Arctic Chill de-7 Page 6

  “We need to talk to his friends,” Erlendur said when the interpreter had finished translating her words.

  Sunee looked back into the boys” room.

  “Does he have many friends?” Erlendur asked, and the interpreter repeated his words in Thai.

  “I don’t think he had many friends in this new part of town,” Sunee said.

  “That’s what he was dreaming about,” Erlendur said.

  “He dreamed of making a good friend,” Sunee said through the interpreter. “I woke him up and he lay in bed for a long time before he came through to the kitchen. I was running out when he finally appeared. I’d called to him to hurry up. Niran had had breakfast and was waiting for him. They generally went to school together. Then Niran couldn’t be bothered to wait any more and I had to leave.”

  Sunee steeled herself.

  “ “I couldn’t even say goodbye to him properly.” That was the last thing I heard him say.”

  “What?” Erlendur asked, staring at the interpreter.

  Sunee said something. She spoke in such a low voice that the interpreter had to bend to hear. When she straightened up again she told Erlendur in Icelandic the last words that Elias had spoken to his mother before she hurried off to work.

  “I wish I hadn’t woken up.”

  6

  Elias’s father had finally been located. He had asked to see his son’s body at the morgue on Baronsstigur and was now sitting waiting in Erlendur’s office at the police station on Hverfisgata. Erlendur left Sunee, her brother and the interpreter outside the block of flats where she lived. Two police officers intended to accompany them on their search for Niran. Sigridur stayed at the flat. Erlendur felt he had obtained all the information that Elias’s mother could provide at this time. It was obvious that she had no idea why her son had been attacked or why Niran had not come home. She could not imagine where he was. Since they had only recently moved to the district, she did not know his friends very well and had only a vague idea of where they lived. Erlendur could well understand how she could not stay quietly at home, waiting for news. The entire police force was looking for Niran. His photograph had been distributed to all the stations. He could be in danger. He could also be in hiding. What mattered most was to find him as quickly as possible.

  Elinborg contacted Erlendur to say that she had spoken to the staff at the chemist’s shop where the witness had seen Niran and his friends hanging around. The staff did not remember any of the boys actually going inside the shop. Nor had they noticed any particular group of teenagers behind the building that day and so were surprised when Elinborg began asking detailed questions about them; schoolchildren were always loitering there. Graffiti was scrawled over the walls and cigarette butts had been stubbed out on the pavement in the little back yard. Elinborg said she would continue talking to Elias’s classmates.

  “Sunee’s neighbour, Fanney her name is, mentioned that Sunee might have been receiving visits from someone.”

  “What kind of visits?”

  “It was all very vague. She thought someone was calling on her — you know, a man.”

  “A boyfriend?”

  “Possibly. She didn’t know. She didn’t actually see anyone. But she thought so. It had been going on since the summer.”

  “We’ll need to ask Sunee about that,” Erlendur said. “Have her phone checked: who’s called her and who she’s been calling.”

  “Okay.”

  His mobile rang again when Erlendur was pulling up outside the police station. It was Valgerdur. She had heard about the murder and was surprised and horrified. They had arranged to meet that evening but Erlendur said it might not work out. She told him that it didn’t matter.

  “Do you have any idea what happened?” she asked anxiously.

  “None,” Erlendur said.

  “I don’t want to hold you up. Let’s talk later,” she said and they rang off.

  Erlendur pulled his overcoat tight as he hurried into the police station, and it suddenly struck him that Niran could hardly be outdoors in such a raging northerly. The freezing, dry wind bit his face. When he looked up, the moon was barely visible, pale as frost.

  At the reception desk an agitated middle-aged man was telling the duty officer that his car had been vandalised. The man ranted at the police for their indifference, as if there were nothing criminal about causing damage worth tens of thousands of kronur. In his haste, Erlendur did not quite catch what the crime was, but he thought it sounded as if the man’s car had been badly scratched.

  Elias’s father was sitting in Erlendur’s office, head bowed. He was a skinny man in his forties, with a bald patch, wisps of straggly hair over his forehead and several days” growth of beard. He had a very small mouth but large, projecting teeth, which gave him a rather coarse look. He stood up when Erlendur entered and they exchanged greetings.

  “Odinn,” the man introduced himself in a low voice. His eyes were red from weeping.

  Erlendur put his overcoat on a hanger and sat down behind the desk.

  “My condolences about your son,” he said. “Of course, this is too horrific for words.”

  He allowed a short pause to follow his words as he looked the man over. Odinn was wearing scruffy jeans and a thin, light-coloured windcheater with an old red scarf round his neck bearing the logo of a foreign football club. He lived alone in the flat on Snorrabraut, according to what he had told the police. On the way to his office, Erlendur was told that Odinn had been very upset by the visit from the police and the news about Elias.

  “Do you have any idea where your stepson might be?” Erlendur asked.

  “Niran? What about him?”

  “We can’t find him. He hasn’t been home.”

  “I have no idea,” the man said. “I have-‘ He stopped.

  “Yes?” Erlendur said.

  “Nothing,” the man said.

  “When were you last in touch with your family?”

