Oblivion (26 page)

‘Do you have access to the hangar?’ asked Marion.

‘I can get myself inside if that’s what you mean,’ said Caroline. ‘I’m guessing you Icelandics haven’t signed any agreement allowing nuclear weapons to be located here?’

‘One of the conditions for the presence of the army is that they never store that type of weapon here without the permission of the Icelandic government,’ said Marion.

‘Do you think your government could have granted permission?’

‘I very much doubt they’d even consider it. It would be impossible to justify the presence of the army if news leaked out that they were stockpiling nuclear weapons here. Even less so if it turned out there was a tacit agreement with the Americans that’s been kept from the public.’

Marion looked at Caroline in the mirror.

‘There would be a hell of a stink if the news got out.’

‘So, in other words, it’s a sensitive issue?’

‘Extremely.’

‘Enough that they’d need to silence a man who knew something?’

‘Maybe,’ said Marion. ‘Kristvin was snooping around. He was in contact with a journalist in Reykjavík. He probably knew Wilbur Cain. I imagine this Cain must have tried to sound him out about what he’d uncovered. He may even have led Kristvin on, pretending to have information and fooling him into divulging how much he knew and what he meant to do with the knowledge. Cain would’ve had to decide how to proceed in light of that.’

‘And?’

‘Let’s say he persuaded Kristvin to meet him in the hangar. Pushed him off the scaffolding. Then drove his body out to the lava field at Svartsengi.’

‘That’s one scenario.’

‘What kind of bombs are we talking about?’

‘There’s a range of possibilities,’ said Caroline. ‘We have Lockheed P-3 Orions here. They can carry depth charges with nuclear warheads, designed to combat Soviet submarines. We also have F-4 Phantom fighter jets. They first arrived here six years ago. They can carry nuclear missiles designed for air-to-ground strikes.’

‘So all the necessary equipment’s available?’

‘Yes.’

‘We need to get inside that hangar,’ said Marion. ‘If Kristvin was killed in there, if he fell off the scaffolding, we have to examine the scene, even if all the evidence has been cleaned up. They may have started dismantling the work platforms, so we need to act fast.’

‘What about Cain?’

‘I reckon it would be best to smoke him out,’ said Marion. ‘I think we should force a face-to-face meeting as soon as possible, let him know what we suspect and that it’s all on record. That way we can hopefully guarantee that you won’t be in any danger from him. We need to make it clear to him that if anything happens to you, we know who’s responsible. Where does he live?’

‘No idea. Does that seem wise to you? To approach it like that? I don’t think he or anyone else round here’ll take the blindest bit of notice of the Icelandic police.’

‘I don’t know what else we can do. We’ve got to meet the man sooner or later and my instinct is that it’d be better to take him by surprise. He could go to ground or leave the country. You haven’t told anyone what you know except me and Erlendur and your friend Brad, so Cain’s presumably unaware of your enquiries. You’d better keep it that way. You haven’t told your superiors yet, have you?’

‘The stuff I’m telling you now? No, no one but you. But I’m not sure that was very smart of me.’

‘No, maybe not, but it’s better to be cautious.’

‘From what I hear Cain’s an extremely dangerous guy,’ said Caroline. ‘If you’re planning on paying him a visit, you’d better take precautions. Anyhow, we can’t be sure he’s in the country. He’s a free agent and comes and goes as he likes. And he may well know what I’m up to. I’ve been asking a lot of questions today. That’s why I wanted to know if my dorm was being watched.’

‘I wonder if we could order his arrest in connection with the investigation into Kristvin’s death.’

‘On what grounds?’ asked Caroline. ‘You have nothing on him. All you have are vague suspicions. You’d need direct proof. The fact he may’ve been seen at a bar with Kristvin isn’t enough. We don’t even know if it was him.’

‘Perhaps we could get permission to interview him.’

‘You can put in a request,’ said Caroline, ‘but I’m guessing it’ll be held up in the system and ultimately refused. On the grounds, of course, that the army has no record of any such person. You can be pretty confident that Wilbur Cain’s an alias.’

‘Where can we find evidence then?’ asked Marion.

‘In the hangar, maybe.’

‘So shouldn’t we head over there?’

‘Right now?’

‘Why not?’

Caroline sat up. ‘Isn’t that a bit …?’

