Oblivion

36

Caroline still hadn’t made contact by the time Erlendur returned to CID headquarters. Marion was sitting by the phone but said it was unlikely they would hear from her any time soon, given that she had fobbed them off with a false number. There was no telling what she was thinking or what her next move would be. It seemed obvious to Marion that she didn’t want any further dealings with the Icelandic police for now and that she would get in touch when she felt the need. Erlendur countered that she could be in real danger if Kristvin’s death was linked to Wilbur Cain, CIA transport aircraft and arms dealing.

‘Hadn’t we better go back out there?’ said Erlendur. ‘Do something?’

‘You’re right. There’s no way I can sit here and wait for her to make contact if there’s the slightest chance she’s in danger,’ said Marion. ‘The question is, should I go alone this time?’

‘Hmm, second thoughts, I’m not sure she’d want that. I’m sure she’d let us know if she uncovered something major.’

‘Still, it couldn’t hurt to take a trip out there,’ said Marion, standing up. ‘I’ll try to be discreet. You wait by the phone and talk to her if she calls. What have you been up to, by the way? Ringing from payphones, charging around town.’

‘Dagbjört,’ said Erlendur.

‘Making any headway?’

‘Not sure. Could be.’

Erlendur outlined what he had found out since he discovered the diary pages in Dagbjört’s room. He described his visit to Rasmus Kruse who had admitted spying on Dagbjört across the garden in the evenings. And his encounter with Vilhelm at the bus station. And the news about the friend’s cousin who worked on the base and supplied the latest records from America and possibly a variety of other sought-after items that teenage girls would have coveted in the post-war years.

‘You mean the cousin may have been using that as bait?’ said Marion.

‘It crossed my mind.’

‘Of course there was nothing in the shops after the war,’ said Marion. ‘We had import restrictions and acute shortages for years, right around the time your girl went missing.’

Erlendur was aware of the import restrictions in those days. Special licences were required to ship any kind of goods into the country. Not even a holey sock could be brought in unless a rationing clerk had approved the request. Long queues would form if people got wind of some new product arriving in the shops; they were prepared to camp outside all night if necessary, waiting for the doors to open. There was a flourishing black market too and corruption was rife. The restrictions spawned all sorts of smuggling rackets and under-the-counter trade.

‘And profiteering from the army was at its height,’ said Erlendur.

‘You can say that again.’

‘There’s a passing reference to the gramophone records in the files containing interviews with the girls who were at Dagbjört’s party, but the police saw no point in following it up. They never made any connection between this man and Dagbjört — perhaps for a good reason. Perhaps they didn’t know each other and never met. But it would be interesting to talk to him. If he’s still alive.’

‘You should try and trace him,’ said Marion. ‘Meanwhile, I’m going to pay a visit to the base and see if I can make contact with Caroline.’

Marion left and Erlendur sat down by the phone and dialled the number of Dagbjört’s friend Silja. When she eventually picked up, Erlendur launched straight in, asking if she knew which of Dagbjört’s friends used to have a cousin who supplied the latest American records from the base.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Silja, unprepared for the question. It occurred to Erlendur belatedly that he might have interrupted her supper.

‘You and your friends went to a party at Dagbjört’s house shortly before her disappearance. One of the girls had got hold of some new records. She’d obtained them from her cousin who worked at the air-force base in Keflavík. I need to know which friend that was.’

‘I’ve completely forgotten.’

‘Would you be able to find out for me?’

‘I could try,’ said Silja. ‘Why’s it important?’

‘I can’t tell yet but I’d like to know who the man was.’

‘What’s so interesting about this man? Have you discovered something?’

‘No,’ said Erlendur, to discourage her from getting ideas, ‘I’m no closer. I just want to know who he was.’

‘My mind’s a blank,’ said Silja, the surprise still lingering in her voice. ‘Records from the base?’

‘He may have been living there at the time,’ said Erlendur. ‘Could you track down the friend for me?’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Good,’ said Erlendur. ‘Thanks. I’ll be in touch.’

