Richard House - The Kills

Sandro laughs softly. ‘The method is not impressive. But the result is interesting. If we no longer have these people looking for Sutler, then, as far as everyone is concerned, we no longer have Sutler to worry about. I can see this. It makes sense.’

‘So is it over?’

Sandro gives the smallest head shake. ‘If there is someone making sure that Sutler is not discovered, then anyone who is involved is — I suppose — a threat.’ He looks quizzically at Gibson, the thought taking shape. ‘This means Paul Geezler,’ he softly clears his throat. ‘And it also means you.’

7.1

Mattaus and his friend are due to arrive at seven-thirty. Rike arranges the table setting and tries not to work herself into a bother. Henning, unfazed, cleans the cutlery and glasses that Rike has set out.

Once the table is prepared Isa comes out of the main bedroom, and, stroking back her hair, asks if it wouldn’t be better to take the table outside for a change. It is nice, after all.

‘We eat outside every night,’ Henning argues without much fight.

‘It’s only Mattaus. You know what he’s like, inside is best, once he starts laughing the neighbours will complain.’

Isa gives Rike a glance, a warning shot not to start. ‘Be nice.’

‘I’m always nice.’

‘I can’t believe we don’t know his name.’

Henning moves away from the sisters, then stands in the kitchen, bowls lined before him: one ready for the pasta, another for the sauce, another for the salad. Isa might have planned the evening but it’s Rike who has to cook. Rike fries the last of the pancetta. Isa, she notices, walks with a more pronounced waddle. Her hand tucked into the small of her back. Really working the pregnancy.

‘She’s laying it on a bit thick,’ Henning whispers.

Rike shrugs, Isa catches the expression.

‘You are going to be nice, you two?’

Both Rike and Henning give innocent smiles.

‘I’m always nice.’

‘No you aren’t. You make comments, you snipe at him until there’s an argument. I don’t want any of that this time. Just leave him alone.’

Rike brings the salad to the table. Henning tells Isa that someone is at the door, and simultaneously the doorbell rings. Isa hurries to answer and Rike returns to the kitchen area.

‘I don’t snipe. Do I?’ she asks Henning.

Henning gives a don’t-ask-me shrug and turns away. ‘Let her have her evening.’

‘He’s my brother as well.’

‘Just let it go the way she wants.’

Rike gives a small nod of agreement. Things always go how Isa wants. At the door, Mattaus stands on his own, arms up in welcome, Isa making excuses for him already, and in the same breath apologizing for the apartment. At least he’s remembered to bring wine.

‘Oh, he couldn’t come? Give me that. You shouldn’t have. We’re not long out of boxes, not everything is in the right place. We’ve no idea how long we’re staying so we haven’t settled.’ She returns to the lounge, a little red-faced and flustered, Mattaus behind her, looking, Rike has to admit, fresh, a little thinner, in good shape.

‘You’ve been on the beach.’ Isa strokes her brother’s shoulder.

Mattaus looks about the apartment. Both Rike and Henning make their way to him. Henning awkwardly shakes his hand then guides him to one of the two soft chairs and asks what he would like to drink. Mattaus asks for red wine, although he’s brought white, and keeps looking around the room, his eye a little critical.

‘You left everything in Damascus? I wanted to visit you there.’

‘When we get back.’ Isa hands him his wine. ‘Who knows when that might be.’

‘But everything’s in the house? You had to leave it all?’

‘Everything. We had no choice. I was given three days to get everything together, and we were limited on what we could bring. It’s still hard to believe.’

‘But you look good.’ Mattaus points his glass at his sister’s stomach.

‘I look like shit.’

‘You look good.’ Mattaus walks to Rike with his arms open. He apologizes about the apartment. ‘You know how it is. I wish it didn’t work out this way. Give me a kiss, teacher.’

Rike allows him to hug her but puts no enthusiasm into it. Understanding the rejection, Mattaus lets her go.

‘So tell me. Who is this man? What is his name?’

‘He’s an architect.’

‘We know.’

‘There isn’t much to say.’

‘Older? Younger? Dark hair, light hair, what?’

‘He’s a little older.’

‘What’s a little?’

‘Oh, a little.’

‘And where’s he from?’

‘Cyprus.’

‘He’s a Cypriot?’

‘No, he works in Cyprus.’

‘Why are you being so mysterious? What’s his name? When can we meet him?’

‘He would have come tonight, but he has work, and this is all new, more or less, neither of us want to jinx it, you know.’

More or less. Rike sees a story here.

Rike stands away from the table, her arms folded. She unfolds her arms, works to find a happier expression before her sister notices and comments.

Isa asks how hungry he is. Rike has cooked his favourite, she says. Pasta. Mattaus automatically pats his stomach and while he says he’s looking forward to it, he also mentions that he’s trying not to put on any more weight.

‘There’s nothing on you,’ Isa coos.

* * *

They eat at the table, inside. Everything in place. Rike opposite her brother, Isa seated beside him. Henning opens more wine and keeps himself distant, the bottle placed as a barrier between brother and brother-in-law.

The subject turns to Rike’s teaching, this man, another unknown, dropped into the conversation (she thinks a little meanly) by Isa, announced as her Norwegian.

‘So what are you teaching? English?’

‘I am.’

‘Anything else?’ Mattaus winks at Henning. Henning, to his credit, doesn’t respond.

Rike also doesn’t trouble herself with such a weak parry.

‘Is he cute?’

‘He’s a student.’

‘But how hot is he? What’s his name? Maybe I know him.’ Mattaus and Isa share a smile. This is Mattaus, pure and simple, each person an opportunity, actual or potential, every man measured by his availability.

‘Tomas Berens. He’s Norwegian. And yes, he is your type.’

Mattaus raises his eyebrows. ‘My type?’

‘Male. Breathing.’

‘Berens. Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’

‘A literary man?’

Rike shakes her head. ‘He works for the UN.’

‘Apparently,’ Isa interrupts, ‘he’s a little damaged.’

Mattaus immediately perks up.

Isa begins the story about the assault. Rike looks to Henning. Deeply interested in the salad, he doesn’t take part.

‘I told you that in confidence.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Isa gives a little snort.

‘You can’t tell her anything, ’ Mattaus laughs, ‘you know that.’

‘Tell him about the murder. Tell him the story he told you.’

‘There isn’t a story.’ Again Rike looks to Henning.

‘Tell me. Tell me, tell me. I demand.’