The Silence of the Sea

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  The rope ladder was still hanging in its place and Ægir clung for dear life to the bottom rung as he spat out his mouthpiece and fully inflated his BCD to keep him afloat. Only as he hauled himself out of the sea did he remember the weight of the air cylinder and for an instant wondered if he would make it. The way up offered life, while there was nothing below but a cold grave, so up he would go. He flexed the chilled muscles of his upper arms and heaved himself upwards groaning with the pain of it. Had the woman he saw in the water been a hallucination? Now that he had escaped the ocean, it all seemed so unreal that he was no longer sure. Yet it must have happened.

  ‘This is the best beer I’ve ever tasted. Pass me another.’ Ægir emptied the bottle as he sat there wrapped in a blanket, which seemed to be having no effect. He didn’t usually drink before midday but now all he wanted was to get plastered. Strange though it might seem, the chilled beer was exactly what he needed and it made no difference that he shook like a leaf with every gulp. His body did not seem particularly grateful, but he couldn’t give a damn; any more than he had cared about the fuss Lára had made. She had freaked out when they came inside and explained why he was in such a state. She exclaimed that he had betrayed her and the girls by taking such a decision without consulting her, and generally behaving like a selfish shit, either because he was an adrenaline junky or out of a pathetic desire to please the others. And so it went on. In his present state there was no question of persuading her to listen to reason; he couldn’t move from the galley chair where he sat shivering. Keen not to miss anything, the girls had remained behind when their mother stormed out. They were sitting opposite him, their large dark eyes filled with wonder. It was a sign of the state he was in that he didn’t mind their witnessing such an unpleasant scene.

  The one part he was determined to keep to himself was the woman; it would be too difficult to explain through chattering teeth. In any case, it had almost certainly been a hallucination brought on by excessive loss of body heat, and he didn’t want to detract from his own heroism by telling a story that would make them shake their heads and roll their eyes when he wasn’t looking. He had got out alive – nothing else mattered. For now.

  ‘Are you cold, Daddy?’ Bylgja received a jab from Arna’s elbow for asking such a stupid question. Her glasses were knocked askew and she winced.

  ‘I’m so cold that if I tried to pee, it would come out as ice cubes.’ Ægir took another swig of beer from the newly opened bottle that Halli had passed him.

  ‘Did you see any fish?’ Arna leant forward over the table and rested her head in her hands, stretching her eyes into slits. ‘You should have caught them.’

  ‘I didn’t see any fish. It’s too cold even for them. They’re all dead of cold, I reckon.’

  Thráinn did not look amused. He stood on the other side of the galley, propped against the sink with arms folded. ‘I’m not sure I follow. You managed to undo the bolts but failed to open the door? And you saw no sign of any damage?’

  Ægir nodded, his head jerking in time to the shaking of his body. ‘No. I couldn’t see any holes. There were scratches all over the place, but none of them looked deep enough to be dangerous. I unlocked the door but I couldn’t open it, not on my own. Perhaps it would be possible to attach a rope to it and drag it open with a concerted effort from on deck. I don’t know. But it can’t be done from below.’

  ‘Not by the likes of you, at any rate.’ Halli winked at Thráinn. Spray had plastered the white hair to his forehead.

  Loftur, who had joined them while Ægir was underwater, added with a sneer: ‘I thought everything was supposed to be so light underwater. Obviously not light enough.’

  ‘Oh, shut up. If you’re such tough guys how come you’re not strapping on tanks yourselves and going to sort it out?’ Ægir took another swig. Losing his temper had warmed him up a little. ‘I’m just describing the situation. I haven’t a clue how to solve the problem. You’re the sailors. You sort out this mess instead of giving me a hard time.’

  ‘You’ve had enough beer.’ Thráinn pushed himself suddenly upright. ‘Why don’t you go and talk to your wife? She didn’t look too happy when she ran out. Then you’d better take a hot shower and get into bed. It’s the only way to beat the cold.’

