“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 that they’re good friends. She hurried over to Sunee’s flat as soon as she heard the news.”