Arctic Chill (10 page)

'The Ode to Joy' filled the little room at the hospital.

'What's that music?' Marion asked, in a stupor from the strong painkillers.

Erlendur finally managed to fish his mobile out of his jacket pocket and answer. 'The Ode' fell silent.

'Hello,' Erlendur said.

He could hear that there was someone at the other end, but no one answered.

'Hello,' he said again in a louder voice.

No answer.

'Who is that?'

He was about to ring off when the caller hung up.

'I'll do that,' Erlendur said, putting his mobile back in his jacket pocket. 'I'll read that story to you.'

'I hope . .. that this . .. will be over soon,' Marion said. The patient's voice was hoarse and trembled slightly, as if it took a particular effort to produce it. 'It's ... no fun ... going through this.'

Erlendur smiled. His mobile began ringing again. 'The Ode to Joy'.

'Yes,' he said.

No one answered.

'Bloody messing about,' Erlendur snarled. 'Who is that?' he said roughly.

Still the line was silent.

'Who is that?' Erlendur repeated.

'I...'

'Yes? Hello!'

'Oh, God, I can't do it,' a weak female voice whispered in his ear.

Erlendur was startled by the despair in the voice. At first he thought it was his daughter calling. She had called him before in terrible straits, crying out for help. But this was not Eva.

'Who is that?' Erlendur said, his tone much gentler when he heard the woman on the other end weeping.

'Oh, God ...' she said, as if incapable of stringing a sentence together.

A moment passed in silence.

'It can't go on like this,' she said, and rang off.

'What? Hello?'

Erlendur shouted down the mobile but heard only the dialling tone in his ear. He checked the caller ID but it was blank. He noticed that Marion had fallen asleep again. He looked back at his mobile and suddenly in his mind's eye he saw a woman's bluish-white face rippling in the waves and looking up at him with dead eyes.

Erlendur sat in the interview room, his thoughts focused on the telephone call he had received at the hospital.
Oh God, I can't do it,
the weak voice groaned over and over in his mind, and he could not avoid the thought that the woman who had disappeared before Christmas might have just got in touch for the first time. She could have obtained his mobile number from the police switchboard without difficulty. It was his work number. His name had sometimes appeared in the papers in connection with police investigations. It had appeared in connection with the missing woman and now because of Elías's death. Not knowing the woman's voice, Erlendur could not tell whether it actually was her, but he intended to talk to her husband as soon as the opportunity arose.

He recalled having once read that only five per cent of marriages or relationships that began with infidelity lasted for life. That did not strike him as a high proportion and he wondered whether it was, in fact, difficult to build up a trusting relationship after betraying others. Or maybe it was too harsh to talk of betrayal. Perhaps the prior relationships had been changing and evolving and new love was kindled at a sensitive moment. That happened and was always happening. The woman who vanished felt that she had found true love, judging by her friends' remarks. She loved her new husband with all her heart.

The friends with whom she stayed in contact after the divorce stressed that point when Erlendur was seeking explanations for her disappearance. She had left her first husband and married for the second time with due ceremony. She was said to be very down-to-earth and realistic, then suddenly it was as if she had been transformed. Her friends did not doubt that her love for her new husband was genuine, and she always implied that her former marriage had run its course and she herself was 'completely different', as one of her friends put it. When Erlendur asked her to elaborate, it transpired that the woman had been elated after her divorce, talking about a new life and that she had never felt better. A grand wedding was held. They were married by a popular vicar. A huge crowd of guests celebrated with the couple on a lovely summer's day. They took a three-week honeymoon in Tuscany. When they returned they were relaxed, tanned and radiant.

All that was missing from the beautiful wedding was her children. Her ex refused to let them take part in 'that circus'.

It was not long before the expectation and excitement faded and turned into their opposite. Her friends described how, over time, the woman had been overwhelmed by sadness and regret, and ultimately by guilt at how she had treated her family. It did not help that her new husband's ex accused her constantly of destroying their family. His children moved in with them while she was fighting for custody of her own kids, a constant reminder of her culpability. All this was accompanied by crippling depression.

It was not the first time her new husband had been divorced following an affair. Erlendur found out that he had been married three times. He traced his first wife, who lived in Hafnarfjördur and had long since remarried and had a child. Exactly the same process had taken place in that case. The husband excused his absences from home on the grounds of long meetings, travelling around the country for work, golf trips. Then one day, quite unexpectedly, he announced that it was all over, they had grown apart and he was planning to move out. All this struck his wife like a bolt from the blue. She had not been aware of any fatigue in their relationship, only of his absence.

