“You find murderer,” she said. “I look after Niran.”

“All right”

“Elias good boy. Not do nothing.”

“I don’t believe he was attacked because of anything he did. But it’s possible he was attacked because of what he was. Do you understand?”

Sunee nodded.

“Have you any idea who might have wanted to attack him?”

“No,” Sunee said.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yes.”

“The kids at school?”

“No.”

“One of the teachers?”

“No. No one. All good to Elias.”

“What about Niran? He doesn’t seem very happy.”

“Niran good boy. Just angry. Not want to live in Iceland.”

“Where is he?”

She didn’t answer.

“All right,” Erlendur said. “It’s up to you. Think about it. Maybe you’ll tell me tomorrow. We need to talk to him. It’s very important.”

Sunee looked at him in silence.

“I know it’s difficult for you and that you want to do what you feel is right. I understand that. But you must also understand that this is a sensitive murder investigation.”

Sunee remained mute.

“Did Niran mention anything about the Icelandic teacher, Kjartan?”

“No.”

“Nothing about a quarrel between them?”

“No.”

“What did he say to you?”

“Not much. He just scared. Me too.”

Sunee glanced over at the small corridor leading to the bedrooms, where her brother now appeared. She held out her hand to him.

“Do you mind if I take a quick look in Elias’s room?” Erlendur asked, rising to his feet.

“Okay,” Sunee said.

She met his eye.

“I want to help,” she said. “But I look after Niran too.”

Erlendur smiled and went through the little corridor to the boys” room. He switched on a small desk lamp that cast a feeble glow over the room.

He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. The police had already searched the room without finding any clues as to where Niran might be hiding. He sat down on a chair and recalled that he and his brother Bergur had shared a room like this in the old days at home in the east.

As Erlendur examined the room, he reflected on the brutal act that had cut short Elias’s life. He tried to fit it into the criminal landscape that he knew so well but was completely at a loss. No mercy had been shown to Elias when he fell wounded on the path. No one had been there to help him in his pathetic struggle to reach home. No one had been there to warm him when he froze to the icy ground behind the block of flats.

He looked around. Model dinosaurs of every shape and size trooped round the room. Two pictures of dinosaurs were Blu-Tacked to the wall above the bunks. In one a menacing tyrannosaurus bared its teeth above its prey.

He noticed an exercise book on Elias’s bunk and reached for it. On the cover was written “Story Book” and Elias’s name. It contained creative-writing exercises and drawings. Elias had written about “Space” and illustrated it with a colour drawing of Saturn. He had also written about “A Trip to the Shopping Mall” that he had made with his mother. And one piece was entitled “My Favourite Movie’, about a recent fantasy film that Erlendur had not heard of. He read the stories, which were written in an attractive, childish hand, and turned the pages to the point Elias had reached in the book. He had written the title of the most recent exercise at the top of the page but had got no further.

Closing the exercise book, Erlendur replaced it on Elias’s bed and stood up. What had he wanted to be? A doctor, maybe. A bus driver. Or a cop. The possibilities were infinite, the world a new and exciting place. His life had barely begun.

He went back to join Sunee in the living room. Her brother was in the kitchen.

“Do you know what he wanted to be when he grew up?” Erlendur asked.

“Yes,” Sunee said. “He say often. Big word, I learn it.”

“What was it?”

“Palaeontologist.”

Erlendur smiled.

“It used to be a cop,” he said, “or a bus driver.”

On his way out he again asked the police officer on the staircase if he had been aware of any suspicious comings and goings on or near the landing but the answer was negative. He asked about the neighbour, Gestur, who lived in the flat opposite Sunee’s, but the officer had not been aware of him.

“No one’s had any reason to come up here,” the officer said, and Erlendur said goodbye and left.

Although it was fairly late by now, Erlendur still had one last visit to make. He had phoned the man that afternoon and arranged to go round to his house. The man answered the door promptly when Erlendur rang the bell, and invited him in. Erlendur had felt uneasy during his previous visit; he could not put his finger on the exact reason. It was something about the atmosphere, something about the owner of the house.

The man had been watching television but he switched it off and offered him coffee. Erlendur declined, looked at his watch and said he would not stay long. He did not apologise for the lateness of his visit. His gaze fell on a photo of the couple on the table. They were both smiling. They had gone to a photographer before the wedding reception and had their picture taken in all their finery. She was holding a small bouquet.

“Not very popular with your exes, are you?” Erlendur said. “I’ve been hearing what they have to say.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the man said.

Erlendur could see why women fell for him if they happened to like the type. He was a slim, neat man with a friendly face, dark hair, brown eyes, an attractive, olive complexion and elegant hands. He dressed with a good taste that was completely foreign to Erlendur. His home was furnished with handsome, trendy furniture, a magnificent kitchen and expensive flooring. Graphic prints decorated the walls. All that was lacking was the faintest sign that anyone actually lived there.

Erlendur wondered if he should tell him about the phone calls he had received, which were in all probability from his wife. The man had a right to know about them. If Erlendur’s suspicions were correct, his wife was alive and the news would surely bring him joy. Erlendur did not really know why he didn’t tell him everything. There was something ugly about this case that he could not quite fathom.

“No, of course,” Erlendur said. “One of them claimed you threatened to kill her.”

He said it matter-of-factly, as if remarking on the weather, but the man did not bat an eyelid. Perhaps he was expecting it.

“Silla’s not right in the head,” he said after a moment’s pause. “She never has been.”

“So you know the episode I’m referring to?”

“It’s just something you say, you’ve probably said it yourself some time. You don’t mean anything by it.”

“That’s not what she says.”

“Are you focusing your investigation on me now? You think I’ve done something to her? To my own wife?”

“I don’t kn—”

“She’s gone missing!” the man interrupted. “I didn’t touch her. It’s just a normal missing-person case!”

“I’ve never heard of a “normal missing-person case” before,” Erlendur said.

“You know perfectly well what I mean. Stop twisting everything I say.”

Erlendur did know what he meant. A normal missing-person case. He wondered if there was any other country in the world where they talked about “a normal missing-person case’. Perhaps history had taught the Icelanders not to make too much of a fuss when people went missing.

“There’s nothing normal about her disappearance,” Erlendur said.

He paused a moment. The case was heading in a direction from which there would be no turning back. From now on the nature of the inquiry would be different and more serious.

“Did you threaten to kill her?” Erlendur asked.

The man glared at him.

“Are you investigating it as a murder now?” he asked.

“Why did she leave home?”

“I’ve told you over and over again, I don’t have a clue what happened. I came home and she wasn’t here! That’s all I know. You have to believe me. I’ve done nothing to hurt her and I find it abhorrent that you should imply anything else!”