26

Erlendur drove slowly past the house, parked several doors down and got out of the car. He walked unhurriedly back towards the house, looking around warily. He saw the junction with Styrimannastigur and the large wooden building that had once been the Seaman’s College after which the road was named. The insurance company employee lived in a pretty wooden house clad in corrugated iron. It had been lovingly restored from what Erlendur could see from where he stood in the cold, studying the house. Lights were on in two of the windows. The street was quiet and Erlendur feared that he would be too conspicuous as he strolled back and forth. He wanted to proceed with caution.

It was late. Snow was falling, the wind had picked up and a major blizzard was forecast. The radio had warned people not to leave anything unsecured outside and to avoid going out unless absolutely necessary. Roads were already closed in rural areas in the wake of the storm that was now heading towards the city.

Erlendur was still brooding over the identity of the woman who had been phoning him and what she could have wanted. He couldn’t figure it out and only hoped that she would make contact with him one more time. She had to give him another chance. He was conscious that there was not much likelihood of this happening but at least he now knew how to react should he ever hear from her again.

He was about to cross the road to the house when the basement door opened and a figure appeared in the rectangle of light. It was very small and Erlendur thought that it might be Niran. He could not see its face, which seemed to be obscured by something. The figure was wearing a windcheater and a baseball cap with a large peak. It closed the door carefully and headed down the street towards the town centre. Erlendur followed a little way behind, unsure what action to take. He noticed that the figure had a scarf bound over its face so that only its eyes were visible. It was holding something but Erlendur could not see what.

The figure bowed its head and set a course straight for the town centre. It was Saturday evening, the clubs and restaurants were all open and a number of people were about. The figure unfolded what it was holding, revealing it to be a large plastic bag. It approached a litter bin and looked inside, rooted around in it briefly, then moved on. Two beer cans lying under a bench disappeared into the bag, then the figure moved on to the next litter bin. Erlendur watched this behaviour. The figure was collecting used bottles and cans. It moved silently and purposefully, as if it had done this many times before, as unobtrusively as possible, largely unmarked by passers-by.

He followed its movements around the town centre for some time. The bag soon began to fill up. Erlendur came to a corner shop, stepped inside and bought two cans of some soft drink. When he came out again he emptied the cans into the gutter, then walked up to the figure who had paused by a litter bin in a small alleyway off Austurvollur Square.

“Here’s a couple,” Erlendur said, holding out the cans.

The figure looked at him in astonishment, the scarf completely obscuring its face, the baseball cap pulled down over its eyes. The figure accepted the cans hesitantly and put them in the bag, then immediately made to move on again without saying a word.

“My name’s Erlendur,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

The figure stopped and looked searchingly at Erlendur.

“I only want to talk to you, if that’s all right,” Erlendur said.

The figure backed away, without replying.

“Don’t worry,” Erlendur said, moving closer.

The figure tensed, poised to run, but apparently reluctant to abandon the bag half full of bottles and cans, and this gave Erlendur a chance to seize hold of its jacket. The figure tried to hit him with the bag and tear itself loose but Erlendur held on tight with both hands. The figure struggled in his grasp but could not get away. Erlendur spoke to it reassuringly.

“I’m trying to help you,” he said. “I need to talk to you. Do you understand?”

He received no answer. The figure tried with all its might to break free but Erlendur was strong and it could not get away.

“Do you understand Icelandic?”

The figure did not answer.

“I don’t want you to do anything stupid,” he said. “I want to help you.”

No answer.

“I’m going to let you go,” Erlendur said. “Don’t run away. I need to talk to you.”

He gradually relaxed his hold and finally released the figure who immediately took to its heels. He chased it a few steps and saw it run across the square. As he watched it go, wondering if he had any chance of catching up with this light-footed person, his quarry began to slow down and finally stopped under the statue of the independence hero, Jon Sigurdsson. It turned and looked at Erlendur who stood motionless, waiting to see what would happen. A long time elapsed until finally the figure began to walk slowly back towards him.

On the way it removed its baseball cap, revealing thick, black hair, and when it reached him it untied the scarf from its face so that he could see who it was.

Hallur sat between his parents, insisting that he knew nothing about the wood-carving knife that Anton claimed to have given him. The police had found his full name and address in the school register. He was acquainted with Doddi and Anton, who were the same age as him but in a different class. He did not know them well, however, as he was new to this part of town. His family had moved into the area about six months ago. Hallur was an only child, quite short, with a mane of unruly dark hair covering his eyes. He repeatedly flicked his head whenever his fringe blocked his view. He was very calm and looked wide-eyed at Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg in turn.

His parents were very eager to please. They were not at all annoyed at being disturbed so late in the evening by Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg. They chatted about the crazy weather that had been forecast and the mother offered the detectives coffee. They lived in a two-storey detached house.

“I expect you’re talking to lots of children from the school,” the mother said. “On account of that ghastly business. Are you getting anywhere with your inquiries?”

The father regarded them in silence.

“We’re making progress,” Elinborg said, her eyes on Hallur.

“We thought you’d probably call round,” the woman said. “Aren’t you talking to all the kids at the school? Do you know anything about this knife, Hallur dear?” she asked her son.

“No,” Hallur said a second time.

“I’ve never seen him with a knife,” she said. “I can’t imagine who could have told you that Hallur has this knife. I . . . it’s rather shocking when you come to think of it. I mean, that people can make wild accusations like that. Don’t you think?”

She looked at Elinborg as if they women should stand together.

“Still, it’s not as bad as having your child stabbed to death,” Elinborg said.

“We have no reason to disbelieve the testimony of the boys who told us,” Sigurdur Oli said.

“Do you know anything about these boys, Doddi and Anton?” the woman asked her husband. “I’ve never heard of them. We ought to know all Hallur’s friends.”

“They’re not his friends,” Sigurdur Oli said. “Though one of them, Anton, wants to be his friend. That’s why he gave Hallur the knife and delayed telling us about it for as long as possible. Isn’t that right?” he asked, looking at Hallur.

“I don’t really know Anton,” Hallur said. “I don’t know many people at school”

“He’s only been there since the autumn, since we moved,” his mother said.

“You moved, when, last summer?”

“Yes,” the mother answered.

“How have you settled into your new school?” Elinborg asked.

“You know,” Hallur said. “Fine.”