Erlendur also spoke to wife number two. She had not remarried and he sensed that she had not yet recovered from the divorce. She described the process in detail, accusing herself of not being wary enough. Trying to take her side, Erlendur said she was probably lucky to be rid of him. She gave a thin smile. 'I'm mainly thinking about the children,' she said. She had been unaware that he was married when he first began courting her. It was not until their relationship was several months old that he had said rather sheepishly that he had something to tell her. They were at a small hotel in the countryside where he had invited her to spend the night, and as they were sitting in the dining room that evening he announced that he had a wife. She stared at him in disbelief, but he was quick to add that his marriage was in ruins, it was only a question of time as to when he would leave her and he had told her so. She gave him an earful for not telling her he was married, but he managed to calm her down and win her over.

After hearing this testimony and others from friends of the missing woman, Erlendur began to detest the man. He knew that the more time that elapsed, the more likely it was that she had committed suicide, and the accounts of her depression supported that theory. But the unexpected telephone call had kindled a hope within him that this was not the case. It kindled the hope that she had moved out from her marital home and did not want her husband to discover her whereabouts; that she was hiding from him and did not know where to turn.

Only two years had passed since the fairytale wedding when
the woman started whispering to a close friend of hers that her husband had
begun to take part in weekend golf tournaments that she had never heard of.

Erlendur broke away from his thoughts and nodded to Sigurdur Óli, who sat down beside him in the interview room. Now the interrogation could begin. The man sitting in front of them was in his mid-forties. Since the age of twenty he had repeatedly been involved with the police for offences of varying degrees of seriousness: burglary, robbery and assault, in some cases very brutal. He lived two blocks away from Sunee and the boys. The police had compiled a list of repeat offenders who could possibly have crossed Elías's path on his way home from school. This man was top of that list.

The police had obtained a search warrant for his flat when they brought him in for questioning earlier that morning and had discovered large quantities of pornography, including child pornography. It was enough to bring charges against him yet again.

His name was Andrés and he looked at Erlendur and Sigurdur Óli in turn, prepared for the worst. A lifelong alcoholic who showed all the signs: his expression drowsy and bleary, his little eyes shifty and questioning. He was a fairly short man, stocky and strongly built.

Erlendur knew him. He had arrested Andrés more than once.

'What are you hassling me for?' Andrés asked, rough and ragged from persistent drinking, his eyes darting from one officer to the other. 'What's going on?' He tried to make this sound manly, but it ended in a little squeak.

'Do you know a boy by the name of Elías who lives in your neighbourhood?' Erlendur asked. 'Dark-skinned, of Thai descent. Ten years old.'

A tape recorder lay on the table between them, whirring softly. Given Andrés's state of intoxication when he was taken into custody, he could well claim not to have heard about Elías's murder. However, there was no believing a word he said.

'I don't know anything about any Elías,' Andrés said. Are you going to charge me? What are you going to charge me with? I haven't done a thing. Why are you picking on me?'

'Don't worry,' Sigurdur Óli said.

'What Elías are you talking about?' Andrés said, looking at Erlendur.

'Do you remember where you were yesterday afternoon?'

At home,' Andrés said. 'I was at home. I was home all day, all yesterday I mean. What boy are you talking about?'

A ten-year-old boy was stabbed to death two blocks away from you,' Erlendur said. 'Was anyone with you yesterday? Can anyone confirm your alibi?'

A boy killed?' Andrés said, shocked. 'Who ... ? Stabbed?'

'Do you even know what day it is today?' Erlendur asked.

Andrés shook his head.

'Please speak into the tape recorder,' Sigurdur Óli said.

'I don't know. I didn't attack any boy. I don't know about any attack. I don't know anything. I haven't done anything wrong. Why can't you leave me alone?'

'Do you know the boy?' Erlendur asked.

Andrés shook his head. Sigurdur Óli pointed a finger at the tape recorder.

'I don't know what you're talking about'

'He has a brother, five years older,' Erlendur said. 'They moved into the neighbourhood last spring. You've lived there for more than five years. You must notice the locals. You must keep up with what's going on. Don't turn this into a pantomime.'

'A pantomime? I haven't done anything.'

'Do you know this boy?' Erlendur asked, taking a photograph of Elías from his coat pocket and handing it to Andrés.

He pored over the child's face.

'I don't know him,' he said.

'You've never bumped into him?' Erlendur asked.

