Arnaldur Indridason - Oblivion

‘You should try and trace him,’ said Marion. ‘Meanwhile, I’m going to pay a visit to the base and see if I can make contact with Caroline.’

Marion left and Erlendur sat down by the phone and dialled the number of Dagbjört’s friend Silja. When she eventually picked up, Erlendur launched straight in, asking if she knew which of Dagbjört’s friends used to have a cousin who supplied the latest American records from the base.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Silja, unprepared for the question. It occurred to Erlendur belatedly that he might have interrupted her supper.

‘You and your friends went to a party at Dagbjört’s house shortly before her disappearance. One of the girls had got hold of some new records. She’d obtained them from her cousin who worked at the air-force base in Keflavík. I need to know which friend that was.’

‘I’ve completely forgotten.’

‘Would you be able to find out for me?’

‘I could try,’ said Silja. ‘Why’s it important?’

‘I can’t tell yet but I’d like to know who the man was.’

‘What’s so interesting about this man? Have you discovered something?’

‘No,’ said Erlendur, to discourage her from getting ideas, ‘I’m no closer. I just want to know who he was.’

‘My mind’s a blank,’ said Silja, the surprise still lingering in her voice. ‘Records from the base?’

‘He may have been living there at the time,’ said Erlendur. ‘Could you track down the friend for me?’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Good,’ said Erlendur. ‘Thanks. I’ll be in touch.’

There was little traffic on the road to Keflavík. The weather was still and the rising moon shed a cold light over the surrounding lava field and the pyramid form of Mount Keilir. At the gate Marion was given directions to military police headquarters and a few minutes later drew up in front of the building. There were grey jeeps parked outside. In addition to maintaining law and order among the Defense Force personnel, the police were responsible for patrolling the perimeter fence and deterring intruders.

Marion went inside and approached the reception desk. The young man standing behind it asked if he could help. Marion explained that the Icelandic police had recently received assistance from a liaison officer, Sergeant Caroline Murphy, and –

‘Are you from the Icelandic police?’ interrupted the young man.

‘Yes,’ said Marion, smiling. ‘Didn’t I mention that? I just wanted to thank her for her help.’

‘I’m afraid Caroline’s taking a few days’ leave,’ said the young man, turning over the pages in front of him. ‘But I’ll tell her you dropped by.’

‘Thank you,’ said Marion. ‘But I won’t be back this way any time soon. You couldn’t tell me where she lives? I only want to say a quick hello. It won’t take long. She really was extremely helpful.’

The man was not yet twenty, with red hair and skin, freckles, and a fine down on his cheeks. Marion noticed that his uniform was crumpled, which seemed consistent with his general air of apathy with regard to his job and assisting those who came into the station.

‘May I see some ID?’ he asked as he unhurriedly looked up the address.

‘Of course,’ said Marion and handed him a warrant card.

After giving it a sidelong glance, the young man read out Caroline’s address. Marion thanked him effusively for his helpfulness, then got behind the wheel again and a few minutes later stopped in front of a two-storey barracks. The car park was chock-full of cars and trucks which spilled out into the street as well. Finding Caroline’s name on a bell in the lobby, Marion rang it several times without getting any response. The door to the stairwell was open. There was a cigarette vending machine by the wall and another selling soft drinks and beer. Marion entered and climbed the stairs to the first floor.

This must be it, thought Marion, walking up to an unmarked door on the right-hand side and knocking. Marion waited, and knocked again, with no more success than before, then started hammering on it, calling Caroline’s name. The only result was that the door of the flat opposite opened and a man emerged onto the landing.

‘Do you have to make such a goddamn racket?’ he asked.

Marion swung round. ‘Sorry, I’m looking for Caroline. Do you have any idea where she might be?’

‘Who are you?’ asked the man, who was clad in jeans and a college sweatshirt and had a beer can in his hand. A woman peered out inquisitively from behind him.

‘I just wanted to say hello,’ said Marion. ‘We worked together recently and she was going to... er... take me to the officers’ club.’

‘You Icelandic?’

‘Yes.’

‘You here to buy something?’

‘Buy? No.’

‘So you weren’t helping yourself to cigarettes downstairs?’

‘No,’ said Marion. ‘No cigarettes.’

‘Like a beer?’ asked the man, waving the can.

‘No, thank you,’ said Marion, unsure if the man was joking.

‘Is it you who’s always cleaning out the machines downstairs?’

‘I’ve never touched them,’ said Marion. ‘I’ve never been here before.’

‘You’re all the same, you Icelandics. Goddamn parasites.’

‘Well, it—’

‘We haven’t seen Caroline today. I reckon she’d have answered by now if she was home, so you can stop banging on her door.’

The woman retreated further into the flat behind him. Marion heard the phone ringing inside.

‘Do you know where she might be?’

‘She sometimes goes to the Animal Locker in the evenings,’ said the man. ‘But never to the officers’ club. Though maybe with you. She your sponsor?’

‘The Animal Locker?’ said Marion, remembering that this was the place Erlendur had mentioned in connection with Joan; it was where she worked. Kristvin had gone there with a sponsor who may or may not have been called Wilbur Cain, and it was a place Caroline sometimes patronised herself. ‘Isn’t that... is it a...?’

‘It’s a bar,’ said the man.

‘Known as the Zoo?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Oh, right, that’s where we were supposed to be going,’ said Marion. ‘She’s probably there already. I’m sorry about all the noise; I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

‘Just remember that other people live here too,’ said the man and took a swig from his can.

Marion smiled apologetically, said goodbye and headed downstairs, out to the car and drove away. It was like being a foreigner in one’s own country. After a few minutes Marion stopped a soldier who was passing and asked if he could point the way to the Animal Locker.

Erlendur heard the phone ringing in the office. He had stepped out to fetch a coffee and, hurrying back inside, snatched up the receiver.

‘Caroline?’

‘Er, no...? Who’s this, please? Is Erlendur there?’

He recognised Silja’s voice.

‘Yes, sorry, hello again, this is Erlendur speaking. I was expecting another call.’

‘I found out who had the cousin with the records. Would you like her number?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Erlendur, grabbing a pen and paper. ‘That’d be great.’

‘It’s Rósanna,’ said Silja and reeled off her number. ‘Just give her a call, she’s expecting to hear from you. She was astonished to be asked about the records, as you can imagine. Of course all I could tell her was that you were trying to get to the bottom of the case. Are you making any progress?’

‘Not really,’ said Erlendur, sipping his coffee. He didn’t think Rasmus’s peeping Tom activities were worth reporting at this point.

‘Well, let me know if I can be of any more help.’

‘Thank you.’