43
Erlendur watched Mensalder attending to the lorry. He exchanged a few words with the driver, flicking the occasional surreptitious glance in Erlendur’s direction. The young man on the till had nipped out to the gents. When he came back, Erlendur asked if Mensalder had been working there long.
‘Mensi?’ said the young man. ‘About five years, I suppose. What... Do you know him?’
‘No,’ said Erlendur. ‘Not really. Is he known as Mensi?’
‘He’s all right,’ said the young man and picked up the phone that was ringing behind the counter. Erlendur went outside and crossed the forecourt towards Mensalder. On the way he passed the lorry driver who was heading for the shop.
‘Bloody cold,’ commented the driver and hurried into the warmth.
‘I haven’t been quite straight with you,’ said Erlendur when he was within speaking distance of Mensalder. ‘I’m trying to find out what happened to the girl I mentioned. Dagbjört. She went missing. I’m a detective, and I’m re-examining the case, talking to people, trying to come up with some answers. Your cousin Rósanna thinks you might have met Dagbjört. Talked to her. I wanted to know if you ever did. That’s all.’
Mensalder was stooping over the fuel tank that was mounted on the side of the lorry. He held the nozzle in the tank, wiped the drip off his nose with the back of his hand and avoided looking at Erlendur. Acted as if he wasn’t there. Erlendur thought perhaps the noise of the diesel pump had drowned out his words and stepped closer.
‘Did you by any chance talk to Dagbjört shortly before she vanished?’ he asked, raising his voice.
The man still didn’t answer and kept his eyes averted.
‘Mensalder? You’re going to have to talk to me. You can’t dodge the issue forever.’
‘I have nothing to say to you,’ he heard Mensalder mutter. ‘You come here, pretending... come here and... I have nothing to say to you.’
Erlendur decided to back off for the moment. Before long the tank was full and Mensalder hung the hose up by the pump just as the driver returned. They spoke briefly. The driver, who apparently had an account at the garage, was on his way north and intended to drive all night. He said goodbye and the lorry pulled away amid roars and a cloud of exhaust fumes.
The two of them were left standing there in the cold.
‘What are you frightened of?’ asked Erlendur.
‘Frightened?’ said Mensalder. ‘I’m not frightened.’
‘Did you speak to Dagbjört?’
‘I didn’t do anything to her,’ said Mensalder, hunching his back against the wind.
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘Why are you asking me this? Do you think I harmed the girl? That’s crazy. Completely crazy! I don’t know what Rósanna’s been telling you but if she claims... if she claims... I don’t believe it. Just don’t believe it...’
‘Do you remember when Dagbjört went missing? Do you remember the search for her?’
‘Yes, I do. I knew she was at school with Rósanna.’
‘But you don’t know what happened to her?’
‘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.’