'Shouldn't you have—'
'Surely, as an absolute minimum we should be allowed to foster our own culture, even if people of other nationalities move here.'
'Shouldn't you have gone back to your class ages ago?' Erlendur asked when he finally got a word in edgeways. Egill did not appear to have noticed that the break had ended long ago.
'I have a free period now,' Egill said, making ruminatory noises. 'I totally agree that society is changing and we have to respond right from the start in a positive fashion. It's important to step in and eradicate prejudice. Everyone should have the same opportunities and if children of foreign parents have more trouble in achieving at school and entering further education, then that needs to be put right. Start right away in kindergarten. Anyway, I don't think you should waste your time on me just because I wrangle a bit at meetings. There are plenty of more obvious things to consider here when children get stabbed.'
'I'm gathering information, that's my job. Did you have any particular dealings with the brothers, Elías or Niran?'
'No, nothing special. They hadn't been at the school long. I believe they moved to this part of town in the spring and ended up at this school in the autumn. I taught Elías; I suppose the last time would have been the day before yesterday. The lad was clever with his hands. We don't do complicated tasks with that age group, just sawing and that sort of thing.'
'Was he well liked in his class?'
'As far as I could see. He was just one of the kids.'
'Are you ever aware of clashes between the immigrant pupils and the others?' Erlendur asked.
'There's not much of that sort of thing,' Egill said, stroking his beard. 'Though you do get certain cliques forming. I don't like that Icelandic teacher of ours, Kjartan. I think he causes friction in that respect. Half-bonkers, the poor sod. Had to give up a career in handball just when he was reaching the top. That sort of thing can unbalance people. But you ought to talk to him about these issues. He knows more about them than I do.'
They fell silent. The playground was quiet.
'So everything's going to hell?' Erlendur said eventually.
'I'm afraid it is.'
They sat for a while in the smoke-filled car and then Erlendur started thinking about Sigurdur Óli, who had once been a pupil at the school. It occurred to him to ask Egill. The woodwork teacher needed to think hard before he remembered a boy who had been there all those years ago, a terribly flashy sort.
'It's amazing what you can and can't remember about those kids,' Egill said. 'I think his dad was a plumber.'
'A plumber?' Erlendur said. He knew nothing about Sigurdur Óli apart from what he saw of him at work, even though they had been investigating crimes together for years. They never discussed their private lives, were both content not to. That, at least, they had in common.
'And a rabid communist,' Egill added. 'He attracted quite a bit of attention in those days, because it was always him who came to parents' meetings and school events. It was exceptional then for fathers to be seen with their children at school. He always turned up, the old bugger, and delivered thundering speeches about the bloody conservatives.'
'What about the mother?'
'I never saw her,' Egill said. 'They used to call him something, the old man. Some plumbing term. My brother's a plumber and recognised him immediately. What was it again that they used to call him?'
Erlendur glanced sideways at the red lump. It was turning paler again.
'Why can't I remember that?' Egill said.
'I don't need to know,' Erlendur said.
'Yes. Now I remember. They called him Permaflush.'
Finnur, the third-form teacher, was sitting in the staff room. His class was having a music lesson and he was marking papers when Elínborg disturbed him. The school secretary had told her where to find him.
'I understand you've been involved in a dispute with another teacher here by the name of Kjartan,' Elínborg said after introducing herself.
'There's certainly no love lost between Kjartan and me,' Finnur said. He was in his early thirties, thin, with a mop of dark hair and wearing a fleece jacket and jeans.
'What happened?'
'Have you spoken to him?'
'Yes. My colleague did.'
'And?'
'And nothing. What happened?'
'Kjartan's an idiot,' Finnur said. 'He shouldn't be allowed to teach. But that's just my opinion.'
'Did he make some kind of remark?'
'He always does. But he makes sure he doesn't go too far, because then he'd risk losing his job at this school. He's not such a coward one-to-one.'
'What did he say?'
