“I don’t know if you understand the seriousness of the matter,” Sigurdur Oli said.

“I think he understands perfectly well what’s at stake,” the man said.

“I would be very grateful if you could help us.”

Kari looked from his parents to Sigurdur Oli.

“I don’t know how he died,” he said. “I didn’t know Elias at all. He didn’t spend much time with Niran. Niran didn’t want him tagging along. He was much younger as well. But Niran looked after Elias. Made sure no one bullied him. I have no idea how he died. I don’t know who attacked him. None of us know. No one knows what happened. And we haven’t a clue what became of Niran that day.”

“How did you get to know Niran?”

Kari sighed. He described his first meeting with the new boy at school. Niran was put in his form and they soon got to know each other as both were the sons of immigrants. Kari had moved to the neighbourhood fairly recently himself and although he had made some good friends who were not from ethnic minorities, he also knew two boys of Filipino origin and one from Vietnam. They in turn were acquainted with Niran’s mates from his old school. Niran quickly became the leader of the gang and fed them various facts about what he called their status as the children of immigrants. They were neither nor. They weren’t Icelandic. Couldn’t be even if they wanted to. To the majority of people they were foreigners, even if they were born in Iceland. Most had experienced prejudice directed at themselves or their families: stares, name-calling, even outright hostility.

Niran was not an Icelander and had no interest in becoming one, but living up here in the Arctic meant that he could hardly call himself Thai either. He realised that he was neither. He belonged to neither country, belonged nowhere except in some invisible, intangible no man’s land. Previously he had never had to think about where he came from. He was a Thai, born in Thailand. Now he drew strength from the company of other immigrant children with similar backgrounds and made his best friends among them. He became fascinated with his heritage, with the history of Thailand and the story of his ancestors. The feeling had only intensified when he got to know other, older immigrant children at his last school.

“We gather that he didn’t have a very good relationship with his stepfather,” Sigurdur Oli said.

“That’s right,” Kari said.

“Any idea why?”

Kari shrugged.

“Niran said he was glad about the divorce because then he wouldn’t have to see him any more.”

“Do you know anything about a man Sunee knows, possibly a boyfriend?” Sigurdur Oli asked.

“No.”

“Did Niran never mention that she was seeing someone?”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know anything about that”

“Where did you last see Niran?”

“I’ve been ill, so I haven’t been to school. I haven’t talked to the lads. I last saw Niran a few days ago. We hung out together for a bit after school, then went home.”

“By the chemist’s?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you always hanging out by the chemist’s?”

“You know, we just meet there sometimes. We don’t do anything.”

“What do you usually get up to during the day?” Sigurdur Oli asked.

“Just chill out, mess around, rent a video, play football, whatever we feel like, really. Go to the movies.”

“Do you think Niran did something to his brother?”

“You can’t expect him to answer a question like that,” Kari’s father interrupted. “That’s outrageous.”

“No way,” Kari said. “He’d never hurt Elias. I’m certain of it. He always took care of Elias, he was always nice about him.”

“You got into fights at school and here in the neighbourhood, can you tell me about that?” Sigurdur Oli asked. “And one of your friends was beaten up, you say? Were you afraid of going to school?”

“It wasn’t anything serious,” Kari said. “It’s just… sometimes there’s a bit of aggro and I don’t want to get involved. I just want to be left alone.”

“Did you tell that to Niran and the lads?”

“No.”

“Who’s head of the other gang?” Sigurdur Oli asked. “If Niran’s your leader?”

Kari did not reply.

“Don’t you want to tell us?”

He shook his head.

“There are no leaders,” he said. “Niran wasn’t our leader. We’re just a bunch of mates.”

“Who bugs your gang most?” Sigurdur Oli asked.

“He’s called Raggi,” Kari said. “He’s the main one.”

“Was it him who attacked one of you?”

“Yes.”

Sigurdur Oli noted down the name. The parents exchanged glances as if they felt this had gone on long enough.

“You asked if I’m aware of any prejudice at school,” Kari said, suddenly breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Sigurdur Oli said.

“It’s not just… we say stuff too,” Kari said. “It’s not just them. It’s us too. I don’t know how it started. Niran got into a punch-up with Gummi because of something somebody said. It’s all so stupid.”

“What about the teachers?”

Kari nodded hesitantly.

“They’re all right, though there is one who hates immigrants.”

“Who’s that?”

Kari glanced at his father.

“Kjartan.”

“And what does he do?”

“He can’t stand us,” Kari said.

“In what way? Is it something he says or something he does?”

“He says things when no one else can hear.”

“Like what?”

“ ‘You stink of shit.’ ”

“Are you kidding?” Kari’s father gasped. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“They had an argument,” Kari said.

“Who?”

“Kjartan and Niran. I don’t know what it was about but I think they almost had a scrap or something. Niran didn’t want to talk about it.”

“When was this?”

“The day Elias died.”

The insurance company’s public relations officer sat opposite Elinborg, impeccably dressed and sporting a flamboyant tie. There was nothing on his desk but a keyboard and a flat-screen computer, and on the shelves behind him were a few cardboard boxes containing papers, though most were empty. He didn’t seem to have much to do, unless it was his first day at work. Elinborg explained the purpose of her visit; someone from the company had phoned a specific number; she mentioned Sunee’s name. The police needed to know the identity of the caller, but the list did not show which extension the calls had been made from, only the company’s main switchboard number.

“Is this about the boy who died?” the smart PR man asked.

“That’s right,” Elinborg said.

“And you want to know … ?”

“Whether someone from this office has been phoning his home,” Elinborg said.

“I see,” the PR man said. “You want to know which extension the calls were made from.”

As she had already explained this, Elinborg wondered whether he was being abnormally reluctant or was simply so pleased at finally having something to do that he was determined to spin it out.

She nodded.

“Firstly, we need to know if the woman holds an insurance policy with the company.”

“What’s her name?” the PR man asked, placing beautifully manicured hands on the keyboard.

Elinborg told him.

“No one here by that name,” he said.

“Have you had a sales campaign, cold-calling people or the like, during the last month?”

“No, the last campaign was three months ago. There’s been nothing since then.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to keep your ear to the ground for us and find out if any employee of this office knows the woman. How will you go about that?”

“I’ll ask around,” the PR man said, leaning back in his chair.

“Keep it low-key, though,” Elinborg said. “We only want to talk to the individual concerned. That’s all. He’s not under suspicion. He could be a friend of Sunee’s, possibly her boyfriend. Do you think you could make some discreet enquiries for me?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the PR man said.

Erlendur rang the doorbell. He heard a squeaking noise from inside the flat as he pressed the bell. Time passed and he rang again. The same squeaking noise. He listened hard. Soon he heard a rustling from inside and finally the door opened. Erlendur had obviously woken the man, although it was midday, but since he appeared to be an old-age pensioner, he could presumably sleep whenever he liked.