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."
Thora thanked the woman and she and Matthew walked off to their rooms. As they turned the corner in the corridor, the woman called after them: "I see here that he borrowed a flashlight from reception."
Thora turned back. "A flashlight?" she asked. "Does it say what for?"
"No," the woman replied. "It was just noted to make sure he returned it when he checked out. Which he did."
"Can you see whether this was in the middle of the night?" Thora asked. Maybe Harald wanted to look for something he dropped in the driveway.
"No, the day shift lent him the light," the woman replied. "Excuse my curiosity, but isn't that the name of the foreign student who was murdered at the university?"
Thora said it was and thanked her again for her help. She and Matthew proceeded to their rooms, which turned out to be side by side.
"Should we rest for half an hour or so?" Thora asked when she looked inside the nicely furnished room. The big bed was tempting and aroused an urge within her to stretch out for a whilethe quilts were big and thick and the linen looked ironed. It was not a sight Thora saw every day. Her own bed normally greeted her at night in the same state of chaos she left it in when she rushed off to work in the mornings.
"Sure, we're not in any hurry," Matthew repliedclearly with the same idea. "Just knock when you're ready. And remember, you're always welcome to drop in on me." He winked and closed the door before Thora could respond.
After putting down her belongings and peeping into the bathroom and at the minibar, Thora flopped back onto the bed. She lay with her arms in a crucifixion position and relished the moment. It didn't last long, howevera ring tone came from her handbag. With a groan she sat up and took out her phone.
"Hi, Mom," said her daughter Soley cheerfully.
"Hello, sweetie," said Thora, glad to hear her voice. "What are you up to?"
"Oh," she said, slightly less cheerfully. "We're on our way to the stables." Then she whispered so softly that Thora had trouble making out the words, especially since her daughter seemed to have pressed her mouth right up against the phone to avoid being heard. Her voice came out muffled. "I don't want to go at all. Those horses are nasty."
"Hey!" said Thora, trying to pep up her daughter. "They're not nasty; horses are really kind actually. It'll be fun for youisn't the weather nice?"
"Gylfi doesn't want to either," Soley whispered. "He says horses are old-fashioned and outdated."
"Tell me something fun: what did you do today?" asked Thora, well aware that she was not the best advocate for horses.
Her daughter brightened up. "We had ice cream and watched cartoons. It was real fun. Hey, Gylfi wants to talk to you."
Before Thora managed to say good-bye to Soley, her son was already on the phone. "Hi," he said glumly.
"Hello, sweetheart," replied Thora. "How are things?"
"Useless." Gylfi did not even try to whisperif anything, Thora thought he raised his voice.
"Oh, is it the horses?" she asked.
"Yes and no. Just everything." After a short pause he added: "I need to have a little talk with you when I get back tomorrow."
"By all means, darling," Thora replied, not knowing whether to feel happy that he was opening up at last or afraid about what he would say. "I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow night." When the call was over she made another attempt to take a napin vain. In the end she got up and took a hot shower.
While she was drying herself with the thick, snow-white towels, Thora noticed a guide to the local tourist attractions. She browsed for places that might have appealed to Harald. There was plenty to choose from but few possible links with the case. Three places did catch Thora's attention, however. The see of Skalholt received a two-page spread and had a clear connection with Harald through his interest in the bishops Jon Arason and Brynjolfur Sveinsson. Two other sights were possible candidates, as well: Mount Hekla and some caves from the days of Irish monks at Aegissida on the outskirts of Hella. What surprised her most was that she was fairly sure she had never heard of them before. Thora wondered whether the name Hella was from the same root as hellir, the Icelandic word for "cave." She folded down the corners of the pages describing these three places. Then she dressed, taking care to put on warm clothesand plenty of themeven though they weren't exactly attractive. If they were going to stroll around some caves, it would help to be dressed for the task. In her mind's eye she saw Matthew clambering over boulders in his dancing shoes. Out of sheer spite she decided not to tell him about the caves until they had left the hotel. Besides, it was going to be dark out soon, and Thora figured he'd be more likely to give in if she sprang the idea on him last minute. She put her hair in a ponytail, slipped on her coat, and left the room.
No sooner had her knuckles left the door than Matthew opened it. Thora smirked when she saw his clothes. "That's a nice suit," she said in a jolly tone. "And nice shoes." Judging from the well-polished leather, his shoes must have cost a pretty penny, and Thora stifled a momentary pang of conscience about not warning him. He was bound to own plenty of other pairs.
"It isn't a suit," Matthew said tetchily. "It's a sports jacket and trousers. There's a difference. Not that you're likely to realize."