There was little traffic on the road to Keflavík. The weather was still and the rising moon shed a cold light over the surrounding lava field and the pyramid form of Mount Keilir. At the gate Marion was given directions to military police headquarters and a few minutes later drew up in front of the building. There were grey jeeps parked outside. In addition to maintaining law and order among the Defense Force personnel, the police were responsible for patrolling the perimeter fence and deterring intruders.

Marion went inside and approached the reception desk. The young man standing behind it asked if he could help. Marion explained that the Icelandic police had recently received assistance from a liaison officer, Sergeant Caroline Murphy, and –

‘Are you from the Icelandic police?’ interrupted the young man.

‘Yes,’ said Marion, smiling. ‘Didn’t I mention that? I just wanted to thank her for her help.’

‘I’m afraid Caroline’s taking a few days’ leave,’ said the young man, turning over the pages in front of him. ‘But I’ll tell her you dropped by.’

‘Thank you,’ said Marion. ‘But I won’t be back this way any time soon. You couldn’t tell me where she lives? I only want to say a quick hello. It won’t take long. She really was extremely helpful.’

The man was not yet twenty, with red hair and skin, freckles, and a fine down on his cheeks. Marion noticed that his uniform was crumpled, which seemed consistent with his general air of apathy with regard to his job and assisting those who came into the station.

‘May I see some ID?’ he asked as he unhurriedly looked up the address.

‘Of course,’ said Marion and handed him a warrant card.

After giving it a sidelong glance, the young man read out Caroline’s address. Marion thanked him effusively for his helpfulness, then got behind the wheel again and a few minutes later stopped in front of a two-storey barracks. The car park was chock-full of cars and trucks which spilled out into the street as well. Finding Caroline’s name on a bell in the lobby, Marion rang it several times without getting any response. The door to the stairwell was open. There was a cigarette vending machine by the wall and another selling soft drinks and beer. Marion entered and climbed the stairs to the first floor.

This must be it, thought Marion, walking up to an unmarked door on the right-hand side and knocking. Marion waited, and knocked again, with no more success than before, then started hammering on it, calling Caroline’s name. The only result was that the door of the flat opposite opened and a man emerged onto the landing.

‘Do you have to make such a goddamn racket?’ he asked.

Marion swung round. ‘Sorry, I’m looking for Caroline. Do you have any idea where she might be?’

‘Who are you?’ asked the man, who was clad in jeans and a college sweatshirt and had a beer can in his hand. A woman peered out inquisitively from behind him.

‘I just wanted to say hello,’ said Marion. ‘We worked together recently and she was going to... er... take me to the officers’ club.’

‘You Icelandic?’

‘Yes.’

‘You here to buy something?’

‘Buy? No.’

‘So you weren’t helping yourself to cigarettes downstairs?’

‘No,’ said Marion. ‘No cigarettes.’

‘Like a beer?’ asked the man, waving the can.

‘No, thank you,’ said Marion, unsure if the man was joking.

‘Is it you who’s always cleaning out the machines downstairs?’

‘I’ve never touched them,’ said Marion. ‘I’ve never been here before.’

‘You’re all the same, you Icelandics. Goddamn parasites.’

‘Well, it—’

‘We haven’t seen Caroline today. I reckon she’d have answered by now if she was home, so you can stop banging on her door.’

The woman retreated further into the flat behind him. Marion heard the phone ringing inside.

‘Do you know where she might be?’

‘She sometimes goes to the Animal Locker in the evenings,’ said the man. ‘But never to the officers’ club. Though maybe with you. She your sponsor?’

‘The Animal Locker?’ said Marion, remembering that this was the place Erlendur had mentioned in connection with Joan; it was where she worked. Kristvin had gone there with a sponsor who may or may not have been called Wilbur Cain, and it was a place Caroline sometimes patronised herself. ‘Isn’t that... is it a...?’

‘It’s a bar,’ said the man.

‘Known as the Zoo?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Oh, right, that’s where we were supposed to be going,’ said Marion. ‘She’s probably there already. I’m sorry about all the noise; I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

‘Just remember that other people live here too,’ said the man and took a swig from his can.

Marion smiled apologetically, said goodbye and headed downstairs, out to the car and drove away. It was like being a foreigner in one’s own country. After a few minutes Marion stopped a soldier who was passing and asked if he could point the way to the Animal Locker.