‘Do we have any alternative?’ asked Marion.

‘Well …’

‘Not the way I see it.’

‘Let’s do it then,’ said Caroline after a brief pause. ‘Better get it over with before I’m arrested, dragged before a court martial and shot.’

Marion started the car, backed out of the parking space and drove over to military police headquarters, stopping a little way off. Caroline scanned the surroundings, checking out the traffic, any nearby cars and pedestrians. It was ten minutes before she summoned up the courage to dash over to the station and in through the door. Quarter of an hour later she emerged again, in uniform. She walked over to a row of squad cars, climbed into one and drove over to where Marion was waiting. She stopped and Marion got in beside her.

‘How did it go?’ asked Marion.

‘Like a dream,’ said Caroline, permitting herself a smile. ‘I hear you were in earlier asking for me.’

She set off in the direction of Hangar 885. There were few cars on the roads and in no time she was approaching the gate by the hangar. Caroline slowed to a standstill.

‘I know him!’ she said with a sigh of relief, as a soldier came over. There were three guards on the gate. The other two remained at their post. ‘Don’t say a word,’ she warned.

She wound down the window.

‘Hi, Spence, how’re you doing?’ she said with a broad grin.

Spence, who was black like her, grinned in return. He shot a glance at the passenger seat where Marion had grabbed an instruction manual from the glove compartment and was poring over it, pretending not to pay any attention to what was happening.

‘You on duty all night, poor soul?’ asked Caroline.

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Spence. ‘Do you need access to the hangar?’

‘Aerospace engineer,’ she said, nodding at her passenger. ‘So I won’t be seeing you at the Zoo later?’

‘Maybe tomorrow,’ said Spence and waved her through.

‘See ya,’ called Caroline and drove through the gate towards the hangar.

‘Spence?’ said Marion once they were through.

‘Yeah, don’t ask,’ said Caroline.

She drove round the northern side of the vast building and parked out of sight of the guards. The hangar was situated on the edge of the airport; floodlights mounted on the roof illuminated the entire area. Further to the north, beyond the moors, they could see Keflavík and the lights of other settlements on the Reykjanes Peninsula. And there, far off in the distance, was Reykjavík. The glow from the city lit up the sky, revealing just how far the capital now sprawled to the east.

‘Coming?’ called Caroline in a low voice as Marion stood motionless, arrested by the view.

‘Pretty, isn’t it?’

‘We’re not here to admire the scenery,’ snapped Caroline, visibly on edge. She was clearly having second thoughts. ‘I don’t know how you talked me into this,’ she grumbled. ‘I’m such a damn fool. Always the same damn fool.’

She ushered Marion to a door at the northern end of the building, which turned out to be locked. Caroline kept walking, rounded the western corner, then marched briskly alongside the hangar with Marion on her heels. Massive doors extended the length of this side, set into which were smaller doors for staff. Coming to one of these smaller entrances, Caroline tried the handle. It was locked as well. She was about to keep going when she heard a noise inside and shoved Marion back into a shallow recess formed where the full-size doors overlapped one another. Two soldiers emerged and marched off towards the other end of the building. The door swung to behind them but before it could click shut Caroline ran over and caught it. She peered inside to make sure no other personnel were near, then beckoned to Marion to follow.

ERLENDUR WATCHED MENSALDER
attending to the lorry. He exchanged a few words with the driver, flicking the occasional surreptitious glance in Erlendur’s direction. The young man on the till had nipped out to the gents. When he came back, Erlendur asked if Mensalder had been working there long.

‘Mensi?’ said the young man. ‘About five years, I suppose. What … Do you know him?’

‘No,’ said Erlendur. ‘Not really. Is he known as Mensi?’

‘He’s all right,’ said the young man and picked up the phone that was ringing behind the counter. Erlendur went outside and crossed the forecourt towards Mensalder. On the way he passed the lorry driver who was heading for the shop.

‘Bloody cold,’ commented the driver and hurried into the warmth.

‘I haven’t been quite straight with you,’ said Erlendur when he was within speaking distance of Mensalder. ‘I’m trying to find out what happened to the girl I mentioned. Dagbjört. She went missing. I’m a detective, and I’m re-examining the case, talking to people, trying to come up with some answers. Your cousin Rósanna thinks you might have met Dagbjört. Talked to her. I wanted to know if you ever did. That’s all.’

