Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Last Rituals

"I'm certain it's from the shoe he was wearing when he was murdered. But of course I have no idea whether the star fell off before then."

"Well, well," muttered Gunnar. Gritting his teeth, he looked sternly at Tryggvi, stood up, and said: "Thank you, it might be irrelevant but you did right to let me know."

The janitor nodded calmly. "Actually there's something else," he said, and produced a folded paper towel from his pocket. "The woman who cleaned the common room over the weekend of the murder found traces of blood on the floor which someone had tried to clean up. And she found this too." He gave the paper towel to Gunnar. "I think we should talk to the police." After thanking the professor, he left the room.

Gunnar sat down again, stared at the star and thought about what to do. Was it important? Would a call to the police be a Pandora's box that would start the questioning all over again? That must not happen. It simply must not happen now that everything was getting back to routine. Apart from that bloody letter, of course. With a groan, Gunnar put the star down. It could surely wait until Monday. He opened the paper towel. It took him a while to realize how the object he was holding was linked to the case. When he realized, he just managed to put his hand over his mouth before letting out a scream. He picked up the telephone and dialed the emergency number for the police, 112. This one could not wait until Monday.

The journey to Ranga went like a dream. The weather had kept up, and although there was snow everywhere, it was calm and bright. Thora sat happily in the front seat of the new rental Jeep, admiring the view. She had emphasized to Matthew the importance of driving slowly down the winding steep slopes at Kambar and regaled him with endless stories of accidents there, with the result that they ended up driving at a snail's pace. Thora soon lost count of the cars that overtook them. She used the time to browse through one of the two files returned by the police, which were supposed to contain all the case documents. She paused over the description of the T-shirt that was found in Hugi's closet. "Hey!" she shouted.

Matthew, startled, sent the Jeep into a swerve. "What?"

"The T-shirt," Thora said excitedly, tapping hard on the open page. "This is the same T-shirt I saw in the photographs of the tongue operation. '100% silicon.' It says that on the front."

"So?" Matthew asked, not following.

"The photographs show a T-shirt with the inscription '100' and 'ilic' or something similar. Here it says that the T-shirt found in Hugi's closet said '100% silicon' in big letters on the front. The blood must have been from the operation." Thora slammed the folder shut, pleased with herself.

"He must remember it," Matthew said. "It's not every day you have other people's blood splashed all over your clothes."

"Maybe not for you and me," said Thora. "Don't you remember Hugi saying they didn't let him see the T-shirt? Maybe he didn't remember this one."

"Maybe," Matthew said. They drove on in silence for a while but as they were crossing the bridge over Outer Ranga by Hella he suddenly said: "They're coming tomorrow."

"They who?"

"Amelia Guntlieb and her daughter Elisa," said Matthew, not taking his eyes off the road.

"What? They're coming?" spluttered Thora. "Why?"

"You were right. His sister was with him just before the murder. She's going to talk to usI understood from the mother that he told his sister what he was working on. Admittedly not in detail, though."

"Well, well," said Thora. "I understand about his sisterbut what about his mother? Is she coming to stand over us while we talk to his sister?"

"No. She's coming to talk to you. One-on-one. Mother-to-motherher very words. You knew she was going to talk to you. Did you think she meant over the phone?"

"Actually, I did. Mother-to-mother? Are we supposed to compare notes about child-rearing?" Meeting that woman was the last thing Thora wanted.

Matthew shrugged. "I don't know, I'm not a mother."

"Christ," Thora exclaimed, and sank back in her seat. She carefully weighed her words before speaking again. "His sistercould she be involved?"

"No. Out of the question."

"If I may ask: why is it out of the question?"

"Because it is. Elisa's not like that. Also, she says she went home that Friday. She flew from Keflavik to Frankfurt."

"And you're happy to take her word for that?" Thora asked, surprised at his gullibility.

Matthew glanced at her and then returned his attention to the road. "Not entirely. I had it checked and, believe me, she took the plane."

Thora did not know what to say. In the end she decided to save further remarks until she had had the chance to meet the girl and talk to her. Perhaps Matthew was right. It might very well be possible to rule her out as the murderer. Thora spotted a sign saying "Hotel Ranga." "There." She indicated that Matthew should turn right down the drive to the hotel. They headed along the track toward the river and up to a large timber building.

"You know, I don't think I've stayed at a hotel for two years," she said as she carried her flight bag to the hotel. "Not since I got divorced."

"You're joking, of course," Matthew said, taking his own bag.

"No, I swear I'm not," said Thora, almost enjoying the memory. "We made a final attempt to save our marriage with a weekend in Paris two years ago, and since then I haven't been abroad or had any reason to stay at a hotel. Strange."

"So the trip to Paris didn't work any miracles?" asked Matthew as he opened the door for her.

Thora snorted. "Not exactly. We were making a final effort to save our relationship, and instead of sitting over a glass of wine and talking things overfinding cracks that we could patch uphe was continually asking me to photograph him in front of tourist sights. That was the death sentence really."

Right inside the door they bumped into a huge stuffed polar bearstanding on its hind legs with glaring eyes, ready to pounce. Matthew walked up to it and posed. "Take a photograph. Please."

Thora made a face and went up to the reception desk. Behind a computer screen sat a middle-aged woman wearing a dark uniform and white blouse. She smiled at Thora, who informed her that they had booked two single rooms and gave their names. The woman made an entry in the computer, found two keys, and gave them directions to the rooms. Thora reached over to pick up her bag and was about to leave when she decided to ask the woman if she remembered Harald as a guest. He might have asked for directions or information that could give her and Matthew a lead. "A friend of ours stayed here this autumn. Harald Guntlieb. You wouldn't happen to remember him?"

The woman looked at Thora with the patient expression of someone accustomed to all manner of unlikely questions. "No, I don't remember the name," she answered politely.

"Could you check, he was a German with rather unusual facial piercings?" Thora tried to smile, to pretend this was merely routine.

"I can try. How do you spell the name?" the woman said, looking back at her computer screen.

Thora recited the letters one by one and waited while she called up the details of Harald's reservation. From where she stood, Thora could see a succession of menus appearing on the screen. "Here it is," the woman said at last. "Harald Guntlieb, two rooms for two nights. The other guest was a Harry Potter. Does that fit?" If she found the other name odd, she did not show it.

"Yes," said Thora. "Do you remember them at all?" Peering at the screen, the woman shook her head. "No, sorry. I wasn't even working here then." She looked at Thora. "I was on holiday abroad. In this line of business it's difficult to get away in the summer," she said apologetically, as if Thora might reproach her for being a slacker. "Maybe the barman remembers him. Olafur, or Oli as we call him, must have been here. He'll be on duty tonight."