Arnaldur Indridason - Oblivion

‘Where she lived? Yes, the news soon got around because everyone was talking about it. I knew exactly where she lived.’

‘Were you familiar with her street at all? With her neighbours?’

Vilhelm thought about this. ‘No, can’t say I was.’

‘You don’t happen to remember a half-Danish man called Rasmus Kruse who lived next door to Dagbjört? Used to live with his mother, though she’d died by that time. Bit of an oddball. At least, not the outgoing type.’

‘I remember Rasmus all right,’ said Vilhelm. ‘Remember him well. Didn’t know him to talk to but I remember seeing him around. His mother too. The old bitch. Hated us kids from the camp. We were filth in her eyes. She used to drive a big flashy car, a green Chevrolet, I think. Put on airs like she was a real lady. They beat the shit out of him... that Rasmus. Used to call him Arse-mus.’

‘What do you mean? Who beat him?’

‘Don’t know — some lads.’

‘When?’

‘Suppose it would have been a few years after that girl of yours went missing.’

‘Why... did it have something to do with her?’

‘No, I don’t think so. They kicked the shit out of Arse-mus because they thought he was a poof.’

With that Vilhelm darted out of the door and Erlendur watched him stride off towards the town centre, aware he would get nothing more out of him for now.

Erlendur went back to the payphone and rang Marion who still hadn’t heard from Caroline. Erlendur advised patience, but Marion was all for going out to Keflavík to see if she was all right. After a brief argument, they agreed to give her a little more time before taking action.

‘We’ve got her friends’ phone number,’ pointed out Erlendur. ‘If we don’t hear from her soon we can ring and—’

‘Already tried it,’ broke in Marion.

‘You what?’

‘I rang the number. It was answered by a member of staff at the Andrews cinema. He’d never heard of any Caroline.’

Hearing the pips, Erlendur hurriedly put more coins in the slot.

‘Did she give us a false number?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Why? Is she trying to pull the wool over our eyes?’

‘Perhaps she just gave you a number to reassure you. I don’t know. Perhaps she doesn’t trust us any more. Probably doesn’t trust anyone.’

‘That’s what she said. That she didn’t trust anyone, but I thought she was making an exception for us. What the hell’s she playing at?’

‘Maybe she doesn’t have any friends there,’ suggested Marion.

‘Or her contact, that bloke in Washington, put the wind up her and told her not to work with us any more.’

‘In that case why would she have met up with you afterwards?’

‘Search me,’ said Erlendur. ‘To bring us up to speed? After all, she could be compelled to leave the country at a moment’s notice. Look, I’ve run out of coins. I’ll catch you later. I’ve just got to drop by somewhere first.’

He hung up and made way for a fat man with two large suitcases, newly arrived from the countryside, who had been waiting impatiently to use the phone. Erlendur went back to his car, keeping an eye out for Vilhelm as he drove away from the bus station, heading west in the direction of Rasmus Kruse’s house. In no time he was entering the street where Dagbjört had once lived and caught her neighbour spying on her in the evenings. He parked in front of Rasmus’s house, walked up to the front door and knocked.

He thought he saw the curtains moving upstairs but it could have been a trick of the light. He rapped again, louder this time. He didn’t want to alarm the man, mindful of how peculiar and fearful his behaviour had been at their previous meeting. There was no telling if he would open the door to Erlendur now that he knew who he was and why he had come. Erlendur knocked yet again, called the man’s name twice, then put his ear to the door. There was no movement. It was as if the house were sealed in silence. No outside sounds reached it. None could be heard from within.

He was turning away when the door opened behind him and a white face peered out.

‘I asked you not to come back,’ said Rasmus in a high, thin voice, regarding him with his bulging eyes. They reminded Erlendur of Vilhelm’s domed glasses.

‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ said Erlendur, ‘but I’m afraid I’ll have to disturb you again. I’d be grateful if we could talk, even if only for a few minutes.’

Rasmus Kruse stared at Erlendur for a while, clearly still trying to work out how to keep him at arm’s length.

‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ said Erlendur. ‘It might... it might actually do you good to talk to someone,’ he added.

‘Talking to you won’t do me any good,’ said Rasmus. ‘Please go away and never come back.’

‘Why are you so unwilling to talk to me? What are you scared of? I know you were acquainted with Dagbjört. It’s obvious. You lived next door to her. That’s no secret. I know you watched what was happening in the street and saw a good deal. I believe you used to stand in the window facing her house, peering in at her. She as good as said so in a letter I came across recently.’

‘What letter?’

‘It’s actually a page from her diary.’

‘Her diary?’

‘Please let me—’

‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t talk to you,’ muttered Rasmus, so quietly that Erlendur could barely hear him. ‘There’s nothing to say.’

He made to shut the door but Erlendur stepped forward and prevented him.

‘Get out of the doorway,’ cried Rasmus. ‘Go away.’

The words burst from between his thin, barely moving lips, and his pale face swelled with the strain of withstanding Erlendur’s weight. But Erlendur had no intention of letting him out of his sight this time. Rasmus proved incapable of putting up much resistance and a moment later Erlendur was standing in the entrance hall, the door swinging shut behind him.

‘Get out!’ shrieked Rasmus. ‘You have no right to force your way in here.’

‘I’ll go in a minute,’ said Erlendur. ‘I need to know what you saw. I need to ask you a few questions, then I’ll be out of here. I promise. A few questions, that’s all.’

‘No, I want you to leave!’

‘It’s up to you. The sooner we can have a civilised chat, the sooner I’ll be gone. Understand? I’m not going anywhere till you’ve answered my questions.’

Erlendur couldn’t see much of the house from the hall, though he noticed a staircase. A faint light came from the upper floor but otherwise the house was shrouded in darkness. There was a strong odour of mildew. Maybe the roof or a water pipe had leaked at some point in the past. He could see the shapes of paintings on the walls and part of the way into what looked like a study by the stairs. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dark he realised there was a large chandelier hanging over the staircase. If the house had looked gloomy from the street, it was positively creepy inside.

Rasmus was watching him and the stand-off continued until eventually Rasmus dropped his eyes. The tension in his body eased, his shoulders sagged, his face grew blank again and he sighed heavily, as if resigned to this ill-mannered invasion.

‘You’re not coming any further inside,’ he said.

‘All right,’ said Erlendur. ‘I didn’t mean to barge in like this, but—’

‘I have nothing to offer you,’ said Rasmus. ‘I don’t have any coffee or cakes. I haven’t been out recently.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Erlendur.

‘I wasn’t expecting any visitors.’

‘No, I’m aware of that.’

‘Or I’d have made arrangements,’ persisted Rasmus.