Sun on Fire Read Online Free PDF

published in Germany. The ambassador’s wife had him come to Berlin and do a reading at the Felleshus auditorium. He came with his old friend, the artist and book designer Fabían Sigrídarson.”
    “Did the Sun Poet plan to do any other readings in Germany?”
    Sigmundur checked his computer screen. “Yes, according to Arngrímur’s summary, he’s finishing up at the Frankfurt Book Fair next weekend.”
    “Any more names?”
    Sigmundur read, “David Mathieu, the Reykjavík fashion designer—and his husband, Starkadur Gíslason.”
    “Numbers five and six,” Birkir counted.
    “Then Helgi Kárason, a ceramic artist, and Lúdvík Bjarnason. They are preparing for an exhibition in the Felleshus to be held in the new year. Lúdvík sometimes works as an overseas exhibition manager for Icelandic artists. He deals with transportation of the works and their installation in the space.”
    “That makes seven and eight.”
    “And then there was the deceased, Anton Eiríksson.”
    “Nine. So, no women?”
    “No, apart from the ambassador’s wife, of course, and it depends on how you classify the two gays.”
    “What do you mean by that?” Birkir asked sharply. “Their gender is male, so they are men. Isn’t that how it works where you’re from?”
    “Yeah, I suppose.”
    “OK, then. Could there possibly have been other guests in the building?”
    “It’s very unlikely. The security people are checking their logs and security-camera footage. There’s an entrance from the underground parking lot, and the cameras pick it up if anybody goes through there—of course, you need a key and a security-access number.”
    “So the perpetrator’s definitely one of these eight?”
    “Yes. Has to be.”
    “Do we know where all these individuals are now?”
    Sigmundur looked at the screen and said, “The ambassador and his wife are in Berlin, and the poet and his friend have gone to Frankfurt. The other four are probably on their way back to Iceland or already there, according to what the ambassador told Arngrímur.”
    “Didn’t anyone try to contact them yesterday?”
    “Not to my knowledge. The ministry’s immediate response was not particularly well coordinated. When they got things sorted out, they realized that the men had left Berlin, and we’re hoping they’ll show up back in Iceland soon.”
    Birkir said, “It would have been better to talk to them right away yesterday morning. Individually. The German police could have taken care of that. We could have followed up with interviews today.”
    “It might have been a bit extreme to ground all those people in Berlin,” Sigmundur replied hesitantly.
    “Oh well,” Birkir said after a pause, “hopefully we’ll get hold of them all before long.”
    Sigmundur became engrossed in his laptop while Birkir thought about the case. Anna quietly snored in the window seat.
    13:50
    The plane landed, and over the PA a flight attendant announced, “Welcome to Berlin Schönefeld Airport. The local temperature is twelve degrees Celsius.”
    Birkir, Anna, and Sigmundur had reached the walkway in the terminal building before they caught up to Gunnar, who was trying to tuck his shirt back into his pants.
    “Honestly!” he said apologetically. “I must have slept the whole way.”
    Birkir guessed Gunnar had probably gotten himself two in-flight meals from the attendants and drunk three or four beers before spending most of the journey fast asleep. “You should be well rested, then,” he said.
    Sigmundur watched Gunnar’s behavior with disdain, but said nothing. He pressed his cell phone to his ear.
    Anna made a beeline for the corner where smoking was permitted and lit a cigarette. She waved the others on as they passed, saying, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
    “The embassy chauffeur is here at the airport,” Sigmundur said, pocketing his phone. “He’ll meet us by the exit.”
    Birkir eyed Gunnar as they walked toward the baggage claim.
    “How do you feel