"I don't have the faintest idea," Matthew replied. "The original was even more repulsive, it was written on skincalfskin. It takes a sick man to do something like that to a dead man's mother."

"Why his mother? Wasn't it sent to his father too?"

"There was more with it, in German. I didn't write it down but I more or less remember what it said."

"And what was that?" Thora asked.

"It was a short textsomething along the lines of: 'MotherI hope you like the poem and the presentyour son Harry.' And the word 'son' was double-underlined."

Thora looked up from the page at Matthew. "What present? Was there a present with the letter?"

"No, not according to his parents, and I believe them. They were out of their minds after it arrived and in no state to lie convincingly."

"Why is it signed 'Harry'? Was the person who wrote it running out of blood?"

"No, his elder brother called him 'Harry' when they were small. Only a handful of people know that nicknamewhich is one reason why the letter had such an effect on his mother."

Thora looked at Matthew. "Did she treat him badly? Is that true?" She thought back to that photograph of the lonely little boy.

Matthew did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke he chose his words carefully; it was evidently important to him to express himself properly about the private affairs of employers whom he seemed to respect highly. "I swear that I don't know. It was more as if she avoided him. But I do know that if their relationship had been normal, she would have sent the letter to the Icelandic police. It clearly struck a nerve." He paused for a moment, watching Thora thoughtfully before continuing. "She asked to talk to you. Mother-to-mother."

"Me?" Thora gaped. "What does she want from me? To apologize for her bizarre behavior toward her child?"

"She didn't say," Matthew replied. "She just said she wanted to talk to you, but not right now. She wanted time to get over the shock."

Thora said nothing. Of course she would talk to the woman if she insisted, but it would be a long time before she would console someone who had mistreated her child. "I can't see the motive behind that letter," she said, to change the subject.

"Nor can I," replied Matthew at once. "There's something so crazy about pretending Harald sent it himself that I think the murderer must be a psychopath."

Thora stared at the sheet of paper. "Could the person who wrote it be implying that Harald was dead and would come back to haunt his mother?"

"Why?" asked Matthew reasonably. "Who could expect to benefit from tormenting her like that?"

"Harald, of course, except that he was dead," Thora said. "His sister perhapsmaybe their mother mistreated her too?"

"No," Matthew replied. "She wasn't mistreatedI can promise you that. She's the apple of her parents' eye."

"So who can it be?" Thora asked, floundering.

"Not Hugi anyway. Unless he had an accomplice."

"Pity we didn't know about the blood on his clothes when we spoke to him this morning." Thora looked at her watch. "Maybe they'll let me talk to him on the phone." She dialed directory assistance and got the number of the prison. The duty sergeant gave her permission to talk to Hugi on condition that they kept the conversation short. She held impatiently for several minutes listening to a digital rendition of Fur Elise. Finally, a breathless Hugi came on the line.

"Hello."

"Yes, hello, Hugi. This is Thora Gudmundsdottir who came to see you this morning. I won't keep you long but unfortunately we forgot to ask you about the blood on your clothes. How do you explain that?"

"That fucking shit." Hugi groaned. "The police asked me about it. I don't know what bloodstained T-shirt they mean, but I explained the blood on my clothes from the night before."

"How?" Thora asked.

"Harald and I went to the toilet to snort up during the party. He got this huge nosebleed and some of it splashed me. The bathroom was tiny."

"Couldn't you get that corroborated?" Thora asked. "Didn't any of the other guests remember you coming out of the bathroom covered in blood?"

"I wasn't exactly covered in blood. They were all off their heads too. No one mentioned it. No one noticed, I guess."

Damn, thought Thora. "But the bloodstained T-shirt in your closetdo you know how it got there?"

"I haven't the foggiest." A short silence followed before he added: "I think the cops planted it. I didn't kill Harald and didn't mop up any blood with a T-shirt. I don't even know if it's my T-shirt or someone else's. They never let me see it."

"Those are serious accusations, Hugi, and to tell you the truth I don't think the police do that sort of thing. There must be another explanation, if you're telling the truth." They ended the call, and Thora filled Matthew in.

"Well, he has an explanation for half of it," he said. "We have to find out from the other guests at the party if they remember any nosebleeds."

"Yes," Thora said, hardly expecting it to be worth the hassle. "But even if they do, the T-shirt in the closet still needs to be explained."

A ping came from the computer, and they both looked at the screen. "You have new mail" appeared on a tab in the right-hand corner. Thora grabbed the mouse and clicked the envelope icon.

It was an e-mailfrom Mal.

Hey, dead Harald.