Oblivion

7

Marion and Erlendur were gazing out over the lagoon, watching the diver lowering himself into the water. It was his second attempt. On his first he had found nothing in the area where the body had been lying, but he had wanted another chance to make a more thorough search. Marion was sceptical, seeing it as nothing more than a ploy to squeeze more money out of the police, but didn’t say so out loud. The police had called on the diver’s services before when they needed to drag harbours or lakes. He was in his forties, a carpenter by trade, a volunteer member of the rescue team and one of the most capable divers in the country. He had a powerful lamp attached to his head which lit up the water as he submerged, and Marion and Erlendur watched it moving slowly to and fro under the milky-blue surface.

According to the diver, the lagoon bed was covered in a thick layer of sediment which hampered his efforts. Even if there was some clue sunk in the mud, the cloudiness of the water would make it almost impossible to spot. The lagoon had the detectives stumped. They had never encountered conditions quite like this before and were unsure how to proceed. They had discussed emptying it by pumping out the water but this had been dismissed as impractical. Then Erlendur had suggested dragging the bottom and, as no one had come up with a better solution, preparations were under way.

Combing the shores of the lagoon for clues had as yet produced no results. The snow had obliterated any tracks that might have been left by the person or people responsible for transporting the body there. And the conjecture that the man had been thrown out of a plane had to be taken as seriously as any other, despite indications that he had already been dead before he landed. Reykjavík air traffic control were unaware of any flights over the area in the past week but there were a number of privately owned light aircraft based at the domestic airport and the police were in the process of contacting their owners. The police had also put out a request for information about traffic through smaller airstrips in the south of Iceland, such as those at Selfoss and in the Westman Islands. And they were still awaiting a response from air traffic control at Keflavík about the movements of private planes from the international airport.

Even before the snow fell no tyre marks had been visible in the environs of the lagoon the evening the body was found. And anyway it was inaccessible to vehicles except perhaps for large, specially equipped four-wheel drives. The most likely scenario was that the body had been carried over the shortest route from the Grindavík road to the pool, then floated some way out into the water before being sunk. The diver could see no sign that it had been weighted down.

Marion had relayed to Erlendur the gist of the pathologist’s phone call the night before, particularly the detail about the bruising on the back of the man’s head. The pathologist had rung again at lunchtime and repeated his conviction that the man had either been dead before he fell or at least unconscious from a heavy blow to the head.

‘That explains why he landed flat on his face,’ said Erlendur, watching the diver’s progress.

‘That’s what Herbert thought,’ said Marion. ‘He reckoned it was the most plausible explanation. That he’d been struck.’

‘Could he deduce anything about the implement — about what he’d been struck with?’

‘We’re maybe talking about a wheel brace, a length of piping or some other blunt instrument. He said it was hard to tell. Though he didn’t think it was a hammer. No sign of sharp edges. The skin wasn’t broken but it must have been a pretty heavy blow.’

The diver surfaced briefly, then went under again, his headlamp glowing in the water. Heat radiated constantly from the lagoon, condensing into vapour which was swept across the surface by the breeze before dispersing. Erlendur was entranced by the sight: the subterranean fires and bleak terrain of the Reykjanes Peninsula had brought about this convergence of hot water, steam and moss-green lava, and endowed it with an unearthly beauty.

‘So the man’s hit on the head, then pushed off a tall building,’ he said.

‘Yes. Possibly.’

‘So it would look like suicide?’

‘We have to consider that.’

Marion and Erlendur had spoken to a manager at the power station who said it was out of the question that the man was a member of his staff. Nobody was missing; everyone had reported for work as usual. He was astonished that a body should have turned up in the run-off lagoon. Few had any reason to go there, though he had heard of people bathing there because of the supposedly beneficial minerals.

The man, a tall, overweight, ruddy individual, with a red beard covering half his face, had walked back to the lagoon with them and was now watching the diver. It occurred to Erlendur to ask him about flights over the area and the man replied that there was quite a bit of activity thanks to the presence of the international airport and the American naval base on Midnesheidi. The roar of the military jets could be deafening at times. There were a few light aircraft too but the people working at the power station were less aware of them.

‘Why do you ask — was he thrown out of a plane or something?’

The man said it half jokingly. So far no details had leaked out about the state of the body or police speculation that the multiple fractures and unrecognisable face were the result of a fall from a great height. When Erlendur merely shrugged and gave no answer, the man stared at them both in disbelief.

‘Was he seriously thrown out of a plane?’ he exclaimed.

‘We have no evidence of that,’ said Marion.

‘But you’re considering the possibility?’

‘No, we’re not,’ said Erlendur firmly.

‘What made you think he might have worked for us?’

‘We may be talking about a manual worker of some kind, and given that he was found on your doorstep, it was only natural to enquire about your staff. You say you’re not missing anyone, but what about men who used to work for you? Have you had any trouble over the last few months or year? Anyone been given the sack? Anyone issued threats? Any tensions you can recall?’

‘No, I can’t remember any problems of that sort,’ said the man.

The diver reared up out of the water. Steam poured off him and he resembled some creature of the swamp as he waded towards them, his shape distorted by the oxygen tank and mask. He took out his mouthpiece when he reached the shore where they were standing.

‘I quit,’ he said. ‘I can’t find a thing in that bloody muck.’

‘Difficult to see?’ said Marion.

‘Difficult? It’s like diving in soup’

‘What’s the matter with him?’ interrupted Erlendur, his attention distracted by the sight of a uniformed officer hastening over the lava field towards them.

The officer and his partner had been sitting in a patrol car on the Grindavík road, guarding the crime scene, when they received an urgent alert over the radio, and had tossed a coin to decide who should abandon the warm interior and dash over to the lagoon with the message. He had lost.

Marion and Erlendur watched him scrambling over the jumbled rocks, and wondered what was up. The diver, who had started peeling off his wetsuit, stopped to follow what was going on.

‘What now?’ he said.

‘They want to talk to you!’ shouted the officer breathlessly when he was finally within earshot, gesturing to the patrol car up by the road.

‘What’s he bawling about?’ asked Marion.

‘Sounds like someone wants to talk to us,’ said Erlendur.

‘A woman rang in,’ called the officer, panting. ‘Her... brother’s missing and she thinks he might be... might be your man.’