Oblivion

39

Rósanna was a single mother of three, who lived in a basement flat in the Laugarnes area. A flight of stairs led down to the front door, and Erlendur was on the bottom step when the door flew open and the eldest boy, who had answered the phone earlier, appeared, took one look at Erlendur and yelled to his mother as he shot past and up the steps: ‘That old bloke’s here.’

Erlendur was disconcerted. Never, to his knowledge, had he been described as an old bloke before; he was only thirty-three. He watched the boy’s retreating figure, wondering if that was how he looked to him. When he turned back, Rósanna had come to the door. She was quite short, looked careworn, and was regarding Erlendur with an enquiring expression.

‘I expected you to be older,’ she said.

‘Ah, is that... was that your son?’

‘Is there someone else with you?’

‘What? No, I’m alone.’

He saw that she was trying to suppress a smile. She invited him in, apologising for the mess. She’d been working late and had had no time for housework all week. ‘The kids don’t lift a finger,’ she added. Erlendur said he quite understood and they chatted for a while, mostly about her friends at the Women’s College and what had become of them. This led her to talk about herself and what she had been up to in the intervening years. She was not in the least shy, took a matter-of-fact view of her circumstances and had not an ounce of self-pity. She ran a small shop near the top of Skólavördustígur which stocked a variety of health foods, though she said that business was slow. The Icelanders were only interested in red meat and stodgy sauces but she had taken a gamble on health food being the future. Erlendur admitted that he ate little but fatty meat in gravy and fermented fish with melted dripping, but pretended to be interested in improving his diet. This provoked another smile.

‘People are more interested in their health than they used to be,’ Rósanna said optimistically. She hadn’t gone on to higher education after leaving school but had met a man and got married instead. Her husband had set up a small company and she’d worked for him until their children were born and she became more involved in running their home. But over time the company had started losing money and they’d ended up badly in debt. Then her husband had fallen ill. It transpired that he had pancreatic cancer and he died within the year. She had sold the company, their house and two cars, which left her largely debt-free, and moved into this basement flat with her children.

‘I wasn’t the one who knew Dagbjört best,’ she said, thinking back, ‘but of course I remember what a shock it was for us girls in her class when it happened. We couldn’t believe it. We thought she must have gone off somewhere without telling anyone and that she’d turn up at school next day and it would all have been a misunderstanding. Of course that didn’t happen. I was a bit taken aback when Silja rang and then you.’

‘There are no new developments,’ said Erlendur. ‘I don’t know if Silja explained but Dagbjört’s aunt wants to know if it’s possible to draw any conclusions, although it was a long time ago, and I agreed to look into it. It’s a last-ditch attempt, I suppose.’

‘It must have been devastating for the family. We were all given the third degree by the police at the time. But I don’t know if I can add anything, and I really don’t see what it’s got to do with my cousin.’

‘It’s just one among a number of details that have cropped up,’ said Erlendur, trying to reassure the woman. ‘At the time it was rumoured that Dagbjört had a boyfriend. Were you aware of that?’

‘You mean the boy from Camp Knox? Wasn’t that just idle gossip?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I remember people talking about it but I can’t tell you if it was true or not. We weren’t that into boys at the time. One or two of the girls may have been in relationships — I really can’t remember.’

‘What about Camp Knox? Did she ever talk about it?’

‘She may have done but if so I’ve forgotten. I lived on the opposite side of town and didn’t know the west end. Though of course I knew about life in the camps. It certainly wasn’t easy. One of my mother’s sisters lived in Múli Camp.’

‘I gather your old class still keeps in touch,’ said Erlendur.

‘Yes, we do. We have a reunion at least once a year and I know it’s probably a bit morbid but we always raise a toast to Dagbjört. She’s never far from our thoughts. Then we play popular hits from the time. Dean Martin and so on.’

‘Doris Day?’

‘Yes, and Doris Day,’ said Rósanna, smiling.

‘I know it’s a long time ago, but did you ever hear Dagbjört mention her next-door neighbours?’

‘No, not that I recall.’

‘The thing is, I spoke to one of them the other day and he told me he’d bumped into Dagbjört shortly before she went missing and that she’d been talking about wanting some new records from America. She mentioned your cousin. Said he worked out on the air-force base and supplied you with the latest hits, Doris Day and so on. You were going to bring some to her birthday party. Does that jog your memory? Do you know if Dagbjört ever got in touch with your cousin?’

Rósanna listened intently, trying to cast her mind back to what had been said and done in the lead-up to the tragic event.

‘Wouldn’t she have had to go through you?’ asked Erlendur. ‘If she wanted to contact your cousin?’

‘I only have one cousin who worked on the base,’ said Rósanna thoughtfully. ‘Our fathers are brothers. He’s about ten years older than me. His name’s Mensalder. I’m trying to think if Dagbjört ever asked me about him or if I gave her his phone number. My mind’s a blank. At least I wasn’t aware that they ever met or spoke to each other. Mensalder lived out at Keflavík and worked for the army; he was always bringing home stuff he bought there or picked up for free. Cigarettes, turkey, steak, jeans. They were real luxuries in those days because you couldn’t get them for love or money in Reykjavík. It was a way for him to earn a bit on the side. But he mostly gave us things or my dad paid a token amount. Mensalder always had dollars and the latest records and I clearly remember borrowing three or four from him for Dagbjört’s party. It’s quite possible I gave her his number. Or perhaps she got it from someone else. But I never heard if she rang him.’

‘So you didn’t act as go-between?’

‘No. I didn’t order anything for her, if that’s what you mean. But... it was... hang on a minute...’

‘What?’

‘I do believe he took them round himself.’

‘The records?’

‘No, he picked them up from hers the next day. That was it. I remember now. He lent me the records and wanted them straight back because he’d already sold them to somebody else, but I forgot them at Dagbjört’s house and didn’t have time to fetch them, so I told him where she lived and he was going to drop round for them. That was it, if I’m not mistaken. He was in a bit of a hurry.’

‘So they would have met?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And it’s possible she asked him if he could get her some stuff from the base?’

‘Yes, but wait a minute, surely there’s nothing suspicious about that? It’s got nothing to do with... with what happened to Dagbjört?’

‘What does he do now? This Mensalder?’

‘Last I heard he was working at a petrol station,’ said Rósanna.

‘Here in Reykjavík?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is he married? Any children?’

‘No, no wife, no children,’ said Rósanna, and Erlendur saw it gradually dawning on her, the real reason he was here in her flat this evening, a complete stranger, asking questions about Dagbjört. ‘Mensalder’s always lived alone,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Why are you dragging him into this? What’s he done?’

Erlendur didn’t know how to answer.

‘I don’t believe... no, Mensalder’s totally harmless. He could never have... are you implying he’s linked to Dagbjört’s disappearance? Is that what you’re insinuating?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ said Erlendur, observing Rósanna’s dismay. ‘Honestly, I don’t know.’