Before Erlendur entered the interview room he had been told that a detailed search of the man's flat had not provided any indication of whether Elías or Niran had ever been there. However, Andrés had behaved very strangely when the police finally managed to break into his flat. He had not answered when they knocked on the door. When the police broke it down they were greeted by wretched squalor and an appalling stench. The door was double-locked and Andrés was found hiding under his bed. He screamed for help as he was dragged out. He thrashed around, apparently unaware that he was in the hands of the police but under the impression he was wrestling with an imaginary adversary to whom he repeatedly pleaded for mercy.

'I might have seen him in the neighbourhood some time but I don't know him,' Andrés said. 'I haven't done anything to him.'

His eyes darted back and forth, as if he had to make a decision but was hesitant. Perhaps he thought that he needed to bargain to get off. Sigurdur Óli was poised to speak, but Erlendur tugged at him and gestured to him to keep quiet. Andrés seemed to approve of that.

'Would you leave me alone then?' he eventually said.

'If what?' Erlendur said.

'Would you let me go home then?'

'Your flat was crammed with child pornography,' Sigurdur Óli said, not concealing the disgust in his voice. Erlendur had urged him to try not to show disrespect to criminals, as Sigurdur Óli had a tendency of doing. Nothing annoyed him more than middle-aged repeat offenders who were always in the same mess.

'If what?' Erlendur repeated.

'If I tell you.'

'I told you not to turn this into a bloody pantomime,' Erlendur said. 'Say what you want to tell us. Stop beating about the bush.'

'I guess it's a year since he moved into the area,' Andrés said.

'Elías moved in the spring, like I said.'

'I'm not talking about that boy,' Andrés said and looked at each of them in turn.

'Who then?'

'He's showing his age, the old git. That was the first thing I noticed.'

'What are you talking about?' Sigurdur Óli snapped.

A man I reckon has more porn in his possession than I do,' Andrés said.

Sigurdur Óli and Erlendur exchanged glances.

'I've never killed anyone,' Andrés said. 'You know that. You have to believe me, Erlendur. I've never killed anyone.'

'Don't try and turn me into your confidant,' Erlendur said.

'I've never killed anyone,' Andrés repeated.

Erlendur watched him in silence.

'I've never killed anyone,' Andrés said yet again.

'You kill everything you touch,' Erlendur said.

'What man are you talking about?' Sigurdur Óli asked. 'What man moved to the area?'

Instead of answering him, Andrés focused his glare on Erlendur.

'What man is this, Andrés?' Erlendur asked.

Andrés leaned forward over the table and inclined his head slightly, like an elderly aunt giving a kindly greeting to a little child.

'He's the nightmare I can never shake off.'

Elínborg was waiting to meet Elías's teacher at the school the boy and his brother had attended before they moved from Snorrabraut. Having been told that a meeting was just finishing, she sat outside the closed classroom and thought about her youngest child, a daughter, who was still at home with gastric flu. Her husband, a car mechanic, would spend the first part of the day with her, then Elínborg would take over.

The classroom door opened and a middle-aged woman greeted her. During the meeting, she had been passed a note that the police wanted to talk to her. Elínborg shook the woman's hand, introduced herself and said she needed to talk to her in connection with Elías's murder, which she had doubtless heard about. The woman gave a sad nod.

'We were talking about that at the meeting,' she said in a low voice. 'Words can't describe that, that sort of... outrage. Who would do something like that? Who on earth would be capable of attacking a child?'

'We intend to find out,' Elínborg said, looking all around in search of a place where they could talk together without being disturbed.

The woman, whose name was Emilía, was petite with long, dark hair in a ponytail, just beginning to turn grey. She said that they could sit inside the classroom: the children were at a music lesson and it was empty. Elínborg followed her. Pupils' drawings were pinned up on all the walls and displayed different stages of maturity, from matchstick men to proper portraits. Elínborg noticed a few traditional pictures: Icelandic farmhouses, at the foot of a mountain with a bright blue sky, wisps of cloud and a brilliant sun. She remembered that classic theme from her own schooldays and was silently surprised at its longevity.

'This one's by Elías,' Emilía said, taking out a picture from a drawer in the teacher's desk. 'They never came to fetch his artwork when he left this school and I didn't want to throw this one away. It shows how genuinely talented he was at drawing, at such a young age.'

Elínborg took the picture. The teacher was right, it showed that Elías had an exceptional command of drawing. He had drawn a female face with unnaturally large brown eyes, dark hair and a broad smile, bathed in bright colours.

'It's supposed to be his mother,' Emilía smiled. 'Those poor people, having to go through all this.'

'Did you teach him from the time he started school?' Elínborg asked.

'Yes, from the age of six, I guess, only four years back. He was such a nice, sweet boy. A bit of a dreamer. Sometimes he had trouble concentrating on his schoolwork and it took some effort on my part to get him to apply himself. He could stare into space for hours on end and be off in a world of his own.'