"Oh, sorry, Mr. Kate Moss," teased Thora, now quite at ease with her conscience, and the pending mistreatment of his footwear.
Without answering, Matthew closed the door behind him and jiggled the keys to the Jeep in his hand. "Well, where to?"
Thora took her phone from her coat pocket to look at the time. "I suppose it's best to start at Skalholt. It's almost four and we'll see from there."
"Fine, Madam Guide," Matthew said, scrutinizing her getup. "You know there's a restaurant at the hotel, don't you? We don't actually have to go out to hunt for our dinner."
"Ha-ha," Thora said. "I'd rather be warm and cozy than worry about looking cool. Though you might end up cool in more than one sense of the word, dressed like that in this weather."
When they reached Skalholt it was beginning to get dark. The church was open and they hurried inside and began looking for someone to talk to. Soon they found a young man who greeted them and asked if he could help. They explained they were hoping to meet someone who might have spoken to their friend some time before. They described Harald's appearance.
"Hey," the young man said when Thora was halfway through an account of the studs along Harald's right eyebrow. "Aren't you talking about that student who was murdered? I met him!"
"You wouldn't happen to remember his reason for coming here?" asked Thora, smiling encouragingly.
"Let's seeif I remember correctly he wanted to talk about Jon Arason and his execution. Yes, and Brynjolfur Sveinsson." He looked at them and hastened to add: "There's nothing unusual about thata lot of our visitors have heard their stories and want to find out more. They're tragic but do have a macabre attraction. People are particularly interested in the fact that it took seven blows of the axe to behead Jon Arason. His head was literally split from his body."
"Was he just wondering about these bishops in general terms?" Thora asked. "Or was he interested in anything special connected with them?"
The young man turned to Matthew and switched to English. "I don't know how familiar you are with the story of Jon Arason."
Realizing this remark was intended for him, Matthew answered: "I know as much about him as I do about his mother. In other words: nothing."
"Oh, I see." The man sounded almost shocked. "To cut a long story short, Jon Arason was the last Catholic bishop of Iceland. He was bishop of Holar from 1524 and controlled Skalholt for a while as well. He was beheaded here in Skalholt in 1550, thirteen years after King Christian III of Denmark abolished Catholicism in Iceland and other parts of his realm. Jon Arason tried to prevent the Reformation and led a revolt against the new Lutheran faith, but he failed and ended up with his head on the block. The execution was a separate story because two weeks before, Jon had been granted immunity until the next parliament convened to discuss his case and that of his two sons. They were executed too."
Matthew wrinkled his brow. "His sons? Wasn't he a Catholic bishop? How could he have sons?"
The young man smiled. "Iceland had won some kind of dispensationI don't know exactly howwhereby priests, deacons, and bishops could have mistresses. They were even allowed to make formal contracts that were tantamount to marriage vows. If they had children they paid a fine and everyone was happy."
"How convenient!" exclaimed Matthew, taken aback.
"Yes, very," came the jovial reply. "Your friend Harald seemed to know the story well; he'd clearly read up on it. Of course I've only summarized it for you, there's much more to it. But anyway, that's the background to the question you were asking." He looked at Thora, who tried to conceal the fact that she had forgotten her question long ago. "Your friend was mainly interested in one thing when he talked to me: the printing press that Jon Arason had sent to Iceland in 1534 and set up in Holar, and what he printed on it."
"And?" prompted Thora. "What could you tell him?"
"It was a big question," the young man replied. "Very little is known about the first print. Some sources say it was a missala sort of manual for priests with a calendar of services, psalms, and the like. The four gospels of the New Testament were also printed at some stage. As far as I can establish nothing else is known about printing in Jon Arason's day. I remember your friend asking some rather curious questionsfor instance, if the bishop could have published a certain book that was very popular at that time. I asked if he meant the Bible but he just laughed. I didn't quite see the joke."
"No, I can imagine," said Matthew with a glance at Thora. "Malleus?" She had thought precisely the same. Malleus Maleficarum was the most printed book after the Bible in those days. Maybe Harald was trying to unearth whether it had been printed in Iceland. A copy would have been priceless, not to mention its symbolic value to a passionate collector such as him.
"And what did he want to know about Brynjolfur Sveinsson?" Thora asked.
"That was quite interesting," the young man said. "At first he was only interested in seeing his gravewhich is impossible because it hasn't been found yet."
Thora interrupted him. "Not found yet? Wasn't he buried here?"
"Yes, he was, but he asked to be buried outside the church, beside his wife and children. There's an account of the location, but it still hasn't been excavated. He wanted to rest in an unmarked grave."
"Wasn't that unusual?" Thora asked.
