Into Oblivion

by Arnaldur Indridason

  ‘She was very sweet and handed over the records, then I said goodbye.’

  ‘Was she alone at home?’

  ‘I assume so. At least I only spoke to her.’

  ‘And that was all?’ asked Erlendur.

  ‘Yes. That was all. Next thing I heard there was a big search on for her and Rósanna told me she’d gone missing. Vanished into thin air on her way to school.’

  ‘Did you tell Rósanna you’d spoken to Dagbjört?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Mensalder. ‘I don’t remember. Surely she’d have told you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Erlendur.

  ‘It just gave me a bit of a turn – sorry about that – when I worked out the real purpose of your visit here, what you wanted from me … it just gave me a bit of a turn, as you saw. No doubt that makes you think I’ve got something to hide but I can assure you that … It’s just … when you act in an underhand way like that, it’s a bit unnerving.’

  ‘I don’t see why it’s such an awkward subject for you if you only met her once when you went round to pick up the records.’

  ‘No, of course, but I was shaken. I’ve thought about her from time to time because she disappeared so suddenly shortly after I met her and I never told the police because I didn’t see how it was relevant – still don’t. Then you show up … like you’re a ghost from the past and start grilling me about her.’

  ‘No wonder you were taken aback,’ said Erlendur, making an effort to appear understanding. ‘Is there nothing you want to add to your account?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Mensalder. ‘I don’t know what else there could be.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Yes. That was all. I fetched the records and took them round to my friend’s house. End of story.’

  Erlendur studied Mensalder: the dull eyes under the peaked cap with the petrol station logo, the thick jacket; the shoulders that seemed to sag ever lower as the conversation went on; the reek of diesel and lubricating oil that clung to his clothes.

  ‘I get the feeling you’re lying to me.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Mensalder. ‘I swear I’m not. Why –?’

  ‘Because of how you reacted,’ said Erlendur.

  ‘But I’m trying to tell you why I … that it gave me a turn when you started going on about it.’

  ‘That’s not all. Just before she vanished Dagbjört told somebody that she wanted to know if you could get hold of some records for her. I’m willing to bet she raised the subject when you went round. She’d mentioned you specifically. I expect you were happy to oblige. You were used to fixing things for people. Enjoyed it, by the sound of it. Made a nice little profit too. So I can’t think why Dagbjört wouldn’t have asked you about it when you were standing on her doorstep. And I can’t imagine why you’d have refused her.’

  ‘She didn’t mention anything like that,’ insisted Mensalder.

  ‘Are you sure you two didn’t arrange another meeting?’

  ‘Yes, quite sure. Positive. We did nothing of the sort.’

  ‘So she didn’t ask you to buy her any records?’

  ‘No, she didn’t, or … maybe I’ve forgotten. You’re muddling me. But we definitely never arranged to meet like you’re implying. I never saw her again after that. Never. Only saw her that one time and that’s the truth. The absolute truth!’

  ‘So you didn’t meet up with Dagbjört?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She didn’t get into your car the day she vanished?’

  ‘No, I swear.’

  ‘All right,’ said Erlendur. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll get anywhere like this. We’ll see what you say when the police come to take you in. You realise I’ll have to notify them. You realise that, don’t you, Mensalder?’

  ‘I can’t see why you have to take it any further. Why you won’t believe me. I didn’t touch her. I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. I just don’t get it.’

  ‘No, well, we’ll see. Maybe my colleagues will make more progress with you.’

  Erlendur crossed the forecourt towards his car. The instant he left shelter the wind latched its claws into him, sending an icy chill through his body. He found his keys and was opening the car door when he heard a voice calling. He couldn’t make out the words and no longer cared anyway. He had leaned on Mensalder as hard as he dared and had got precious little out of him. The threat of going to the police was an empty one: he had no real evidence against the man. He started thinking instead about driving straight out to the base to try and track down Marion and Caroline and find out how they were getting on. He hoped to God that Caroline was all right and hadn’t put herself at risk by colluding with them.

