The secretary looked at Erlendur dithering in front of her.

“Was there anything else?” she asked.

“Would you call this a multicultural school?” Erlendur asked finally.

“You could say that,” the secretary said. “Just over ten per cent of the pupils are not of Icelandic origin.”

“And are people happy with that arrangement, as a rule?”

“It works very well.”

“No particular problems on that account?”

“None worth mentioning, I don’t think,” she added as if in apology.

Niran’s form teacher, a woman of about thirty, was clearly shocked at the news about Elias like everyone else. A media debate had already begun about the situation of immigrants and the responsibility of society, and endless experts were called in to testify to all the gains that had been made and what must be done to prevent such an episode repeating itself. They were trying to pin the blame somewhere: had the system failed the immigrants, was this merely the thin end of the wedge? There was talk of underlying racial tensions that had flared up, and the need to respond through public debate and education — make better use of the school system to publicise, to inform and to eradicate prejudice.

Teaching was under way in Niran’s class when Erlendur knocked on the door. He apologised for the disturbance. The teacher gave him a weak smile and, catching on immediately, asked him to wait just a moment. Shortly afterwards she followed him out into the corridor. She introduced herself as Edda Bra and her petite hand vanished in Erlendur’s palm when they exchanged greetings. She had cropped hair, wore a thick pullover and jeans, and had a serious expression on her face.

“I hardly know what to say about Niran,” she said without preamble, as if she had been expecting the police sooner or later. Or perhaps she was simply in a hurry. Her form was waiting for her.

“Niran can be difficult and I sometimes need to pay him special attention,” she continued. “He can hardly write Icelandic and doesn’t speak the language that well, so he’s difficult to communicate with. He does little or no homework and seems to have absolutely no interest in studying. I never taught his brother but I understand he was very sweet. Niran’s different. He can get the other boys” backs up. Gets into fights. The last one was the day before yesterday. I know it’s difficult for children to change schools and he’s had a rough time right from the beginning.”

“He came to this country at the age of nine and never managed to fit in properly,” Erlendur said.

“He’s not alone in that,” the teacher said. “It can be difficult for the older kids who come here and can’t relate to anything.”

“What happened?” Erlendur asked. “The day before yesterday?”

“Maybe you should talk to the other boy.”

“Is it a boy in his class?”

“The children were talking about it this morning,” Edda said. “This particular boy comes from a difficult home and he’s been getting into trouble in the playground. He and some of the others had it in for Niran and his friends. Talk to him, find out what he says, he never tells me anything. His name’s Gudmundur, Gummi for short.”

Edda went back into the classroom and came out soon afterwards with a boy whom she made to stand in front of Erlendur. Erlendur was impressed by her firmness. She wasted no time on idle chatter, was on the ball and knew how best to assist.

“You told me I’d get my mobile back,” the boy moaned, looking at Erlendur.

“It’s the only thing these kids understand,” Edda Bra told Erlendur. “I didn’t want to blare out in front of the whole class that he had to talk to the police. All hell would have broken loose in the present situation. Let me know if you need anything else,” she added, then went back into the classroom.

“Gummi?” Erlendur said.

The boy looked up at him. His upper lip was slightly swollen and his nose was scratched. He was big for his age, fair-haired, and his eyes radiated deep suspicion.

“Are you a cop?” he asked.

Erlendur nodded and showed the boy behind a screen that served to partition off several computers on a long desk. Erlendur propped himself on the edge of the desk and the boy sat down on a chair in front of him.

“Have you got a cop’s badge?” Gummi asked. “Can I see it?”

“I don’t have a badge,” Erlendur said. “I expect you’re talking about what the cops carry in films. Of course they’re not real cops. They’re just Hollywood wimps.”

Gummi stared at Erlendur as if his hearing had failed for a moment.

“What happened between you and Niran the day before yesterday?” Erlendur asked.

“What business of yours-‘ Gummi began, his voice full of the same suspicion that shone from his eyes.

“I’m just curious,” Erlendur interrupted him. “It’s nothing serious. Don’t worry about it.”

Gummi continued to prevaricate.

“He just attacked me,” he said eventually.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he attack anyone else?”

“I don’t know. He just suddenly went for me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Gummi repeated.

Erlendur pondered. He stood up and peered over the partition. Then he sat back down. He did not want to be detained by Gummi for too long.

“Do you know what happens to kids who lie to the cops?” he said.

“I’m not lying,” Gummi said, his eyes growing to twice the size.

“We call their parents in straight away and explain to them that their child has been lying to the police, then we ask the parents to take the child down to the police station to give a statement, and we decide where to go from there. So if you’re free after school we can fetch you and your mum and dad and—”

“He just went berserk when I called him that.”

“Called him what?”

Gummi still prevaricated. Then he seemed to steel himself.

“I called him shit face. He’s called me far worse names,” he added quickly.

Erlendur grimaced.

“And are you surprised he went for you?”

“He’s a twat!”

“And you’re not?”

“They never leave you alone.”

“They who?”

“His Thai and Filipino friends. They hang around behind the chemist’s.”

Erlendur recalled Elinborg mentioning a group of boys by the chemist’s shop when she was going over the details of the case in his car the previous evening.

“Is it a gang?”

Gummi hesitated. Erlendur waited. He knew that Gummi was pondering whether to tell things the way they were and get Erlendur on his side, or to pretend to know nothing, just say no and hope the police officer would leave it at that.

“It wasn’t like that,” Gummi said in the end. “They started it”

“Started what?”

“Dissing us.”

“Dissing you?”

“They think they’re better than us. More important. More important than us Icelanders. Because they come from Thailand and the Philippines and Vietnam. They say everything’s much better there, it’s superior.”

And did you fight?”

Instead of replying, Gummi stared down at the floor.

“Do you know what happened to Elias, Niran’s brother?” Erlendur asked.

“No,” Gummi said, his head still bowed. “He wasn’t with them.”

“How did you explain to your parents about the injuries to your face?”

Gummi looked up.

“They don’t give a shit.”

Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg appeared in the corridor and Erlendur signalled to Gummi that he could go. They watched him close the classroom door behind him.

“Getting anywhere?” Erlendur asked.

“Nowhere,” Elinborg said. “Though one of the boys did say that Kjartan, that Icelandic teacher, was “a bastard headcase”. I had the impression he was always causing trouble but I didn’t find out exactly how.”

“Everything’s just hunky dory with me,” Sigurdur Oli said.

“Hunky dory?” Erlendur growled. “Do you always have to talk like an idiot?”

“What… ?”

“There’s nothing hunky dory about any of this!”