Emilía stopped talking and turned pensive.

'It must be difficult for Sunee,' she said.

'Yes, of course, really difficult,' Elínborg said.

'She always showed the boys such love,' the teacher said, pointing at the drawing. 'I taught them both, Elías's brother Niran too. He didn't speak Icelandic well at all. I'm told they mainly spoke Thai at home and I discussed the fact with Sunee, how it could cause them problems. Her Icelandic was so-so and she preferred to have an interpreter with her at parents' meetings.'

'What about the father? Did you get to know him?' Elínborg asked.

'No, not at all. He never attended any events here, not the Christmas party or anything of that sort. Never came to parents' meetings, for example. She always came by herself

'Moving to a new part of town and a new school might have been tough for Elías,' Elínborg said. 'It's not certain that he adapted to the new school. He hadn't made any friends and he spent a lot of time alone.'

'I can believe that,' Emilía said. 'I remember what he was like when he started at this school. I thought he would never let go of his mother. It took me and the class welfare officer ages to get him to relax and realise that everything would be fine even if Sunee went.'

'What about Niran?'

'The brothers are so different,' Emilía said. 'Niran is tough. He'd survive anywhere. There's not a hint of the whiner about him.'

'Did they get on well together, the brothers?'

'As far as I could see, Niran took very good care of his brother and I know Elías worshipped him. He made a lot of drawings of Niran. The difference between them was that Elías wanted to fit in, to be part of the class. Niran was more of a rebel, against the class, the teachers, the school authorities, the older pupils. There was a group of immigrant kids here, five or six boys that Niran went around with a lot. They kept themselves to themselves and did little schoolwork, because they had absolutely no interest in Icelandic history or anything like that. Once they fought with some Icelanders. This was outside school hours. It was in the evening and the gangs fought with sticks and broke windows. You hear about that sort of thing sometimes. You must be familiar with it'

'Yes, we are,' Elínborg said. 'Generally it's to do with girls.'

'The two ringleaders moved away from this part of town in the last school year and it died down. It only takes a tiny minority. Then Elías and Niran changed schools. I haven't seen either of them since. And then you hear this on the news and can't understand what's going on.'

Emilía spoke quickly, almost gabbling. Elínborg refused to be drawn and dodged all her questions about how the boys had been doing since they left the area and about Sunee's personal circumstances. Emilía was an inquisitive woman and not afraid to show it. Elínborg liked her but did not want to reveal any details of the case. She merely said that it was at a very early stage. Emilía's curiosity was understandable. Elías's murder dominated the media. The police had probably talked to almost a hundred people in the neighbourhood, the surrounding blocks of flats, the school and nearby shops. Photographs of Elías were being circulated and attempts made to trace his precise movements on the fateful day. Witnesses who might have seen him on his way back from school were asked to come forward. Nothing concrete had come out of it yet. The only solid evidence the police had was that Elías had left school alone and was going home when he was stopped on the way.

Elínborg smiled and looked at the clock. She thanked Emilía for her comprehensive answers and the teacher accompanied her down the corridor to one of the exits. They shook hands.

'So you're no closer?' Emilía said.

'No,' Elínborg said. 'No closer.'

'Well,' Emilía said, 'as it happens I... Is Sunee still with that man of hers?'

'No ... ?'

'That was one of Elías's drawings,' Emilía hurried to say. 'It showed his mother, who he often drew, with a man beside her. This was in the spring, after they'd moved away but while the boys were still at this school. I remember asking Elías who it was. It just sort of slipped out'

Didn't it just? Elínborg thought to herself. It was as if Emilía was aware herself of how inquisitive she was.

'And he said the man was his mother's friend.'

'Really?' Elínborg said. 'Did you ask the boy his name?'

'Actually, I did.' Emilía smiled. 'Elías said he didn't know. Or he didn't tell me anyway.'

And the man on the drawing, what... ?'

'He could well have been Icelandic'

'Icelandic?'

'Yes. I didn't want to be nosy but I had the feeling that Elías
liked him a lot.'

Andrés leaned back in his chair in the interview room. A click was heard as the tape came to an end and stopped recording. Sigurdur Óli reached out, turned the tape over and started the recording again. Erlendur stared at Andrés all the time.

'What's that about the nightmare you can never shake off?' he asked. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I doubt you'd want to hear it,' Andrés said. 'I doubt anyone would want to hear about such evil.'

'Who is this man?' Sigurdur Óli asked.

'Do you mean he did something to you?'