  ‘Mummy went mad.’ Arna grinned. ‘She won’t want to talk to you yet.’ It was obvious that Arna wanted to stay and listen to the grown-ups quarrelling. It didn’t often happen, so the opportunity was too good to miss. ‘I’d wait if I was you.’

  Bylgja looked reproachful. ‘She wasn’t angry, Daddy, just upset. When you were away so long, she thought you’d fallen in the sea. She looked out of the window and could only see two men – not you, Daddy – and she thought you’d drowned. She sent us below so we couldn’t watch. I wish I’d seen you come up again.’

  Ægir discovered that his lips were dry. When he ran his tongue over them, he tasted salt. ‘Mummy’ll get over it.’

  ‘I want to try being that cold.’ Arna leant even further over the table. ‘If I ate a ton of ice cream and chewed loads of ice cubes, would I be as cold as you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you would. But I don’t recommend it.’

  ‘There is no ice cream.’ Thráinn took the rest of the six-pack from Halli and put it back in the fridge.

  ‘There is,’ Arna retorted obstinately, unwilling to bow to the captain’s authority. To her eyes he was just another bossy grown-up. ‘I saw ice lollies in the freezer when we put our food in there. Can I have one, Daddy?’

  ‘No.’ Ægir put his beer down with a clunk. Her question had jolted him back to reality and the predicament they were in. ‘Let’s go below and find Mummy. Thráinn’s right.’ He met the captain’s eye, then his gaze travelled onwards to the larder door. At that point, the effects of the alcohol wore off completely. The padlock was lying on the floor and looked as if it had been clipped through. It had been intact and locked when they went out on deck. He coughed. ‘Have you been fiddling with the lock?’ He nodded as casually as he could towards the larder. The three men shook their heads. ‘Somehow I doubt Lára or the girls did that.’

  Arna and Bylgja stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Did what?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Ægir watched Thráinn walk over and open the door. He caught a quick glimpse as the captain slipped inside and gasped when he saw the state the larder was in. The freezer lid was open and the food that had been in the top of the chest was scattered all over the floor. Ægir had no need to see inside the freezer to realise that the body was missing. The captain’s expression was enough.

  What the hell was going on? Actually, he knew where the body had ended up; the woman in the sea had been no hallucination. What an idiot he was not to have mentioned it immediately; now his story would seem both unconvincing and suspicious. Who could have thrown the body overboard and why? It wasn’t him, and presumably neither Thráinn nor Halli could have done it without the other noticing. Which did not leave many people. He stared at Loftur, who immediately averted his eyes.

  Chapter 16

  The dog-eared bundle of photocopies on the desk in front of her showed evidence of rough handling. When she unfolded them she discovered flakes of tobacco and fluff that suggested they had been stuffed into a less than pristine anorak pocket. ‘Thanks for bringing these. It must be difficult getting around in weather like this with your leg in plaster.’ She smoothed out the papers and had a quick leaf through them. At first sight everything appeared to be present. She looked up at Snævar and smiled. ‘Did you have much trouble getting hold of them?’

  ‘Oh, no, not really. I looked through my junk and found these hospital forms. Halli must have chucked them in my bag when he packed it for me. I fetched some documents from the Social Insurance office too, in case you needed something official. I’ve nothing better to do at the moment. They probably won’t be much use to you; they’re just payments linked to my European Health Insurance card, but there’s also a bit about what they did at the hospital
and so on. Anyway, you’ve got them now. Give me a shout if there’s anything else I can do for you. It makes a nice change to be busy.’

  ‘You obviously won’t be going to sea for a while. Do you have any idea when your leg will have healed?’

  ‘No, but hopefully in a couple of weeks.’ Snævar shrugged, and the stretched-out neckline of his garish jumper gaped to reveal a white T-shirt. He was wearing dirty tracksuit bottoms that in no way matched the shapeless, bobbly acrylic jumper. His dark hair, though shaven to within a millimetre of his scalp, smelt as though it was in need of a wash, and a close encounter with a razor around the jawline wouldn’t have hurt him either. Thóra tried to avert her attention from the young man’s slovenly appearance. After all, the way he looked now was probably not habitual. It must be difficult to find trousers with bottoms wide enough to fit over the plaster cast, and taking a shower couldn’t be easy either. ‘I go to sea every other month. The accident happened during my time off, so I’d better be mobile again before my next tour or I’ll be off work for another two months. Unless I can make a deal with the bloke who works opposite me.’

