'Did you know Elías? The boy who died?' Erlendur asked.
They were sitting in the interview room. With the girl was a child welfare officer. Her parents could not be reached. She knew why she had been called in. The welfare officer spoke to her and told her they were only gathering information.
'No,' Heddý said, 'I didn't know him at all. I don't know who killed him. It wasn't me.'
'No one's saying it was you,' Erlendur said.
'It wasn't me.'
'Do you know of any ... ?' Erlendur paused. He was going to ask if there had been any altercations between Elías and anyone in particular at the school, but was uncertain whether she would understand the word 'altercation'. So he began again: 'Do you know if Elías had any particular enemies at the school?'
'No,' the girl said. 'I don't know. I don't know anything about this Elías kid. I'm not dealing there. That's just bullshit!'
'Did you try to sell him dope?' Elínborg asked.
'What sort of cunt are you?' the girl snarled. 'I don't talk to cunts like you.'
Elínborg smiled.
'Did you sell him dope?' she asked again. 'We've heard that you force the younger kids to give you money. You even force them to buy dope from you. Maybe your sister's taught you how to go about it, because she's experienced and knows how to make the kids scared of her. Maybe you're scared of big sister too. We don't give a damn about that. We couldn't care less about a girl like you—'
'Hey, listen ...' the child welfare officer objected.
'You heard what she called me,' Elínborg said, slowly turning her head to the welfare officer, a woman of about thirty. 'You kept your mouth shut then and you should keep it shut now as well. We want to know if Elías was scared of you,' she continued, looking back at Heddý. 'If you chased him to frighten him and stabbed him with a knife. We know that you like preying on smaller kids, because that's the only thing you're any good at in this miserable existence of yours. Did you attack Elías too?'
Heddý stared at Elínborg.
'No,' she said after a long silence. 'I never went near him.'
'Do you know his brother?' Erlendur asked.
'I know Niran,' she said.
'How do you know Niran? Are you friends?'
'No way,' she said, 'we're not friends. I hate gooks. Never go near them. Not that Elías either. I never went near him and I don't know who attacked him.'
'Why did you say that you know Niran?'
The girl smiled, revealing adult teeth that were completely out of proportion with her small mouth and childlike face.
'They're the ones who sell,' she said. 'They sell the fucking dope. The fucking gooks!'
Marion Briem was asleep when Erlendur visited the hospital towards evening. Peace reigned in the terminal ward. A radio was switched on somewhere, broadcasting the weather report. The temperature had dropped to ten degrees below, exacerbated by the dry northerly wind. Few people went out in such cold. They stayed at home, switched on all the lights and turned up the central heating. The television showed sunny films from Spain and Italy featuring blue skies, Mediterranean warmth and vibrant colours.
Marion's eyes opened when Erlendur had been standing at the foot of the bed for several minutes. One hand lay on the duvet and lifted up excruciatingly slowly. After a moment's hesitation Erlendur moved closer, took hold of the hand and sat down by the bedside.
'How are you feeling?' he asked.
Marion's eyes closed and that big head shook as if it did not matter any more. The moment of departure was approaching. There was not much time left. Erlendur noticed a small handheld mirror on the table by Marion's bedside and wondered what it was doing there. He had never known Marion to care for appearances.
'The case?' Marion said. 'What's happening in the case?'
Erlendur knew precisely what was expected of him. Even at death's door, Marion was absorbed in the latest investigation. From the weary eyes that rested on him, Erlendur read the question that he had been asking himself, sleeping and waking: who could do such a thing? How could something like this happen?
Erlendur began to report the progress of the investigation. Marion listened with eyes closed again. Erlendur did not know whether his old boss was asleep. He had slight pangs of conscience about not necessarily visiting Marion for purely compassionate reasons. He longed to ask the dying patient about something he knew he would never find in the police records. Erlendur took his time. It helped him, too, to go through the case slowly. Once during the account, Marion's eyes opened and Erlendur thought he should stop, only to be given a sign to continue.
'There's one point I need to ask you about,' Erlendur said when he had finally completed his story about the visit to Andrés. Marion seemed to be sleeping, with eyes closed and breathing barely perceptible. The hand that Erlendur held was limp. But it was as if Marion realised that Erlendur was not merely making a courtesy call. Those tired eyes opened a fraction and the grip on Erlendur's hand tightened, as a signal to goon.
