A man rose from one of the tables and walked over to the bar, casting a glance at Marion as he did so. He was fleshy, wore a workman’s checked shirt, jeans and sneakers, and his dark hair and skin gave him a Latino appearance. He grinned at some comment of the blonde’s, then approached the table where Marion was sitting.
‘You Icelandic?’
Marion admitted as much.
‘Mind if I take a seat?’ he asked, and without waiting for an invitation pulled up a chair. ‘Haven’t seen you around here before. Do you work on the base?’
‘I’m waiting for a friend,’ said Marion.
‘You mean Caroline?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know Caroline,’ said the man with a grin. ‘The name’s Martinez. Carlos Martinez, from New Mexico. Me and Caroline go bowling together. They told me at the bar you were asking questions about her. How do you know Caroline, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘She’s been helping us with our inquiries in connection with a man who used to work here,’ said Marion. ‘I’m with the Icelandic police.’
‘She doesn’t talk about work much. We heard about the death... that you think the Icelandic man whose body was found in the lava field was killed here on the base. Is that true?’
‘The matter’s under investigation and we can’t—’
‘No, sure. I understand. Been here before?’
‘No.’
‘How do you like it?’
‘I feel as if I’m in Texas,’ said Marion. ‘Though I’m only fifty kilometres from home.’
Martinez laughed. ‘This is the liveliest bar,’ he said, grinning. He seemed a very good-natured, talkative man. ‘I don’t go anywhere else if I can help it.’
‘Do you get many Icelanders in here?’ asked Marion.
‘Yeah, sometimes. I know a few. They’re usually pretty fun, lively guys and I have to say you have some real good bands who come and play in the clubs. Real good musicians.’
It soon emerged that Martinez had been on a duty tour in the Philippines before coming to Keflavík; he’d been in the marines for three years, eight months of which had been spent in Iceland. He knew nothing about the country other than it was cold, bleak and remote; still hadn’t ventured outside the military zone and wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d been very happy in the Philippines and couldn’t imagine two more different countries. It had been warm and sunny there; good weather every day, beautiful girls, friendly locals. Here it was freezing and dark and the wind never stopped howling. Coming from a hot climate himself, Martinez couldn’t take the arctic temperatures. It hadn’t been his decision to come to Iceland: he’d been posted here.
‘You people don’t much care for us being here, do you?’ he said.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Marion. ‘Depends who you ask.’
Martinez nodded and said that when he first arrived here, he had soon learned that many Icelanders were opposed to the American presence in Iceland and that the issue split the nation down the middle. The military zone was securely fenced off and communications with the locals were kept to a minimum. But a large number of Icelandic civilians worked inside the area during the day, since all construction and maintenance projects on the site, from the building of accommodation or hangars to the upkeep of roads, were in the hands of Icelandic entrepreneurs who had no scruples about lining their pockets at the military’s expense. Martinez said he couldn’t get his head round the double standards.
‘People here disapprove of the military and find fault with everything it does but somehow it’s OK to make money out of it,’ he said, lighting a cigarette.
Marion had no answer to this.
‘Hey, I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole,’ Martinez added. ‘Sorry. I’m quitting the marines when I finish my tour over here. Going home to New Mexico. It’s about time. Want another beer? I’ll get this one.’
He was back at the bar before Marion could respond and returned with two beers.
‘You don’t happen to know a man who used to drink here, an Icelander called Kristvin?’ asked Marion. ‘He worked on the base. Flight mechanic.’
‘Who’s he? Is he the man who was murdered?’
‘We don’t know if he was murdered,’ said Marion. ‘Do you remember him in here? He was known as Kris.’
‘Kris? No, I don’t recall anyone by that name. How did he die?’
‘We don’t know the circumstances,’ said Marion. ‘We’re trying to piece them together and find out who he associated with on the base, what he did here and what he was working on before he died. It’s just part of our routine investigation. Caroline’s working with us because the military police need to be kept in the picture.’
‘I see.’
‘There’s another thing. I don’t know how to put this so I’ll just ask you straight out. If I wanted to score marijuana here, who would I go to?’
‘Marijuana?’ repeated Martinez warily.
‘I’m not trying to insinuate that you or anyone else in here’s involved in dealing.’
‘I don’t know. Was your man mixed up in that?’
‘Possibly. These are the kinds of questions we’re grappling with, you see, and we hardly know where to begin. We know so little about the set-up here. If I were an Icelander who purchased drugs regularly from someone on the base, who would I be dealing with? Enlisted men? Officers? Pilots? Where would the deal take place? At their homes? In a public place? Say I owe someone money and I’m in trouble because I can’t pay up. Do you have any idea who might be after me in a situation like that?’
Marion ploughed on with the questions, though Martinez was clearly ill at ease.
‘I’m not the right man to help you with this,’ he said cautiously. ‘I’m not into that scene.’
‘How about Wilbur Cain?’ asked Marion. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Never heard of him,’ said Martinez. ‘Wilbur Cain? Who’s he?’
Marion could only reply that the investigation was focusing on this bar because the Icelander used to drink here and that the name Wilbur Cain had cropped up in connection with Kristvin, but so far they had failed to track the man down. Martinez listened attentively.
‘There’s a woman who works here, Joan. Maybe you should ask her about the dope,’ he muttered in a low voice.
‘Joan? Who works here?’
‘I shouldn’t... Is Caroline in some kind of danger?’ asked Martinez.
‘Hopefully no more than you’d expect in her line of work,’ said Marion, worried now about having gone too far and blurted out too much information in a soldiers’ bar.
‘The thing is, she didn’t turn up to bowling practice this evening,’ said Martinez. ‘I called her at home but no one answered. Then you show up and say you’re waiting for her. I’m getting kind of worried. That’s all.’
‘What about Joan? Can she supply drugs?’
‘I know her husband does. But you didn’t hear that from me.’
‘Does he sell to Icelanders?’
‘That’s what I heard. She works here and people gossip, you know how it is. I don’t like to spread rumours but if it might help Caroline...?’
‘Don’t worry about Caroline,’ said Marion. ‘Have you any idea where I might find her?’
‘No, she’s kind of reticent, doesn’t talk about herself much.’
‘Is she happy here?’
‘Yes, I think so. Plenty of people are. In spite of the weather.’ Martinez grinned. ‘Actually, she told me she goes to the movies a lot. I think there’s something going on between her and Bill. Or that’s what a little bird told me recently.’
‘Bill?’
‘He runs the movie theatre.’
‘The movie theatre? You mean the Andrews cinema?’
‘Yes. It’s the only one on the base.’