Arnaldur Indridason - Oblivion

‘That’s all she told you?’

‘Yes. She wouldn’t tell me his name. Or where he lived, at first.’

‘Did she seem ashamed of him?’

‘Dagbjört wasn’t like that. She didn’t have a snobbish bone in her body. But the relationship was still at a delicate stage, I suppose — had only just got off the ground — and she didn’t want to say too much about it. Certainly not to her parents. Of course, that’s the last thing you... kids want to do — you know how it is. So I wasn’t surprised they didn’t know what she was up to — or what I was talking about when I told them. They were completely floored — to hear there was a boy.’

‘Yes, I can imagine.’

‘Her mother... she was so disappointed,’ continued Silja. ‘Not that Dagbjört had fallen for a boy from Camp Knox, you understand, but that she hadn’t confided in her. They were very close and her mother was great, a really nice woman — always so kind to the rest of us. When she heard about this boy she refused to believe it, said I must have made a mistake.’

‘But you hadn’t?’

‘No,’ said Silja. ‘I didn’t make any mistake.’

‘But—’

‘Don’t be like everyone else and start casting doubt on what I said. I didn’t make it up.’

‘No, I’m sure, but the boy never contacted the police.’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘Why do you think that was?’

‘How should I know? I can’t answer that.’

‘No, of c—’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ said Silja, lighting yet another cigarette and inhaling deeply. Her voice sounded weary. ‘I was just repeating what she told me. Sometimes I wished she’d never told me about him. You’ve no idea what I went through at the time, and her poor parents hung on my every word because they had nothing else to go on.’

She glanced down blankly at the untouched cake.

‘I don’t know why it had to be me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask for it. It was a really hard time for me too, you know. Really hard. I lost one of my best friends and as if that wasn’t enough people cast doubt on every word I said. She’d asked me to keep it a secret, you see. I wasn’t to tell anyone, she made me promise, and all of a sudden there I was having to blurt it out to all and sundry. At that stage she was still only missing. She could still have come back.’

The cafe was popular; there was a clinking of spoons and cups, a buzz of cheerful conversation. Every table was occupied and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. Trashy music — the latest Icelandic disco hit — was playing in the background.

‘So all she told you was that she’d fallen for a boy from Camp Knox?’ said Erlendur.

‘Yes, that’s more or less it. Next to nothing to go on, really. Naturally I was dying to know more but she said she’d tell me later. We’d just finished gym; I had to hurry into town and she was on her way home, and that was the last time I saw her. Next day she didn’t turn up to school or to the meeting we’d arranged later that afternoon with the other girls, and then we found out she’d set out that morning and never arrived.’

‘What made her tell you about the boy just then?’

‘Well, Camp Knox had a bad reputation,’ said Silja, ‘and I remember I was saying my brother was afraid of the lads from there. According to him they were hooligans — which some of them definitely were. But she said they weren’t all like that and when I started interrogating her, she told me about this boy she’d met who was no hooligan.’

‘They were a similar age, then?’

‘Yes, I assume so.’

‘Could she have been making it up?’

‘She had no reason to,’ said Silja. ‘Why would you think that?’

‘Because the boy doesn’t seem to have existed,’ said Erlendur. ‘He can hardly have failed to notice that the girl he was seeing had gone missing. They searched for her for weeks — in the camp as well. You’d have thought it would’ve been simplest for him to come forward and admit he’d known her, that he was the boy she’d been seeing, and try to help her family.’

‘Unless he knew what’d happened to her?’ said Silja.

‘Exactly.’

‘I’ve thought about it so often, wondering if he played some part in what happened to her. If she met him that morning and they quarrelled. Perhaps she was having second thoughts and tried to call it off — if there was anything to call off. How might he have reacted?’

Silja wasn’t the only person who had thought along those lines. The police had always considered it likely that the young man might have been involved in her disappearance, and Erlendur had come to the same conclusion after reading up on the case. The man could still be alive today, in possession of the solution to the mystery. He would be in his mid-forties by now, if he was around Dagbjört’s age. Silja seemed to anticipate what he was going to say next.

‘Yes, I’m sure the man existed,’ she murmured, so quietly Erlendur could hardly hear her. ‘Dagbjört wasn’t lying. And I know I’m not either.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘I believe he’s still alive,’ she whispered. ‘In fact I’m sure he’s still alive and knows exactly what happened to her.’

Vernhardur lived in the town of Hafnarfjördur, a few miles south of Reykjavík, and was happy to come to the CID offices in Kópavogur. He turned up punctually and asked for Erlendur, who had spoken to him on the phone. They took a seat in the office with Marion. Dusk was already falling, and it didn’t help that the weather was dull and overcast. The sun hadn’t shown its face for days. It didn’t bother Erlendur but Marion would have given anything to see a break in the clouds.

Like Kristvin, Vernhardur was a flight mechanic. He was a tall, imposing man with an air of self-confidence that went well with his stately name. He didn’t bite his nails but kept them short and neat. His face was clean-shaven apart from a fine pair of sideburns, and he had wavy fair hair, thinning on top.

He told them he had known Kristvin since he’d joined Icelandair. It had been Venni’s job to show him the ropes and he had worked closely with Kristvin for the first few months and got on well with him. They were a similar age, both single and soon became good mates. He couldn’t believe his ears when he heard that the man found at Svartsengi was none other than Kristvin, nor could he begin to imagine what had happened to him.

‘It just doesn’t make sense,’ he said. ‘Kristvin was a gentle guy who stayed out of trouble and didn’t have a bad word to say about anyone. That he should end up like that is just, well, like I said, it doesn’t make sense. How’s his poor sister? He took really good care of her. Maybe you know she’s ill?’

Erlendur nodded. ‘We found various items in his possession that we have reason to believe came from the base,’ he said. ‘Beer, vodka and so on. Do you know where he got hold of them? Who his contacts were?’

‘He was so afraid of losing her,’ Vernhardur continued, as if he hadn’t heard the question. ‘I’ve never met a brother and sister so close, such good friends. He was devastated when he heard about the cancer. She put off telling him until he’d started to suspect something was wrong, and... he just refused to believe it, couldn’t accept that she was so ill. He was determined to help her in any way he could. Whatever it took.’

‘Like buying drugs from the base?’

‘She told you? What he got for her?’

‘If you mean the marijuana...’

Vernhardur nodded.

‘Any idea who his dealer was?’

‘He was in contact with some soldiers. I don’t know their names. He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. I don’t bring anything home from the base myself. No alcohol or cigarettes or sweets. Nothing. And I don’t mix with anyone who works there apart from the other Icelanders.’