‘All I know is he’s a mess. Perhaps that was the intention. So you’re thinking he met someone out here, they came to blows and he was supposed to disappear permanently in the lagoon?’
‘Something along those lines.’
‘It might look like that,’ said Marion, who had examined the body before it was taken away, ‘but I’m not convinced the man died as the result of a beating. No ordinary beating, anyway.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’ve seen bodies smashed by a fall from a great height, and I have to say this reminds me of that. Or a serious car crash. But we haven’t been informed of any.’
‘If it was a fall, it must have been a pretty big one,’ said Erlendur, peering around, then up into the blackness overhead. ‘Unless he came from up there. Dropped out of the sky.’
‘Into the lagoon?’
‘Is that so absurd?’
‘I wonder,’ said Marion.
‘It doesn’t help that he’s clearly been in the water some time.’
‘True.’
‘So he can’t have been beaten to death on the scene,’ said Erlendur. ‘If it was a fall, as you say. Someone must have brought him out here so he wouldn’t be found straight away. His body must have been deliberately sunk in the pool. In this strange white mud.’
‘Not a bad hiding place,’ said Marion.
‘Especially if he’d sunk properly. Nobody comes out here. Except the odd psoriasis sufferer.’
‘Did you have to interrogate her about her condition?’ asked Marion, watching the woman’s car speeding away. ‘You’ve got to stop prying into people’s personal lives.’
‘She was upset. You saw that. I was trying to distract her.’
‘You’re a policeman, not a priest.’
‘The body would probably never have been found if it weren’t for that woman’s psoriasis,’ said Erlendur. ‘Don’t you find that... a bit...?’
‘Of a strange coincidence?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve known stranger. Bloody hell, it’s cold,’ said Marion, opening the car door.
‘What’s this place called, by the way? Do you know?’ asked Erlendur, surveying the power station with its billows of steam rising to the sky and dispersing into the night. The answer came back instantly.
‘Illahraun,’ said Marion, the know-all, getting into the car. ‘Formed during the eruption of 1226.’
‘Evil Lava?’ said Erlendur, opening the driver’s door. ‘That’s all we need.’
4
The following day the pathologist confirmed their suspicion that the man’s death had not been caused by a beating. He couldn’t count all the broken bones and calculated that the victim must have fallen at least twenty metres. The pattern of fractures indicated that he had not landed feet first, nor did the pathologist think he had tried to break his fall with his arms. All the indications were that he had landed face down on a very hard surface. After a preliminary examination, the pathologist expressed doubt that the man could have fallen off a cliff on the Reykjanes Peninsula. For one thing, the surface the man landed on appeared to have been smooth, and, for another, he could find no evidence to suggest the man had been on the seashore or in the mountains. Not from his clothes, at any rate. He was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, with only a shirt on underneath. On his feet he wore cowboy boots with heels, pointed toes and cut-out decorations.
‘What kind of mudbath did you pull the poor guy out of?’ asked the pathologist. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
He was a stooped, elderly figure nearing retirement, white-haired and gaunt, with a large pair of horn-rimmed glasses on his nose. He wore a white coat with an apron over the top. The cadaver lay on the table in the cold, unforgiving glare of the lights. There was a tray of scalpels and forceps beside it, and the room stank sickeningly of formalin, disinfectant and open human torsos. Erlendur was ill at ease; he would never get used to the smell of this place and its association with death. He tried not to look at the body more than absolutely necessary. Marion, who had thicker skin, was undisturbed by the sterile environment and the sight that confronted them on the pathologist’s slab.
‘He was found in the run-off lagoon from the power station at Svartsengi,’ said Marion. ‘That’s where all the mud comes from. It’s rumoured to have healing powers.’
‘Healing powers?’ repeated the pathologist, momentarily diverted.
‘It’s supposed to be effective against psoriasis,’ explained Erlendur.
‘You learn something new every day,’ said the pathologist.
‘Did you notice any sign of skin disease on the body?’
‘No, Marion. You can forget the idea that he was there because of psoriasis.’
‘Could he have fallen out of a plane?’
‘A plane?’
‘For example. Judging by the state of him, it must have been a fairly substantial drop.’
‘All I can say at this stage is that he must have fallen from a great height onto an extremely hard surface,’ said the pathologist. ‘I don’t know about a plane. Though I wouldn’t rule it out.’
‘Can you give us an idea how long he was in the water?’ asked Marion.
‘Not long. Two, maybe three days at the outside. I may need to take another look but that’s my provisional estimate.’
‘He’s not wearing a wedding ring,’ remarked Erlendur, darting a glance at the corpse. ‘There’s no mark left by one, is there?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ said the pathologist. ‘I didn’t find anything on him, no keys or wallet. Nothing that could tell you who he is. His clothes have already been passed on to forensics. He doesn’t have any major scars resulting from accidents or operations; no tattoos either.’
‘What about his age?’
‘We’re talking about a man in his prime, maybe thirtyish. Height just under one eighty; well proportioned, lean and muscular — or was, poor fellow. No one’s asked after him yet, have they?’
‘No,’ said Erlendur. ‘Nobody’s missed him. At least, the police haven’t been alerted.’
‘And no one saw him fall?’
‘No. We’ve nothing to go on at present.’
‘How about a traffic accident?’ asked Marion. ‘Any chance of that?’
‘No, out of the question — wrong sort of injuries,’ said the pathologist, raising his eyes from the body and pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘I think we have to work on the assumption that he died as the result of a fall. And, as I pointed out, I can’t see any signs that he tried to break it in any way. He simply fell and landed in a horizontal, prostrate position. I don’t know if that means anything to you. It’s conceivable he wouldn’t have had time to raise his arms. Or didn’t want to. The drop was clearly a very long one and we’re talking about a high velocity at the moment of impact.’
‘If he didn’t stick his arms out, and landed flat on his face, as you say, are you... are you implying suicide?’ asked Erlendur.
‘It’s possible,’ said the pathologist, pushing his glasses up again. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps you shouldn’t discount it.’
‘Bit unlikely, isn’t it?’ said Marion. ‘If that was the case, why would someone have wanted to hide the body?’
‘I’m simply trying to interpret the pattern of fractures,’ said the pathologist. ‘I still have to conduct a more detailed analysis and the sooner you two get out of my hair, the sooner I’ll be able to get on with it.’
Forensics had a tricky job identifying the comings and goings over the lava field between the Grindavík road and the lagoon. The night after the body was found snow fell in the area, obscuring any tracks in the moss or beside the pool. The diver had been unable to find anything in the mud on the bottom. Conditions were challenging, the water was cloudy and visibility was virtually nil. The police put out an appeal for witnesses who had travelled along the Grindavík road in the days preceding the discovery of the body, in the hope that someone might have seen a vehicle in the area. No one came forward.