Arctic Chill (15 page)

Although no list of members was appended, the minutes contained a name that seemed familiar to Erlendur. He was sitting racking his brains about where he had heard it before when his mobile rang. He recognised the voice immediately.

'I know I mustn't call but I don't know what

The woman began to sob.

'...I don't know what to do.'

'Come and talk to me,' Erlendur said.

'I can't. I can't do it. It's so terrible how...'

'What?' Erlendur said.

'I want to,' the voice said. 'I do want to, but it's impossible.'

'Where are you?'

'I . . . '

The woman abandoned what she had been going to say and there was silence.

'I can help you,' Erlendur said. 'Tell me where you are and I'll help you.'

'I can't,' the voice said, and he could hear the woman crying down the phone. 'I can't . . . live like this . . .' She trailed off again.

'But you keep calling,' Erlendur said. 'You can't be in a good way if you're phoning me like this. I'll help you. Are you hiding because of him? Is it because of him that you're in hiding?'

'I'd do anything for him, that's why—' The woman broke off.

'We need to talk to you,' Erlendur said.

Silence.

'We can help you. I know it must be difficult but...'

'It should never have happened. Never

'Tell me where you are and we'll talk,' Erlendur said. 'It'll be all right. I promise.'

He waited with bated breath. All he could hear over the phone was the woman's sobbing. A long moment passed. Erlendur did not dare to speak. The woman was weighing up her options. His mind racing, he tried to find something to say to her to clinch the matter. Something about her husband. Her family. Her two children.

'Your children will certainly want to know—'

Erlendur got no further.

'Oh God!' the woman cried, and hung up.

Erlendur stared at the phone in his hand. The caller ID was blank like last time. He assumed the woman had called from a public payphone; the background noise had suggested as much. When he had her first call traced, it turned out to have been made from the Smáralind shopping mall. Information of this kind had little bearing as a rule. People who called the police from public payphones did so for a reason and avoided using phones near their home or workplace. The location would tell the police nothing.

Pensively, he shoved the phone back in his pocket. Why was the woman calling him? She disclosed no information. She did not tell him why she was in hiding. She did not mention her husband or reveal anything about what she was thinking. Maybe she felt it was enough to let him know that she was alive. She might even be trying to prevent him from looking for her. What was she concealing? Why had she left him?

He had got little response when he put the same questions to
her husband. The man shook his head as if he had no idea what was going on.
It was almost his sole reaction to the disappearance. It was not until after
New Year that Erlendur met his ex-wives and asked them what they thought could
have happened. One received him at her home in Hafnarfjördur; her husband
was abroad on business. The woman was eager to help Erlendur with his inquiries,
eager to tell him what a shit her ex-husband was. He listened to the diatribe,
then asked her if she thought her ex was capable of harming his new wife.
The answer came instantly.

'No question,' she said. 'I'm certain of it.'

'Why?'

'Men like him,' she said contemptuously, 'they're capable of anything.'

'Have you any proof of what you say?'

'No,' the woman said, 'I just know. He's the type. I bet he's started sleeping around again. Men like that never give up. It's like a disease. It's like a disease with those bastards.'

The other woman was more informative when she came, at her own request, to see Erlendur down at the station. She did not want him to come to her house. He described the case to her and she listened attentively, especially when he began to hint at the possibility that her ex-husband might be involved in his new wife's disappearance.

'Have you no idea what happened to her?' she asked, her eyes wandering around the office.

'Do you think he could have done something to her?' Erlendur asked.

'Is that what you think?'

'We don't think anything,' Erlendur said.

'Yes you do or you wouldn't be asking.'

'It's simply a routine inquiry,' Erlendur said. 'We try to consider every angle. It has no bearing on what we do or don't think.'

'You think he killed her,' the woman said, seeming to perk up.

'I don't think anything,' Erlendur said, more firmly this time.

'He's capable of anything,' the woman said.

'Why do you say that?'

'He once threatened me,' she said. 'Threatened to kill me. I refused to divorce him so he could get married for a third time to that bitch you're looking for. I said I'd never give him a divorce and he'd never be able to marry again. I was very angry, maybe even hysterical. A friend of mine told me about the affair, she'd heard people gossiping about it at work and told me. Everyone knew but me. Do you know how humiliating it is when everyone knows except the person who's being cheated on? I went berserk. He hit me. Then he said he'd kill me if I put up any fucking obstacles.'

