Sigurdur Oli took a long look at the photograph.
“How pathetic,” he said with a sigh.
4
Erlendur’s mobile rang incessantly. Sigurdur Oli gave him a report about his meeting with the principal and said he was on his way to meet the boy’s teacher and another member of staff who had spoken out against immigration. Elinborg called to tell him that a witness who lived on the same staircase as Sunee thought she had seen the elder brother earlier that day. The head of forensics quoted the pathologist as saying that the child had been stabbed once, presumably with a fairly sharp instrument, probably a knife.
“What kind of knife?” Erlendur asked.
“The blade would have been quite broad and even thick, but particularly sharp,” the head of forensics said. “The stabbing need not have required much effort. The boy could have been lying on the ground when he was stabbed. His anorak is dirty on the back and torn too. It looks fairly new, so he may have been involved in a fight. He would have tried to defend himself, as is only to be expected, but the only wound is from the knife, which the pathologist said penetrated his liver. He died from loss of blood.”
“You mean that it didn’t take much force for the knife to go in that deep?”
“Conceivably.”
“Even a child or a young person could have done it, for instance? Someone of his own age?”
“It’s difficult to say. But it looks as if it was inflicted by a very sharp instrument”
“And the time of death?”
“Judging from the temperature, he would have died about an hour before he was found. You can discuss that with the pathologist.”
“He seems to have been coming straight home from school.”
“It looks that way.”
Erlendur sat down in his chair and faced the brother and sister from Thailand. Gudny, the interpreter, sat down on the sofa with them. She translated the information Erlendur had received and Sunee listened in silence. She had stopped crying. Her brother chipped in and they talked together in half-whispers for a while.
“What are they saying?” Erlendur asked.
“His anorak wasn’t torn when he left home this morning,” the interpreter said. “It wasn’t new, but it was in good condition.”
“Obviously there was a fight,” Erlendur said. “I can’t say whether the attack on Elias was racially motivated. I understand there are thirty children of foreign origin at his school. We need to talk to his friends, people who were in contact with him. The same goes for his brother. I know it’s difficult, but it would help us if Sunee could give us a list of names. If she can’t remember the names she can provide some details about his friends, their age and the like, where they live. Time is of the essence. Hopefully she realises that.”
“Do you have any idea how she feels?” the interpreter asked coldly.
“I can only imagine,” Erlendur said.
Elinborg knocked on the door. She was on the first-floor corridor off the stairwell. The door opened and a uniformed policeman greeted her. A new witness had come forward and talked to him, and was now waiting for Elinborg in the sitting room. She was a woman by the name of Fanney, a sixty-five-year-old widow with three grown-up children. She had made coffee for the policeman, who left as soon as Elinborg appeared. The two women sat down with a cup each.
“How awful,” the woman said with a sigh. “This happening in our flats! I just don’t know what the world’s coming to.”
The flat was dark apart from a light in the kitchen and a small lamp in the sitting room. It was a mirror image of Sunee’s flat, with a thick carpet on the floor and green wallpaper in the hallway and sitting room.
“Do you know the boys at all?” Elinborg asked. “The two brothers?”
She had to get a move on, obtain vital information and keep going. Hurry without missing anything.
“Yes, a little,” Fanney said. “Elias was a lovely boy. His brother took rather longer to get to know but he’s a fine lad too.”
“You said you saw him earlier today,” Elinborg said, trying not to sound tired. Her daughter was at home ill with vomiting and a fever, and she had slept little last night. She had intended only to look in at work but that had changed when the report came in about the boy.
“I sometimes chat with Sunee out in the corridor,” Fanney said, as if she had not heard Elinborg’s remark. “They haven’t lived here long. It’s bound to be difficult for her to be alone like that. Sunee must work her fingers to the bone; wages aren’t so high for factory workers.”
“Where was Niran the last time you saw him?” Elinborg asked.
“He was behind the chemist’s.”
“What time was that?” Elinborg asked. “Was he alone? Did he go into the chemist’s?”
“I was getting off the bus from town at about two o’clock,” Fanney said. “I always walk past the chemist’s and that’s when I saw him. He wasn’t alone and he wasn’t going into the chemist’s. He was with some friends, schoolmates I assume.”
“And what were they doing?”
“Nothing. Just hanging around behind the chemist’s.”
“Behind it?”
“Yes, you can see into the yard when you turn the corner there.”
“How many were there?”
“Five or six. I don’t know who they were. I hadn’t seen any of them before.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not that I noticed anyway,” Fanney said, putting down her empty coffee cup.
“Were they the same age as Niran?”
“Yes, I suppose they were around the same age. Coloured.”
“But you didn’t recognise them?”
“No.”
“You say you chat to Sunee.”
“Yes.”
“Have you spoken to her recently?”
“Yes, a few days ago. I met her outside. She was coming home from work and was terribly tired. She’s told me a lot about Thailand in her broken Icelandic. She speaks simply. That’s fine.”
“What sort of thing has she told you?”
“Once I asked her what was the most difficult thing about living in Iceland or moving to Iceland from Thailand and she talked about how Icelanders were a bit reserved compared to the Thais. She said personal contact was more open over there. Everyone talks to everyone else, complete strangers will discuss anything quite happily. If you’re sitting out on the pavement having a meal you’re not shy about inviting passers-by to join you.”
“And the weather’s not quite the same,” Elinborg said.
“No. People stay outside in all that good weather, of course. We spend most of the year indoors and everyone here lives in his own private world. You run into closed doors everywhere. Just look at this corridor. I’m not saying it’s better or worse, but it’s different. It’s two different worlds. When you get to know Sunee you have the feeling that life in Thailand is much calmer and more relaxed. Do you think it would be all right for me to drop in on her?”
“Perhaps you should wait a day or two, she’s under a lot of strain.”
“The poor woman,” Fanney said. “It’s not sanuk sanuk any more.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s tried to teach me a few words of Thai. Like sanuk sanuk. She said that’s typical of all Thais. It means simply enjoying life, doing something nice and fun. Enjoy life! And she taught me pay nay. That’s the usual greeting in Thailand, like we say hello. But it means something completely different. Pay nay means “where are you going?” It’s a friendly question and a greeting at the same time. It conveys respect. Thais have great respect for the individual.”