“She’s no better than anyone else,” Erlendur said. “I’m not comparing you. You shouldn’t either.”
“Isn’t she the first woman you’ve been with since you left us? She must have something.”
“You ought to meet her.”
“I want to see you.”
“Do, then.”
“Bye.”
Eva rang off and Erlendur put his mobile in his pocket.
He had seen Valgerdur two days before. She came round to his flat in the evening when her shift was over and he gave her a glass of Chartreuse. She told him she had applied formally for a divorce from her husband, the doctor, and had appointed a lawyer.
Valgerdur was a biotechnician at the National Hospital. Erlendur had met her by chance during a murder investigation and found out that she was having problems in her private life. She was married but her husband had repeatedly cheated on her and she had eventually left him. She and Erlendur decided to take things slowly. They did not live together. Valgerdur wanted to live by herself for a while after her long marriage and Erlendur had not lived with a woman for decades. Nor was there any hurry. Erlendur liked being alone. Sometimes she telephoned him, wanting to visit. Sometimes they went out for a meal together. Once she had succeeded in dragging him along to the theatre, to see Ibsen. He had nodded off fifteen minutes into the play. In vain she tried to nudge him awake but he slept most of the time until the interval when they decided to go home. “All that artificial drama,” he had said by way of an apology, “it does nothing for me.”
“Theatre is reality too,” she’d protested.
“Not like this,” he’d said, handing her volume two of Stories of Rural Postmen.
Erlendur had lent her some of his books that described ordeals in the wilderness and how people had frozen to death outdoors in Iceland in the old days, and others about death and destruction caused by avalanches. Although apprehensive at first, the more accounts she read, the more her interest had become aroused. Erlendur’s interest in the topic was unquenchable.
“The lawyer thinks we can divide everything up more or less equally,” she said, sipping her liqueur.
“That’s good,” Erlendur said. He knew they had lived in a large detached house close to the old children’s hospital and wondered which of them would get the house. He asked whether it was important to her.
“No,” she said. “He was always much fonder of the house. Apparently he’s found himself a new woman.”
“Really?”
“Someone from the hospital. A young nurse.”
“Do you think anyone can create a good relationship when both parties have been unfaithful?” he asked, thinking about a missing-person case he was investigating. “Do you think anyone can create a good, solid relationship if they’ve both cheated before?”
“I didn’t,” Valgerdur said. “He repeatedly cheated on me with any woman who would stand still long enough.”
“I’m not talking about you, but about a case I’m dealing with.”
“The missing woman?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think they both cheated before they got together?”
Erlendur nodded. He rarely discussed the cases he was handling with anyone else. Valgerdur was an exception. So was Eva.
“I don’t know,” Valgerdur said. “Obviously it can be difficult if both parties have left their spouses under circumstances like that. There are bound to be repercussions.”
“Why shouldn’t it happen again?” Erlendur asked.
“You shouldn’t forget about love though.”
“Love?”
“You shouldn’t underestimate love. Sometimes two people are prepared to sacrifice everything for a new relationship. Maybe that’s true love.”
“Yes, but what if one of them finds this true love at regular intervals?” Erlendur said.
“Did she leave on account of his cheating? Had he started again?”
“I don’t know,” Erlendur said.
“Were you cheating when you got divorced?”
Surprised at the question, he smiled.
“No,” he said. “I have no idea how to go about that sort of thing. In Icelandic, we talk about practising adultery. Like a hobby or a sport.”
“So you’re wondering whether the man betrayed this woman’s trust?”
Erlendur shrugged.
“Why did she disappear?”
“That’s the question.”
“You don’t know any more than that?”
“Not really.”
Valgerdur paused.
“How can you drink this Chartreuse?” she asked with a grimace.
“I happen to like it,” Erlendur smiled.
When Erlendur went back to Sunee’s flat her ex-mother-in-law had arrived, a fairly slim, intense woman aged about sixty. She had rushed up the stairs and hugged Sunee, who was waiting for her on the landing. Sunee seemed relieved to have Elias’s grandmother with her. Erlendur sensed that their relationship was warm. They had not yet been able to contact Elias’s father. He was not at home and his mobile was switched off. Sunee thought he had recently changed jobs and did not know the name of the company he worked for.
The grandmother talked to Sunee in half-whispers. Her brother and the interpreter stood a little way off, to give them space. Erlendur looked up at the red lampshade with the yellow dragon on it. The dragon seemed to be curled around a little dog, but he could not work out whether it was to protect or to curse the dog.
“Such a terrible tragedy!” The woman sighed and looked at the interpreter, whom she seemed to recognise. “Who could have done such a thing?”
Sunee said something to her brother and they went into the kitchen with Gudny.
The grandmother looked over and noticed Erlendur.
“And who are you?” she asked.
Erlendur explained his involvement in the case. The woman introduced herself as Sigridur. She asked Erlendur to tell her exactly what had happened, what the police were doing, what hypotheses were being put forward and whether any clues had been found. Erlendur answered her as best he could, but he had very little concrete information. This seemed to irritate her, as if he were withholding details. She told him as much. He assured her that this was not the case, the investigation was just beginning and they did not have much to go on as yet.