'It was about immigrants, the children of immigrants. I don't think it has anything to do with this tragic incident.' Finnur hesitated. 'I knew he was trying to wind me up. I think it's fine for people from other countries to move here and I don't care in the slightest why they come, as long as they're not outright criminals. It doesn't matter whether they're from Europe or Asia. We need them and they enrich our culture. Kjartan wants to close the country to immigrants. We argued about that as usual, but he was exceptionally tetchy.'
'When was this?'
'Yesterday morning. But we're always arguing. We can hardly see each other these days without flaring up.'
'Have you often clashed?'
Finnur nodded.
'As a rule, teachers are very egalitarian and don't want or understand anything else. They look after the children, make sure there's no discrimination of any kind. We take a pride in it, it's sacrosanct really.'
'But Kjartan's an exception?'
'He's totally unbearable. I ought to lodge a complaint against him with the Education Board. We have no business employing teachers like him.'
'Is—?' Elínborg began.
'It's probably because of my brother,' Finnur interrupted. 'His wife's from Thailand. That's why Kjartan is always having a go at me. My brother met a woman in Thailand eight years ago. They have two daughters. They're the best people I've ever met. So maybe I have a vested interest. I can't stand the way he talks and he knows that.'
10
Erlendur's mobile rang as he got out of Egill's car. It was Gudný, the interpreter, who was back at Sunee's flat. Erlendur had asked her to be at Sunee's beck and call, day and night, and to contact him if anything happened. Niran had woken up after a rough night, she reported. His condition was unchanged. He refused to talk to anyone. Sunee insisted that he be left alone. She did not want any experts around him. She did not want any such visitors, or police officers, roaming in and out of the flat. Erlendur said he would drop in on them shortly, and they rang off.
Elínborg and Sigurdur Óli were still gathering information from Elías's classmates when Erlendur returned to the school. He watched them for a while. The children appeared to be making all manner of complaints about each other, but these rarely involved Elías directly. Someone had teased two girls, someone else had been kept out of a game of football, someone else had thrown a snowball so viciously at a boy's leg that it made him cry, but not Elías. Sigurdur Óli looked over to Erlendur and made a gesture to say that it would all take its time. The children were appalled at Elías's death and some of them were crying.
Erlendur phoned the head of the narcotics squad and asked him to investigate any drug offences that had occurred in the neighbourhood and might conceivably be linked to the school playground.
The principal looked rough and haggard, as if he had not slept well that night. Waiting in front of his office were people from the church and parents' association, as well as representatives from the police who were going to address the children in the assembly hall at lunchtime. They all crowded round the principal, who seemed to have no control over the situation whatsoever. The matter seemed too much for him to handle. His secretary appeared and informed him of some urgent telephone calls that he had to take, but the principal waved her away. Erlendur looked at the group and backed away. He followed the
secretary and found out where he could locate Niran's form teacher.
The secretary looked at Erlendur dithering in front of her.
'Was there anything else?' she asked.
'Would you call this a multicultural school?' Erlendur asked finally.
'You could say that,' the secretary said. 'Just over ten per cent of the pupils are not of Icelandic origin.'
'And are people happy with that arrangement, as a rule?'
'It works very well.'
'No particular problems on that account?'
'None worth mentioning, I don't think,' she added as if in apology.
Niran's form teacher, a woman of about thirty, was clearly shocked at the news about Elías like everyone else. A media debate had already begun about the situation of immigrants and the responsibility of society, and endless experts were called in to testify to all the gains that had been made and what must be done to prevent such an episode repeating itself. They were trying to pin the blame somewhere: had the system failed the immigrants, was this merely the thin end of the wedge? There was talk of underlying racial tensions that had flared up, and the need to respond through public debate and education – make better use of the school system to publicise, to inform and to eradicate prejudice.
Teaching was under way in Niran's class when Erlendur knocked on the door. He apologised for the disturbance. The teacher gave him a weak smile and, catching on immediately, asked him to wait just a moment. Shortly afterwards she followed him out into the corridor. She introduced herself as Edda Brá and her petite hand vanished in Erlendur's palm when they exchanged greetings. She had cropped hair, wore a thick pullover and jeans, and had a serious expression on her face.
'I hardly know what to say about Niran,' she said without preamble, as if she had been expecting the police sooner or later. Or perhaps she was simply in a hurry. Her form was waiting for her.