  Again he thought he heard a voice.

  ‘… never showed up,’ he caught before the wind snatched the rest away.

  Erlendur turned. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘She never showed up,’ called Mensalder, looking around nervously as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  Erlendur shut the car door and walked back towards him.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I waited for her with the records for more than half an hour but then I had to drive out to Keflavík,’ said Mensalder. ‘She never came to meet me. She said she would but she never came.’

  ‘Dagbjört, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, Dagbjört. Then I heard she’d gone missing and I never told anyone because I didn’t see what it had to do with me.’ Mensalder dropped his gaze. ‘I didn’t see what it had to do with me.’

  44

  Quickly adjusting to the gloom in the hangar, Marion followed Caroline in the direction of the giant work platform that towered up to the rafters. There was no one else around and the only illumination came from the dim fluorescent lights along the side walls. No work seemed to be in progress at present. Marion made out what looked like two fighter aircraft at the other end of the hangar. There were various aeroplane parts lying on the floor along the walls to the right. A jet engine was suspended from a pulley.

  Marion’s eyes travelled up the scaffolding, tall as a block of flats. It consisted of countless steel platforms slotted together, with a ladder in the middle providing access to the top level. The plumbers’ paraphernalia had been removed as their job here was finished. Marion calculated that if Kristvin had fallen from the scaffolding there would be evidence on the floor below, but the concrete was so filthy and stained with oil and years’ of other accumulated grime that without proper forensic analysis it would be impossible to determine if any of it was Kristvin’s blood. There was certainly no way of telling in the present circumstances.

  All was quiet in the hangar. Caroline stood stock-still, listening and peering around in the semi-darkness, alert as a wild animal. Only when she was absolutely sure they were alone did she gesture to Marion to follow her up the ladder. She felt her way slowly, rung by rung.

  ‘Hope you don’t get vertigo,’ whispered Marion.

  ‘I’ve always been shit-scared of heights – flying too – but right now I’m just shit-scared,’ Caroline whispered back.

  She reached the top surprisingly quickly, nevertheless, with Marion close behind. They stood on the platform, their legs trembling and jelly-like with the effort. It gave a good view of the hangar.

  ‘Isn’t the place guarded?’ asked Marion in a low voice.

  ‘I’d have thought so.’

  ‘Haven’t you ever been in here before?’

  ‘No, never had any reason to. I had no idea how vast it was.’

  ‘It’s mind-boggling.’

  Marion surveyed the platform. It was fenced in on all sides by a handrail a metre or so high. The new fire-extinguisher system was right in front of them. From the pipes, which ran along the steel girders, gold-coloured sprinklers hung like colossal Christmas decorations. There were two smaller wheeled platforms that reached right up under the roof. Marion assumed the plumbers must have stood on these while fixing the water pipes to the
girders.

  ‘Do you think they store bombs in here?’ asked Marion.

  ‘I wouldn’t know where,’ said Caroline, surveying the largely empty space. ‘Maybe they keep them in different hangars, or underground.’

  ‘Shouldn’t they be stored within easy reach for loading? Isn’t speed the main object?’

  ‘Sure. Maybe Kristvin saw them in here and they’ve been moved since then. They might not even be in the country any longer.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Could Kristvin have fallen off here?’ asked Caroline, peeping gingerly over the edge. ‘It’s a hell of a drop. It’s making me giddy.’

  ‘He’d have died instantly,’ said Marion. ‘That’s clear. No one could survive a drop like that, straight down onto a concrete floor. It would go a long way to explaining his injuries. We’ve been working on the assumption all along that they were the result of a major fall.’

  ‘What can he have been doing all the way up here?’ whispered Caroline. ‘It’s only been used for installing the fire extinguishers and I’m guessing that all the people who worked up here were Icelandics. Surely it’s just as likely that it was a quarrel between locals that went badly wrong?’