“Not much to go on! A ten-year-old boy is stabbed and you claim you don’t have much to go on?”
“My condolences about the boy,” Erlendur said. “Of course we’re doing everything in our power to work out what happened and find the culprit.”
He had been in this position before, standing in the homes of people who were paralysed by grief over something incomprehensible and unbearable. He knew the denial and anger. The incident was so overwhelming that it was impossible to face up to and the mind seized on anything to ease the pain, as if the situation could still somehow be put right.
Erlendur knew this sensation, had felt it since he was ten years old and he and his younger brother Bergur had got lost in a storm. For a while there was a genuine hope that his brother would be found alive after burying himself in the snow as Erlendur had done, and it was this hope that drove people on to search for him, long after his brother’s fate had been sealed. The body was never found. When the hope began to wane by the day and then vanished by the week and month and year, it was replaced by a feeling of numbness towards life. Some people managed to keep it at bay. Others, like Erlendur, nurtured it and made the pain their lifelong companion.
He knew that it was crucial to find Elias’s half-brother Niran. He hoped that the boy would return home as soon as possible and be able to shed light on what had happened. The more time that elapsed without him turning up, the more Erlendur felt that his disappearance was somehow connected with the boy’s death. In the worst-case scenario, something had happened to Niran too, but he did not want to pursue that train of thought.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Sigridur
asked.
“Have you heard from his brother?” Erlendur asked.
“Niran? No, Sunee’s so worried about him.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” Erlendur said.
“Do you think something’s happened to him as well?” Sigridur asked in horror.
“I doubt it,” Erlendur said.
“He must come home,” Sigridur said. “Sunee must get him back home.”
“He’ll be back,” Erlendur said calmly. “Can you imagine where he might be? He should have got back from school a long time ago. His mother said he’s not supposed to be at any extra courses or football practice or anything like that.”
“I don’t have the faintest idea where he could be,” Sigridur said. “I don’t have much contact with him.”
“What about their old friends from when they lived on Snorrabraut?” Erlendur asked. “Could he be with them?”
“I have no idea.”
“The boys haven’t been living here long?”
“No. They moved from Snorrabraut in the spring. The boys had to change schools this autumn. I think it’s been terribly difficult for them, first the divorce, then moving to a new part of town and starting at a new school”
“I need to speak to your son,” Erlendur said.
“Me too,” Sigridur said. “He’s working for a new firm of contractors and I don’t know the name.”
“I understand that Sunee wasn’t his first foreign wife.”
“I can’t understand the boy,” Sigridur said. “I’ve never been able to figure him out. And you’re right. Sunee was his second wife from Thailand.”
“Did the brothers get on well?” Erlendur asked cautiously. She could sense his hesitation.
“Get on well? Of course. What do you mean? Of course they got on well.”
She moved a step closer to Erlendur.
“You think he did it, do you?” she whispered. “You think Niran attacked his own brother? Are you crazy?”
“Not at all,” Erlendur said. “I—”
“Wouldn’t that be an easy solution?” Sigridur said sarcastically.
“You mustn’t misunderstand me,” Erlendur said.
“Misunderstand? I’m not misunderstanding anything,” Sigridur hissed between clenched teeth. “You think this is just a case of Thais killing each other, don’t you? Wouldn’t that be convenient for you and for the rest of us? They’re just Thais! None of our business. Is that what you’re saying?”
Erlendur hesitated. Maybe it was too early to ask the closest relatives about the boys” relationship. He should not be sowing suspicion with his tentative questions, causing even more anger and bewilderment.
“I’m sorry if I implied anything of the kind,” Erlendur said calmly. “But we have to look for information, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. It’s never crossed my mind that the elder boy had anything to do with this, but I think the sooner we find him, the better for everyone concerned.”
“Niran will come home soon,” Sigridur said.
“Could he have gone to see his stepfather? Odinn?”
“I doubt it. They don’t get on. My son …”
Sigridur hesitated now. Erlendur waited patiently.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed.
Sigridur explained that she had lived in the countryside until recently and had only been to Reykjavik a couple of times a year for short visits. She always visited her son’s family and sometimes stayed with them, although the flat on Snorrabraut was small. She had the impression that her son was not particularly happy, and even though Sunee never complained she could tell that all was not well with their marriage. This was around the time Sunee told him she had another son in Thailand who she wanted to send for.
Odinn had not told his mother about Sunee when he met her. He had had another wife from Thailand before Sunee came on the scene. She had left him after three years. When he sent for her he had never seen her face to face, only in photographs. She was granted a month’s visa to stay in Iceland. They got married two weeks after she arrived. She had brought all the necessary papers with her from Thailand in order to make the marriage legal.
“She moved to Denmark later,” Sigridur said. “Probably only came here to get an Icelandic passport.”
