Oblivion (31 page)

‘We launched our own inquiry,’ he said. ‘The base is a very small community. Kind of like Iceland, I guess,’ he said to Marion. ‘We heard you were interested in the hangar and checked the duty roster for that week. One of the guards was Jones. We learned that his wife had been friendly with an Icelander. We called one of Jones’s comrades in for questioning and he quickly broke down. That was our friend Pratt here. Jones was in Greenland at the time, but we arrested the other guard. Their statements are quite convincing and consistent as regards the main details. I’m inclined to accept them. The three men all work in Hangar 885 and I have a hard time believing they’d be stupid enough to deliberately murder this Icelander in their workplace. They’re dumb, but not that dumb. They must have intended to shake him up a bit but Jones lost control of the situation and went berserk, according to his comrades. Apparently he’s a mean customer.’

Caroline walked up to Pratt who was still staring at the ground, put her hand under his chin and raised his head so he met her eye.

‘Is this correct, Private?’

‘Earl threw him off the platform, ma’am,’ said Pratt. ‘I … I thought we were just going to scare him a little but Earl … he went crazy. He wanted … he wanted him to suffer for … because of Joan. He didn’t give a damn about the money the guy owed him. Earl just couldn’t stand that she’d been with … with that guy.’

‘With an Icelandic, you mean?’ prompted Caroline.

Pratt didn’t answer. He shot a nervous glance at Gates.

‘Answer her!’ barked the colonel.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Pratt. ‘With an Icelandic. Earl couldn’t stand that. He hated it.’

‘Who told Earl about Joan and Kris?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was it Wilbur Cain?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you familiar with the name?’

‘No, ma’am.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Colonel Gates made a sign and Private Pratt was escorted out of the hangar.

‘Where is Jones?’ asked Marion. ‘Where is he now? Have you got him in custody?’

Gates nodded.

‘We’d like him handed over,’ said Marion. ‘We’d like all three of them handed over.’

Gates consulted his watch. ‘The plane’s due to land in an hour,’ he said. ‘Earl Jones was arrested in Greenland this morning. There’s no question of handing him over. We don’t extradite our military personnel. You are now in possession of all the relevant information and can be sure the inquiry is safe in our hands. Your part in this is over.’

‘But they murdered an Icelandic citizen,’ said Marion. ‘Earl Jones assaulted his wife.’

‘We’ll deal with that.’

Gates turned on his heel to march out of the hangar.

‘You asked what we were looking for in Hangar 885,’ Marion called at his retreating back. ‘Don’t you want to know what it was?’

Gates didn’t react.

‘Isn’t that where you keep the nuclear warheads?’ Marion asked.

Gates opened the door.

‘We know about Northern Cargo Transport,’ Marion added.

Gates turned back and rested his gaze on Marion. Then he pushed the door to again.

‘What do you mean by Northern Cargo Transport? What are you talking about?’

‘We know you use fake airlines to ferry weapons between countries,’ Marion said, improvising frantically.

‘And?’

‘We know about the flights to Thule.’

Gates studied Marion and Caroline in turn, as if weighing up what to believe. Marion tried to keep a poker face, praying the bluff would work.

‘I don’t believe you know anything,’ Gates said.

‘Where’s Wilbur Cain? Why was he in contact with Kristvin?’

‘I told you we are not aware of the existence of anyone by the name of Wilbur Cain.’

‘He’s –’

‘Why do you keep asking about this man? We’re not aware of his existence.’

‘You’re disowning him, you mean?’

‘I mean we don’t know who he is.’

‘What was Cain doing with Kristvin at the Animal Locker?’

Slowly Gates retraced his steps towards them.

‘All I know is that we heard there was an Icelandic employee snooping around our aircraft, asking questions about matters that didn’t concern him. When the case was looked into it turned out that he had a head full of half-baked conspiracy theories that were laughable at best.’

‘That’s not what we heard.’

‘You’re getting mixed up in things that are no concern of yours,’ said Gates.

‘We want the men. We want to take over the investigation. We want to question them and try them in an Icelandic court,’ said Marion.

‘Out of the question.’

