Oblivion

29

When Erlendur returned to the office in Kópavogur, he was informed that Marion wanted to see him. Marion was still ill in bed, and Erlendur had to get directions to the house since he hadn’t been there before. It was unusual for people to be invited round. At least, this was the first time Erlendur had heard of it and he didn’t know what to expect. He had always had the sense that, like him, Marion preferred to keep private life and work separate.

It was nearing supper time and Erlendur was starving since he hadn’t eaten lunch, so before heading over to Marion’s he swung by Skúlakaffi and bought a takeaway of salted lamb with potatoes and swedes. He was back in his car before it occurred to him that Marion might like something to eat too, so he returned and ordered a sandwich in a box. This offering seemed to meet with approval.

‘Thank you, you shouldn’t have,’ said Marion, accepting the box.

‘I thought you might like something to eat,’ said Erlendur. ‘The only sandwiches they had were prawn.’ He glanced around the flat and noticed an open bottle of port on the table. ‘Feeling any better?’

‘Getting there.’

As was evident from the bookshelves, Marion was an insatiable reader. Every wall was lined with books, from large foreign reference works in many volumes to slender collections of Icelandic verse that marked themselves out here and there by their tatty paper spines. Icelandic sagas rubbed shoulders with love stories; Icelandic folklore mingled with foreign biographies and translated detective stories, works on natural history and every kind of art form, from ballet to baroque music. Everything was neatly ordered on the shelves, the perfectly even rows a pleasure to the eye, testimony to the fact that Marion had once worked at the City Library. The overall effect was only enhanced by the myriad small figurines arranged in front of the books, some made of delicate painted porcelain, others of cruder pottery or carved wood, resulting in the most varied collection. Marion noticed Erlendur’s gaze pause on these knick-knacks.

‘An old friend of mine, a woman who used to travel at lot, sent me those ornaments over many years,’ said Marion. ‘No two are alike or come from the same place.’

‘Used to? Has she given up now?’

‘I got a letter the day before yesterday informing me that she was dead,’ said Marion. ‘It came as quite a shock. I... I wasn’t expecting it.’

‘I see,’ said Erlendur. ‘You can’t have felt like coming into work.’

His eyes fell on the photograph of an older man in a black suit, which stood on a table. Beside it burned a candle in a small holder made of lava.

‘A friend of mine,’ said Marion. ‘He rejoiced in the unusual name of Athanasius. Died years ago. Did you see Caroline? I hear you’ve been out to the base.’

Erlendur nodded and put Marion in the picture about his meeting with Caroline, the cocktail waitress Joan and her relationship with Kristvin, and the fact that Kristvin had in all likelihood been with her the evening he fell to his death. He wouldn’t have been able to use the Corolla, so would have had to walk and might conceivably have been attacked by the same individuals who had sabotaged his car. Erlendur admitted that he and Caroline had had a difference of opinion about the presence of the army and that he wasn’t sure she would offer them any further help.

‘It was clever of her to find that woman, that Joan, so quickly,’ said Marion. ‘She’s done us a good turn. We should try and keep her happy. Try not to quarrel with her unnecessarily.’

‘Of course. I did try not to, but she’s got quite a temper on her and knows her own mind. I’m hoping she’s going to check a name for us — the man Joan mentioned, who was at the Animal Locker with Kristvin. Well, I say “name” — Kristvin referred to him as “W”.’

‘Dubya?’

‘That’s all we’ve got,’ said Erlendur. ‘Caroline said it wasn’t much to go on, but the odds are that he’s a member of the Defense Force, or at least associated with it.’

‘And Joan’s husband wasn’t in the country?’

‘So she claims. Caroline was going to check up on that too. His name’s Earl Jones, and if Joan’s to be believed, he doesn’t pay her much attention. She’s pretty outspoken.’

‘Like a lot of Americans,’ said Marion.

‘Probably a racist too, judging by the way she went for Caroline,’ said Erlendur.

‘Oh?’

‘They almost came to blows. Joan thought she was talking down to her.’

‘Caroline must have had her hands full with you two,’ said Marion. ‘I feel quite sorry for her.’

‘Hmm. So, do you reckon Kristvin was already being watched on the base? That people were aware of his movements? Knew about Joan?’

‘I’ve been thinking about what that freak Rúdólf told us. What if Kristvin had uncovered evidence relating to arms shipments in that hangar? Something earth-shattering that would really cause a stir if it leaked out. What if he drew attention to himself by asking questions? Could information about the shipments be so sensitive that they’d actually be prepared to kill Kristvin to shut him up?’

‘It’s like a whole different country out there on Midnesheidi,’ said Erlendur. ‘What do we know about how they do things? Look at Vietnam. Or Watergate. What are we supposed to think?’

‘Do you drink port, by the way? It’s all I have,’ said Marion, pouring another glass.

‘No, thanks.’

‘They put a man on the moon,’ Marion pointed out.

‘Sure, I’m not knocking their achievements.’

Erlendur had a lot of time for Marion, though he never admitted as much. Since joining CID he had been given a completely free hand, though Marion kept an eye on what he was doing and at times criticised his work in a manner that Erlendur found pedantic, even downright harsh. So it was a surprise to find himself sitting in Marion’s living room all of a sudden. He didn’t know what he’d done to earn this honour and didn’t enquire.

‘How’s your other case progressing?’ asked Marion.

‘Dagbjört, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

Erlendur delved in his pocket for the pages he had found in the girl’s bedroom and handed them over.

‘I found these hidden in her room. The house is for sale and they let me look round. The neighbour she appears to be referring to still lives next door. Bit of an oddball. Grew up alone with his mother — Mrs Kruse, as he calls her.’

Marion read the pages twice.

‘Was he the peeping Tom?’

‘I asked him straight out,’ said Erlendur, ‘and he shut the door in my face. Name’s Rasmus. Rasmus Kruse. Mother was Danish. He doesn’t have a police record, not that that tells us much. I want to give him time to think it over before I pay him another visit.’

‘She was scared of him,’ said Marion, looking at the pages, ‘but didn’t want to tell anyone.’

‘She must have been embarrassed.’

‘She was obviously pretty innocent. She sounds so bewildered.’

‘Yes. She doesn’t understand what he’s up to. Mind you, a brief comment like that’s not much to go on.’

‘So no one knew? That this man was spying on her?’

‘No, I doubt it,’ said Erlendur. ‘I’m guessing Dagbjört never let on to her parents or friends. And the man’s name doesn’t crop up anywhere in the case files. No one seems to have interviewed him or, if they did, there’s no note of it.’

‘Of course you can never interview everyone.’

‘No, true.’

‘This is quite a significant discovery,’ said Marion, handing back the pages. ‘Have you told her aunt?’

‘No, not yet. I want to look into it a bit more before I start raising any false hopes.’

‘You’re right,’ said Marion, eyes resting meditatively on the little figurines on the bookshelves. ‘It’s not fair to go around raising false hopes.’