The next thing Sigridur knew was that Odinn had met Sunee and married her. The two women hit it off straight away. Sigridur had been apprehensive about meeting her new daughter-in-law after what had happened before and was anxious about the new relationship. She tried not to display any prejudice and was relieved when she shook Sunee’s hand. She could tell at once that she had character. The first thing she noticed was how Sunee had transformed the squalid flat on Snorrabraut into a beautiful, tidy home with a strong Asian ambience. She had brought along or sent for objects from Thailand to decorate the home: statues of Buddha, pictures and various pretty ornaments.
Although she only visited Reykjavik intermittently at that time, Sigridur tried to make life in Iceland easier for Sunee. Her daughter-in-law did not understand the language and had great difficulty in picking it up. She spoke little English, and Sigridur knew anyway that her son had never been the sociable type and had few friends who could help Sunee adapt to a new lifestyle and a completely different society. Gradually Sunee got to know other Thai women who helped her to find her feet, but she had no Icelandic friends with the possible exception of her mother-in-law.
Sigridur admired Sunee’s readiness to accept the darkness and cold of her strange new environment. “Just dress better warm,” Sunee would say, smiling and positive. Odinn was not always happy with his mother’s interference. They had argued after she found out that he was annoyed when Sunee spoke Thai to the boy. By that time she had begun to speak a little Icelandic. “I don’t know what she’s telling the kid,” Odinn complained to his mother. “He should speak Icelandic. He’s an Icelander! It’s what’s best for him. For the future.”
Sigridur described how she had subsequently found out that her son was not alone in that opinion. In some cases, Icelandic husbands forbade their Asian wives from speaking their native tongue to the children, because they could not understand it themselves. When the mother spoke poor Icelandic or none at all, it hampered the child’s linguistic development, which could affect its entire schooling. To some extent this was true of Elias, who excelled at mathematics but was weaker at subjects like Icelandic and spelling.
Odinn refused to discuss their divorce and would not listen to his mother when she talked about his obligations.
“It was a mistake,” he said. “I should never have married her!”
By now, Sigridur had moved to Reykjavik and kept in close touch with Sunee and Elias, whom she regarded as family. Even Niran, who was unhappy with his lot, was on good terms with her, the little he had to do with her. She tried to make her son pay Sunee what he owed her after the divorce, including her share in the flat, but he flatly refused on the grounds that he had owned the property before Sunee came along. Elias sometimes visited his grandmother and stayed with her; a good, kind boy who would do anything for her.
Niran had been at odds with his stepfather from the outset and had trouble adapting to Icelandic society. He was nine years old when he arrived in the country accompanied by Sunee’s younger brother Virote. Virote had stayed, found a job in a fish factory and dreamed of opening a Thai restaurant.
“Niran never regarded Odinn as his father, understandably,” Sigridur said. “They had nothing in common.”
“Who is Niran’s father?” Erlendur interjected.
Sigridur shrugged. “I’ve never asked,” she said.
“It must be tough for a boy like him to come to this country at that age and under those circumstances.”
“Naturally it was very difficult,” Sigridur said. “And still is. He’s not doing well at school and he’s something of an outsider in the community.”
“There are more like him,” Erlendur said. “They take refuge in each other, they have a co
mmon background. There have been clashes between them and the Icelandic kids, but not many and not serious either. Though maybe we’re seeing more weapons than before. Knuckledusters. Knives.”
“Niran isn’t a bad lad,” Sigridur said, “but I know Sunee’s worried about him. He always treated his brother kindly. Their relationship was rather special. They got on well together, I think, considering the circumstances. Sunee made sure of that”
Gudny came in from the kitchen.
“Sunee wants to go out and look for Niran,” she said. “I’m going with her.”
“Of course,” Erlendur said. “But I think it would be better to wait here for a while in case he turns up.”
“I’ll stay here in case he comes back,” Sigridur said.
“Sunee can’t just sit here and wait,” the interpreter said. “She has to get out. She has to do something.”
“I can perfectly understand that,” Erlendur said.
Sunee was in the hallway, putting on her anorak. The door to the boys” room was open and she looked inside. She went to the door and started speaking. The interpreter and Erlendur moved closer.
“He dreamed something,” the interpreter said. “When Elias woke up this morning he told her about a dream he had last night. A little bird came to him and Elias made a bird-house for it and they became friends, Elias and the bird.”
Sunee stood at the door to the boys” room and talked to the interpreter.
“He was a bit annoyed with his mother,” the interpreter said.
Sunee looked at Erlendur and continued with her account.
“He felt happy in the dream: he’d made a friend,” the interpreter said. “He was annoyed because she woke him up. Elias would have liked to stay in the dream for longer.”
Sunee recalled Elias on that last morning. He was lying in bed, trying to hold on to the dream about the bird; snuggled up under his too-small duvet in his too-small pyjamas. His skinny legs protruded a long way out of the bottoms. He was lying on his side, staring at the wall in the dark. She had turned on the light in the room but he reached over for the switch and turned it off again. His brother was already up. Sunee was late for work and could not find her purse. She called to Elias to get out of bed. She knew that he liked lying under the warm duvet, especially on cold, dark mornings with a long day ahead at school.
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