'It's about Andrés,' Erlendur said.
Marion squeezed his hand.
'He told us about a man he knew and implied that he was a paedophile, but would not reveal his identity. He did something to Andrés when he was a child. All we know is that this man lives in the neighbourhood where the murder was committed. We have no name and no description. I don't think he's on our register. Andrés told us he was too clever for that. I was wondering if you could help us. The investigation is all over the place at the moment and we have to examine anything we find suspicious. I don't have to tell you that. You know it. We're in a hurry as usual. But more than ever this time. I thought you might be able to help us with a shortcut.'
A long silence followed Erlendur's words. He thought that Marion had dozed off. The hand he was holding had gone slack and peace had descended over his former boss's face.
'Andrés ... ?' Marion said at last. It was more like a groan or a sigh.
'I checked,' Erlendur said. 'He was born and bred in the capital. If anything happened it was most likely here in Reykjavík. We don't know. Andrés is silent as the grave.'
Marion said nothing. Erlendur thought the situation was hopeless. He had not really expected anything, but felt it was worth a try. He knew Marion Briem's capacities, that memory and the talent for making the most unlikely connections in an instant. Perhaps he was taking advantage of his ex-boss. Perhaps this was going too far. He decided to forget it. Marion should be allowed to die in peace.
'He had . . .' Marion strained to say, and the grip on Erlendur's hand tightened.
'What? What did he have?'
Erlendur thought he could discern a hint of a smile playing across Marion's face. At first he thought he was imagining this, but became convinced that Marion was actually smiling.
'... stepfather,' Marion gasped.
Silence again.
'Erlendur,' Marion said after a long while. The patient's eyes remained closed but a grimace slowly appeared.
'Yes,' Erlendur said.
'There's ... no ... time ...' Marion whispered.
'I know,' Erlendur said. 'I ...'
He was lost for words. He did not know how to say goodbye, could not find a way to express a last farewell. What was there to say? Marion was still holding his hand. Erlendur struggled for words, for something he thought Marion would want to hear. When he found nothing he sat in silence holding that old hand with its yellow nicotine stains and long nails.
'Read to ... me,' Marion said.
Marion's final ounce of strength went into those words. Erlendur leaned forward to hear better.
'Read ...'
Marion groped helplessly for the mirror on the bedside table.
Erlendur picked up the mirror and put it into Marion's hands to prop up and confront the face of death.
Erlendur took out a book he had brought with him. It was dog-eared and tattered. He opened it at a page he had often consulted and began to read.
For centuries a mountain p
ath lay from Eskifjördur to Fljótsdalshérad across Eskifjördur moor. It was an old horse-track skirting north of the Eskifördur River, inland along the ridge Langihryggur, up the river Innri-Steinsá through Vínárdalur valley and over Vínárbrekkur slopes to Midheidarendi, and from there up to the Urdarflöt plateau and along the cliffs of Urdarklettur to the boundary of the Eskifjördur district. Thverárdalur valley bisects the mountains Andri and Hardskafi to the north, and Hólafjall and Selheidi even further north.
Bakkasel was once a tenant croft near the head of the Eskifjördur valley, on the old mountain path to Fljótsdalshérad. It is now abandoned, but in the middle of the century Sveinn Erlendsson farmed there with his wife Áslaug Bergsdóttir and their two sons, of eight and ten years old. Sveinn kept a few sheep . . .
Erlendur stopped reading.
'Marion?' he whispered.
A deep silence spread over the ward. The early darkness of winter had descended upon the city, which was transforming into a glittering sea of lights. Erlendur saw his own reflection in the window overlooking the hospital garden. The large pane of glass was like a muted painting, a still-life portraying them at the final moment. He stared into the window until he confronted his own face, and the image became like the closing lines of a poem that crept into his mind.
. . . Am I the one, who lives on, or the other, who died?
Erlendur returned to his senses when the little mirror fell to the floor and broke. He clasped the limp hand and checked the pulse. Marion had departed from this world.
