He thinks about Elinborg snuggling up exhausted against her little daughter, as if to protect her from all harm.
He sees a worried-looking Sigurdur Oli creeping into his house, taking care not to wake Bergthora.
Elias lies in the back garden of the flats in a ripped anorak, his broken eyes watching the snow drifting past.
Odinn paces the floor on Snorrabraut.
Niran lies in his room, his lips trembling in silent anguish.
Sunee sits alone on the sofa, weeping quietly beneath the yellow dragon.
The woman he is searching for bobs gently in the lapping waves.
His eight-year-old brother lies frozen in a blizzard that will last for ever.
In a sun-drenched dream, a little bird flicks its tail in its new bird-house and sings for its friend.
9
When Erlendur arrived at the school the following morning with Elinborg and Sigurdur Oli, the bell had just rung for break. The children were walking quietly along the corridors. Teachers and assistants were controlling the flood and all the exits stood wide open. It had snowed towards morning. The younger children intended to use every second of the break to play outside. The older ones were more blase, huddling by the walls or strolling in small groups down to the shop.
Erlendur knew that trauma counselling was available for the children in Elias’s class and that some of the parents had taken advantage of it. They had accompanied their children to school and told the teachers of their concerns. The principal had decided to gather all the pupils and staff in the assembly hall at lunchtime for a period of quiet reflection in memory of Elias. The local clergyman was going to address the pupils and a representative from the police would ask anyone who knew about Elias’s movements, or had any information that might prove useful in the investigation into his death, to notify a teacher, the principal or the police. An emergency telephone number would be given for anonymous callers. All leads would be investigated, however trivial they might seem. Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg were going to ask Elias’s classmates about his last day alive, although this process was complicated by the fact that parental permission was required before a child could be questioned. Agnes, Elias’s form teacher, had been very helpful and telephoned the parents first thing, and had received permission from most of them to allow the police, in cooperation with the Reykjavik Child Welfare Agency, to gather important information. She emphasised that this would not involve proper questioning, only information collection. Some parents wanted to be present when their children were interviewed and stood in the corridor with anxious expressions on their faces. Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg were already sitting down with the children, one at a time, in an empty classroom they had been allocated for the purpose.
Erlendur met the principal and asked specifically about the woodwork teacher. He understood that, like the Icelandic teacher, Egill had expressed some antipathy towards Asian women who immigrated to Iceland. The principal, who was rather stressed about preparing for the lunchtime meeting with the police representative, showed Erlendur to the woodwork room. No one was there. Erlendur returned to the staff room and was told that the woodwork teacher was probably sitting in his car out in the car park. This was a long break and he had the habit of going out to his car sometimes to smoke a cigarette or two, Erlendur was told.
The police investigation was still focusing on the immediate vicinity, the school and the estate. It transpired that a repeat offender lived in a block of flats not far from Elias’s. He had been brought in for questioning that night but, paralytic with drink, he had assaulted the officers and was detained in custody. Towards morning a search warrant was obtained for his flat, but so far nothing had been found that could be linked to Elias’s murder. The police also investigated several of the usual suspects, who might conceivably be connected with stabbings — debt collectors and people who had been picked up by the police due to clashes with immigrants or even tourists.
Niran had not spoken a word since he was found. A child psychologist had been called in that night and a social worker from the Child Welfare Agency, but Niran remained wrapped in a blanket and said nothing, no matter how they pressed him. He was repeatedly asked where he had been that day and whether he knew about his brother’s fate, whether he knew what had happened, who could have committed the deed, when he had last seen his brother, what they had talked about. While all these questions rained down on him, especially from his mother, Niran never opened his mouth, sitting instead in silence in his blanket and staring into space. It was as if he had withdrawn into a closed world; into a sanctuary that he alone knew.
Eventually Erlendur told the experts to leave and went home himself, leaving Sunee and Niran in peace. Sigridur had left by then and the interpreter had also gone home, but Sunee’s brother stayed behind with the mother and son in the flat.
It did not seem to be common knowledge that Sunee had a lover. Gudny told Erlendur that she had no idea what he was talking about; she had never heard any mention of the man. Sunee’s ex-mother-in-law was equally in the dark. It was not until Erlendur asked Sunee’s brother Virote that he received a positive response. He knew about a man in his sister’s life but the relationship had not been going on for long, and he said he had never met the man and did not know who he was. Not wanting to disturb Sunee now that she had reclaimed Niran, Erlendur told Virote to ask her for details about the man and then get in touch. He had not done so as yet.
Erlendur soon found the woodwork teacher’s silver-grey car. He knocked on the driver’s window and the man wound it down. A cloud of cigarette smoke escaped into the winter air.
“Can I join you?” Erlendur asked. “I’m from the police.”
The woodwork teacher grunted. He gave a reluctant nod, as if doubting that he could avoid having to talk to Erlendur. He clearly disliked being disturbed during his smoking break. Unruffled, Erlendur sat down in the passenger seat and took out a pack of cigarettes.
“Egill, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I smoke too?” Erlendur asked, waving a cigarette.
A grimace formed on Egill’s face, which Erlendur found difficult to interpret.
“No peace anywhere,” the woodwork teacher said.
Erlendur lit up and the two men sat in silence for a little while, enjoying their tobacco.
“You’re here about the boy, of course,” Egill said at last. He was a large, fat man aged about fifty, who did not fit particularly comfortably into the driver’s seat. Big-boned, bald as a coot, he had a large nose, high, protruding cheekbones and a beard. When his huge hand raised the cigarette to his mouth it almost disappeared inside. On top of his bald head, towards the front, was a large, pink lump that Erlendur stole occasional glances at when he thought Egill would not notice. He did not know why, but the lump fascinated him.
“Was he good at woodwork?” Erlendur asked.
“Yes, reasonably,” Egill said, stretching out his big paw to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray. It creaked under the strain. “Do you have any idea what happened?”
“No, none,” Erlendur said, “except that he was stabbed close to the school here.”
“This society’s going to the dogs,” Egill grunted. “And you lot can’t do a thing about it. Is it a distinctively Icelandic trait, being so lax towards criminals? Can you tell me that?”
Erlendur was not sure what the teacher was getting at.
“I read in the papers the other day,” Egill went on, “that some jerks had broken into someone’s house to collect a minor debt, smashed the place to pieces and mutilated the owner. They were caught in the act but the whole gang were released after questioning! What kind of bollocks is that anyway?”