Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Last Rituals

The German looked about forty. He sat straight as a beanpole on the upholstered chair, his broad shoulders hiding the smart back of the seat. He was just beginning to go gray, which lent him a certain air of dignity. He looked stiff and formal, dressed in a gray suit and matching tie that did not exactly create a colorful impression. Thora smiled, hoping it would make her come across as friendly and interested rather than idiotic. The man stood up, removed the napkin from his lap, and put it on the table.

"Frau Gudmundsdottir?" A harsh, cold pronunciation.

They shook hands. "Herr Reich," Thora muttered, with the best German pronunciation she could muster. "And do call me Thora," she added. "It's easier to pronounce too."

"Please have a seat," the man said, sitting down himself. "And please call me Matthew."

She took care to sit down with her back straight and wondered what the other guests in the restaurant thought of this upright duo. Probably that they were meeting up to found a society for people with steel spine braces.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" the man asked Thora politely in German. The waiter clearly understood what he said, because he turned to Thora and awaited her answer.

"Sparkling mineral water, please." She recalled how fond the Germans were of mineral water. It was becoming more popular in Iceland as wellten years before, no one with any sense would have thought of paying for water at a restaurant where it ran straight out of the tap. Buying carbonated water was somehow more acceptable.

"I presume you have talked to my employer, or rather his wife, Frau Guntlieb," Matthew Reich said when the waiter had gone.

"Yes. She told me I'd get more details from you."

He hesitated and sipped a clear liquid from his glass. The bubbles suggested that he had ordered sparkling water too. "I put some documents together in a folder for you. You can take it with you and look at it later, but there are a number of points I want to go over with you now, if that's okay with you."

"Certainly," Thora replied at once. Before he had the chance to continue, she hurried to say: "But one thing I'd like to know a little more about is these people I'm going to work for. Maybe it makes no difference to the investigation, but it matters to me. Frau Guntlieb mentioned a surprising figure as my fee. I'm not interested in taking advantage of the family's grief if she can't afford this."

"They can afford it." He smiled. "Herr Guntlieb is the president and largest shareholder in the Anlagenbestand Bank of Bavaria. It's not a large bank, but its clientele includes corporations and wealthy individuals. Don't worry. The Guntliebs are very, very well-off."

"I see," Thora said, thinking that this explained the servant answering the telephone at their home.

"However, the Guntliebs have not been so fortunate with their children. They had four children, two sons and two daughters. The elder son died in a car accident ten years ago and the elder daughter was born severely handicapped. She died as a result of her condition a few years ago. Now their son Harald has been murdered and the youngest daughter, Elisa, is all they have left. It has been an enormous strain on them, as you can imagine."

Thora nodded, then asked hesitantly: "What was Harald doing here in Iceland? I thought there were plenty of universities in Germany with good history faculties."

Judging from Matthew's otherwise expressionless face this was a difficult question. "I really don't know. He was interested in the seventeenth century and I'm told he was doing some kind of research comparing continental Europe to Iceland. He came here as part of a student exchange program between the University of Munich and the University of Iceland."

"What kind of comparative research was it? Was it political, something like that?"

"No, it was more in the field of religion." He took a sip of water. "Maybe we should order before we go any further." He waved to the waiter, who approached holding two menus.

Thora had the feeling that there was more behind his haste than hunger. "Religion, you say." She looked at the menu. "Could you be more specific?"

He put the open menu down on the table. "It's not really the sort of thing you talk about while you're eating, though I expect we'll have to sooner or later. But I'm not sure that his area of academic interest had anything to do with the murder."

Thora frowned. "Was it related to the plague?" she asked. This was the only idea that occurred to her that fit the time bracket and was too distasteful for table talk.

"No, not the plague." He looked her in the eye. "Witch hunts. Torture and executions. Not particularly appealing. Unfortunately Harald was deeply interested in it. Actually this interest runs in the family."

Thora nodded. "I understand." She did not understand in the slightest. "Maybe we should save this until after the meal."

"That's unnecessary. The main points are in the folder I'll give you." He picked up the menu again. "You'll also be getting some boxes of his belongings from the police. There are documents connected with his thesis which will provide you with further information. We're also expecting to get his computer and a few other things that may provide some clues."

They looked at the menu in silence.

"Fish," Matthew said without looking up. "You eat a lot of fish here."

"Yes, we do," was the only reply Thora could think of. "After all, we are a fishing nation. Probably the only one that has managed to regulate its fishing sustainably." She forced a smile. "Actually, fish is no longer the mainstay of our economy."

"I don't like fish," he said.

"Seriously?" Thora closed the menu. "I do, and I'm thinking of having the fried plaice."

In the end he settled for the quiche. When the waiter had gone, Thora asked why the family thought the police had the wrong man in custody.

"There are several reasons. First, Harald would not have wasted his time arguing with some dope dealer." He stared at her. "He used drugs now and again; that was known. He drank alcohol too. He was young. But he was no more a drug addict than he was an alcoholic."

"That depends on your definition of addict," Thora said. "As far as I'm concerned, repeated drug use is addiction."

"I know a few things about drug abuse." He paused, then hurried to add: "Not from personal experience, but through my work. Harald was not an addicthe was doubtless on his way to becoming one, but he wasn't one when he was murdered."

It dawned on Thora that she had absolutely no idea why this man had been sent to Iceland. She doubted it was to invite her out to lunch and moan about Icelandic fish. "What is it exactly that you do for this family? Frau Guntlieb said you worked for her husband."

"I'm in charge of security at the bank. That includes background checks for prospective recruits, managing security procedures in the company, and money transportation."

"That doesn't involve drugs very much, surely?"

"No. I was referring to my previous job. I spent twelve years with the Munich CID." His eyes fixed on hers. "I know a thing or two about murders and I don't have the slightest doubt that the investigation into Harald's murder was badly handled. I didn't need to see very much of the man in charge to realize he doesn't have the faintest idea what he's doing."

"What's his name?"

Thora understood who he meant, despite the awkward pronunciation. Arni Bjarnason. She sighed. "I know him from other cases. He's an idiot. A stroke of bad luck having him assigned to the investigation."

"There are other reasons the family doesn't think the drug dealer is connected with the murder."

Thora looked up. "Such as what?"

"Just before his death, Harald withdrew a lot of money from a fund set up in his name. It's proved impossible so far to establish where the money went. It was a lot more than Harald would have needed to buy drugs. Even if he had planned on staying stoned for years."