This would end badly.
This would end badly.
This was bound to end badly.
He opened his eyes.
Chapter 14
‘I want eight eyeses.’ Orri did not explain his choice of number. Perhaps it was the highest he knew.
‘What do you want with eight eyes, darling?’ Thóra parked in the only free space in front of the nursery school. ‘Isn’t two enough?’
‘I want to see lots and lots.’ Orri gazed out of the window, his face thoughtful. The view outside offered little to engage the interest of a four-year-old, even if he had quadruple the number of eyes; only some spindly poplars, not yet in bud.
‘I’m not sure you’d see any more with eight eyes than you do with two.’ Thóra got out and opened the door for the little boy. ‘And I bet it would be much harder to get to sleep at night if you had to close all those eyes.’
‘I want eight eyeses anyway.’
Thóra unfastened his seatbelt and moved aside so that he could climb out. ‘There isn’t any room for them, darling. Your face isn’t big enough.’
‘Spiders are small but they’ve got eight eyeses.’
That explained it. ‘Spiders have eight legs, not eight eyes.’ The wind shook the poplars, rattling a few dry leaves left over from summer. As she led Orri to the entrance they were met by a crescendo of noise created by dozens of parents tugging anoraks off whimpering children, mingled with the shrieks of those who were already playing inside. When Thóra opened the door, she felt like following Orri’s example and putting her hands over her ears. Stooping down to him, she freed one hand and whispered: ‘It’s a good thing you haven’t got eight ears, sweetheart, or you’d need eight hands.’
As she got back behind the wheel and slammed the car door, she experienced a familiar pang of guilt. Was the child really all right in the care of non-family members? It wasn’t that she suspected the staff were anything but kind – quite the contrary. It was the sheer number of children that worried her; at home there were five of them to see to Orri’s needs but at nursery school the ratio was almost reversed. Still, it couldn’t be helped. She should be grateful for all the time she got to spend with her grandson, unlike many grandmothers. For the moment, at least. Gylfi was still obsessed with the terrible oil rig idea and it was becoming infectious. Only this morning she had heard Sóley asking her brother whether summer jobs were better paid in Norway. And considering how keen Matthew was on the idea, it wouldn’t surprise her if he sent in an application next.
‘Any more news about the body?’ Thóra hung up her jacket, trying to mask her surprise that Bella should not only have arrived punctually but already be seated at her computer in reception.
‘No idea.’ Bella didn’t raise her eyes from the screen. The bluish glow illuminated her broad, chalk-white face, rendering her pallor more corpse-like than ever. ‘But there’s no point wasting any more time thinking about it. I’ve already told you – it’s Karítas.’
‘Well, perhaps.’ Thóra closed the cupboard and picked up her briefcase. She hadn’t told Bella what the police had disclosed about the possibility that a dead woman had been found on board. She didn’t quite trust her, though as far as she was aware the secretary had never leaked any information. In any case, the details were as yet unconfirmed, so there was no need to give Bella further grounds for believing that Karítas was dead. ‘Why are you here so early?’ Perhaps the secretary was so gripped by the case that she felt compelled to come to work before the day’s regular business began.
‘I owe money on my home Internet account.’ Bella flung Thóra a scornful look. No doubt it was meant to convey that they didn’t pay her a wage fit for a human being. But to earn that, of course, one would have to do some actual work. ‘I’ve put in a bid on eBay that I want to keep an eye on. The time’s nearly up and I don’t want anyone jumping in at the last minute and outbidding me.’
Thóra paused and turned. ‘You say you can’t afford to pay for the Internet, yet you’re always shopping on-line. If I were you I’d concentrate on paying off those little debts first.’
Bella rolled her eyes. ‘They’re not “little”.’ She fiddled with the mouse and puffed out her cheeks. ‘Look, I’m doing deals, okay? If I buy this box for the right price I can sell it on afterwards for a profit. So I’m making money, not spending it.’
‘Box?’ Thóra was puzzled. ‘What kind of box can you buy and sell for a profit?’
‘Batman Lego. Arkham Asylum.’
