Clive sniggered. “Try harder. I’ll give you a really big clue. Ready? She’s married to Blair’s new lawyer!”
I was momentarily confused. “You don’t mean Leanna Crane!”
“But I do. Don’t you just love it? Blair Bazillionaire was boinking Leanna the Lush, his lawyer’s wife. Dez played squash with the boys every Tuesday night, and Leanna had another type of sport she participated in at the same time. Trevor was, if you recall, killed on a Tuesday. I’m really glad the unhappy couple has paid their bill for all that work we did for them, because they’re going to be in divorce court forever. And I mean, forever! What was Blair thinking, retaining Dez? What did Leanna the Lush have to say when her husband came home to tell her about his new client? I tell you, rich people are not like the rest of us.”
“Oh,” I said. I could hardly believe my ears.
“Oh? Is that the best you can do? Can you not imagine the jokes in the hallowed halls of justice? The only people who aren’t enjoying this are people like Rob, who’s ticked that Blair got off. There isn’t a police officer in the western hemisphere who likes Blair, but even Rob had to laugh. Dez recused himself or whatever the correct legal term is. Anyway, he quit, not that it mattered anymore. It’s just too rich, I have to tell you. The whole town is abuzz. Now the police have issued a warrant for some guy called Dog or something, if it’s possible anybody could be named that. He’s wanted in connection with the death of Trevor Wylie, is the way the papers have put it.”
“I know who that is. His name is Douglas, something or other, Sykes, if I remember correctly, and he always walks around with his Doberman.”
“Hence, Dog,” Clive said. “I see. You do know interesting people. Rob says you’re to come home, by the way.”
“I will, as soon as they let me.”
“That reminds me, I’m supposed to get the name of the policeman who is working that case you’re involved in. He wants to have a chat with him, brother to brother, you know. See if he can get you out of there, promising that you would return, if necessary, if they really have no reason to hold you. They don’t have a good reason, do they?”
“Clive!”
“Okay, relax. What’s the guy’s name?”
“It’s Cusiter.” I had to spell it.
“What kind of a name is that?”
“Common in these parts apparently. He’s here now. There’s been a robbery.”
“Everywhere you go there’s something,” Clive said.
I could hardly argue with that, but I was feeling rather odd. Blair’s getting out of prison was the best news I’d had for a while, and up to that point, it would have been a spectacularly unsuccessful day. Much to my annoyance, Kenny and Willow once again seemed to have done exactly what they said they would, which is to say, take the day off. I followed them into Stromness where they took a midmorning ferry, a nice little boat named the MV Graemsay, which I discovered upon asking, went to the island of Hoy. They had hiking boots, carried backpacks, and stopped to buy crab sandwiches and water in a little shop near the pier. The ferry was very small, and there was no way I could be on it without their noticing, and the return ferry wasn’t until about five o’clock that afternoon. I decided I was just going to have to let them go. If I’d gone, I would have had an alibi, but I wasn’t equipped for a hike at that moment, so could hardly argue another coincidence. I’d wandered around Stromness for an hour or two, wondering what it was I could believe and what I couldn’t before heading back to St. Margaret’s Hope. I did see Drever, as a matter of fact. He drove up to the pier, apparently to meet a boat that came in. He unloaded some cargo from the back of his truck, watched it being loaded on the boat, and then took off. He and Simon that I was going out, and then drove along the relatively short distance to the old house.
It was more than a little intimidating. Dodging debris of various sorts, I went up to the door. It took me a second or two to get up the courage to ring the bell. When I did, dogs, presumably the ones Maya found frightening, started to bark loudly within. There was a pause before a rather imposing voice, through a speaker I hadn’t noticed, said, “Speak!”
I spoke. “Hello. I’m wondering if I might speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Um, well, about the man who died in the bunker you can almost see from here.”
“Go away!” the voice said. There was a click. I believe I had been cut off.
I rang again. There was no response. I stuck my finger on the bell and held it there. I could hear it ringing and ringing inside. The dogs were going crazy. I would have found that intensely irritating and I hoped the man or men inside would, too.
“What?” the voice finally said.
“Before he went mad, Bjarni the Wanderer hid the chalice in the tomb of the orcs,” I said rather loudly and right into the speaker. I could hear my voice through the door. There was a long pause. My finger was poised to hit the button again when a buzzer sounded, there was a click, and the door slowly swung open. I stepped into a dark hall.
It took my eyes a minute to adjust, and when they did, I took in an elderly man in a wheelchair staring at me. Beside him stood a man of about fifty or sixty, the man I’d seen helping with the wheelchair. I supposed this was “that man,” the weird one Maya so distrusted. He was holding on to two dogs still barking.
“Who are you?” the man in the wheelchair yelled above the din. The dogs started to calm down.
I told him. “Might I ask your name as well?”
“My name is Sigurd Haraldsson,” he said. “This is Thor, also Haraldsson. If you don’t know who I am, then why are you here?” Thor giggled.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but please hear me out. I’m here because someone I knew only briefly, but rather liked, has died, and his last words to me were the words I just recited to you, the ones about Bjarni the Wanderer. I told the police what he said, and they have ignored it. He died violently, and I think if I could understand those words I might know what happened to him.”
“The man in the bunker?”
“Yes.”
“And you came to me because… ?”
I didn’t want to say that his house made me think of The Wasteland, and he of the wounded king. Worse than preposterous, it was rather insulting. “The man who died thought this place was significant to his quest.”
Haraldsson harrumphed. “I suppose he was correct in that thinking.” The younger man beside him giggled again. I looked more closely and could see Thor was what we would call developmentally challenged. “Thor, don’t you worry,” Haraldsson told him. “This young woman is not going to hurt me. You just wheel me into the parlor, and then you should either go out to your workshop or watch the telly while I talk to our guest. There are cartoons on now, and you’ll enjoy them.” Thor smiled and did as he was bidden, pushing the older man into a rather sparsely furnished room and gesturing to me to follow. One of the dogs left with Thor, the other lay at Sigurd’s feet, and soon I could hear the noise of cartoons coming from a room toward the back of the house. Now that they had stopped barking frantically, the dogs seemed pretty harmless. They were similar, except that one had a white face, and they were both of indeterminate parentage.
“I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me about this Bjarni,” I said. “I am at a loss as to where to go with this one.” It hadn’t yet been suggested that I should sit down, so I figured I was still on probation, but at least I’d made it past the front hall. There was only one armchair in the room, and a rather uncomfortable-looking settee. It didn’t look as if they had company very often.
“Rather brave of you to come in here. Most people are afraid of me,” Sigurd said.