  ‘But the men working up here claim they didn’t know Kristvin,’ said Marion, ‘though naturally there’s a chance they were lying. But we couldn’t find any obvious links. No, I’m thinking he may have fled up here. To hide.’

  ‘This is the last place I’d hide,’ said Caroline, snatching another nervous glance over the rail.

  ‘I don’t suppose he had much choice. If he was trying to escape.’

  ‘Maybe someone thought this would be a good place to meet,’ said Caroline, ‘especially if he was planning to push Kristvin off.’

  ‘I’m guessing it would’ve been from this side then,’ said Marion, walking to the edge of the platform where there was a narrow gap, no more than a couple of metres wide, separating it from the northern wall of the hangar. It was also furthest from the lights. Marion peered down at the floor.

  Caroline was far from happy up here and the feeling only intensified as the minutes passed. She had not been lying when she said she hated heights and it was obvious she could hardly bring herself to look down. She ran a hand along the rail.

  ‘It would be no problem to push a man over this. It wouldn’t even require a struggle. Just a good shove.’

  ‘The pathologist said he’d almost certainly received a blow to the head before he fell,’ said Marion.

  ‘OK,’ said Caroline. ‘So it goes something like this: Kristvin’s poking around in the hangar, maybe searching for missiles from Thule. Or he’s come to meet a man who’s promised him information, maybe even to show them to him. If he had any other reason for being in here, we don’t know what it was. Then either something happens that forces Kristvin to seek refuge up here, or they meet up here to talk. I’d never agree to that but then I’m not Kristvin. They quarrel. Kristvin’s hit on the head and falls off the platform.’

  ‘Who’s up here with him?’

  ‘Wilbur Cain?’

  ‘So it all comes down to the presence of nuclear weapons from Thule?’

  ‘Looks like it,’ said Caroline.

  ‘We’d better get out of here,’ said Marion, testing the rail in several places to check if it was loose. ‘There’s nothing to see up here. I’ll try and take some samples from the floor over by the wall, then we’d better beat it.’

  ‘Jesus, I’ll be glad to get down from here,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Getting to you, is it?’ said Marion, bending over the rail.

  ‘I can’t stand it. In my worst nightmares I’m falling off a cliff and there’s no one to save me.’

  ‘You should find yourself a man,’ said Marion, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Caroline.

  She inched her way down the ladder with Marion just behind. Before long, weak with relief, she had her feet planted on terra firma again. Marion went round the corner of the scaffolding tower to the north wall and craned upwards, still marvelling at the height of the roof. Then Caroline called in a low voice and Marion saw she was pointing at some stains spattered up the foot of the wall. Moving closer, Marion crouched down, discerned four dark spots and tested one with a finger.

  ‘Is it paint?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘You should take a sample.’

  ‘It may have nothing to do with Kristvin,’ said Marion. ‘We’re probably too late to collect any evidence in here.’

  Nevertheless, Marion scraped at the marks with a knife and wrapped the scrapings in a handkerchief. Then straightened up again, gauged the position of the stains in relation to the scaffolding, and walked over to examine the floor for any signs of the blood that might have splashed from there onto the wall. But it was impossible to tell if any of the accumulated grime was blood.

  ‘We should get out of here,’ muttered Caroline.

  ‘Martinez made a comment about Joan and her husband, Earl, when we were talking in the bar,’ said Marion distractedly. ‘I forgot to mention it. By the way, I think you’ve got a better friend in Martinez than you realise.’

  ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘Haven’t you … hasn’t it struck you?’

  ‘What exactly did he say? And stop trying to meddle in my private life.’

  ‘He reckoned Earl was supplying drugs to Icelanders,’ said Marion. ‘What if Kristvin bought the marijuana from him?’

  ‘And slept with his wife?’

  ‘Hadn’t we better have another word with her?’

  ‘Yes. Bitch though she is.’

  ‘What about the weapons? Ought we to take a quick look round while we’re here? See if we can find anything from Greenland? From Thule?’

