Arnaldur Indridason - Oblivion

‘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.’

‘I don’t see why it’s such an awkward subject for you if you only met her once when you went round to pick up the records.’

‘No, of course, but I was shaken. I’ve thought about her from time to time because she disappeared so suddenly shortly after I met her and I never told the police because I didn’t see how it was relevant — still don’t. Then you show up... like you’re a ghost from the past and start grilling me about her.’

‘No wonder you were taken aback,’ said Erlendur, making an effort to appear understanding. ‘Is there nothing you want to add to your account?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Mensalder. ‘I don’t know what else there could be.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Yes. That was all. I fetched the records and took them round to my friend’s house. End of story.’

Erlendur studied Mensalder: the dull eyes under the peaked cap with the petrol station logo, the thick jacket; the shoulders that seemed to sag ever lower as the conversation went on; the reek of diesel and lubricating oil that clung to his clothes.

‘I get the feeling you’re lying to me.’

‘No, I’m not,’ said Mensalder. ‘I swear I’m not. Why—?’

‘Because of how you reacted,’ said Erlendur.

‘But I’m trying to tell you why I... that it gave me a turn when you started going on about it.’

‘That’s not all. Just before she vanished Dagbjört told somebody that she wanted to know if you could get hold of some records for her. I’m willing to bet she raised the subject when you went round. She’d mentioned you specifically. I expect you were happy to oblige. You were used to fixing things for people. Enjoyed it, by the sound of it. Made a nice little profit too. So I can’t think why Dagbjört wouldn’t have asked you about it when you were standing on her doorstep. And I can’t imagine why you’d have refused her.’

‘She didn’t mention anything like that,’ insisted Mensalder.

‘Are you sure you two didn’t arrange another meeting?’

‘Yes, quite sure. Positive. We did nothing of the sort.’

‘So she didn’t ask you to buy her any records?’

‘No, she didn’t, or... maybe I’ve forgotten. You’re muddling me. But we definitely never arranged to meet like you’re implying. I never saw her again after that. Never. Only saw her that one time and that’s the truth. The absolute truth!’

‘So you didn’t meet up with Dagbjört?’

‘No.’

‘She didn’t get into your car the day she vanished?’

‘No, I swear.’

‘All right,’ said Erlendur. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll get anywhere like this. We’ll see what you say when the police come to take you in. You realise I’ll have to notify them. You realise that, don’t you, Mensalder?’

‘I can’t see why you have to take it any further. Why you won’t believe me. I didn’t touch her. I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. I just don’t get it.’

‘No, well, we’ll see. Maybe my colleagues will make more progress with you.’

Erlendur crossed the forecourt towards his car. The instant he left shelter the wind latched its claws into him, sending an icy chill through his body. He found his keys and was opening the car door when he heard a voice calling. He couldn’t make out the words and no longer cared anyway. He had leaned on Mensalder as hard as he dared and had got precious little out of him. The threat of going to the police was an empty one: he had no real evidence against the man. He started thinking instead about driving straight out to the base to try and track down Marion and Caroline and find out how they were getting on. He hoped to God that Caroline was all right and hadn’t put herself at risk by colluding with them.

Again he thought he heard a voice.

‘... never showed up,’ he caught before the wind snatched the rest away.

Erlendur turned. ‘What did you say?’

‘She never showed up,’ called Mensalder, looking around nervously as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Erlendur shut the car door and walked back towards him.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I waited for her with the records for more than half an hour but then I had to drive out to Keflavík,’ said Mensalder. ‘She never came to meet me. She said she would but she never came.’

‘Dagbjört, you mean?’

‘Yes, Dagbjört. Then I heard she’d gone missing and I never told anyone because I didn’t see what it had to do with me.’ Mensalder dropped his gaze. ‘I didn’t see what it had to do with me.’