  Peering under the desk, Thóra noticed that his plaster cast was wrapped in a plastic bag from Ríkid, the state-run off-licence. ‘Well, you certainly won’t get far like that.’

  ‘No.’ He smiled briefly without showing his teeth. ‘Do you know whose body it was on the beach?’ Evidently he did not have much time for small talk. Thóra understood his concern; his friend Halldór was one of the few likely candidates.

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t your friend.’ Earlier that morning Ægir’s father had rung to let her know that the police had told him the body was not that of his son or any other family member. The postmortem had confirmed this and the person in question’s next of kin had been notified. Since a statement would be issued to the press at midday, Thóra thought it wouldn’t matter if she revealed the man’s name to Snævar. ‘It was the mate, Loftur.’ She observed his relief, followed almost instantly by apparent shame at his selfishness; naturally it was still a tragedy, whoever was involved.

  ‘You didn’t know him?’ Thóra asked, though the answer was obvious from his reaction.

  ‘No. Never met him, as far as I know. But I’m not very good with faces. We may have worked on a short tour together, though I don’t think so.’

  ‘So you didn’t see him in Lisbon?’

  ‘No. Nor the captain either. I had my accident before they arrived, though of course I’d have met them if things had gone according to plan. I think I know who Loftur was, though. At least, I’ve heard people talk about him.’

  ‘Oh? What have you heard?’

  ‘Nothing bad, far from it. I forget exactly what it was but nothing like that. Just that he was a bloody good ship’s mate. He passed his certificate quite young, if I remember right.’ Snævar raised his eyes to the ceiling in an effort to recall. ‘That was it – they said it was a pity he turned his back on the fishing industry because he was very promising. He used to work on the same trawler as me but quit just before I started. He got on the wrong side of the first mate or something stupid like that, and people were wondering what he’d do instead. That’s all, I think.’

  ‘Did your friend Halli know him?’

  Snævar shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so, though I can’t be sure.’ He craned his head so far back that Thóra had a momentary fear that his Adam’s apple would pop out of his neck. ‘God, it’s all so awful.’

  ‘It certainly is.’ Thóra watched him return his head to its normal position, wondering if people like him coped better with grief than those who wore their hearts on their sleeves. But going by Snævar’s expression, she thought maybe the silent type found it harder. ‘I suppose you realise that this greatly reduces the chances of finding the others alive.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘None of them are alive. I don’t know how anyone could believe they were.’

  Thóra folded her arms. ‘I’m inclined to agree with you, but it’s incredible what people can endure.’

  Snævar shook his head. ‘There’s no chance they’re drifting somewhere in a lifeboat, if that’s what you think. It would have capsized long ago.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Although she did not say as much, Thóra thought Snævar’s response to the news that the dead man was Loftur indicated that he too was holding out hope that Halli was alive. But he had a point; they must all be dead by now. The official search had been called off; there were no more helicopters hovering over the sea where the yacht had passed. Instead they were combing the beaches – in search of the dead, not the living. ‘When did you last hear from your friend Halldór? Ægir and his family called Iceland as the yacht was leaving port in Lisbon, but nothing was heard from them after that. Did Halli get in touch with you after the voyage had begun?’

  ‘No,’ Snævar said without hesitating. ‘Before he left he brought me painkillers, Coke, sweets, and so on. Then we said goodbye at the hotel the day he was supposed to sail. I didn’t hear from him again after that. He was great; bought me a plane ticket home and all that. We didn’t have our laptops with us so I couldn’t do it myself but luckily there was a computer in the hotel lobby. I really don’t know how I’m supposed to repay him; I don’t like to get in touch with his family yet in case they’re still hoping he’ll be found alive. I’d rather wait a bit. But I’m afraid I’ll forget and then they won’t understand what’s going on when his credit card bill arrives.’