"Very much so. In fact, the grave was marked later with a wooden fence that stood for thirty years. Then it began to fall down and wasn't maintained, in defiance of the church's orders. No one really knows why he didn't give himself a tomb beneath the nave, as was the custom at that time. It's thought that he found it too cramped when he attended the funeral of one of his clergymen here. Maybe he wanted to put an end to the practice."
"And did it end?" asked Matthew.
"No, not at all. But there may have been another reason. He died a broken man. Understandablydying alone, that remarkable figure, with all his family dead and no descendants. Most people find his fate very moving."
"But you said Harald was interested in seeing Brynjolfur's grave at firstdid he move on to something else?" asked Thora.
"Yes, he did. I started talking to him about Brynjolfur when I saw how upset he was about the grave. I took him into the crypt and the archaeological exhibition there. Then I showed him the excavations outside. We got onto the subject of Brynjolfur's libraryyou know that he owned a large collection of Icelandic and foreign manuscripts?" Thora and Matthew shook their headsneither had any idea. "And you know that he gave some of Iceland's most remarkable calfskin books to King Frederik of Denmark?" Thora shook her head again.
"Your friend got very excited when I started telling him about the manuscripts and wanted to know what had happened to them when Brynjolfur died. I couldn't tell him exactly, but I did know that he gave his foreign books to the infant son of the governor of Iceland at the time, who was a Dane named Johann Klein, and that he shared out the Icelandic ones between his cousin Helga and his sister-in-law Sigridur. As far as I recall, some of the Icelandic books went astray; at least, some were missing when Johann Klein came to collect them. The clergy at Skalholt are suspected of hiding them to stop them from being sent to Denmark. Those books and manuscripts have never been found. No one even knows the titles."
"Where could they have hidden them?" Thora asked, looking all around.
The young man smiled. "Not in here. This building dates from 1956. The old church that Brynjolfur had built in 165051 collapsed in an earthquake in 1784."
"And you haven't looked for them?"
"We still haven't found the graves of Brynjolfur and his family, in spite of the description of the location. He died in 1675. We certainly wouldn't look for books that were only rumored to have been buried here at that time. And the fate of the books he bequeathed is uncertain. Apparently Arni Magnusson came across a few when he began collecting manuscripts. Some of Brynjolfur's books can be recognized from his monogram."
"BS?" Thora asked, for the sake of contributing something.
"No. LL." The young man smiled.
Thora repeated in surprise: "LL?"
"Loricatus lupusLatin for 'armored wolf,' which is what the name Brynjolfur means." He smiled at Thora who could not restrain herself from clicking her fingers. "Loricatus lupus" was written on Harald's scrawled map. They were clearly on the right track if his jottings had some connection with the murder.
Their conversation soon came to an end. Matthew and Thora thanked the young man for his patience. Before starting the car, Matthew turned to Thora and said: "Loricatus lupus, yes. Should we wait until everyone's gone home and dig up everything we can get a shovel through?"
"Definitely," Thora said with a smile. "Let's start with the cemetery."
"You'll have to do the shoveling, thenyou're dressed for the part. I'll sit in the car and light you up with the headlights."
They left Skalholt. "I know where we could go next," Thora said, with an air of innocence. "There are caves near Hella that were probably dug out by Irish monks. Maybe we can find an explanation there for Harald's interest in the hermits. I have a hunch Harald borrowed the flashlight to take a look around there."
Matthew shrugged. "It's worth looking intowon't we need a flashlight too?"
"Maybe we can pick one up at a gas station."
By the time they reached Hella it was pitch-dark. They began by buying two flashlights at a gas station. The attendant told them they could find information about the caves at Hotel Mosfell. It was only a stone's throw away, so they left the Jeep and walked. At the hotel a friendly elderly man followed them outside to point out the caves, which were just visible beyond the main road on the other side of the river. He also showed them the best path to take, since the caves could not be approached by car. After thanking him, they returned to the Jeep and drove straight over the bridge to where he had advised them to park. Much to Thora's delight they had to walk a fair distance over a meadow that appeared to belong to the farm there. Matthew kept stumbling in his slippery shoes but always managed to keep his balance by flapping his arms like he was trying to fly. When they reached the edge of the slope down to the caves, Thora was in excellent spirits.
"There," she said, pointing with her flashlight. She feigned concern. "Do you think you'll make it down there, Fred Astaire?"
Frowning back, Matthew tried to suck it up. He inched his way down the slope like a ninety-year-old man while Thora bounded down like a spring lamb. She struck a pose in front of him, determined to enjoy the moment, and called out mischievously: "Chop-chop!" Matthew ignored her and finally made it all the way.
"What a rush you're in," he said as he caught up with her. "Are you that excited about having dinner with me afterward?"
