her, that he was the boy she’d been seeing, and try to help her family.’
‘Unless he knew what’d happened to her?’ said Silja.
‘Exactly.’
‘I’ve thought about it so often, wondering if he played some part in what happened to her. If she met him that morning and they quarrelled. Perhaps she was having second thoughts and tried to call it off – if there was anything to call off. How might he have reacted?’
Silja wasn’t the only person who had thought along those lines. The police had always considered it likely that the young man might have been involved in her disappearance, and Erlendur had come to the same conclusion after reading up on the case. The man could still be alive today, in possession of the solution to the mystery. He would be in his mid-forties by now, if he was around Dagbjört’s age. Silja seemed to anticipate what he was going to say next.
‘Yes, I’m sure the man existed,’ she murmured, so quietly Erlendur could hardly hear her. ‘Dagbjört wasn’t lying. And I know I’m not either.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I believe he’s still alive,’ she whispered. ‘In fact I’m sure he’s still alive and knows exactly what happened to her.’
18
VERNHARDUR LIVED IN the town of Hafnarfjördur, a few miles south of Reykjavík, and was happy to come to the CID offices in Kópavogur. He turned up punctually and asked for Erlendur, who had spoken to him on the phone. They took a seat in the office with Marion. Dusk was already falling, and it didn’t help that the weather was dull and overcast. The sun hadn’t shown its face for days. It didn’t bother Erlendur but Marion would have given anything to see a break in the clouds.
Like Kristvin, Vernhardur was a flight mechanic. He was a tall, imposing man with an air of self-confidence that went well with his stately name. He didn’t bite his nails but kept them short and neat. His face was clean-shaven apart from a fine pair of sideburns, and he had wavy fair hair, thinning on top.
He told them he had known Kristvin since he’d joined Icelandair. It had been Venni’s job to show him the ropes and he had worked closely with Kristvin for the first few months and got on well with him. They were a similar age, both single and soon became good mates. He couldn’t believe his ears when he heard that the man found at Svartsengi was none other than Kristvin, nor could he begin to imagine what had happened to him.
‘It just doesn’t make sense,’ he said. ‘Kristvin was a gentle guy who stayed out of trouble and didn’t have a bad word to say about anyone. That he should end up like that is just, well, like I said, it doesn’t make sense. How’s his poor sister? He took really good care of her. Maybe you know she’s ill?’
Erlendur nodded. ‘We found various items in his possession that we have reason to believe came from the base,’ he said. ‘Beer, vodka and so on. Do you know where he got hold of them? Who his contacts were?’
‘He was so afraid of losing her,’ Vernhardur continued, as if he hadn’t heard the question. ‘I’ve never met a brother and sister so close, such good friends. He was devastated when he heard about the cancer. She put off telling him until he’d started to suspect something was wrong, and … he just refused to believe it, couldn’t accept that she was so ill. He was determined to help her in any way he could. Whatever it took.’
‘Like buying drugs from the base?’
‘She told you? What he got for her?’
‘If you mean the marijuana …’
Vernhardur nodded.
‘Any idea who his dealer was?’
‘He was in contact with some soldiers. I don’t know their names. He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. I don’t bring anything home from the base myself. No alcohol or cigarettes or sweets. Nothing. And I don’t mix with anyone who works there apart from the other Icelanders.’
‘Why not?’ asked Marion.
‘I’m against the army,’ said
‘Unless he knew what’d happened to her?’ said Silja.
‘Exactly.’
‘I’ve thought about it so often, wondering if he played some part in what happened to her. If she met him that morning and they quarrelled. Perhaps she was having second thoughts and tried to call it off – if there was anything to call off. How might he have reacted?’
Silja wasn’t the only person who had thought along those lines. The police had always considered it likely that the young man might have been involved in her disappearance, and Erlendur had come to the same conclusion after reading up on the case. The man could still be alive today, in possession of the solution to the mystery. He would be in his mid-forties by now, if he was around Dagbjört’s age. Silja seemed to anticipate what he was going to say next.
‘Yes, I’m sure the man existed,’ she murmured, so quietly Erlendur could hardly hear her. ‘Dagbjört wasn’t lying. And I know I’m not either.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I believe he’s still alive,’ she whispered. ‘In fact I’m sure he’s still alive and knows exactly what happened to her.’
18
VERNHARDUR LIVED IN the town of Hafnarfjördur, a few miles south of Reykjavík, and was happy to come to the CID offices in Kópavogur. He turned up punctually and asked for Erlendur, who had spoken to him on the phone. They took a seat in the office with Marion. Dusk was already falling, and it didn’t help that the weather was dull and overcast. The sun hadn’t shown its face for days. It didn’t bother Erlendur but Marion would have given anything to see a break in the clouds.
Like Kristvin, Vernhardur was a flight mechanic. He was a tall, imposing man with an air of self-confidence that went well with his stately name. He didn’t bite his nails but kept them short and neat. His face was clean-shaven apart from a fine pair of sideburns, and he had wavy fair hair, thinning on top.
He told them he had known Kristvin since he’d joined Icelandair. It had been Venni’s job to show him the ropes and he had worked closely with Kristvin for the first few months and got on well with him. They were a similar age, both single and soon became good mates. He couldn’t believe his ears when he heard that the man found at Svartsengi was none other than Kristvin, nor could he begin to imagine what had happened to him.
‘It just doesn’t make sense,’ he said. ‘Kristvin was a gentle guy who stayed out of trouble and didn’t have a bad word to say about anyone. That he should end up like that is just, well, like I said, it doesn’t make sense. How’s his poor sister? He took really good care of her. Maybe you know she’s ill?’
Erlendur nodded. ‘We found various items in his possession that we have reason to believe came from the base,’ he said. ‘Beer, vodka and so on. Do you know where he got hold of them? Who his contacts were?’
‘He was so afraid of losing her,’ Vernhardur continued, as if he hadn’t heard the question. ‘I’ve never met a brother and sister so close, such good friends. He was devastated when he heard about the cancer. She put off telling him until he’d started to suspect something was wrong, and … he just refused to believe it, couldn’t accept that she was so ill. He was determined to help her in any way he could. Whatever it took.’
‘Like buying drugs from the base?’
‘She told you? What he got for her?’
‘If you mean the marijuana …’
Vernhardur nodded.
‘Any idea who his dealer was?’
‘He was in contact with some soldiers. I don’t know their names. He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. I don’t bring anything home from the base myself. No alcohol or cigarettes or sweets. Nothing. And I don’t mix with anyone who works there apart from the other Icelanders.’
‘Why not?’ asked Marion.
‘I’m against the army,’ said
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