  ‘I very much doubt they’d be stored in here if they’re trying to cover up their presence,’ whispered Caroline, starting to move towards the door. ‘Far too many people coming and going. They could be anywhere on the base. Come on, we need to get the hell out of here.’

  45

  Mensalder stood in the lee of the garage shop and stole a nervous look at Erlendur. He had finally revealed the secret he had not dared to breathe a word about for more than a quarter of a century.

  ‘She never showed up,’ he repeated, as if it was vital to make this understood. The most vital aspect of the whole story.

  Erlendur could see how difficult this was for him, how he stood, shoulders bowed, by the wall, hardly daring to raise his eyes from the tarmac. The other attendant appeared round the corner.

  ‘Mensi!’ he called in a hectoring tone. ‘Hurry up and serve these customers. I can’t do everything.’ He glared at them both, then disappeared back into the shop.

  ‘Coming,’ said Mensalder wearily, eyes flickering to Erlendur’s face, then away again. ‘You’ve got to believe me. She never showed up.’

  ‘When do you knock off?’ asked Erlendur.

  ‘In an hour or so.’

  ‘I’ll stick around,’ said Erlendur. ‘I need you to show me where you waited for her. Will you do that?’

  Mensalder nodded and looked over at the pumps. Three cars were waiting to be served.

  ‘I didn’t touch her,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t think I did.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you in an hour.’

  Erlendur got back in his car to wait for the garage to close up. He switched on the heater, chilled to the bone from running about after Mensalder in the icy northern blast, and listened to the radio news. The search for the missing men up north continued. A spokesman for the rescue team was quoted as saying that conditions on the Eyvindarstadir Moors were much improved. The snow had drifted over any tracks so it was difficult to guess where the two friends had gone, but now at least the wind had dropped and there was a bright moon.

  Erlendur watched Mensalder dealing with the cars. His movements seemed even more ponderous than before, he no longer exchanged pleasantries with the drive
rs, and carefully avoided looking in Erlendur’s direction. As closing time approached, the traffic thinned out and eventually the lights by the pumps went out and Erlendur saw Mensalder’s colleague shutting up for the night. The two men emerged from the garage shop together and said goodnight, and after a brief hesitation Mensalder headed over to where Erlendur was sitting in the car. Erlendur wound down the window.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Do we have to do this?’ said Mensalder. ‘Haven’t I told you enough?’

  ‘You haven’t told me anything,’ said Erlendur. ‘Let’s get this over with. The sooner the better.’

  ‘But nothing happened and … I don’t know what it is you want,’ whimpered Mensalder. ‘She never came and I don’t know –’

  ‘Have you got a car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Leave it here. Come on, hurry up. You’re not getting out of this, Mensalder. You’ve done that for far too long.’

  Mensalder still hung back. But when it finally came home to him that Erlendur was not planning to give up, he walked round the front of the car and got into the passenger seat. Erlendur set off, heading for the west of town. They drove in silence the whole way, except when Mensalder gave directions, and in no time they had reached the place where he claimed to have waited in his car for Dagbjört that fateful morning. It wasn’t far from the Vesturbær swimming pool, where Camp Knox had once stood. The wind had dropped and hot veils of steam rose from the open-air pool, reminding Erlendur of the time he had stood beside the milky-blue lagoon on Reykjanes, watching the clouds of vapour dispersing above the power station.

  ‘Stop,’ said Mensalder. ‘It was around about here. All these houses have been built since then, and the pool too, of course, but this is where I parked and waited for her.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just go round to her house?’ asked Erlendur, turning off the engine. ‘Why all the secrecy?’

  ‘She didn’t want me to. She didn’t want her parents to know – that she was wasting money on records. She was going to say she’d borrowed them. Anyway, what I was doing was black-marketeering and I wasn’t keen to draw attention to the fact. I’d spent the night in town and was on my way back to Keflavík that morning, so it suited me fine.’