“I don’t think so, no more than the usual.”
“We need to look into any ethnic violence in this part of town, find out if there have been any clashes,” Erlendur said over the phone to Sigurdur Oli, once he had given him the details of Elias’s class. “Also where they’ve occurred in other districts. I remember some trouble not so long ago: someone pulled a knife. We need to check that out.”
The tea was ready and Elinborg and the interpreter went into the sitting room with Erlendur. The vicar left and Gudny sat down beside Sunee. Elinborg had brought a chair with her from the kitchen. Gudny talked to Sunee, who nodded. Erlendur hoped she was telling the mother that the sooner the police received precise information about the boy’s movements that day, the better it would be for the investigation.
Erlendur was still holding his mobile and was about to put it in his pocket, but hesitated and stared at it. His thoughts turned to the young witness who carried a mobile phone because his mother was worried about him being alone after school.
“Did her son have a mobile phone?” he asked the interpreter.
She translated what he said.
“No,” she said then.
“What about his brother?”
“No,” Gudny said. “None of this family has a mobile phone. She can’t afford one. Not everyone can afford those phones,” she added, and Erlendur had the feeling she was expressing her own thoughts.
“Doesn’t he go to school near the block here?” he said.
“Yes. Both her boys attend that school.”
“What time does Elias finish?”
“His timetable’s on the fridge door,” the interpreter said. “He finishes around two on Tuesdays,” she said with a glance at her watch, “so it’s three hours since he left for home.”
“What does he generally do after school? Does he go straight home?”
“As far as she knows,” the interpreter said after consulting Sunee. “She doesn’t know exactly. Sometimes he plays football in the school playground. Then he generally comes home by himself.”
“What about the boy’s father?”
“He’s a carpenter. Lives here in Reykjavik. They got divorced last year.”
“Yes, his name’s Odinn, isn’t it?” Erlendur said. He knew that the police were trying to contact Elias’s father, who had still not heard the news of the boy’s death.
“He and Sunee don’t have much contact these days. Elias sometimes stays with him at weekends.”
“Is there a stepfather?”
“No,” the interpreter said. “Sunee lives alone with her two sons.”
“Is the elder son usually back at this time of day, in normal circumstances?” Erlendur asked.
“The time they come home varies,” the interpreter quoted Sunee.
“Isn’t there any rule?” Elinborg asked.
Gudny turned to Sunee and they talked together for some time. Erlendur could see what a good support the interpreter was to her. Gudny had told the detectives that Sunee understood most of what was said to her in Icelandic and could express herself fairly well, but was very precise, so when she felt the need she called in Gudny to help her.
“She’s not entirely sure where they go during the day,” the interpreter said finally, turning back to Erlendur and Elinborg. “They both have keys to the flat. If she does overtime she doesn’t finish at the chocolate factory until six o’clock, and then she has to get home, and often do the shopping. Sometimes she has the chance of more overtime and then she comes home even later. She has to work as much as she can. She’s the only breadwinner.”
“Aren’t they supposed to tell her where they go after school, where they are?” Elinborg asked. “Aren’t they supposed to let her know at work?”
“She can’t hang around on the phone all the time at work,” the interpreter said after consulting Sunee.
“So she doesn’t know their whereabouts when school’s over?” Erlendur said.
“Oh yes, she knows what they’re doing. They tell her, but not until after they meet up in the evening.”
“Do they play football or do any sports? Do they train or take classes in anything?”
“Elias plays football but he didn’t have training today,” the interpreter said. “Surely you see how tough this is for her, being a single mother with two boys,” she added as a comment of her own. “It’s not exactly child’s play. There’s no money for courses. Or mobile phones.”
Erlendur nodded.
“You said she has a brother who lives in Iceland,” he commented.
“Yes, I contacted him and he’s on his way.”
“Are there any other relatives or in-laws that Sunee can talk to? On the boy’s father’s side? Could the elder boy be with them? Are their grandparents alive?”
“Elias sees his grandmother sometimes. His Icelandic grand-father’s dead. Sunee is in close touch with the grandmother. She lives here in the city. You ought to let her know. Her name’s Sigridur.”
The interpreter asked Sunee for her number and gave it to Elinborg, who took out her mobile.
“Shouldn’t the grandmother come over and be with her?” she asked the interpreter.
Sunee listened to the interpreter and nodded.
“We’ll ask her to come,” the interpreter said.
A man appeared in the doorway and Sunee leapt to her feet and ran over to him. It turned out to be her brother. They hugged each other and the brother tried to console Sunee, who slumped weeping into his arms. His name was Virote, and he was several years younger than Sunee. Erlendur and Elinborg exchanged glances as they watched the sorrow cocoon itself around the siblings. A reporter came puffing up the stairs but Elinborg turned him away and escorted him out. Only Erlendur and Gudny were left in the flat with the sister and brother. The interpreter and brother helped Sunee back to the sofa and sat down beside her.
Erlendur went into the little corridor leading to the bedrooms. One was larger, clearly used by the mother. The other contained bunk-beds. The boys slept there. He was greeted by a large poster showing an English football team, which he recognised from the newspapers. There was a smaller poster of a pretty Icelandic singer. An old Apple computer stood on a small desk. Schoolbooks, computer games and toys lay scattered across the floor, rifles and dinosaurs and swords. The bunk-beds were unmade. Boys” dirty clothes lay on a chair.
A typical boys” room, Erlendur thought, prodding at a sock with his foot. The interpreter appeared at the door.
“What kind of people are they?” Erlendur asked.
Gudny shrugged. “Very ordinary people,” she said. “People like you and me. Poor people.”
“Can you tell me whether they ever felt themselves the victims of prejudice?”
“I don’t think there’s been much of that sort of thing. Actually, I’m not quite sure about Niran but Sunee has settled into the neighbourhood well. Prejudices always come out and obviously they’ve been aware of them. Experience shows that the greatest prejudices are held by those who lack self-confidence and have had a bad upbringing, who have first-hand experience of negligence and apathy.”
“What about her brother? Has he lived here long?”
“Yes, a few years. He’s a labourer. Used to work up north, in Akureyri, but he came back to Reykjavik recently.”
“Are he and Sunee close?”
“Yes. Very. They’re great friends.”
“What can you tell me about Sunee?”
“She came to Iceland about ten years ago,” Gudny said. “She really likes it here.”
Sunee had once told her she could hardly believe how desolate and chilly the country was when she took the shuttle from Keflavik airport to Reykjavik. It was rainy and overcast and all she could see through the coach window was flat lava fields and distant blue mountains. There was nothing growing anywhere, no trees and not even a blue sky. When she disembarked from the plane and walked down the gangway she felt the Arctic air hit her, like walking into a cold wall. She got goose-flesh. The temperature was three degrees Celsius. It was the middle of October. It had been thirty degrees Celsius at home when she left.