‘All right,’ said Marion. ‘Then you can expect a visit from a delegation to inspect your activities here on the base. To open up the hangars. Look inside the planes. Examine the contents of your storage facilities. I reckon we have enough information about Northern Cargo Transport, Thule and the planes carrying nuclear weapons landing here to have the whole nation up in arms against you.’

There was a pregnant pause.

‘You won’t find anything,’ said Gates.

‘I’m not sure we need to,’ retorted Marion.

Gates shook his head. ‘I don’t advise you to try.’

‘We just need to make enough noise,’ said Marion. ‘You must realise it’s not in your interests for this situation to last much longer. To have us nosing around up here and persuading people like Caroline to assist us. Talking to military personnel without permission. Entering controlled areas you’d prefer to keep closed. It can’t be convenient for you to have us disrupting your activities here with all kinds of inquiries and other aggravation. I assume you’d prefer it to stop sooner rather than later.’

Gates still wavered.

‘We want those men,’ repeated Marion.

Gates looked at Caroline standing quietly beside the Icelandic police officer, contributing nothing to the conversation.

‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘I’m prepared to help you with the investigation into the death of this Icelander. Would that be sufficient to create trust?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Marion. ‘Help us how?’

‘If we come to an agreement, I must stress that it would not in any way constitute recognition of the validity of your insinuations regarding nuclear weapons.’

‘Meaning …?’

‘You can arrest the men. Conduct the interrogations and complete the inquiry. But they’ll be tried by us.’

Marion turned to Caroline.

‘Would you like the honour of locking Jones up?’

Three-quarters of an hour later an inbound military transport from Greenland taxied up to one of the hangars. Marion and Caroline watched the huge beast approach with a thunderous roar that gradually died away once the engines had been turned off. Colonel Gates and his men were nowhere to be seen. Caroline had called for backup from military police and several other officers were standing behind her as the ramp was driven up to the plane. The door in the fuselage opened and after a brief interval a man appeared accompanied by two military policemen, a short figure, in handcuffs, dressed in green combat trousers and jacket. He had seen what was happening from the window of the plane as it taxied to a halt by the hangar, and stood looking down apprehensively at the reception committee on the tarmac. Reluctantly, he descended the steps until he came face to face with Caroline.

‘Private Earl Jones?’ she said.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the man. He had a narrow face with dark stubble and black eyebrows that almost met in the middle. Despite his muscular build his shoulders were a little rounded and he had an obtuse look in his eyes.

Caroline slapped his face so hard that her palm stung afterwards.

‘Joan says hello.’

ERLENDUR PARKED IN
front of the house, marvelling yet again at how it had been allowed to go to rack and ruin. Neither the building nor the surrounding plot showed the slightest evidence of care. Instead, the whole place bore witness to a paralysing apathy, to long years of neglect and decay, as if blighted by death itself. He lit a cigarette. Mensalder was no longer with him. He had dropped him back at the petrol station where his car was parked. Mensalder had been so depressed and subdued that Erlendur hardly heard his goodbye. They had spoken little on the return journey. Having told him everything that mattered, Mensalder had retreated into his own thoughts, doubts and regrets – old enemies that Erlendur suspected would weigh on him more heavily than ever before in the coming days.

Erlendur sat for a considerable time outside the house. A newsflash on the radio announced that the two men lost on the Eyvindarstadir Moors had been found dead. It appeared that one had fallen into a hole in the ice and been unable to climb out again. The other man had tried in vain to help. When the rescue team found him he was lying frozen to death a few feet from the hole, as if he would not for the world have abandoned his friend.

Erlendur cursed the cruelty of fate, the pitiless elements and the men’s cold demise. Then, lighting another cigarette, he turned his attention to what Mensalder had told him about his arrangement to meet Dagbjört and her failure to appear. He could see no movement in the house. No sign of light. The curtains were drawn across the windows. Dagbjört’s house also stood dark, silent and empty, with the ‘For Sale’ notice still in the kitchen window, waiting to be brought back to life. Two houses side by side and a girl on her way to school. Was that as far as Dagbjört had got? To the house next door?