Thóra didn’t trust herself to repeat this. ‘How can it be an investment to buy boxes of Lego?’ Perhaps Bella had finally gone round the bend, but, then again, it was probably no worse than putting one’s money in Icelandic shares if the experience of the last few years was anything to go by. ‘Is it a collector’s item?’
Bella nodded. ‘Yes, and this bloke obviously has no idea what he’s got his hands on.’ She grinned and squinted at the eBay screen. ‘The packaging is intact, all the booklets are included and there isn’t a single piece missing. There were seven figures in the box.’
Thóra gave a tentative smile, unsure whether seven represented an unusually large or small number. ‘Good luck.’ She decided this brief insight into Bella’s world was quite enough to be going on with and went into her office. If she had found a box of Lego at home she would doubtless have handed it to Orri, probably even helped him tear open the packaging. Unable to resist the temptation, she pulled up eBay to see what all the fuss was about. When she finally managed to track down the precious box it turned out to be a real anti-climax. It consisted of a small Lego figure in a Batman costume, a selection of his enemies, and some bricks for building a house or prison. An investment was not the first thing that sprang to mind. Noticing that the auction was due to close in half an hour, she felt tempted to outbid Bella by a fraction, just for the hell of it, but didn’t have the heart. Instead, she knuckled down to work.
After spending half an hour studying the laws relating to life insurance and missing persons, and reading the Reykjavík District Court’s verdict in the case of the Icelander who had vanished from a sailing vessel, she was still unsure what to advise Ægir’s parents about how long the process might take. All she could say with confidence was that it would take time and, if no new evidence emerged, the case would probably be delayed by the court. The one encouraging sign was that the life cover had eventually been paid out in the case of the missing Icelander. If she presented sufficiently careful arguments, the same result could probably be achieved for Ægir and Lára. She rang the police to chase up the documents she’d requested and to her delight was informed that after lunch she could pick up all the papers they were currently prepared to release. However, they warned her to ring ahead to avoid a wasted journey as they were rushed off their feet and unsure when they would have time to make the copies. Before hanging up, she asked if there was any new information about the person who had been washed up on shore but was told again that they were not prepared to release a statement as yet. Well, all would be revealed eventually and in the meantime she could occupy herself by working on the letter and report for the insurance company.
The document soon filled up with a feeble attempt to explain a set of circumstances so implausible that there was a risk her letter would be dismissed as a bad joke. After wrestling for ages with a recalcitrant sentence, Thóra gave up, stood and stretched. It troubled her that she didn’t know why Ægir and Lára had insured their lives for such a vast sum. Ægir’s stepping into the breach to replace the injured crew member also struck her as highly irregular. When she had spoken to his manager on the phone, it turned out that the man had a vague memory of agreeing to the suggestion in order to cut costs, but when she pressed him for a concrete figure that she could quote in her report, he hesitated. In point of fact, the saving had been negligible; the cost of around a week’s wages for one foreign sailor, possibly with a bonus, and a flight ticket home. Ægir’s boss admitted that this was an insigni
ficant amount in the context, and therefore an unnecessary economy. He concluded by saying what she did not want to hear; that it had been Ægir’s personal decision to make up the shortfall as he had been very keen to make the voyage. In other words, it had been his idea.
This was the weakest link in the entire case. It would have been better, from Thóra’s point of view, if Ægir had been given no choice in the matter. As it was, his decision raised the possibility that the family’s disappearance had been premeditated. If she subsequently discovered that their debts were sky high, there was a risk the circumstances would appear even more dubious, so she had better find out the worst as soon as possible. Sitting down again, she picked up the phone to Ægir’s parents and asked them if they could discover how much their son and daughter-in-law owed the bank, as well as any other financial institutions and the tax authorities. The old couple baulked at this, pleading ignorance and raising so many potential objections that in the end Thóra extracted their permission to dig out the information herself. She was unlikely to succeed as they still needed a court order to declare Ægir and Lára dead before the family would be permitted to administer their estate. As a last resort, they might have to search their house for receipts or paying-in slips. Sigrídur, who had answered the phone, received this suggestion with even less enthusiasm, and the upshot was that once again they agreed that Thóra should undertake the task. If it did come to that, Sigrídur asked Thóra to fetch more clothes and toys for Sigga Dögg because she and her husband still couldn’t bring themselves to set foot in their son’s house.
