Oblivion

6

It was past midnight and Marion Briem had fallen asleep on the office sofa when the desk phone suddenly started ringing. All the other staff had gone home and the shrill sound repeatedly shattered the deep silence in the building. Marion awoke, rose from the sofa and snatched up the receiver.

‘What the hell? What time is it?’

‘Marion?’

‘Yes?’

‘Sorry... is it very late?’

It was the pathologist. Marion sat down at the desk, checking the clock.

‘Couldn’t it wait till morning?’

‘What, oh, yes, of course,’ said the pathologist. It was well known that Marion liked to nap on the office sofa and would sometimes spend the night there. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. What time is it anyway?’

‘Twelve minutes past midnight.’

‘Oh, that late? Sorry, I didn’t realise. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I should be off home myself. I am sorry, I had no idea how late it was.’

Marion knew that the pathologist, Herbert, had lost his wife several years ago and now lived alone. They’d had no children, and once she was gone, he had only an empty house to return to. It didn’t cross his mind to try and meet another woman. Marion had once raised the possibility with him when they were down at the morgue but his reaction had been lukewarm.

‘What’s up?’ asked Marion, feeling more awake. ‘Any news?’

‘Hadn’t we better leave it till tomorrow?’

‘No, come on, out with it. You’ve woken me up now. The damage is done.’

‘He bit his nails.’

‘The man from the lagoon?’

‘Bit them down to the cuticles. Probably an old habit from childhood. That doesn’t help us, unfortunately.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, we might have been able to find some residual traces under his nails — if he’d been in a fight, for example.’

‘Ah, I’m with you.’

‘I get the impression he worked with his hands. Did some job involving a workshop. The lagoon cleaned them to some extent but I found traces of dirt, grease and oil around his fingernails, or what’s left of them. It’s all I can think of. A garage. Machine shop. Something along those lines.’

‘Grease?’

‘Yes, and it’s not just the dirt.’

The pathologist explained to Marion that he’d noticed the man’s hands were covered in small cuts or abrasions, old and new, as well as being calloused from manual labour. He recognised the signs since his own brothers were both mechanics. It was this that had led him to suspect that the body was that of a tradesman or labourer. He was no more than thirty-five years old and enough of his teeth were still intact for them to be compared to dental records if he couldn’t be identified by other means.

‘Do you think the lagoon was supposed to conceal this?’ asked Marion. ‘The dirt on his hands? The small cuts?’

‘I think the lagoon was intended to conceal his body, that’s all. But of course it’s not my place to express an opinion.’

‘Can you see anything to suggest that he might have been American? An American from the base? A foreigner?’

‘A serviceman, you mean?’

‘Yes, maybe.’

‘He was wearing cowboy boots and—’

‘That’s not enough. Did you find anything that could link him to the base? Anything that could place him at Keflavík? Erlendur was talking about the possibility.’

‘Not that I noticed. But there’s another detail I should mention,’ said the pathologist. His voice suddenly sounded threadbare, as if the late hour was catching up with him.

‘Yes?’

‘All the evidence is that the man died as the result of falling from a great height, as we’ve discussed. From what I can deduce, he landed on a smooth surface, a pavement or tarmac, maybe even a concrete floor.’

‘Yes, you’ve already told us that.’

‘Well, perhaps I am repeating myself, but there are so many strange aspects to this death. Like, for example, the fact that he landed flat on his face without raising his arms to protect himself. I don’t believe he fell directly into the lagoon from a plane, as you two were suggesting. If that were the case the impact would have mainly come from hitting water. No, the surface he landed on was much harder.’

‘In other words he fell from a great height,’ said Marion, yawning. ‘Everything points to that. So there are only three possibilities: accident, suicide or murder. If it was an accident or suicide, it’s very puzzling that anyone would have wanted to hide his body in a mudbath. But if it was murder, it’s much easier to understand why the perpetrator would have wanted to cover his tracks. I believe we can rule out suicide, in any case. Involuntary manslaughter or an accident aren’t inconceivable, but then we have to ask ourselves why it wasn’t reported. Murder is by far the most plausible conclusion.’

‘Yes, that’s why I wanted to talk to you straight away,’ said the pathologist. ‘I just didn’t realise it was so late. You see, I found something on the back of the man’s head where it’s relatively undamaged.’

‘What was it?’

‘An ugly contusion that I missed initially because it’s under his hair. It looks as if he received a heavy blow to the head.’

‘Really?’

‘There’s no doubt.’

‘Isn’t that just the result of his fall?’

‘No. He landed on his face. This is on the back of his head.’

‘Are you positive?’

‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to prove it conclusively by further examination,’ said the pathologist, ‘but the odds are that the man was dead before he fell.’