Erlendur hesitated. Maybe it was too early to ask the closest relatives about the boys” relationship. He should not be sowing suspicion with his tentative questions, causing even more anger and bewilderment.

“I’m sorry if I implied anything of the kind,” Erlendur said calmly. “But we have to look for information, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. It’s never crossed my mind that the elder boy had anything to do with this, but I think the sooner we find him, the better for everyone concerned.”

“Niran will come home soon,” Sigridur said.

“Could he have gone to see his stepfather? Odinn?”

“I doubt it. They don’t get on. My son …”

Sigridur hesitated now. Erlendur waited patiently.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed.

Sigridur explained that she had lived in the countryside until recently and had only been to Reykjavik a couple of times a year for short visits. She always visited her son’s family and sometimes stayed with them, although the flat on Snorrabraut was small. She had the impression that her son was not particularly happy, and even though Sunee never complained she could tell that all was not well with their marriage. This was around the time Sunee told him she had another son in Thailand who she wanted to send for.

Odinn had not told his mother about Sunee when he met her. He had had another wife from Thailand before Sunee came on the scene. She had left him after three years. When he sent for her he had never seen her face to face, only in photographs. She was granted a month’s visa to stay in Iceland. They got married two weeks after she arrived. She had brought all the necessary papers with her from Thailand in order to make the marriage legal.

“She moved to Denmark later,” Sigridur said. “Probably only came here to get an Icelandic passport.”

The next thing Sigridur knew was that Odinn had met Sunee and married her. The two women hit it off straight away. Sigridur had been apprehensive about meeting her new daughter-in-law after what had happened before and was anxious about the new relationship. She tried not to display any prejudice and was relieved when she shook Sunee’s hand. She could tell at once that she had character. The first thing she noticed was how Sunee had transformed the squalid flat on Snorrabraut into a beautiful, tidy home with a strong Asian ambience. She had brought along or sent for objects from Thailand to decorate the home: statues of Buddha, pictures and various pretty ornaments.

Although she only visited Reykjavik intermittently at that time, Sigridur tried to make life in Iceland easier for Sunee. Her daughter-in-law did not understand the language and had great difficulty in picking it up. She spoke little English, and Sigridur knew anyway that her son had never been the sociable type and had few friends who could help Sunee adapt to a new lifestyle and a completely different society. Gradually Sunee got to know other Thai women who helped her to find her feet, but she had no Icelandic friends with the possible exception of her mother-in-law.

Sigridur admired Sunee’s readiness to accept the darkness and cold of her strange new environment. “Just dress better warm,” Sunee would say, smiling and positive. Odinn was not always happy with his mother’s interference. They had argued after she found out that he was annoyed when Sunee spoke Thai to the boy. By that time she had begun to speak a little Icelandic. “I don’t know what she’s telling the kid,” Odinn complained to his mother. “He should speak Icelandic. He’s an Icelander! It’s what’s best for him. For the future.”

Sigridur described how she had subsequently found out that her son was not alone in that opinion. In some cases, Icelandic husbands forbade their Asian wives from speaking their native tongue to the children, because they could not understand it themselves. When the mother spoke poor Icelandic or none at all, it hampered the child’s linguistic development, which could affect its entire schooling. To some extent this was true of Elias, who excelled at mathematics but was weaker at subjects like Icelandic and spelling.

Odinn refused to discuss their divorce and would not listen to his mother when she talked about his obligations.

“It was a mistake,” he said. “I should never have married her!”

By now, Sigridur had moved to Reykjavik and kept in close touch with Sunee and Elias, whom she regarded as family. Even Niran, who was unhappy with his lot, was on good terms with her, the little he had to do with her. She tried to make her son pay Sunee what he owed her after the divorce, including her share in the flat, but he flatly refused on the grounds that he had owned the property before Sunee came along. Elias sometimes visited his grandmother and stayed with her; a good, kind boy who would do anything for her.

Niran had been at odds with his stepfather from the outset and had trouble adapting to Icelandic society. He was nine years old when he arrived in the country accompanied by Sunee’s younger brother Virote. Virote had stayed, found a job in a fish factory and dreamed of opening a Thai restaurant.

“Niran never regarded Odinn as his father, understandably,” Sigridur said. “They had nothing in common.”

“Who is Niran’s father?” Erlendur interjected.

Sigridur shrugged. “I’ve never asked,” she said.

“It must be tough for a boy like him to come to this country at that age and under those circumstances.”

“Naturally it was very difficult,” Sigridur said. “And still is. He’s not doing well at school and he’s something of an outsider in the community.”

“There are more like him,” Erlendur said. “They take refuge in each other, they have a common background. There have been clashes between them and the Icelandic kids, but not many and not serious either. Though maybe we’re seeing more weapons than before. Knuckledusters. Knives.”

“Niran isn’t a bad lad,” Sigridur said, “but I know Sunee’s worried about him. He always treated his brother kindly. Their relationship was rather special. They got on well together, I think, considering the circumstances. Sunee made sure of that”

Gudny came in from the kitchen.

“Sunee wants to go out and look for Niran,” she said. “I’m going with her.”

“Of course,” Erlendur said. “But I think it would be better to wait here for a while in case he turns up.”

“I’ll stay here in case he comes back,” Sigridur said.

“Sunee can’t just sit here and wait,” the interpreter said. “She has to get out. She has to do something.”

“I can perfectly understand that,” Erlendur said.

Sunee was in the hallway, putting on her anorak. The door to the boys” room was open and she looked inside. She went to the door and started speaking. The interpreter and Erlendur moved closer.

“He dreamed something,” the interpreter said. “When Elias woke up this morning he told her about a dream he had last night. A little bird came to him and Elias made a bird-house for it and they became friends, Elias and the bird.”

Sunee stood at the door to the boys” room and talked to the interpreter.

“He was a bit annoyed with his mother,” the interpreter said.

Sunee looked at Erlendur and continued with her account.

“He felt happy in the dream: he’d made a friend,” the interpreter said. “He was annoyed because she woke him up. Elias would have liked to stay in the dream for longer.”

Sunee recalled Elias on that last morning. He was lying in bed, trying to hold on to the dream about the bird; snuggled up under his too-small duvet in his too-small pyjamas. His skinny legs protruded a long way out of the bottoms. He was lying on his side, staring at the wall in the dark. She had turned on the light in the room but he reached over for the switch and turned it off again. His brother was already up. Sunee was late for work and could not find her purse. She called to Elias to get out of bed. She knew that he liked lying under the warm duvet, especially on cold, dark mornings with a long day ahead at school.