“Yes.”

And you recognised him? You knew him?”

Stefan had told the police the boy’s name and where he lived. It was in this block but on another staircase and the police were trying to locate his parents. All Stefan knew about the boy was that his mother made chocolate and he had one brother. He said he had not known him particularly well, nor his brother. They had only quite recently moved to the area.

“He was called Elli,” the boy said. “His name was Elias.”

“Was he dead when you found him?”

“Yes, I think so. I shook him but nothing happened.”

“And you phoned us?” Erlendur said, feeling he ought to try to cheer the lad up. “That was a good thing to do. Absolutely the right thing. What did you mean when you said his mother makes chocolate?”

“She works in a chocolate factory”

“Do you know what could have happened to Elli?”

“No.”

“Do you know any of his friends?”

“Not really.”

“What did you do after you shook him?”

“Nothing,” the boy said. “I just called the cops.”

“You know the cops” number?”

“Yes. I come home from school on my own and Mum likes to keep an eye on me. She …”

“She what?”

“She always tells me to phone the police immediately if…”

“If what?”

“If anything happens.”

“What do you think happened to Elli?”

“I don’t know.”

“Were you born in Iceland?”

“Yes.”

“Elli too, do you know?”

The boy had been staring down at the linoleum on the stairwell floor all the time, but now he looked Erlendur in the face.

“Yes,” he answered.

The front door swung open and Elinborg was blown indoors. A thin sheet of glass separated the stairwell from the entrance and Erlendur saw that she was carrying his overcoat. With a smile he told the boy he might talk to him again later, then stood up and walked over to Elinborg.