'He threatened to kill you?'

'He said he'd throttle me nice and slow till I was dead.'

Erlendur started out of his musings. He looked down at the
book he had been perusing and his thoughts returned to the name recorded under
the minutes. He remembered who it might be. Sigurdur Óli had mentioned
the name and how bad-tempered and unpleasant he had been. If it was the same
man, Erlendur would have to bring forward the interview he had scheduled with
Kjartan, the school's Icelandic teacher.

His mobile rang. It was Elínborg. She had a printout listing Sunee's incoming calls over the last month. Some were from her ex-mother-in-law, others from the chocolate factory or friends, and twice she had been called from the school.

'Then the same number crops up eight times.'

'Whose is it?'

'It's a business number. An insurance company. It's the only unexpected number on this list, as far as I can see. There aren't many numbers.'

'Have you asked Sunee about it?'

'She claims not to recognise it. Says she vaguely remembers someone trying to sell insurance.'

'Do you think it's the boyfriend?'

'We'll soon find out.'

Ever since news of Elías's murder had passed like wildfire round the country, a steady trickle of people had been coming to the block of flats to lay flowers and cards on the spot where his body was found. Toys, teddy bears and model cars could be glimpsed among the bouquets. A memorial service was to be held for Elías in the garden that evening.

Elínborg and Sigurdur Óli were busy in the area. Twice they drove past and saw people laying flowers on the spot. Most of their day was spent interviewing Niran's friends individually. Their accounts tallied in all the main details; none of them admitted to knowing Niran's movements on the afternoon Elías was attacked, nor could they say where Sunee might have taken him. They flatly denied selling drugs at the school, dismissing it as a lie, and although they admitted that they had once come to blows in the school playground, they insisted that it had not been their fault. None of them had seen Elías that day. Two of them had hung around with Niran for a while after school but parted from him at about the time Elías was found. They had been by the chemist's. The two of them had spent the rest of the day together and seen no more of Niran. None was aware that Elías had any particular problems at school. They claimed they'd had no contact with Niran since Elías was found. As far as they knew, the brothers had a very good relationship.

The most talkative and helpful of the boys was called Kári. He seemed genuinely willing to help the police, whereas the other three were very reluctant, gave curt answers and volunteered nothing unless specifically asked. Kári's manner was different. Sigurdur Óli saw him last and was prepared for a fairly brief interview but it turned out to be quite the opposite. The boy was accompanied by his parents; his mother was from Thailand and his father from Iceland. They knew Sunee and her brother and talked of the tragic, incomprehensible event.

'Mostly people just go on about having nothing against immigrants,' the man said. He was an engineer and had taken time off work to provide moral support for his son. He sat at the kitchen table, a tallish, rather overweight figure, with his wife who was small and petite with a friendly, smiling face. The police had contacted them and both were clearly very concerned. The woman had also cut short her day at work as departmental manager at a pharmaceuticals company. The man was talking about his experience of Icelanders, as the husband of a foreigner.

Sigurdur Óli nodded. He was alone. Elínborg had been called away to deal with another matter.

'We say we have nothing against Asian immigrants, nothing against people coming over from Asia and settling here. It's exciting to eat out at Thai restaurants and experience an exotic culture, listen to different music. But when it comes to the crunch people always say that we shouldn't let in "too many" of those people,' the man said, making a sign for quotation marks with his fingers.

'We've discussed it so often,' the woman said, looking at her husband. 'I suppose it's understandable in a way. There are so few Icelanders; they're proud of their heritage and want to preserve it. Their tiny population makes them vulnerable to change. Then along come the immigrants and spoil everything. Many of the people who move here become isolated, whether they're from Asia or wherever, they never learn the language properly and remain outsiders. Others do a better job of fitting in; they realise how important it is and really work at it. Learning the language is absolutely key.'

Her husband nodded. Kári sat looking down at the floor, awaiting his turn.

'Wasn't there something about that on the news the other day?' the man said. 'Some problem with the Icelanders living in Denmark. Their children refused to learn Danish. That's no different, is it?'

'Of course immigration can cause problems,' the woman continued, her eyes on her husband. 'That's nothing new. It happens all over the world. The crucial thing is to help people adapt, though of course they have to show a willingness to adapt themselves if they really want a future in Iceland.'