  “It’s always an on-and-off thing. We got divorced. You probably know that.”

  “You’ve no idea what happened to the boys today?”

  “I. . . it’s terrible, absolutely terrible … I would never have believed this kind of thing could happen in this country. Attacking a child like that!”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it racism? Is there any other reason for attacking a child? What can a child do to anyone?”

  “We still don’t know what happened,” Erlendur said. “You haven’t phoned the boys recently or seen them?”

  “No. I took Elias to the cinema a while back. I never had much contact with Niran.”

  “And you can’t imagine what could have happened?”

  Odinn shook his head.

  “Do you think something’s happened to Niran as well?”

  “We don’t know. There’s a search under way for him. Do you have any ideas?”

  “About his whereabouts? No, none. I have no idea.”

  “Sunee moved out when you got divorced,” Erlendur said. “The boys don’t appear to have adjusted particularly well to their new neighbourhood. Did you take an interest in that at all?”

  Odinn did not answer immediately.

  “Did you never hear about any trouble?”

  “I wasn’t in touch with Sunee much,” Odinn said eventually. “It was over.”

  “I’m really asking more about the two boys,” Erlendur said. “Your son in particular, perhaps.”

  Odinn did not reply.

  “Elias was always more attached to his mother,” he said at last. “We often argued about his upbringing. She had her own way entirely in bringing him up. She even called him by a Thai name. She rarely called him Elias.”

  “She’s a long way from home. She wants to hold on to something connected with her past in a new country,” Erlendur said.

  Odinn looked at him without saying a word.

  “Your mother speaks highly of her,” Erlendur said. “I gather th
at they’re good friends. She hurried over to Sunee’s flat as soon as she heard the news.”

  “They’ve always got on well together.”

  “I understand Sunee’s your second wife from Thailand.”

  “Yes,” Odinn said.

  “I also understand you were not very pleased when Sunee told you she had an older son and wanted to send for him,” Erlendur said.

  “I suspected as much,” Odinn said. “It was nothing new. She’d told me she was single, then she wanted to bring Niran over.”

  “What did you think about that?”

  “I wasn’t pleased about having the boy. But I stayed out of the matter, left it entirely up to her. I had no say in it.”

  “So you didn’t want to divorce her immediately then?”

  “Sunee was okay,” Odinn said.

  “She hasn’t learned much Icelandic in the time she’s lived here,” Erlendur said.

  “No,” Odinn said.

  “Did you help her with it at all?”

  “What are you asking about that for? What’s that got to do with anything? Shouldn’t you be catching the person who did this instead of asking me stupid irrelevant questions? What kind of questions are these anyway?”

  “Your son was probably attacked in the afternoon,” Erlendur said. “Where were you then?”

  “At work,” Odinn said. “I was at work when you lot came. Do you think I killed my son? Are you mad?”

  He said this without raising his voice and without becoming worked up, as if the notion were simply too ludicrous to get angry about.

  “We know from experience that such matters are often family-related,” Erlendur said without changing his expression. “There’s nothing unnatural about me asking where you spent the day.”

  Odinn remained silent.

  “Is there anyone at work who could confirm your whereabouts?”

  “Yes, a couple of blokes. I can’t believe you think I’m implicated in this!”

  “It’s part of the job,” Erlendur said. A lot of what I get involved with is more far-fetched than that.”

  Are you telling me that I attacked the boy to get my own back on Sunee?”

  Erlendur shrugged.

  Are you out of your mind?”

  “Stay where you are,” Erlendur said when Odinn rose to his feet. “What we need to do is to examine all the possibilities. Why should you want to get your own back on Sunee?”

  “What do you mean? I don’t want to get my own back on her!”

  “I didn’t mention any reason,” Erlendur said. “You yourself did. Those were your own words.”

  “I didn’t say a thing.”

  Erlendur sat in silence.

  “You’re confusing me,” Odinn said, agitated by now. “You’re trying to make me say something I shouldn’t. You’re playing with me!”

  “It was what you said.”

  “Fucking hell!” Odinn shouted, kicking the desk. Erlendur sat in his chair and looked up at him without moving. He leaned back, arms folded over his chest. The man looked as if he was about to attack him.

  “I would never do anything to my son!” he yelled. “Never!”

  Erlendur remained unruffled.

  “Have you talked to her boyfriend?” Odinn asked.

  “Her boyfriend?”

  “Hasn’t she told you about him?”

  “Who is he? Who is Sunee’s boyfriend?”

  Odinn did not reply. He stared at Erlendur, who was leaning forward in his chair.

  “Is he the reason you got divorced?” Erlendur asked cautiously.

  “No. I only heard recently.”

  “What?”

  “That she was seeing someone.”

  7

  Elinborg was standing in the home of one of Elias’s classmates. She had not been offered a seat. They were in the kitchen and the boy’s father was sitting beside him. His sister and younger brother were also sitting at the table. It was a small town house not far from the block of flats where Elias and Niran lived. Elinborg had disturbed them at dinnertime. Other police officers were simultaneously in the same position, visiting the homes of children who might conceivably be linked to Elias.