Thora swung her flashlight up and shone it in Matthew's eyes. "Hardly. Come on." She turned round and they entered the first cave. "Wow, how on earth did they think of this?" she said in astonishment, casting the beam of light around the wide space. Unless she had misunderstood, the caves had been carved into sandstone by Irish monks using primitive tools.
"What do you think they were for?" Matthew asked.
"Shelter, mainly," said a voice from the mouth of the cave.
Thora let out a piercing shriek and dropped her flashlight. As it rolled along the bumpy floor of the cave, the beam bounced along the facing wall until it stopped. "God, you made me jump out of my skin," she said, bending down to pick up the flashlight. "We didn't know anyone was in here."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," said the man, whose voice gave the impression that he was quite elderly. "We're even actually," he added. "It's a long time since I've had a shock like the one your scream gave me. They phoned me from the hotel to say some sightseers were on the way to the caves. I thought you might want a guide. My name's Grimur and I own the farm above here. The caves are on my land."
"Oh, yes," said Thora. Not a bad property to own, she thought. "We'd be delighted to have a guidewe don't really know very much about what we're looking at."
The man walked inside the cave and began explaining what they could see. He spoke Icelandic and Thora translated the gist for Matthew. Grimur showed them where beds had presumably been arranged by the walls. Then they examined a chimney that had been carved out through the ceiling to let air in, or smoke out. He pointed out an altar and cross that the monks must have chiseled or carved in the wall behind it. "Well, well," Thora said, surprised and impressed. "This is quite remarkable."
"Yes, it is," the man said feelingly. "This has never been an easy land to live off ofor in, for that matter. Any efforts to acquire shelter would have paid off for the early settlers in the long run."
"I can imagine." Thora took another look all around with the help of her flashlight. "Have the caves been investigatedI mean, couldn't there be valuables hidden away in here?"
"Valuables?" He looked surprised and then laughed. "It was used as a cattle shed until around 1950. You couldn't really hide anything here. It would have to be very carefully concealed, I can tell you that."
"Ah," Thora said, disappointed. "So it's all been searched?"
"No, I didn't say that," the man replied. "As far as I know my caves have only been studied once."
"When was that?" asked Thora. "Recently?"
Grimur laughed again. "No, not recently. I don't remember exactly but it was a good while ago. It didn't yield much, as expected. They found remains of animal bones and a hole that was apparently used for cooking." He pointed to a hole in the ground near the altar. "No, the little that remained to be found has already been found, I assure you."
Thora's last question was whether the man had noticed Harald visiting the caves. He did not recognize the description but added that it didn't necessarily mean he hadn't been therethe caves weren't fenced off and were easy for people to reach without being noticed.
"Go and get changed, then, Crocodile Dundee," Matthew said when they were back at the hotel. "I'm so lucky I can just throw off my jacket and go to the barand win back the time I lost on that slope."
Thora stuck her tongue out at him, but went to her room to change. She put on nice slacks and a plain white blouse, washed her face and put on a little lipstick. There was nothing wrong with a little makeup for a dinner invitationthat didn't necessarily mean you were expecting anything. Yet she paused at the word "necessarily." It wasn't quite convincing enough, and worried her slightly. She brushed the thought aside and went up to the bar. Matthew was standing there deep in conversation with the barmanpresumably Oli. Matthew smiled at her, clearly pleased with the transformation.
"Nice," he said succinctly. "This is Oli. He was telling me about Harald and Harry Potterhe remembers them well. They drank a lot and stood out a bit from the other guests."
"That's putting it mildly," Oli said, and asked Thora what she wanted to drink.
"A glass of white wine, please," she replied, then asked him to explain.
"Well," he said. "They drank one shot of tequila after anotherplayed air guitars and did other things you don't see very often around here. Not to mention Harald's appearance. The other guests just gaped at them both. And they smoked like chimneysI couldn't sell them cigars fast enough."
Thora looked all around at the cozy bar, which was located under the gabled roof. She agreedan air guitar did not exactly spring to mindan air violin at most, if there was such a thing. She turned to Oli again. "Harry Potterdo you happen to know his real name?"
The barman smiled. "His name was Dori. As the night wore on they were both way too drunk to remember that he called himself Harry Potter. They put on quite a good act for much of the evening, though."
There was nothing else to learn from Oli. They sat down on the big leather couch, drank a toast, and discussed the events of the day. The waiter brought the menu and after ordering, Matthew decided to have another drink. Much to Thora's surprise she had finished hers as well, so she accepted a second. After dining they went back to the bar, and by her third Cointreau Thora was on the verge of whipping out her own air guitar solo for Matthew and Oli. But she settled for snuggling up against the former instead.