Arnaldur Indridason - Arctic Chill

“Are you planning to live together?”

“We’ve talked about my moving into her place in the summer.”

“You’ve been to her place?”

“Yes, several times. I couldn’t believe what happened to poor little Elias. I didn’t hear about it till the day afterwards because I was in the West Fjords on business and didn’t see the news. When people started talking about the murder, I immediately thought of Sunee. Then her brother, Virote here, called me from his mobile and Sunee came on the phone and told me what had happened. She told me about Niran, that he was in shock and in a terrible state and could he stay with me for a few days. He was frightened and knocked sideways by the whole affair as you might expect, and she was afraid for him, afraid that something might happen to him too or that he might do something stupid. I got back to town at lunchtime and found them waiting outside my house. Niran was a terrible sight. Totally destroyed. Sunee asked me to look after him and there was no way I could refuse, no way I could argue with her. It was just something I had to do.”

Johann looked at Erlendur.

“Niran wasn’t hostile to me as Sunee had expected,” he explained. “I hit it off with Elias straight away but she was worried about how Niran would react if we started living together. But Niran didn’t take against me. He may not exactly have welcomed me with open arms but he didn’t take against me. He didn’t take much notice of me the few times I visited them at the flat, though I managed to chat to him a bit about football. I was going to sort out a new computer for them so that they could get online. He was very enthusiastic about that.”

“And you talked about football?”

“We both support the same English team,” Johann said with a shrug.

“You didn’t want to get in touch with the police?”

“No, I did it for Sunee, for her and myself and Niran.”

“It didn’t occur to you that they might have anything to hide?”

“Niran could never have harmed a hair on Elias’s head. The very idea is absurd. Ludicrous. You’d know that if you’d only met them for a few minutes. Their relationship was special. I think that’s why Niran reacted so badly. They used to play together and Niran read Thai comics or books to Elias in the evenings. I told Sunee that I wished I’d had such a kind big brother when I was young.”

“How did you and Sunee meet?”

“At a nightclub. She was with her friends from the chocolate factory. I’d been at my company’s annual do. I didn’t know her at all. She invited me to dance and we danced and talked. She told me about Thailand. Then I got in touch with her a couple of days later and asked if she remembered me. We met again. She was completely open about everything, about Odinn and her boys and her work at the chocolate factory.”

“What then?”

“We started seeing each other regularly. It’s… Sunee … she’s positive and happy and sincere and fun, always sees the bright side of everything. Maybe it’s the Thai mentality, I don’t know. Then this happens, this horrific crime.”

“But you were a bit coy about the relationship?”

“We both were, actually. We didn’t want to rush into anything and I admit I needed to think about it. It was completely new and unexpected for me.”

“You didn’t tell anyone at work?”

“Only my closest friends, and recently my family, after Sunee and I decided to move in together. But the grapevine has obviously been buzzing because it didn’t take you long to track me down. I’ve asked Sunee to marry me. We’ve discussed getting married as early as this summer but I don’t know . . . then this nightmare happens.”

“Can you guess where Niran might have gone?”

“No. As I say, he’s been very restless all day”

“Did he mention anyone in particular? Anyone he suspected of committing the crime?”

Johann looked at Erlendur.

“He talked of revenge. He’d been involved in a scuffle at school with a teacher who threatened him. Niran didn’t want to say who it was but that was one of the reasons why Sunee hid him. She was afraid for him. He’s her only child now.”

At that moment Virote came into the kitchen holding a scrap of paper. He handed it to Erlendur.

“I find in Niran room,” Virote said.

The paper had been torn out of the telephone directory at Kjartan’s name.

The phone began to ring in Erlendur’s pocket.

He took it out and pressed the answer button.

“Hello,” he said.

“. . . I’m sorry, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t need to make a complaint . . . “ he heard a familiar voice say, then the caller hung up.

Erlendur looked up in disbelief. He stared at the phone in his hand. He recognised the voice immediately. He had heard it before.

A woman of uncertain age with a slightly husky voice, perhaps from smoking.

He knew he would never forget that voice. It haunted him waking and sleeping because he had not listened to it properly. In his mind it would always be the voice of the guilt-stricken woman who had run away from her husband and turned up dead on Reykjanes beach.

Agust’s mother intervened and snatched the phone as Elinborg was handing it to the husband so that he could complain to Erlendur about the conduct of his junior officers.

Passing the phone back to Elinborg, she asked her to excuse her husband’s outburst. He had no reason to criticise the police for doing their job, especially not in such a sensitive case.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m sorry, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t need to make a complaint”

Elinborg took the phone and cut the connection, staring from husband to wife. Then she replaced the phone in her bag. Shortly afterwards it started ringing. She looked at the number display. It was Erlendur.

Kjartan took a taxi home. He had been at a pub in the city centre with some old mates who used to get together from time to time for a few beers. He had left his car at home. Three of them shared a taxi and his was the last stop. The weather had deteriorated dramatically during the evening and visibility was virtually nil. The taxi’s windscreen wipers struggled to cope with the snow and the car narrowly avoided getting bogged down in a drift on the way.

Kjartan was a little unsteady on his feet when he stepped out of the taxi, which slowly moved off. He straightened up. He’d had one too many, although they had called it a night earlier than usual because of the weather.

A wild blizzard had blown up. Erlendur drove the Ford as fast as he dared in the conditions. Virote and Johann were with him. The radio reported that whole suburbs of Reykjavik were being cut off due to the severe weather. Erlendur had ordered out a couple of squad cars to go to Kjartan’s house. He only hoped they would arrive in time.

“The woman you’re with is the one who’s been calling me ever since Elias was attacked,” he informed Elinborg the moment she answered her phone. “She’s the one I mistook for the woman who committed suicide.”

“Really?” Elinborg said.

“Is she the mother of the boy you’re with?”

“Yes.”

“Keep her talking, I’m going to try to get to you.”

“All right,” Elinborg said. “Where are you?”

“I’m on my way,” Erlendur said and hung up.

Kjartan fumbled in his pocket for the keys; his wife liked to keep the house locked at all times, but he was not as worried about burglars. He found the keys but as he was about to pull them out of his pocket, he noticed a figure emerge from the shadow of the house and block his path.

“Who are you?” Kjartan asked.

He heard police sirens in the distance.