Last Rituals

CHAPTER 1

Thora Gudmundsdottir brushed a stray Cheerio from her trousers and quickly tidied herself before entering the lawyers' office. Not so bad. The morning's challenges of getting her six-year-old daughter and sixteen-year-old son to school on time were over. Recently, Thora's daughter had started refusing to wear pink, which would not have been a problem if her clothes had not been more or less all in that color. Her son, on the other hand, would gladly have worn the same tattered clothes year in and year out provided there was a skull and crossbones on them somewhere. His great achievement was to wake up in the morning in the first place. Thora sighed at the thought. It was not easy bringing up two children alone. Then again, it hadn't been easy while she was still married either. The only difference then was that, coupled with the morning chores, she and her husband had constantly bickered. The thought that this was a thing of the past cheered her up, and a smile crept over her lips as she opened the door.

"Good morning," she chimed.

Instead of returning her greeting, the secretary grimaced. She did not look up from her computer screen or stop thumping at the mouse. As much fun as ever, Thora thought. Deep down inside she never stopped cursing their secretarial problems. They had doubtless cost their firm business. Thora could not think of one client who had not complained about the girl. She was not only rude but also exceptionally unattractive. It was not being in the super-heavyweight bracket that was the big issue, but her general carelessness about her appearance. Plus, she was invariably angry at everything and everyone. And, to top things off, her parents had named her Bella. If only she would quit on her own initiative. She seemed far from happy at the firm and showed no signs of improving. Not that Thora could imagine any job that would cheer her up. The trouble was, it was impossible to sack her.

When Thora and her business partner, the older and more experienced Bragi, teamed up to open a legal firm together, they were so taken with the premises that they let the landlord add a proviso to the rental agreement: the firm would employ his daughter as a secretary. In their defense, they had no way of knowing what they were getting themselves into. The girl had a glowing recommendation from the estate agents who had rented there before them. Now, however, Thora was convinced that the previous tenants had moved from the ideal location on Skolavordustigur solely to rid themselves of the secretary from hell. They were surely still howling with laughter at how gullible Thora and Bragi had been about those references. Thora was equally convinced that if they took the matter to court they could have the proviso overturned on the grounds that the references were dubious. But that would cost the firm the small reputation Thora and Bragi had built up so far. Who would consult a legal firm that specializes in contractual law yet messes up its own contracts? And even if they could get rid of Bella, it was not as if good secretaries were lining up at the door.

"Someone phoned," Bella mumbled, glued to her computer screen.

Thora looked up in surprise from hanging up her coat. "Really?" she said. "Do you have any idea who it was?"

"No. Spoke German, I think. I couldn't understand him anyway."

"Is he going to call back?"

"I don't know. I cut him off. By accident."

"In the unlikely event that he does ring back, would you mind putting the call through to me? I studied in Germany and I speak German."

"Hmph," Bella grunted. She shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't German. It could have been Russian. And it was a woman. I think. Or a man."

"Bella, whoever callsa woman from Russia or a man from Germany, even a dog from Greece that speaks in tonguesput them through to me. Okay?" Thora did not wait for a replydidn't expect onebut walked straight into her modest office.

She sat down and switched on the computer. Her desk was not quite as chaotic as usual. The day before she had spent an hour sorting the papers that had piled up over the past month. She logged on to her e-mail and began deleting junk mail and jokes from friends. All that was left were three e-mails from clients, one from her friend Laufey with the subject line Let's get wasted this weekend, and one from the bank. She had probably exceeded her credit card limit. And she was bound to be overdrawn as well. She decided not to open the e-mail, to be on the safe side.

Her telephone rang.

"Central Lawyers, can I help you?"

"Guten Tag, Frau Gudmundsdottir?"

"Guten Tag." Thora searched for a pen and paper. High German. She made a mental note to address the woman with the formal "Sie."

Thora squeezed her eyes shut and hoped she could rely on the good command of German she had gained while getting her law degree at the University of Berlin. She put on her best pronunciation. "How can I be of assistance?"

"My name is Amelia Guntlieb. I was given your name by Professor Anderheiss."

"Yes, he taught me in Berlin." Thora hoped her phrasing was right. She could tell how rusty her pronunciation had become. There were not many opportunities to practice German in Iceland.

"Yes." After an uncomfortable silence the woman continued: "My son was murdered. My husband and I need assistance."

Thora tried to think fast. Guntlieb? Wasn't Guntlieb the name of the German student who was found dead at the university?

"Hello?" The woman seemed unsure whether Thora was still on the line.

Thora hurried to reply: "Yes, sorry. Your son. Did it happen here in Iceland?"

"Yes."

"I think I know the case you're referring to, but I must admit I've only heard about it on the news. Are you sure you're talking to the right person?"

"I hope so. We're not happy with the police investigation."

"Really?" Thora was surprised. She thought the police had solved the case admirably. The murderer was arrested within three days of the terrible crime. "You know they're keeping someone in custody?"

"We're well aware of that. But we're not convinced that he's the guilty party."

"Why not?" asked Thora.