  Thóra had noticed the travel documents as she leafed through the pile of papers, and quickly turned back to them. She found a receipt from Expedia for a flight to London and another onwards to Iceland. The name of the card holder was Halldór Thorsteinsson. She showed it to him. ‘I’ll return this when I’ve taken a copy and then you’ll have the receipt to remind you.’ She put the papers down again. ‘One question that might sound a bit daft. Did Halldór have a mobile phone? Or a camera?’

  Snævar looked at her as if she was an idiot. ‘Of course he had a phone. But I’m sure he didn’t have a camera. At least, I never saw him carry one. If he’d wanted to take a picture, he’d have used his phone. Though why he’d have wanted to take one, I don’t know.’ He tilted his head on one side. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, it’s only – they didn’t find any phones or cameras on board, which seems rather odd. If they abandoned ship in a hurry you’d have thought at least one of them would have left their phone behind, not to mention if they were washed overboard.’ She changed the subject. ‘Did it never occur to you to sail home yourself? To take the boat instead of flying, so you didn’t have to hang around in the hotel? Your leg wouldn’t have prevented you from taking your turn on the bridge, would it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have been much use for the first forty-eight hours but after that I could have helped out, as you say. I went home after three days and the flight was just as tiring as if I’d taken a watch on board. It’s a nightmare travelling in this state but it’s not as if there’s any physical effort involved in sitting on the bridge. Once I was alone I remember being pissed off that Halli and I hadn’t slept on the yacht instead of wasting money on a hotel. I was sure they’d have given me a ride home if I’d been on board already. Though now I’m thanking my lucky stars I wasn’t, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Was sleeping on board an option?’

  ‘Yes, why not? We had the keys and no one would have complained. We were supposed to start making her ready and running checks on the engines and equipment before the others arrived, so I can’t see why anyone would have kicked up a fuss.’

  ‘You didn’t ring the captain to suggest it?’

  ‘No. He was so pissed off that I couldn’t face talking to him. I’ve learnt it’s pointless trying to reason with people when they’re angry. Halli did mention it in passing but the captain wasn’t having it. Anyway, by then it had been decided that the family should go instead. I have to admit I’m glad I didn’t try harder – the pain in my leg is nothing compare
d to what Halli must have gone through.’

  Thóra brought out a file containing the documents that the police had released to her late the previous day. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask your opinion on something.’ She showed him the file. ‘This is the route that was programmed into the yacht’s GPS.’ She ran her finger along a line that followed a rather circuitous course between Lisbon and Reykjavík. Then she turned over the next two pages, which showed, on the one hand, a blown-up picture of the route within Icelandic territorial waters and, on the other, some circles the yacht had made not far from her destination. ‘I can’t get hold of the man who gave me this but the way I understand it, the yacht started sailing in circles around about here.’ She pointed at the first blown-up page. ‘I take this to be the date, which would mean that she made these manoeuvres about twenty-four hours before she careered into the harbour. Have you any inkling what might be going on here?’

  Snævar, looking surprised, studied the chart. ‘I suppose it’s possible that the autopilot developed a fault or the rudder jammed, though that’s pretty unlikely. The captain would never have let her sail round and round like that before he took action. It’s more likely that someone fell overboard and they were looking for him. Or her. Or them.’

  ‘That’s what occurred to me too. It’s a pity the printout doesn’t say who it was.’

  ‘The navigation system isn’t that sophisticated.’

  ‘I was joking.’ Thóra turned over to the enlarged chart. ‘What about the final part of the voyage? That looks odd too. If I have this right, there’s a change of course as the yacht approaches Iceland and she’s brought in very close to the shore at Grótta before heading back out to sea where she sails in another large circle before making a beeline for Reykjavík harbour. This is a blown-up picture of her final movements.’