Verdict Suspended (21 page)

“Sigrid! Oh, my God! Why, Sigrid? Why?”

Simon looked over the flame of the proffered match. The anguished questions had come from a haggard young man who now stood transfixed before the small blue case with the gold initials. He was about twenty-four, slender, with wind-tangled pale blond hair and tortured blue eyes. When he dropped to his knees and began clawing on the latch of the cosmetic case, Simon could read the words:
GERARD RENTALS
lettered on the back of his grey overalls. One of the guards stepped forward and pulled him away from the luggage just as a reporter with a mini-camera slung over his shoulder shoved through the crowd. Wildly, the young man faced his inquisitor.

“I didn’t believe it,” he babbled. “I heard the passenger list of the crashed plane read over the radio when I was driving in my truck. Sigrid Thorsen, the man said, Sigrid Thorsen on this plane. I didn’t believe it.”

The reporter with the mini-camera pushed past the guard. “What is your name, sir?” he asked.

“Sigrid Thorsen,” the man in grey overalls said.

“No, I mean
your
name, sir?”

“Oh. Lundberg. Arne Lundberg.”

“And you have identified this piece of luggage as belonging to someone you know?”

“My fiancée—Sigrid Thorsen. I don’t understand. Two days ago she telephoned me from New York. She was coming next week, she said. Next week—not today. Why did she do that? Why did she say next week?”

“Perhaps she was going to surprise you,” the reporter said.

“Surprise? Oh, my God! We were going to be married. As soon as she got here, we were going to be married—”

Keith tugged at Simon’s sleeve. “I’ve had enough for one day,” he said. “Let’s get out of here and get stoned somewhere.”

Simon couldn’t think of a better suggestion.

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