Thóra was about to fetch herself a coffee and check on the results of the eBay auction when the phone rang. ‘Some old woman for you.’ Bella’s voice was replaced by that of an older lady who introduced herself as Begga, Karítas’s mother. ‘You came round to see me, remember? You left your card in case I needed to get in touch.’
‘Of course. Hello. How are you?’ Thóra asked.
‘Oh, fine,’ the woman replied, sounding falsely hearty. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I heard from Karítas yesterday.’ Unable to think of an immediate response, Thóra allowed a silence to develop, which the woman obviously found uncomfortable. ‘You asked after her? I just thought you’d like to know.’
‘That’s right, I did. And I’m very pleased to hear this news. I’d begun to wonder if something had happened to her, though I didn’t like to mention it.’ Thóra hoped her surprise was not too obvious. She had thought it more than likely that the body purportedly found on board had been that of Karítas, whether because of Bella’s insistence, or because Karítas was the only woman connected to the case apart from Lára. The police had now confirmed that the body which had been washed up was not Lára.
Begga let out a short laugh, almost a giggle. ‘To tell the truth, I was getting a bit worried myself. But it turns out she’s absolutely fine and there’s nothing wrong.’
‘Did you happen to ask if she’d be willing to have a quick chat with me? I can ring her if she’s abroad; I wouldn’t want her to have to pay for the call.’
‘Oh, she wouldn’t mind that.’ Begga’s confidence rang hollow; evidently she no longer knew what her daughter could or could not afford. ‘I did mention it but unfortunately she couldn’t answer because she had to dash. I’ll bring it up next time I hear from her, which should be soon now that she’s got Internet access again.’
‘Internet access?’ Thóra wondered if Karítas was in the same mess as Bella but avoided referring to it, so as to preserve the illusion of a luxurious lifestyle that Begga was keen to maintain. ‘Has she been away from civilisation then?’
‘Yes, she’s been on the move. Trying to get her bearings. You know.’
Thóra didn’t know. When she had problems, she couldn’t afford to take off to the Galapagos to work them out. ‘But she’s home now?’ she said, then added quickly: ‘Which is where?’
Begga tittered again. ‘Oh, I might have known you’d ask that. But, seriously, she’s in Brazil – I think. The subject didn’t actually come up but they own a house there and although it’s autumn now, it’s warmer than here. So I assume that’s where she is.’
‘Do you have her phone number?’
There was no laughter this time. ‘No. She didn’t tell me and I forgot to ask. She changed her number when this whole thing blew up because the Icelandic press wouldn’t leave her alone. She even got rid of her mobile – can you imagine? But unfortunately I didn’t ask and I don’t actually know if she has a mobile now. It was such a brief conversation, as I said.’
‘So you didn’t see what number she was calling from?’
‘Oh, no, she didn’t call. This was on Facebook. Didn’t I explain?’
‘I must have misunderstood.’ This struck Thóra as decidedly odd. If she hadn’t spoken to her mother for weeks she would almost certainly have found the time to have a proper chat with her, on the phone rather than through social media, though that didn’t necessarily mean anything. On the other hand, if someone was posing as Karítas to throw dust in her mother’s eyes, the conversation would have to be kept as short as possible and naturally could not have been conducted over the phone. The longer the communication, the more chance there would be of making a mistake – particularly if Google Translate was involved. She longed to ask the woman if they had discussed anything personal, anything that no one else would know. But that would only worry her and it would be a pity to undermine her obvious relief over the Facebook exchange. ‘Did she say anything in particular, apart from that she was okay?’
‘Not really. Just that she was fine and the weather was good. Then she asked about the weather in Iceland. I don’t remember the details.’
