Seeing that Caroline was poised to fly off the handle, Marion unobtrusively grabbed her hand, silently warning her to let it drop; there was no point quarrelling with this man. Hurt and angry, Caroline kept her eyes on the road ahead.
‘Where are you taking us?’ It was Marion’s turn to ask.
‘Here,’ said Roberts.
In front of them were two hangars currently under construction for the accommodation of F-16 fighters. They consisted of steel-frame skeletons with walls, roof and vast doors attached, but as yet no fittings, insulation or equipment inside. Roberts parked by one of the hangars and Marion and Caroline climbed out. He ordered them to follow him. Two guards were standing there, armed with rifles. Roberts opened a door in the side wall, ushered Marion and Caroline through, then closed the door behind them, remaining outside himself.
Inside it was cold and bare. Two powerful lamps hanging from the ceiling cast a harsh glare into every corner of the empty building. In the middle stood a tall, lean man, aged about fifty, dressed in khaki trousers and shirt, with a square jaw and a thick, greying crew cut. He had the air of a man who let little disturb his composure, and regarded them with small, weary eyes, as if he had far more pressing and important business to deal with. He neither greeted them nor introduced himself but came straight to the point.
‘What were you two doing in Hangar 885?’
‘Who are you?’ retorted Caroline, as she had to Roberts earlier.
‘I am in charge of security on the base.’
‘Are you in Military Intelligence?’
‘I repeat: what were you doing in Hangar 885?’
‘As a military police officer I can go where I like,’ said Caroline. ‘What do you mean by bringing us here? Who are you? And who’s Master Sergeant Roberts?’
‘A delegation will be sent to the base to look for me if I don’t report back soon,’ said Marion, which was not a complete lie. ‘I’m a detective with the Icelandic Criminal Investigation Department. My colleagues are aware I had business in the hangar. I don’t know if you’re Wilbur Cain or if you’re working for him, but the Icelandic police have his name. We gather he was acquainted with an Icelander called Kristvin. They were spotted together at a bar here called the Animal Locker, also known as the Zoo. We have reason to believe that Kristvin was pushed off the scaffolding in Hangar 885. And we are now reasonably confident that a marine called Earl Jones was involved, so we would request that you deliver him into our custody. Caroline has been assisting us. That seems to be public knowledge now. We owe her a great debt of gratitude. If anything were to happen to the two of us — if our bodies were found smashed up in the lava field outside the base, for example — you should be aware that the information about Kristvin, Wilbur Cain, Earl Jones and Hangar 885 is on record.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ asked the man.
‘I thought you ought to know,’ said Marion.
‘Do you think I give a damn what you have to say? How would you react if the FBI flew into Reykjavík and started interrogating people all over the place without obtaining permission? Would you welcome them with open arms? Would you think it was all fine and dandy if the FBI were running their own police investigation in Reykjavík? Wouldn’t you want to prevent it? Ask what was going on?’
‘But you people refused to cooperate!’
‘Do you think we give a shit if a cop like you starts threatening us? You’re on US territory. Your threats have no substance here.’ He turned to Caroline. ‘What I don’t understand is why you got involved in all this, Sergeant.’
‘The Icelandic police came to me for help, after all cooperation had been refused. I wanted... to find out what happened. I’m a police officer. That’s my job.’
‘Is it also your job to disobey your superior officers? The military police received orders, along with everyone else, that all inquiries about this particular case should be referred to the base authorities. I know for a fact that you received those orders. Why did you choose to ignore them?’
‘What are you hiding in the hangar?’ countered Caroline. ‘Why wouldn’t you just cooperate with the Icelandic police? What do you have to hide?’
‘What were you doing in Hangar 885?’ repeated the man. ‘What do you think we’re hiding? What exactly were you looking for?’
‘I’ve just told you,’ said Marion. ‘We believe that an Icelandic civilian employed by Icelandair was killed in there. And we now believe we know who was responsible.’
‘Earl Jones?’
‘Yes. The Icelander was on the base that night and we’ve established that he fell from a great height. The only place this could realistically have happened is in the hangar. He used to work there from time to time. Earl Jones is a security guard in the hangar, as we’ve learned.’
‘Why was this man killed?’
‘Jealousy. Revenge. A moment of insanity. Jones found out his wife had been cheating on him with Kristvin. Are you Wilbur Cain?’
‘Cain?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not familiar with that name. My name’s Gates and I’m in Military Intelligence. Is that the only reason you entered the hangar?’
‘The only reason?’ said Caroline. ‘What do you mean? Isn’t that enough?’
‘Why don’t you just answer the question?’ said the man.
‘Do you really want to know?’ asked Marion.
‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
‘Do you want to know what we were looking for?’ Marion asked again, unabashed.
‘Marion...’ Caroline was afraid Marion was going to say too much.
The man studied Marion in silence. From his weary expression it was evident that he considered Marion a particularly tedious nuisance. At that moment the door opened and Master Sergeant Roberts appeared in the gap and gave the man a sign.
48
Billows of steam danced over the outdoor swimming pool before vanishing into the darkness. A bus drove down the street, a few passengers huddled by its windows. Three girls walked past, shrieking with laughter, but paid them no attention. Mensalder sat quietly in the car, rubbing his hands. Erlendur avoided putting any more pressure on him. He didn’t know what sort of mental struggle Mensalder was engaged in, but sensed it was far from easy for him to talk about Dagbjört. The minutes passed. Finally Mensalder seemed to pull himself together. With a heavy sigh he straightened up in his seat and met Erlendur’s eye.
‘I suppose this is what I’ve been dreading all along,’ he said. ‘This moment. When suspicion falls on me. I’ve always dreaded that. That it would happen one day and I’d be in deep trouble, with nothing to plead in my defence.’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘No, why should you be? I can hardly understand it myself. I never married, you know. Did Rósanna tell you that? I wanted to but I’ve never been very confident where women are concerned. I... then you get older and you’ve either wasted or messed up the few chances you had and find yourself on your own. And it had an effect on me, you know. What happened. She was so... lovely. So genuine. I sensed that as soon as I got talking to her. She showed an interest in me, thought it was exciting that I knew how to get my hands on all kinds of goods that were unobtainable, different, exotic and...’
Mensalder paused.
‘The thing is, I’d met someone else and that’s why I kept quiet about Dagbjört and never dared tell. I thought she’d come forward and point the finger at me if I owned up... And then there was the bloody smuggling. I was operating on a pretty big scale by then. It would all have been exposed and I’d have got into deep water for that too.’