Arctic Chill

26

Erlendur drove slowly past the house, parked several doors down and got out of the car. He walked unhurriedly back towards the house, looking around warily. He saw the junction with Styrimannastigur and the large wooden building that had once been the Seaman’s College after which the road was named. The insurance company employee lived in a pretty wooden house clad in corrugated iron. It had been lovingly restored from what Erlendur could see from where he stood in the cold, studying the house. Lights were on in two of the windows. The street was quiet and Erlendur feared that he would be too conspicuous as he strolled back and forth. He wanted to proceed with caution.

It was late. Snow was falling, the wind had picked up and a major blizzard was forecast. The radio had warned people not to leave anything unsecured outside and to avoid going out unless absolutely necessary. Roads were already closed in rural areas in the wake of the storm that was now heading towards the city.

Erlendur was still brooding over the identity of the woman who had been phoning him and what she could have wanted. He couldn’t figure it out and only hoped that she would make contact with him one more time. She had to give him another chance. He was conscious that there was not much likelihood of this happening but at least he now knew how to react should he ever hear from her again.

He was about to cross the road to the house when the basement door opened and a figure appeared in the rectangle of light. It was very small and Erlendur thought that it might be Niran. He could not see its face, which seemed to be obscured by something. The figure was wearing a windcheater and a baseball cap with a large peak. It closed the door carefully and headed down the street towards the town centre. Erlendur followed a little way behind, unsure what action to take. He noticed that the figure had a scarf bound over its face so that only its eyes were visible. It was holding something but Erlendur could not see what.

The figure bowed its head and set a course straight for the town centre. It was Saturday evening, the clubs and restaurants were all open and a number of people were about. The figure unfolded what it was holding, revealing it to be a large plastic bag. It approached a litter bin and looked inside, rooted around in it briefly, then moved on. Two beer cans lying under a bench disappeared into the bag, then the figure moved on to the next litter bin. Erlendur watched this behaviour. The figure was collecting used bottles and cans. It moved silently and purposefully, as if it had done this many times before, as unobtrusively as possible, largely unmarked by passers-by.

He followed its movements around the town centre for some time. The bag soon began to fill up. Erlendur came to a corner shop, stepped inside and bought two cans of some soft drink. When he came out again he emptied the cans into the gutter, then walked up to the figure who had paused by a litter bin in a small alleyway off Austurvollur Square.

“Here’s a couple,” Erlendur said, holding out the cans.

The figure looked at him in astonishment, the scarf completely obscuring its face, the baseball cap pulled down over its eyes. The figure accepted the cans hesitantly and put them in the bag, then immediately made to move on again without saying a word.

“My name’s Erlendur,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

The figure stopped and looked searchingly at Erlendur.

“I only want to talk to you, if that’s all right,” Erlendur said.

The figure backed away, without replying.

“Don’t worry,” Erlendur said, moving closer.

The figure tensed, poised to run, but apparently reluctant to abandon the bag half full of bottles and cans, and this gave Erlendur a chance to seize hold of its jacket. The figure tried to hit him with the bag and tear itself loose but Erlendur held on tight with both hands. The figure struggled in his grasp but could not get away. Erlendur spoke to it reassuringly.

“I’m trying to help you,” he said. “I need to talk to you. Do you understand?”

He received no answer. The figure tried with all its might to break free but Erlendur was strong and it could not get away.

“Do you understand Icelandic?”

The figure did not answer.

“I don’t want you to do anything stupid,” he said. “I want to help you.”

No answer.

“I’m going to let you go,” Erlendur said. “Don’t run away. I need to talk to you.”

He gradually relaxed his hold and finally released the figure who immediately took to its heels. He chased it a few steps and saw it run across the square. As he watched it go, wondering if he had any chance of catching up with this light-footed person, his quarry began to slow down and finally stopped under the statue of the independence hero, Jon Sigurdsson. It turned and looked at Erlendur who stood motionless, waiting to see what would happen. A long time elapsed until finally the figure began to walk slowly back towards him.

On the way it removed its baseball cap, revealing thick, black hair, and when it reached him it untied the scarf from its face so that he could see who it was.

Hallur sat between his parents, insisting that he knew nothing about the wood-carving knife that Anton claimed to have given him. The police had found his full name and address in the school register. He was acquainted with Doddi and Anton, who were the same age as him but in a different class. He did not know them well, however, as he was new to this part of town. His family had moved into the area about six months ago. Hallur was an only child, quite short, with a mane of unruly dark hair covering his eyes. He repeatedly flicked his head whenever his fringe blocked his view. He was very calm and looked wide-eyed at Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg in turn.

His parents were very eager to please. They were not at all annoyed at being disturbed so late in the evening by Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg. They chatted about the crazy weather that had been forecast and the mother offered the detectives coffee. They lived in a two-storey detached house.

“I expect you’re talking to lots of children from the school,” the mother said. “On account of that ghastly business. Are you getting anywhere with your inquiries?”

The father regarded them in silence.

“We’re making progress,” Elinborg said, her eyes on Hallur.

“We thought you’d probably call round,” the woman said. “Aren’t you talking to all the kids at the school? Do you know anything about this knife, Hallur dear?” she asked her son.

“No,” Hallur said a second time.

“I’ve never seen him with a knife,” she said. “I can’t imagine who could have told you that Hallur has this knife. I . . . it’s rather shocking when you come to think of it. I mean, that people can make wild accusations like that. Don’t you think?”

She looked at Elinborg as if they women should stand together.