Stubbing out his cigarette, Erlendur stepped out of the car and surveyed the building, then went up to the front door. He knocked, then after a pause knocked again, louder this time. When nobody answered, he turned away and walked into the garden. The illumination from the street light barely reached this far and it took a while for Erlendur’s eyes to adjust. He stood amid the long, withered grass, straining to discern any movement indoors and wondering if Rasmus had gone to bed.

Going over to the back door, he discovered that it was locked but that the lock was old and rotten, like everything else in the house. All it required was a hard jerk to open it. He called Rasmus’s name, and although he received no answer, decided to go in anyway.

His eyes now accustomed to the gloom, he entered what he took to be the dining room. From his previous visit, he remembered that this had faced the garden. Again he called Rasmus’s name, raising his voice this time. He stood still for minute or two, listening, but the only answer was the profound hush inside the house. He groped his way as far as the hall and staircase, with the idea of trying upstairs, then heard a door shutting quietly somewhere off to his left where the garage adjoined the house. All at once another door opened and Rasmus appeared. He seemed preoccupied and didn’t notice Erlendur. Switching on the light, he closed the door carefully behind him and headed for the stairs. Erlendur could hear him muttering under his breath but couldn’t make out the words.

‘Rasmus,’ he said, and although he spoke softly in an attempt not to startle the man too much, Rasmus was so shocked that he emitted a piercing shriek and crashed back into the wall.

‘You didn’t answer the door,’ said Erlendur.

‘Who … who’s there? What …? Thief! Are you a thief?’

‘It’s me – Erlendur.’

‘Oh … is it you … you …?’ Rasmus had been winded by the shock and was so badly shaken that he couldn’t get his bearings. ‘What … what do you mean by giving me such a fright? Why are you persecuting me like this?’

‘I’m sorry, the back door was open,’ said Erlendur. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

‘Frighten me?’ echoed Rasmus, recovering slightly. ‘The door open – what nonsense. It’s never open. Do you mean to say you broke in? Get out of my house this minute. I don’t want you here. How many times do I have to tell you? How could you do this to me? I’ve never … I’ve never been so shocked in all my life. You have no right to let yourself in here. I want you out. Get out!’

‘Where were you? In the garage? You can’t have heard when I knocked.’

‘I didn’t hear a thing,’ said Rasmus, trying to adopt a more confident manner, running a hand over his greasy mat of hair and standing taller, though his shoulders were still hunched and stooping. ‘Why don’t you do as I ask? Will you please leave?!’

His voice broke as he tried to give force to this order, ending in another high-pitched shriek. Erlendur studied him, this pathetic human being, isolated, imprisoned, afraid, and experienced an odd sense of sympathy.

‘I’d like a proper chat with you about Dagbjört,’ he said. ‘We now know where she was going the morning she vanished and –’

‘Well, I have no interest in discussing that any further with you,’ said Rasmus. ‘You can just get out of here right now.’

‘– and we know the route she took,’ Erlendur continued stubbornly. ‘It wasn’t far and there weren’t many obstacles on the way and there’s every likelihood that she passed your house.’

‘I’m not listening to this,’ said Rasmus. ‘Please leave; I’m going upstairs and I hope I never have to see you again.’

He went to the stairs and had mounted two steps when Erlendur seized his arm and yanked him down again.

‘Stop it,’ said Erlendur sharply. ‘Wake up. It’s over. Finished. Tell me where she is.’

‘No,’ screamed Rasmus. ‘You’re using violence! I have nothing whatever to say to you. Nothing!’

‘Did she want you to stop spying on her? Was that why she came round? Did she threaten to report you? She saw you outside your house, didn’t she? What did you do? Wave to her? Call her over? Invite her in? Lure her inside?’

Erlendur still had hold of his arm but Rasmus had his head averted as if he couldn’t bear the relentless questioning or didn’t dare meet his eye. His body writhed as he tried to tear himself loose, break Erlendur’s grip, evade the merciless interrogation. Erlendur hung on tight, then realised that Rasmus had begun to cry. His body shook with silent sobs and he covered his face with his free hand, overcome with humiliation. Eventually he seemed to grow calmer and even rallied a little. He looked down at Erlendur’s hand which was still gripping his arm.

‘No one’s touched me in all the years since Mama died,’ he whispered.