'Niran can be difficult and I sometimes need to pay him special attention,' she continued. 'He can hardly write Icelandic and doesn't speak the language that well, so he's difficult to communicate with. He does little or no homework and seems to have absolutely no interest in studying. I never taught his brother but I understand he was very sweet. Niran's different. He can get the other boys' backs up. Gets into fights. The last one was the day before yesterday. I know it's difficult for children to change schools and he's had a rough time right from the beginning.'
'He came to this country at the age of nine and never managed to fit in properly,' Erlendur said.
'He's not alone in that,' the teacher said. 'It can be difficult for the older kids who come here and can't relate to anything.'
'What happened?' Erlendur asked. 'The day before yesterday?'
'Maybe you should talk to the other boy.'
'Is it a boy in his class?'
'The children were talking about it this morning,' Edda said. 'This particular boy comes from a difficult home and he's been getting into trouble in the playground. He and some of the others had it in for Niran and his friends. Talk to him, find out what he says, he never tells me anything. His name's Gudmundur, Gummi for short.'
Edda went back into the classroom and came out soon afterwards with a boy whom she made to stand in front of Erlendur. Erlendur was impressed by her firmness. She wasted no time on idle chatter, was on the ball and knew how best to assist.
'You told me I'd get my mobile back,' the boy moaned, looking at Erlendur.
'It's the only thing these kids understand,' Edda Brá told Erlendur. 'I didn't want to blare out in front of the whole class that he had to talk to the police. All hell would have broken loose in the present situation. Let me know if you need anything else,' she added, then went back into the classroom.
'Gummi?' Erlendur said.
The boy looked up at him. His upper lip was slightly swollen and his nose was scratched. He was big for his age, fair-haired, and his eyes radiated deep suspicion.
'Are you a cop?' he asked.
Erlendur nodded and showed the boy behind a screen that served to partition off several computers on a long desk. Erlendur propped himself on the edge of the desk and the boy sat down on a chair in front of him.
'Have you got a cop's badge?' Gummi asked. 'Can I see it?'
'I don't have a badge,' Erlendur said. 'I expect you're talking about what the cops carry in films. Of course they're not real cops. They're just Hollywood wimps.'
Gummi stared at Erlendur as if his hearing had failed for a moment.
'What happened between you and Niran the day before yesterday?' Erlendur asked.
'What business of yours—' Gummi began, his voice full of the same suspicion that shone from his eyes.
'I'm just curious,' Erlendur interrupted him. 'It's nothing serious. Don't worry about it.'
Gummi continued to prevaricate.
'He just attacked me,' he said eventually.
'Why?'
'I don't know.'
'Did he attack anyone else?'
'I don't know. He just suddenly went for me.'
'Why?'
'I don't know,' Gummi repeated.
Erlendur pondered. He stood up and peered over the partition. Then he sat back down. He did not want to be detained by Gummi for too long.
'Do you know what happens to kids who lie to the cops?' he said.
'I'm not lying,' Gummi said, his eyes growing to twice the size.
'We call their parents in straight away and explain to them that their child has been lying to the police, then we ask the parents to take the child down to the police station to give a statement, and we decide where to go from there. So if you're free after school we can fetch you and your mum and dad and—'
'He just went berserk when I called him that.'
'Called him what?'
Gummi still prevaricated. Then he seemed to steel himself.
'I called him shit face. He's called me far worse names,' he added quickly.
Erlendur grimaced.
'And are you surprised he went for you?'
'He's a twat!'
'And you're not?'
'They never leave you alone.'
'They who?'
'His Thai and Filipino friends. They hang around behind the chemist's.'
Erlendur recalled Elínborg mentioning a group of boys by the chemist's shop when she was going over the details of the case in his car the previous evening.
'Is it a gang?'
Gummi hesitated. Erlendur waited. He knew that Gummi was pondering whether to tell things the way they were and get Erlendur on his side, or to pretend to know nothing, just say no and hope the police officer would leave it at that.
'It wasn't like that,' Gummi said in the end. 'They started it'
'Started what?'
'Dissing us.'
Arctic Chill Page 11
