Oblivion Read Online Free PDF

domestic airport and the police were in the process of contacting their owners. The police had also put out a request for information about traffic through smaller airstrips in the south of Iceland, such as those at Selfoss and in the Westman Islands. And they were still awaiting a response from air traffic control at Keflavík about the movements of private planes from the international airport.
    Even before the snow fell no tyre marks had been visible in the environs of the lagoon the evening the body was found. And anyway it was inaccessible to vehicles except perhaps for large, specially equipped four-wheel drives. The most likely scenario was that the body had been carried over the shortest route from the Grindavík road to the pool, then floated some way out into the water before being sunk. The diver could see no sign that it had been weighted down.
    Marion had relayed to Erlendur the gist of the pathologist’s phone call the night before, particularly the detail about the bruising on the back of the man’s head. The pathologist had rung again at lunchtime and repeated his conviction that the man had either been dead before he fell or at least unconscious from a heavy blow to the head.
    ‘That explains why he landed flat on his face,’ said Erlendur, watching the diver’s progress.
    ‘That’s what Herbert thought,’ said Marion. ‘He reckoned it was the most plausible explanation. That he’d been struck.’
    ‘Could he deduce anything about the implement – about what he’d been struck with?’
    ‘We’re maybe talking about a wheel brace, a length of piping or some other blunt instrument. He said it was hard to tell. Though he didn’t think it was a hammer. No sign of sharp edges. The skin wasn’t broken but it must have been a pretty heavy blow.’
    The diver surfaced briefly, then went under again, his headlamp glowing in the water. Heat radiated constantly from the lagoon, condensing into vapour which was swept across the surface by the breeze before dispersing. Erlendur was entranced by the sight: the subterranean fires and bleak terrain of the Reykjanes Peninsula had brought about this convergence of hot water, steam and moss-green lava, and endowed it with an unearthly beauty.
    ‘So the man’s hit on the head, then pushed off a tall building,’ he said.
    ‘Yes. Possibly.’
    ‘So it would look like suicide?’
    ‘We have to consider that.’
    Marion and Erlendur had spoken to a manager at the power station who said it was out of the question that the man was a member of his staff. Nobody was missing; everyone had reported for work as usual. He was astonished that a body should have turned up in the run-off lagoon. Few had any reason to go there, though he had heard of people bathing there because of the supposedly beneficial minerals.
    The man, a tall, overweight, ruddy individual, with a red beard covering half his face, had walked back to the lagoon with them and was now watching the diver. It occurred to Erlendur to ask him about flights over the area and the man replied that there was quite a bit of activity thanks to the presence of the international airport and the American naval base on Midnesheidi. The roar of the military jets could be deafening at times. There were a few light aircraft too but the people working at the power station were less aware of them.
    ‘Why do you ask – was he thrown out of a plane or something?’
    The man said it half jokingly. So far no details had leaked out about the state of the body or police speculation that the multiple fractures and unrecognisable face were the result of a fall from a great height. When Erlendur merely shrugged and gave no answer, the man stared at them both in disbelief.
    ‘Was he seriously thrown out of a plane?’ he exclaimed.
    ‘We have no evidence of that,’ said Marion.
    ‘But you’re considering the possibility?’
    ‘No, we’re not,’ said Erlendur firmly.
    ‘What made you think he might have worked for