Andrés said nothing.

'Are you saying he's a paedophile?' Erlendur asked.

Andrés sat in silence, looking at Erlendur.

'I haven't seen him for years,' he said eventually. 'Years on end. Not until suddenly ... I guess it was a year ago.' Andrés stopped talking.

'And?'

'It was like meeting your executioner,' Andrés said. 'He didn't see me. He doesn't know that I know about him. I know where he lives.'

'Where's that? Where does he live? Who is this man?' Sigurdur Óli showered Andrés with questions but he sat completely unmoved, looking at Sigurdur Óli as if he were absolutely irrelevant to him.

'I might well pay him a visit one day,' Andrés said. 'To say hello. I reckon I could handle him now. I reckon I could get the better of him.'

'But first you needed some Dutch courage,' Erlendur said.

Andrés did not answer.

'You had to run off and hide first?'

'I always hid. You should know how good I was at concealing myself. I found new hiding places all the time and tried to make myself as small as I could.'

'Do you think he hurt the boy?' Erlendur asked.

'Maybe he gave up ages ago. I don't know. Like I say, I haven't seen him all these years and suddenly he's my neighbour. Suddenly, after all these years, he walks past on the other side of the street from where I live. You can't imagine what I really saw when he walked past. I mean up here,' Andrés said, tapping his index finger against his temple.

'Do you think he's on our paedophile register?' Erlendur asked.

'I doubt it.'

'Are you going to tell us how to find him?' Sigurdur Óli asked.

Andrés did not reply.

'Who is he?' Sigurdur Óli asked, trying a new approach. 'We can help you to get him. If you want to charge him. We can lock him up with your help. Is that what you want? Will you tell us who he is so we can throw him in the nick?'

Andrés started to laugh in his face.

'This guy's the dog's bollocks,' he said with a look at Erlendur.

Then suddenly he stopped laughing. He leaned forward in Sigurdur Óli's direction.

'Who's going to believe a scumbag like me?'

Erlendur's mobile phone started to ring. 'The Ode to Joy' filled the interview room and Erlendur tried to dig out his phone as fast as he could. He hated that ringtone. He pressed the answer button. Sigurdur Óli watched him. Andrés had clammed up. Erlendur listened and his face darkened. He rang off without saying goodbye and cursed as he leaped to his feet.

'Can this bloody mess get any worse?' he hissed through clenched
teeth and rushed out of the room.

The police officer had second thoughts on his way back to the block of flats. The interpreter had popped out in her car but on the way she had asked him to fetch some bread and milk for the Thai woman and her son, who were alone in the flat. He had been in the force for two years and didn't find this job worse than any other. He had been caught up in the downtown mêlées when the weekend celebrations reached their peak. He had been called out to terrible road accidents. None of them affected him much. They described him as promising. He aimed for promotion within the police. Now he had been given the job of standing guard at the home of the Thai woman and her son. All morning, a series of experts from various agencies had trooped up the stairs to her flat, and he had stood there, asking their names, occupations and business. He let them all in. They all came straight back down. The Thai woman wanted to be left alone with her child. He could understand that. What a tragedy she had suffered.

Then the interpreter came hurrying downstairs, handed him some money and a small shopping list and asked him to buy the items for the mother and son upstairs. He refused politely, shaking his head with a smile and saying he was not allowed to leave. Unfortunately, he just couldn't. He was a policeman. Not an errand boy.

'It'll only take five minutes,' the interpreter said. 'I'd do it myself but I'm in a rush.'

Then she ran over to her car and drove off.

He was left standing there with the shopping list and the banknote and a conscience that he struggled with, but only for a moment. Then he hurried off too. He wasn't long at all, as he told that Erlendur bloke who tore him off such a strip that he almost burst into tears. Perhaps he should have called for assistance. Perhaps he should not have gone on that ridiculous errand, which reminded him of when he was a child and his mother was always sending him out to the shop. Perhaps that was the point: he had acted instinctively and forgot himself for a moment. He had flicked through a trashy magazine containing stories of celebrity divorces, but did not dare to tell the inspector about that part of his journey. The old man was so worked up that he thought he would knock him senseless. Sigurdur Óli, whom he knew slightly, had to step in to restrain the inspector.

When he came back from the shop he ran up the stairs and rang the bell. Then he knocked on the door but there was no reply. Eventually he opened it and called in, 'Hello!' The door was not locked. No one answered him. He walked around the flat, calling out in all directions. He received no reply. The flat was empty.

He stood like an idiot with a plastic shopping bag in his hand and could hardly muster the courage to inform the station that Sunee and her boy had gone missing.