‘No, of course not. It’s great that she’s safe and let’s hope she contacts you again soon. When she does, perhaps you’d remember to mention my request?’ Suddenly it dawned on her – if someone was impersonating Karítas, that person must be an Icelander. Google Translate was all right as far as it went, but a foreigner wouldn’t be able to put together so much as two sentences without betraying him- or herself. ‘I forgot to ask last time, does Karítas have any Icelandic friends who visit her abroad?’
‘Well, not many. She’s always so rushed off her feet when she’s abroad that she has no time to socialise with friends from before. She hardly even has time for her old mother.’ Begga laughed again, failing miserably to sound amused. ‘The only Icelanders she associates with when she’s travelling are the ones who work – or used to work – for her. If I recall, there was once an Icelander crewing the yacht, and she had an Icelandic maid or PA or whatever you call them. She’s always been well disposed towards her country and people, which is why all the negative press about her and Gulam since the crash is so unfair.’
‘Do you happen to remember the name of the PA who worked for her? Is she the girl who accompanied her to Portugal?’ Thóra jammed the receiver under her chin and reached for a pen. She turned over the page where she had been writing notes on the case of a family who were about to lose everything they owned. It seemed singularly appropriate as the family’s misfortunes were the result of financial shenanigans by the global super rich – unscrupulous rogues like Karítas’s husband. ‘Since I can’t speak to Karítas directly, I could try to get hold of the PA. Is she with her in Brazil, by any chance?’
‘I don’t think they’re together, though Karítas didn’t say. At least, she said she was alone, but then perhaps she doesn’t count the staff – she’s as used to having help as we are to having dishwashers. And I wouldn’t describe my dishwasher as company.’
Thóra was unlikely to start comparing people to household appliances any time soon, but she checked her impulse to retort as much. ‘If she’s not in Brazil, there’s a good chance she’s here in Iceland. That would be even better, and all the more reason for me to try and track her down.’
‘Well, I don’t know what she’d be able to tell you. The people who work for Karítas and Gulam have to sign a s
trict confidentiality agreement and I’m sure she wouldn’t want to break it. Mind you, I wouldn’t put it past her. I always found the girl impossible but Karítas couldn’t see it. I even offered to help out myself so she could get rid of her, but Karítas didn’t like to. She didn’t want to take advantage of me or hurt the girl by giving her the sack. She’s always been so kind-hearted.’
Thóra chose to put a different construction on this: Karítas obviously didn’t want her mother tagging along on their trips abroad. ‘You don’t happen to remember her name?’
‘Aldís. I don’t know her patronymic.’ Well, that was a great help.
After Thóra had said goodbye, she discovered that there were 219 women called Aldís in the telephone directory, and no clues to help her identify the right one. At a loss for ideas, she tried logging onto Facebook to see if Karítas would accept a friend request, though Thóra’s own page was neglected and contained little of interest except an album of pictures of her kids that she’d posted when she joined, so there was little reason for Karítas to want to befriend her. With any luck, she would be one of those people who accepted all requests indiscriminately, but if she sifted her friends carefully, Thóra was unlikely to make the grade.
Karítas’s page turned out to be public, so Thóra was able to examine it without hindrance. The first thing she checked was whether Aldís was among the hundreds of friends the owner of the page had deigned to accept, but she was nowhere to be found. That told its own story about their relationship; staff obviously didn’t count as friends – any more than dishwashers would. There was little else of interest on the page apart from the photo albums. They contained such a vast number of images that either the woman must employ someone to upload them for her, or else the busy schedule described by her mother was pure fiction. Thóra decided to scroll through them in the hope of finding a picture of Aldís and any other information about her. After several hundred photos, however, her interest waned. They were generally taken at gatherings of smartly dressed people, the women drooping under the weight of their jewellery, their emaciated figures hardly built to carry such burdens. Despite the silver trays of canapés none of the photos showed any of the women eating, whereas the opposite applied to the men; they came in all shapes and sizes, and were often caught by the photographer in the act of stuffing their faces.
The Silence of the Sea Page 18
