21

Erlendur heard the phone through his sleep. It took him a long time to surface. He had nodded off in his chair and his whole body ached. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was well past nine. He looked out of the window and for a moment did not know if it was night or day. The ringing persisted and he got laboriously to his feet to answer.

“Were you asleep?”

Sigurdur Oli was a famous early bird who generally arrived at work long before anyone else, after an energetic swim in one of the city’s many pools and a hearty breakfast.

“What now?” Erlendur grunted, still half asleep.

“I should put you onto the new granola I had this morning, it sets you up for the day.”

“Sigurdur.”

“Yes?”

“Is there something you want to tell me before I-?”

“It’s the scratch,” Sigurdur Oli said hurriedly.

“What about it?”

“Three other cars were vandalised in the vicinity of the school over the preceding few days,” Sigurdur Oli said. “It emerged this morning at a meeting where your presence was sorely missed.”

“Was it the same sort of damage?”

“Yes. Scratches all along the bodywork.”

“Do we know who did it?”

“No, not yet. Forensics are examining the other cars, if they haven’t been resprayed already. It’s conceivable that the same instrument was used. And another thing: Kjartan has given us permission to examine his Volvo. He claims that Elias never set foot in his car but I thought it would be better to make sure.”

“Is he being cooperative?” Erlendur asked.

“Well, a bit better,” Sigurdur Oli said. “And there’s one more thing.”

“You’ve been very busy. Is it the granular?”

“Granola,” Sigurdur Oli corrected him. “Maybe we should take a closer look at Niran’s relationship with his stepfather.”

“In what way?”

Erlendur was waking up. He should not have been caught napping at home like this and knew he deserved Sigurdur Oli’s teasing.

“Elinborg thinks we should have another chat with Odinn. I’m going to drop round and see him. To ask about Niran.”

“Do you think he’ll be home?”

“Yes. I phoned just now.”

“See you there, then.”

Odinn was looking unkempt, his eyes were bloodshot and his voice hoarse. He had been granted compassionate leave from work and dropped round to see Sunee from time to time with his mother but mostly stayed at home waiting for news. He invited Erlendur and Sigurdur Oli into his living room and put on some coffee.

“Tell us a bit about Niran,” Erlendur said when Odinn sat down with them in the living room.

“What about Niran?”

“What kind of boy is he?”

“A very ordinary boy,” Odinn said. “Should he be somehow … ? What do you mean?”

“Did you have a good relationship?”

“You couldn’t really say that. I had nothing to do with him.”

“Do you know if the boy has been in any trouble recently?”

“I haven’t had any real contact with him,” Odinn said.

“Did Niran have any reason to be hostile towards you?” Erlendur said. He did not know how to express the question any better.

Odinn looked from one of them to the other.

“He wasn’t hostile to me,” he said. “Things were okay between us. He had nothing to do with me and I had nothing to do with him.”

“Do you think he’s gone into hiding because of you?” Erlendur asked. “Because of something he thought you might do?”

“No, I can’t imagine that,” Odinn said. “Of course, it came as a bit of a shock when she told me about him. I stayed out of it when she sent for him.”

“Why did you get divorced?” Sigurdur Oli asked.

“It was over.”

“Was it because of anything in particular?”

“Maybe. This and that. Like in any normal marriage. People break up and start again. That’s how it goes. Sunee’s an independent woman. She knows what she wants. We quarrelled about the boys sometimes, especially Elias. She wanted him to speak Thai but I said it would only confuse him. It was more important for him to speak Icelandic”

“You weren’t afraid of not being able to understand them? Of losing control of the home? Being left out?”

Odinn shook his head.

“She likes living in Iceland, except perhaps the weather sometimes. It gives her a chance to support her family in Thailand, and she stays in close contact with them. She wants to keep in touch with her roots.”

“Don’t we all?” Erlendur said.

No one spoke.

“You don’t think that Niran could be hiding because of you?” Erlendur repeated.

“Definitely not,” Odinn said. “I’ve never done anything to him.”

The mobile rang in Erlendur’s pocket. It took him a little while to work out who the man on the phone was. He said his name was Egill and that they had spoken together in his car the other day; the woodwork teacher.

“Oh yes, hello,” Erlendur said, when he finally clicked who it was.

“It, you see, the thing is, it’s always happening,” Egill said, and Erlendur pictured him with his beard, sitting in his car, smoking. “So I don’t know if it’s significant at all,” Egill continued. “But I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

“What is it?” Erlendur asked. “What’s always happening?”

“Those knives are always being stolen,” Egill said.

“What knives?”

“Er, the wood-carving knives,” Egill said. “So I don’t know if it’ll help you at all.”

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“But I keep a close eye on them,” Egill continued, as if he had not heard the question. “I always try to keep a close eye on the knives. They’re not cheap. I counted them the other day, maybe two weeks ago, but just now I noticed that one of them is missing. One of the carving knives has gone from the box. That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I haven’t found the thief or anything. I just wanted to inform you that there’s a knife missing. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Of course,” Erlendur said, “thank you for telling me. Who steals these knives?”

“Oh, the pupils probably.”

“Yes, but do you know which ones in particular? Have you caught anyone? Is it the same pupils again and again or…?

“Why don’t you just come and take a look for yourself?” Egill asked. “I’ll be here all day.”

Twenty minutes later Erlendur and Sigurdur Oli parked in front of the school. Teaching was under way and there was not a soul to be seen in the playground.

Egill was in the woodwork room. Nine teenage kids were busy with assignments at the carpentry tables, armed with chisels and small saws, but stopped what they were doing when the two detectives entered the classroom. Egill looked at his watch and informed the kids that they could finish ten minutes early. They gazed at him in astonishment as if such an offer from him was unthinkable, then jumped into action and started tidying away. The workshop emptied in a matter of minutes.

Egill closed the door behind the kids. He took a good long look at Sigurdur Oli.

“Didn’t I teach you once?” he asked, then walked over to a cupboard in the corner, bent down, took out a wooden box and laid it on the table.

“I was at school here years ago,” Sigurdur Oli said. “I don’t know if you remember me.”

“I remember you all right,” Egill said. “You were mixed up in those riots in “seventy-nine.”

Sigurdur Oli darted a glance at Erlendur who pretended to be oblivious.

“I keep the carving knives here,” Egill said, taking them out of the box one at a time and laying them on the table. “There should be thirteen of them. It didn’t occur to me to check them after the attack.”

“Nor us,” Erlendur said, with a glance at Sigurdur Oli.

“It isn’t necessarily significant,” Sigurdur Oli said, as if to excuse himself. “Even if something is missing.”

“Then this morning,” Egill continued, “when we needed to use them, one of the pupils came to me and said he didn’t have a knife to work with. There were thirteen of them in the group and I knew there should be exactly the right number of knives. I counted them. There were twelve. So I collected them, put them back in the box in the cupboard, double-checked the workshop, then called you. I know there were thirteen about two weeks ago, no longer.”