Mensalder was stooping over the fuel tank that was mounted on the side of the lorry. He held the nozzle in the tank, wiped the drip off his nose with the back of his hand and avoided looking at Erlendur. Acted as if he wasn’t there. Erlendur thought perhaps the noise of the diesel pump had drowned out his words and stepped closer.

‘Did you by any chance talk to Dagbjört shortly before she vanished?’ he asked, raising his voice.

The man still didn’t answer and kept his eyes averted.

‘Mensalder? You’re going to have to talk to me. You can’t dodge the issue forever.’

‘I have nothing to say to you,’ he heard Mensalder mutter. ‘You come here, pretending … come here and … I have nothing to say to you.’

Erlendur decided to back off for the moment. Before long the tank was full and Mensalder hung the hose up by the pump just as the driver returned. They spoke briefly. The driver, who apparently had an account at the garage, was on his way north and intended to drive all night. He said goodbye and the lorry pulled away amid roars and a cloud of exhaust fumes.

The two of them were left standing there in the cold.

‘What are you frightened of?’ asked Erlendur.

‘Frightened?’ said Mensalder. ‘I’m not frightened.’

‘Did you speak to Dagbjört?’

‘I didn’t do anything to her,’ said Mensalder, hunching his back against the wind.

‘Did you speak to her?’

‘Why are you asking me this? Do you think I harmed the girl? That’s crazy. Completely crazy! I don’t know what Rósanna’s been telling you but if she claims … if she claims … I don’t believe it. Just don’t believe it …’

‘Do you remember when Dagbjört went missing? Do you remember the search for her?’

‘Yes, I do. I knew she was at school with Rósanna.’

‘But you don’t know what happened to her?’

‘Me? No. I don’t know why you think I should. I don’t understand all these questions.’

‘You went to her house.’

‘I went to fetch the records from her,’ said Mensalder. ‘I’d lent some to Rósanna because she was going to see her friends. Some of the girls at her school were having a get-together. But …’

‘What?’

‘I’d already sold them, you see. They weren’t mine to lend. I’d promised them to a girl I knew. Doris Day, Dean Martin, that sort of thing.’

While they were talking they moved back towards the shop and took shelter in the lee of the building. Mensalder proceeded to tell Erlendur about the extra cash he used to make from smuggling sought-after items off the base. He had used his old Morris to transport the goods, being careful to shift only small quantities at a time. If he was caught by the customs officials on the gate, which sometimes happened, he could claim they were his. He bought a wide range of clothing – jeans, even suits – direct from the GIs and acquired most of his records that way too. With the dollars he earned he was able to purchase household appliances from the shops on the base. Toasters were particularly popular. And by having a word with the cooks at the servicemen’s clubs he managed to get hold of beef which he sold on to Reykjavík restaurants or members of his own family. He made quite a tidy sum on the black market until in the end his luck deserted him; he was picked up two or three times in a row and lost his job.

One day, back when business was still thriving, Rósanna had come to see him and asked if he had any new records for her. She had asked him this before, as had other members of his family; he had even taken orders for specific records, just as he had once succeeded in procuring a three-piece suit for a friend, in the correct size, and a pair of leather shoes. The biggest demand was for the latest releases from America, and it so happened that he had four records in the Morris that he had yet to deliver. He let Rósanna borrow these. But she forgot to bring them home from the party and, because he was in a hurry to retrieve them and she herself was popping out of town, she gave him Dagbjört’s address so he could go round and fetch them himself.

‘She was very sweet and handed over the records, then I said goodbye.’

‘Was she alone at home?’

‘I assume so. At least I only spoke to her.’

‘And that was all?’ asked Erlendur.

‘Yes. That was all. Next thing I heard there was a big search on for her and Rósanna told me she’d gone missing. Vanished into thin air on her way to school.’

‘Did you tell Rósanna you’d spoken to Dagbjört?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Mensalder. ‘I don’t remember. Surely she’d have told you?’

‘Yes,’ said Erlendur.

‘It just gave me a bit of a turn – sorry about that – when I worked out the real purpose of your visit here, what you wanted from me … it just gave me a bit of a turn, as you saw. No doubt that makes you think I’ve got something to hide but I can assure you that … It’s just … when you act in an underhand way like that, it’s a bit unnerving.’