'What's the worst sort of thing you hear?' Sigurdur Óli asked.

'Fuck off home, Thai bitch.'

She came right out with it, without the slightest hesitation or sign of the impact such words might have on her. As if she had been asked this before and had developed a thick skin to such abuse. As if it was just another fact of life. Kári darted a glance at his mother.

'Do you get the impression that prejudice is on the rise?'

'I don't know,' the man said.

'Do you experience prejudice at school?' Sigurdur Óli asked the boy.

Kári hesitated.

'No-o,' he said uncertainly.

'I don't think you can really expect him to admit to that sort of thing,' the man said. 'No one likes telling tales. Especially not after such a terrible thing has happened.'

'Some other kids have claimed that Kári and his friends are peddling dope at the school. They said it without hesitation.'

'Who said that?' the woman asked.

'It's just something we've heard,' Sigurdur Óli said. 'There's probably no need to take it too seriously at this stage. And I can tell you that the witness was not very reliable.'

'I've never sold any drugs,' Kári said.

'What about your friends?' Sigurdur Óli asked.

'No, they haven't either.'

'And Niran?'

'None of us have,' Kári said. 'It's a lie. We've never sold any drugs. They're lying.'

'Kári doesn't do drugs,' his father said. 'It's out of the question. He doesn't sell drugs either.'

'You would know, would you?' Sigurdur Óli asked.

'Yes, we would,' the man replied.

'Tell us about the trouble at school that we've been hearing about,' Sigurdur Óli said. 'What's really going on?'

Kári stared down at the floor.

'Tell them what you know,' his mother said. 'He hasn't been very happy at school this winter. Some days he hasn't wanted to go in. He thinks people are lying in wait for him, that some of the boys have got it in for him and want to attack him.'

'Mum!' Kári protested, looking at his mother as if she was giving away embarrassing secrets.

'One of Kári's friends was beaten up,' her husband said. 'The school authorities can't seem to do a thing. When there's trouble it seems they're powerless to act. A boy was suspended for a few days, that was it.'

'The school claims there's no overt racism or tension,' Sigurdur Óli said. 'No trouble or fighting beyond what you'd usually expect in a large school. I take it you wouldn't agree with that, judging from what Kári has told you?'

The man shrugged.

'What about Niran?'

'They often have a tough time, boys like Niran,' the woman said. 'It's not easy for them to adjust to a totally alien and remote culture, learn a difficult language, face open hostility, and so on.'

'They can get into trouble,' her husband added.

'Can you tell us anything about that, Kári?'

Kári cleared his throat awkwardly. Sigurdur Óli thought, not for the first time, that it was often better to talk to kids without their parents present.

'I don't know if you understand the seriousness of the matter,' Sigurdur Óli said.

'I think he understands perfectly well what's at stake,' the man said.

'I would be very grateful if you could help us.'

Kári looked from his parents to Sigurdur Óli.

'I don't know how he died,' he said. 'I didn't know Elías 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 Elías. 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?'

Kári 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. Kári 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 Óli said.

'That's right,' Kári said.

'Any idea why?'

Kári 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 Óli 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 Óli 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,' Kári's father interrupted. 'That's outrageous.'

'No way,' Kári said. 'He'd never hurt Elías. I'm certain of it. He always took care of Elías, he was always nice about him.'

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

'It wasn't anything serious,' Kári 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 Óli asked. 'If Niran's your leader?'

Kári 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 Óli asked.

'He's called Raggi,' Kári said. 'He's the main one.'

'Was it him who attacked one of you?'

'Yes.'

Sigurdur Óli 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,' Kári said, suddenly breaking the silence.

'Yes,' Sigurdur Óli said.

'It's not just... we say stuff too,' Kári 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?'

Kári nodded hesitantly.

'They're all right, though there is one who hates immigrants.'

'Who's that?'

Kári glanced at his father.

'Kjartan.'

'And what does he do?'

'He can't stand us,' Kári 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?' Kári's father gasped. 'Why didn't you tell us?'

'They had an argument,' Kári 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 Elías died.'

The insurance company's public relations officer sat opposite Elínborg, 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. Elínborg 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,' Elínborg said.

'And you want to know ... ?'

'Whether someone from this office has been phoning his home,' Elínborg said.

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

As she had already explained this, Elínborg 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.