“Still, it’s not as bad as having your child stabbed to death,” Elinborg said.

“We have no reason to disbelieve the testimony of the boys who told us,” Sigurdur Oli said.

“Do you know anything about these boys, Doddi and Anton?” the woman asked her husband. “I’ve never heard of them. We ought to know all Hallur’s friends.”

“They’re not his friends,” Sigurdur Oli said. “Though one of them, Anton, wants to be his friend. That’s why he gave Hallur the knife and delayed telling us about it for as long as possible. Isn’t that right?” he asked, looking at Hallur.

“I don’t really know Anton,” Hallur said. “I don’t know many people at school”

“He’s only been there since the autumn, since we moved,” his mother said.

“You moved, when, last summer?”

“Yes,” the mother answered.

“How have you settled into your new school?” Elinborg asked.

“You know,” Hallur said. “Fine.”

“But you don’t have any friends there … ?”

The question dangled in the air.

“He’s adjusted very well,” the woman said at last, looking at her husband who had not contributed anything to the conversation as yet.

“Have you changed schools often?” Sigurdur Oli asked.

Hallur looked at his mother.

“About three times,” he said.

“But this time we’re staying put,” the woman added, directing another glance at her husband.

“Anton said you were with another boy when he met you and gave you the knife,” Sigurdur Oli said. Anton didn’t know him and said he wasn’t at the school. Who was this boy?”

“He didn’t give me any knife,” Hallur said. “He’s lying.”

Are you sure?” Elinborg asked.

Anton had confessed under cross-examination to having given Hallur the knife. A boy he had never seen before had been with Hallur at the time. Hallur was new to the school and kept a fairly low profile, though Anton said that he had once been round to see him at that big house. According to Anton, Hallur had talked candidly about his parents, describing his mother as an appalling snob, who was constantly interfering, a total control freak. His parents were forever in financial difficulties; once their house had even been repossessed, yet this did not seem to prevent them from living in some luxury. Hallur had the biggest collection of computer games Anton had ever seen.

He didn’t know why Hallur wanted the knife, unless perhaps because it was stolen. Hallur saw him with it and when Anton told him that Doddi had stolen it from the carpentry workshop, Hallur suddenly became very keen to acquire it. They met round at Anton’s. Hallur brought along another boy the same age but Anton did not know his name.

“You went round to Anton’s,” Sigurdur Oli said. “You gave him a computer game, he gave you the knife.”

“That’s a lie,” Hallur said.

“There was a boy with you at Anton’s place,” Elinborg said. “Who was he?”

“My cousin was with me.”

“What’s his name?”

“Gusti.”

“When was this?”

“I don’t remember, several days ago.”

“His name’s Agust, he’s my brother’s son,” the woman said. “He and Hallur spend a lot of time together.”

Sigurdur Oli noted down the name.

“I don’t know why Anton’s claiming he gave me the knife,” Hallur said. “He’s lying. It’s his knife. He’s just trying to frame me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you tell us where you were last Tuesday afternoon when Elias was stabbed?” Elinborg asked.

“Is this really necessary?” Hallur’s father asked. “You’re talking to him as if he’s done something wrong.”

“We’re just checking the reliability of the witness statement we’ve taken, nothing more,” Elinborg said, without removing her eyes from Hallur. “Where were you?”

“He was at home,” the woman said. “He was asleep in his room. He finished school at one and slept till four. I was at home.”

“Is that right?” Elinborg asked the boy.

“Yes,” he said.

“Sleep a lot during the day, do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“We can never get him to bed in the evening,” his mother said. “He’s up all night. It’s hardly surprising he sleeps during the day.”

“Don’t you go out to work?” Elinborg asked, addressing the mother.

“I only work half days,” she said. “In the mornings.”

When the figure removed the muffling scarf, Erlendur found himself face to face with Sunee’s brother Virote. He was still holding the bag of drink-cans.

“You?” Erlendur said.

“How you find me?” Virote asked.

“I… what are you doing out in this weather?”

“You follow me?”

“Yes,” Erlendur said. “Do you collect cans?”

“It pay little money”

“Where’s Niran?” Erlendur asked. “Do you know?”

“Niran okay,” Virote said.

“Do you know where he is?”

Virote was mute.

“Do you know Niran’s whereabouts?”

Virote looked at Erlendur for a long time, then nodded.

“Why are you hiding him?” Erlendur asked. “You’re only making matters worse. We’re starting to think he must have attacked his brother. Your actions only support the idea. When you take him away like this, hide him.”

“It not like that,” Virote said. “He not do nothing to Elias.”

“We have to talk to him,” Erlendur said. “I know you’re trying to protect him but this has gone too far. You won’t gain anything by keeping him hidden.”

“He not attack Elias.”

“Then what? What do you mean by hiding him like this?”

Virote did not speak.

“Answer me,” Erlendur ordered. “What were you doing at your sister’s friend’s house?”

“I visit him.”

“Is Niran with him?” Erlendur asked.

Virote did not answer. Erlendur repeated his question. An icy wind whipped about them in the alleyway and it occurred to Erlendur that Virote must be freezing. His light trainers were wet through, and he was only wearing jeans, a thin windcheater, a scarf and a baseball cap besides. Sensing that Virote was wavering, Erlendur put the question a third time.

“You have to trust us,” Erlendur said. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to Niran.”

Virote looked at him for a long time, as if pondering what to do, whether to trust him. Finally he seemed to make up his mind.

“Come. You come with me.”