"We're just not convinced. There's no more to it than that." The woman cleared her throat politely. "We want someone else, someone impartial, to go over the case. Someone who speaks German." Silence. "You surely understand how difficult it is for us." Silence again. "Harald was our son."

Thora tried to convey her sympathy by lowering her voice and speaking slowly. "Yes, I do understand that. I have a son of my own. It's impossible for me to imagine the grief you must feel, but you have my deepest condolences. However, I'm not sure I can help you."

"Thank you for your kind words." The voice was cold as ice. "Professor Anderheiss claims you have the qualities we are looking for. He said you were obstinate, firm, and tough." Thora had the feeling her ex-professor could not quite bring himself to say "bossy." The woman continued: "But sympathetic too. He's a good friend of our family and we trust him. Are you prepared to take on the case? We shall reward you generously." She mentioned a figure.

It was an incredible amount, before taxes or not. More than twice the regular hourly rate that Thora charged. On top of it the woman offered a bonus if the investigation led to the arrest of someone other than the man currently in custody. The bonus was higher than Thora's salary for a whole year. "What do you expect to get for that money? I'm not a private detective."

"We're looking for someone who can go over the case again, examine the evidence and appraise the police findings." Again the woman paused before continuing. "The police refuse to talk to us. It's rather annoying."

Their son has been murdered and dealing with the police is rather annoying, Thora thought. "I'll think about it. Do you have a number I can call?"

"Yes." The woman recited the number. "I ask you not to take too long to consider the offer. I shall look elsewhere if I don't hear from you later today."

"Don't worry. I'll let you know soon."

"Frau Gudmundsdottir, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"We have one condition."

"Which is?"

She cleared her throat. "We want to be the first people to hear of anything you uncover. Important or otherwise."

"Let's see if I can help you in the first place before discussing the details."

They exchanged good-byes and Thora put the telephone down. A great start to the day, being treated like a maidservant. And over the limit on her credit card. And overdrawn. The telephone rang again. Thora picked up the receiver.

"Hello, I'm calling from the garage. Listen, it looks a bit worse than we thought."

"What's the prognosis? Will the car live?" Thora snapped back. Her car had refused to start when she wanted to run some lunchtime errands the day before. She had tried the ignition again and again, but to no avail. In the end she gave up and had the car towed off to a garage. The garage owner took pity on her and lent her an old clunker while her car was being fixed. It was a heap of junk, marked "Bibbi's Garage" all over, and the floor by the backseats was covered in trash, mainly packaging from spare parts and empty Coca-Cola cans. Thora had to make do with the car, though, because she couldn't get by without one.

"It doesn't look good." He was cold. "It'll cost a fair bit." A speech followed packed with car repair terminology that Thora couldn't make head or tail of. But the price needed no explanation.

"Thank you. Just repair it."

Thora put down the telephone. She stared at it for several minutes, engrossed in her thoughts. Christmas was approaching with all the accompanying expenses: decorations, spending, presents, spending, dinners, spending, family gatherings, spending andsurprise, surpriseeven more spending. The law firm was not exactly turning away clients. If she took on the German project it would keep her busy. And it would solve her money problems and much more besides. She could even take the children on vacation. There must be places for a girl of six, a boy of sixteen, and a woman of thirty-six to go. She could even invite along a man of twenty-six to level out the gender and age ratio. She picked up the telephone.

Frau Guntlieb did not answer; it was a servant. Thora asked for the lady of the household and soon heard footsteps approaching, probably over a tiled floor. A cold voice spoke over the telephone.

"Hello, Frau Guntlieb. This is Thora Gudmundsdottir calling from Iceland."

"Yes." After a short silence it was obvious that she was not going to say anything more.

"I've decided to help you."

"Good."

"When do you want me to start?"

"Straightaway. I've ordered a table for lunch so that you can discuss the matter with Matthew Reich. He works for my husband. He's in Iceland and has the investigative experience that you lack. He can brief you on the case in more detail."

The tone to the word "lack" could hardly have been more condescending had Thora been guilty of turning up dead drunk at a children's birthday party. But she ignored it. "Yes, I understand. But I want to emphasize that I'm not sure I can actually help you."

"We shall see. Matthew will have a contract for you to sign. Give yourself plenty of time to read it over."

Thora was seized by a sudden urge to tell the woman to go to hell. She hated her haughtiness and arrogance. But when she thought about a vacation with her children and the imaginary man of twenty-six, she swallowed her pride and mumbled a vague assent.

"Be at Hotel Borg at twelve. Matthew can tell you a number of things that did not appear in the papers. Some of them are not fit to print."

Listening to the woman's voice, Thora gave a shudder. It was tough and devoid of emotion, but broken somehow at the same time. People probably sounded like that under such circumstances. She said nothing.

"Did you get that? You know the hotel?"

Thora almost laughed. Hotel Borg was the oldest hotel in Reykjavik, a downtown landmark. "Yes, I believe I do. I suppose I'll be there." Although she tried to salvage her pride by striking a note of uncertainty, Thora knew she would be at Hotel Borg at twelve o'clock. No doubt about it.