15
Erlendur drove the Ford Falcon into a parking space in front of the block of flats where he lived. He left the engine running for a while before switching it off. Although old, the car ran like clockwork and purred cosily in low gear. Erlendur was very fond of his Ford and sometimes, when he had nothing else to do, he would go for a drive outside the city. He had never done that before. Once he had invited Marion out for a drive, to Lake Kleifarvatn. Erlendur drove Marion down to the lakeside and told him about the conclusion to a case he had been investigating. A skeleton had been discovered on the bed of the lake and was linked to a group of Icelanders who had studied in the former East Germany in the 1960s. Marion took a particular interest in that. Erlendur wanted to do something for Marion in his ex-boss's illness. He knew that when the moment of death drew near, there was no one else that the cancer victim could depend upon.
Pulling a face at the recollection, he stroked the thin, ivory-coloured steering wheel. He would never see Marion again. All that remained were memories, fairly mixed ones at that. He thought about his own time on this earth, how brief it was before new generations took over, to be swept even further into the future. His time had gone by without his noticing it, lacking as he did all contact with anything but work. Before he knew it he would be lying in a ward like Marion Briem, staring death in the face.
Erlendur was not aware of any claims to the body. Marion had once asked him to handle the funeral arrangements. He had discussed the next steps with a nurse.
On his way home from the hospital Erlendur had called on Sunee. Her brother was with her, and the interpreter Gudný, who was leaving when Erlendur arrived. He accepted her offer to stay.
'Is it anything special?' Gudný asked. 'Any news?'
'No, not yet,' Erlendur said, and Gudný conveyed the fact to Sunee.
'Does she want to tell me where Niran is?' he asked.
Gudný spoke to Sunee who shook her head, staring obstinately at Erlendur.
'She thinks he's better off where he is. She wants to know when she can have Elías's body.'
'Very soon,' Erlendur said. 'This case is top priority and his earthly remains will only be kept while the investigation is on-going.'
Erlendur sat in an armchair beneath the yellow dragon. The atmosphere in the flat was calmer than before. The brother and sister sat side by side on the sofa. They both smoked. Erlendur had not seen Sunee smoke before. She did not look well, with bags under her eyes, at once grief-stricken and anxious.
'How have you liked living in this neighbourhood?' Erlendur asked.
'It's a good place to live,' Sunee said through Gudný. 'It's a very quiet area.'
'Have you got to know your neighbours, in the other flats?'
'A little.'
'Have you run into trouble with anyone because you're from Thailand? Been aware of any racial prejudice or hostility?'
'A tiny bit if I go out to a bar.'
'What about your boys?'
'Elías never complained. But there was one teacher he didn't like.'
'Kjartan?'
'Yes.'
'Why not?'
'He liked school but didn't like the Icelandic lessons when Kjartan taught him.'
And what about Niran?'
'He wants to go home.'
'Home to Thailand?'
'Yes. I want him with me. It was difficult for him to come here but I want him with me.'
'Ódinn wasn't pleased to find out about Niran so long after you had got married.'
'No.'
'Was that the reason for your divorce?'
Sunee listened to Gudný translate the question. Then she looked at Erlendur.
'Maybe,' she said. 'Maybe that was one reason. They never got on together.'
'I'd like to find out about your boyfriend,' Erlendur said. 'What can you tell me about him? Did he come between you and Ódinn?'
'No,' Sunee said. 'It was all over between Ódinn and me when he entered the picture.'
'Who is he?'
'He's my good friend.'
'Why won't you tell us anything about him?'
Sunee did not reply.
'Is it because he doesn't want you to?'
Sunee said nothing.
'Is he shy about this relationship in some way?'
Sunee looked at him. She seemed poised to answer him, then stopped.
'Is Niran with him?'
'Don't ask about him,' she said. 'He's got nothing to do with this.'
'It's important for us to talk to Niran,' Erlendur said. 'Not because we think he did anything wrong, but because he might know something useful to us. Will you think about it until tomorrow?'
Gudný passed on this request but Sunee did not reply.
'Do you ever miss Thailand?' Erlendur asked.
'I've been there twice since Elías was born,' Sunee said. 'My family will come over for the funeral. It will be nice to see them again but I don't miss Thailand.'
'Are you going to have Elías buried here?'
'Of course.'
Sunee went quiet.
'I just want to live here in peace,' she said after a long pause. 'I came here in hope of a better life. I thought I'd found it. I knew nothing about Iceland before I came here. I didn't even know it existed. It was the country of my dreams. Then this happens, this horrible thing. Maybe I will go back. Niran and I. Maybe we don't belong here.'
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