Arctic Chill by Arnaldur Indridason Page A

warrant was obtained for his flat, but so far nothing had been found that could be linked to Elías's murder. The police also investigated several of the usual suspects, who might conceivably be connected with stabbings – debt collectors and people who had been picked up by the police due to clashes with immigrants or even tourists.
    Niran had not spoken a word since he was found. A child psychologist had been called in that night and a social worker from the Child Welfare Agency, but Niran remained wrapped in a blanket and said nothing, no matter how they pressed him. He was repeatedly asked where he had been that day and whether he knew about his brother's fate, whether he knew what had happened, who could have committed the deed, when he had last seen his brother, what they had talked about. While all these questions rained down on him, especially from his mother, Niran never opened his mouth, sitting instead in silence in his blanket and staring into space. It was as if he had withdrawn into a closed world; into a sanctuary that he alone knew.
    Eventually Erlendur told the experts to leave and went home himself, leaving Sunee and Niran in peace. Sigrídur had left by then and the interpreter had also gone home, but Sunee's brother stayed behind with the mother and son in the flat.
    It did not seem to be common knowledge that Sunee had a lover. Gudný told Erlendur that she had no idea what he was talking about; she had never heard any mention of the man. Sunee's ex-mother-in-law was equally in the dark. It was not until Erlendur asked Sunee's brother Virote that he received a positive response. He knew about a man in his sister's life but the relationship had not been going on for long, and he said he had never met the man and did not know who he was. Not wanting to disturb Sunee now that she had reclaimed Niran, Erlendur told Virote to ask her for details about the man and then get in touch. He had not done so as yet.
    Erlendur soon found the woodwork teacher's silver-grey car. He knocked on the driver's window and the man wound it down. A cloud of cigarette smoke escaped into the winter air.
    'Can I join you?' Erlendur asked. 'I'm from the police.'
    The woodwork teacher grunted. He gave a reluctant nod, as if doubting that he could avoid having to talk to Erlendur. He clearly disliked being disturbed during his smoking break. Unruffled, Erlendur sat down in the passenger seat and took out a pack of cigarettes.
    'Egill, isn't it?'
    'Yes.'
    'Do you mind if I smoke too?' Erlendur asked, waving a cigarette.
    A grimace formed on Egill's face, which Erlendur found difficult to interpret.
    'No peace anywhere,' the woodwork teacher said.
    Erlendur lit up and the two men sat in silence for a little while, enjoying their tobacco.
    'You're here about the boy, of course,' Egill said at last. He was a large, fat man aged about fifty, who did not fit particularly comfortably into the driver's seat. Big-boned, bald as a coot, he had a large nose, high, protruding cheekbones and a beard. When his huge hand raised the cigarette to his mouth it almost disappeared inside. On top of his bald head, towards the front, was a large, pink lump that Erlendur stole occasional glances at when he thought Egill would not notice. He did not know why, but the lump fascinated him.
    'Was he good at woodwork?' Erlendur asked.
    'Yes, reasonably,' Egill said, stretching out his big paw to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray. It creaked under the strain. 'Do you have any idea what happened?'
    'No, none,' Erlendur said, 'except that he was stabbed close to the school here.'
    'This society's going to the dogs,' Egill grunted. 'And you lot can't do a thing about it. Is it a distinctively Icelandic trait, being so lax towards criminals? Can you tell me that?'
    Erlendur was not sure what the teacher was getting at.
    'I read in the papers the other day,' Egill went on, 'that some jerks had broken into someone's house to collect a minor debt, smashed the place