Arnaldur Indridason - Arctic Chill

“You will both be charged with Elias’s murder,” Elinborg said. “You had the knife, you killed him.”

“I didn’t,” Anton said.

“What about your friend?”

“There’s no way he did either.”

“What’s your attitude to immigrants, foreigners, coloured people?”

“I don’t know.”

Doddi hesitated when asked a similar question. Sigurdur Oli repeated the question but Doddi just stared at him without answering. Sigurdur Oli asked a third time.

“I don’t have any attitude to them,” Doddi said at last. “I don’t give them any thought”

“Have you attacked any immigrant kids?”

“No, never,” Doddi said.

Neither he nor Anton had ever been in trouble with the law. Anton’s mother was a single parent with two children, who struggled to make ends meet on her meagre wages. Anton had a three-year-old half-brother. He saw his father briefly once a month or so. Doddi had two full siblings and a half-sister. He told them that his father, who had little to do with him, was a foreman on the Karahnjukar dam project.

“Why did you attack Elias?” Sigurdur Oli asked.

“I didn’t.”

“We’re going to charge you with Elias’s murder,” Sigurdur Oli said. “We have no other option.”

Doddi stared at him and it was clear from his expression that he fully grasped the implications of what Sigurdur Oli was saying. He was quite a tough nut. Sigurdur Oli had often questioned teenage boys who did not give a shit about anything or anyone and answered back with jeers and even threats against the police. He sensed that there was more to Doddi. He was not yet a hardened case. The vandalism of the cars was a brainless stunt but no more than that. At least for the time-being.

“He gave away the knife,” Doddi said.

“Gave it away?”

“I stole it but Anton had it last and he gave it away. I didn’t know it had been used in the murder. And I’m sure he didn’t either.”

Elinborg was still leaning against the wall with arms folded when Sigurdur Oli entered the interview room. He sat down in front of Anton and stared at him for a long time without saying a word. Elinborg refrained from asking any questions. Anton became restless, squirmed in his chair and fixed his gaze on Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg in turn. He was extremely uneasy.

“Do you know a boy called Hallur?” Sigurdur Oli asked.

Elinborg was leaving the interview room shortly afterwards when her mobile rang. It took her some time to work out who was on the other end but at last she came up with an image of the flamboyant tie belonging to the PR guy from the insurance firm where someone had been making calls to Sunee.

“I’ve been involved in a major investigation on your behalf,” the PR man said gravely.

“Really?” Elinborg said.

“Yes, really. I’ve spoken to a number of people here at the firm, all in confidence of course, and none of them is in a relationship with that woman, as far as I can tell.”

“No?”

“No. At least, nothing that can be confirmed.”

“What about unconfirmed?”

“Well, there are rumours about one man.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know him. He’s in his late forties and has worked in the claims department for years. The girls say he’s dating an Asian woman.”

“Which girls?”

“The customer service reps. Someone spotted him at a nightclub about a month ago. He was with one of those women.”

“One of what women?”

“Thai, maybe.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No.”

“Good. What’s his name?”

“The girls want to know if he’s connected in any way to the mother of the boy who died.”

“Tell them to mind their own business!”

Erlendur drove slowly past the house, parked several doors down and got out of the car. He walked unhurriedly back towards the house, looking around warily. He saw the junction with Styrimannastigur and the large wooden building that had once been the Seaman’s College after which the road was named. The insurance company employee lived in a pretty wooden house clad in corrugated iron. It had been lovingly restored from what Erlendur could see from where he stood in the cold, studying the house. Lights were on in two of the windows. The street was quiet and Erlendur feared that he would be too conspicuous as he strolled back and forth. He wanted to proceed with caution.

It was late. Snow was falling, the wind had picked up and a major blizzard was forecast. The radio had warned people not to leave anything unsecured outside and to avoid going out unless absolutely necessary. Roads were already closed in rural areas in the wake of the storm that was now heading towards the city.

Erlendur was still brooding over the identity of the woman who had been phoning him and what she could have wanted. He couldn’t figure it out and only hoped that she would make contact with him one more time. She had to give him another chance. He was conscious that there was not much likelihood of this happening but at least he now knew how to react should he ever hear from her again.

He was about to cross the road to the house when the basement door opened and a figure appeared in the rectangle of light. It was very small and Erlendur thought that it might be Niran. He could not see its face, which seemed to be obscured by something. The figure was wearing a windcheater and a baseball cap with a large peak. It closed the door carefully and headed down the street towards the town centre. Erlendur followed a little way behind, unsure what action to take. He noticed that the figure had a scarf bound over its face so that only its eyes were visible. It was holding something but Erlendur could not see what.

The figure bowed its head and set a course straight for the town centre. It was Saturday evening, the clubs and restaurants were all open and a number of people were about. The figure unfolded what it was holding, revealing it to be a large plastic bag. It approached a litter bin and looked inside, rooted around in it briefly, then moved on. Two beer cans lying under a bench disappeared into the bag, then the figure moved on to the next litter bin. Erlendur watched this behaviour. The figure was collecting used bottles and cans. It moved silently and purposefully, as if it had done this many times before, as unobtrusively as possible, largely unmarked by passers-by.

He followed its movements around the town centre for some time. The bag soon began to fill up. Erlendur came to a corner shop, stepped inside and bought two cans of some soft drink. When he came out again he emptied the cans into the gutter, then walked up to the figure who had paused by a litter bin in a small alleyway off Austurvollur Square.

“Here’s a couple,” Erlendur said, holding out the cans.

The figure looked at him in astonishment, the scarf completely obscuring its face, the baseball cap pulled down over its eyes. The figure accepted the cans hesitantly and put them in the bag, then immediately made to move on again without saying a word.

“My name’s Erlendur,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

The figure stopped and looked searchingly at Erlendur.

“I only want to talk to you, if that’s all right,” Erlendur said.

The figure backed away, without replying.

“Don’t worry,” Erlendur said, moving closer.

The figure tensed, poised to run, but apparently reluctant to abandon the bag half full of bottles and cans, and this gave Erlendur a chance to seize hold of its jacket. The figure tried to hit him with the bag and tear itself loose but Erlendur held on tight with both hands. The figure struggled in his grasp but could not get away. Erlendur spoke to it reassuringly.

“I’m trying to help you,” he said. “I need to talk to you. Do you understand?”