  She apologised repeatedly. The boy’s mother said she had seen the television news and was shocked to hear about it. The father showed no particular reaction. Neither did the children.

  Elinborg looked at their food: spaghetti with mince. The smell of frying filled the house, mingled with basil and boiled tomato. Her thoughts flew home. She had not managed to shop for days and there was nothing in the refrigerator.

  “He came here for Biggi’s birthday party,” the mother said, also standing beside the table. “We wanted to invite the whole class. I thought he was a particularly delightful boy. I just can’t understand what could have happened. They said he’d been stabbed. As if anyone could have wanted to harm him. They implied he’d been attacked, like it was premeditated. Is that true?”

  “We have no idea,” Elinborg said. “The investigation is just beginning. I haven’t seen the news but I doubt the reporters got that information from the police. We know very little at the moment. That’s why I’d like to have a little chat with you, Biggi,” she said, addressing her words to the boy.

  Biggi looked at her, wide-eyed.

  “You were his friend, weren’t you?” Elinborg said.

  “Not really,” Biggi said. “He was in my class but—”

  “Biggi doesn’t know him very well,” his mother interrupted with an embarrassed smile.

  “No, I see,” Elinborg said.

  The father sat in silence at the kitchen table. The food was on his plate but he had no intention of eating it in front of a police officer. All three children were tucking into their spaghetti. When Elinborg had rung the doorbell, the mother had answered and hesitantly let her in. Elinborg had a strong sense that she was disturbing the peace of their home.

  “Do you sometimes play with him?” Elinborg asked.

  “I don’t think Biggi plays with him much,” the father said.

  The man was slim and drawn-looking, with bags under his eyes and several days” worth of stubble. He was wearing blue overalls, which he had unbuttoned to the waist when he sat down at the table. His hands were worn from manual labour. His face and hair were covered in a grey substance that Elinborg thought might be cement dust. Instinctively she assumed that he was a plasterer.

  “I wanted to-‘ Elinborg said.

  “I’d like some peace to eat with my family,” the man said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “I know,” Elinborg said, “and my apologies once again for disturbing you. I just wanted to ask Biggi a few questions because we need to gather information as quickly as possible. It won’t take a moment.”

  “You can do that later,” the man said.

  He stared at Elinborg. His wife stood beside the table and said nothing. The children wolfed down their food. Biggi looked at Elinborg as he sucked up a piece of spaghetti. He had tomato sauce all round his mouth.

  “Do you know whether Elias was on his own when he went home from school today?” Elinborg asked.

  Biggi shook his head, his mouth full of spaghetti.

  The man looked at his wife.

  “I don’t think that has anything to do with Biggi,” he said.

  “He was really sweet, that boy, polite and well brought-up,” the woman said. “He was the only one who thanked us for inviting him to the birthday party and he wasn’t noisy like the other kids.”

  As she said this she looked at her husband, as if justifying having invited Elias to their son’s birthday party. Elinborg looked at the parents in turn and then at the children, who had stopped eating and were watching the adults apprehensively. They sensed that an argument was brewing.

  “When was this birthday party?” Elinborg asked, looking at the mother.

  “Three weeks ago.”

  “Around Christmas? And everything went well?”

  “Yes, very well. Do
n’t you think so, Biggi?” she asked with a glance at her son. She avoided looking at her husband.

  Biggi nodded. He looked at his father, uncertain whether he ought to say what he wanted to say.

  “Will you please leave us in peace now?” the man said, standing up. “We’d like to eat.”

  “Did you see Elias when he came to the birthday party?”

  “I work eighteen hours a day,” the man said.

  “He’s never home,” the woman said. “There’s no need to be so rude to her,” she added, darting a look at her husband.

  “Do immigrants get on your nerves?” Elinborg asked.

  “I’ve got nothing against those people,” the man said. “Biggi doesn’t know that kid in the slightest. They weren’t friends. We can’t help you with anything. Now will you please leave us alone!”

  “Of course,” Elinborg said, looking down at the plates of spaghetti. She pondered for a moment, then gave up and left.

  “It was a very ordinary day at school,” Agnes, Elias’s form teacher, told Sigurdur Oli. “I think I can say that. Except that I moved the boy to a different seat in the classroom. I’d been meaning to for some time and I finally did it this morning.”

  They were sitting in the study at Agnes’s house. She had produced a cigarette from a drawer. Sigurdur Oli watched her cast a surreptitious glance at the door, then sit down by the window, light the cigarette and blow the smoke outside. He could not understand people who wanted to kill themselves by smoking. He was convinced that smoking caused more harm than any other single factor in the world, and sometimes lectured on the subject at work. Erlendur, a smoker, paid no heed and once answered that he was convinced that what caused more harm than any other single factor in the world was dyed-in-the-wool killjoys like Sigurdur Oli.

  “Elias was a bit late,” Agnes continued. “He wasn’t usually, although he used to dawdle a bit. He was often the last to leave the class, the last to get his books out and that sort of thing. He would be thinking about something completely different. He was a sort of “flight attendant”.” Agnes made a sign for quotation marks with her fingers.