The officer extricated himself and rose stiffly to his feet. ‘You should have informed us immediately.’
Thóra blew the fringe out of her eyes, annoyed. It was at least the tenth time he had mentioned this since she met him by the yacht. The same went for his colleague to whom she had reported the discovery of the glasses. She missed her friend with the green eyes and suspected that this man and the one who had answered the phone were the officers he had bawled out for their oversight in relation to Halldór’s body. That would explain their conduct towards her; they must be pleased to be in a position to offload the blame onto somebody else. ‘As I explained, it slipped my mind. I didn’t work out the connection until this morning when I saw a photo of the girl wearing the glasses. She didn’t have them on in the few other pictures I’d seen of her. To give you an idea of how little importance I attached to them, I didn’t even check to see if they were still there the second time I came aboard – even though I opened the closet.’
‘You should have let us know anyway. It’s not up to you to decide what is or isn’t significant.’
‘No. You’re right about that.’ Thóra gritted her teeth and tried to keep her cool. She was aware of a throbbing behind her eyes that threatened to develop into a full-blown headache if she didn’t leave the boat soon. She was clearly not cut out to be a sailor if she was in danger of feeling seasick in port. ‘Of course, I should have rung and told you about every single thing I saw, shouldn’t I? Like the towel in the bathroom. Two towels, actually. But I forgot.’
The policeman stood up straight and although Thóra was tall, he towered over her. The cabin may have been luxurious but it had a low ceiling, which had the effect of accentuating his height and making him seem almost a giant. ‘There’s no call for sarcasm.’
‘No, sorry.’ She relaxed her jaw. If she didn’t want to ruin her good relations with the police she had better find a way to lighten the atmosphere. Better drop the matter and get to the point. ‘Anyway, I don’t understand what can have happened to the dress.’ She opened the wardrobes one after the other and peered inside, though they had already conducted a thorough search. ‘Someone must have taken it.’ She took a step back to get a better view of the one that was open. ‘I couldn’t swear to it, but now I come to think of it some of the other dresses may be missing as well.’ She rubbed off the fingerprint powder that had coated her hands when she opened the doors. A forensics officer had gone round first, taking prints from the cupboards, light switches and the chest of drawers in the cabin, in case any new ones had appeared since the initial examination of the yacht. He had also vacuumed all the wardrobes in search of biological material which might prove that Bylgja or Arna had been hiding inside them. While he was working, Thóra and the policeman had been forced to cool their heels in the corridor, exchanging small talk that became increasingly strained with every moment that passed. Perhaps that was why, once they entered the cabin, they had quickly begun to get on each other’s nerves.
‘They took photographs in here when the yacht first arrived in port, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.’ The man looked at the sea of colour suspended from the hangers. ‘Though I don’t understand how you can tell. The wardrobes are so full it doesn’t look as if there’d be room for anything else.’
‘There were more dresses.’ Thóra stepped back still further and made an effort to picture the contents as she had originally laid eyes on them. There was still only one empty hanger, but the garments did not seem as tightly packed. ‘Yup, there were definitely more dresses.’ She closed the door.
The policeman surveyed the cabin with a frown. ‘If you’re right and there are dresses missing as well as the glasses, the question is who could have removed them?’
Thóra smiled at him patiently, feeling her headache intensify. ‘These are designer clothes – some of the dresses are worth a fortune.’
‘But they’re used. Who wants second-hand clothes, even if they are expensive?’
‘It’s not unheard-of, you know.’ Personally, she would not have wanted any of the dresses in that cupboard, not because they were second-hand but because she never had the occasion to dress up in glamorous, floor-skimming evening gowns. ‘I’d hazard a guess that the owner of these clothes or somebody close to her would be the most likely suspects. How have you been getting on with tracking down Karítas and her PA?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘I see.’ She kept her thoughts to herself. Bella had had no luck in contacting Karítas, let alone finding out where her assistant, Aldís, was living. At least she had succeeded in discovering the latter’s full name, by pestering Karítas’s mother with phone calls until the woman had caved in and taken the trouble to dig out Aldís’s patronymic. Thóra suspected she had in fact known it all along. But when Thóra had used the information to contact the girl’s family, they seemed utterly indifferent, claiming they often didn’t hear from Aldís for months as she was kept very busy by her employer. Bella was not exactly known for her psychological insight, but even Thóra had to agree when she said there was clearly no love lost between the PA and her family. However, the fact that she hadn’t crawled home with her tail between her legs could indicate that she was in Brazil with Karítas. Another possibility was that both women had come to a sticky end. And a third, that Aldís had played a part in Karítas’s demise. These things did happen. This conjecture was lent more substance by the expression of hatred Thóra had seen on the young woman’s face in the photo where she was helping her employer into her dress. She’d looked as if she’d rather be planting a knife between Karítas’s shoulder blades than doing up her zip.
‘Do these numbers mean anything to you?’ Watching Snævar struggle to decipher Ægir’s almost illegible handwriting, Thóra was disappointed by his blank expression. She had felt considerably better once she was back on dry land, but her headache still lingered in spite of the painkillers she’d swallowed on returning to the office a good two hours ago.
‘No. I doubt they’re connected to the yacht. Maybe it’s a registration number. Though not like any I’m familiar with.’ As he put down the piece of paper he looked as frustrated as Thóra. He had agreed at once when she rang to ask him to drop by, and it was all too apparent that he was fed up with sitting at home alone. Few young men would have jumped for joy at the prospect of visiting a lawyer, even a female one.
‘Thanks for coming in, by the way.’ She hoped he would sense how important it was for her to be able to call on him for help. She wasn’t well enough acquainted with any other seamen to approach them about such matters, so a sailor marooned on shore by a broken leg, one who actually knew something about the yacht in question, was a godsend. ‘I really appreciate being able to consult you about Ægir’s case, but of course you’re free to refuse any further meetings.’ She smiled at him.
The figure slumped in the chair facing her sat up a little. He looked smarter than he had last time, in a much more presentable jumper, properly shaven. Only the grubby tracksuit bottoms were the same. ‘It’s really no bother. I’m going stir-crazy at home, so I’m glad of any excuse to leave the house. I just wish I could be of more use.’
‘Oh, I’ve only just started, don’t you worry.’ She realised she hadn’t offered him any coffee. He looked as if he could do with some. In spite of the extra care he had taken over his appearance he was still rather pale and drawn. ‘How have you been coping since finding Halldór? It must have been horrific for you.’
‘Oh, you know.’ His response was as one would expect; he avoided meeting her eye and his fingers twitched in his lap. She didn’t need a degree in psychology to see that he was having a tough time.
‘Have you received any trauma counselling, Snævar?’
‘No. They offered but I refused. I can’t really see what use it would be.’ He sniffed and shifted in his chair. ‘It’s just something I have to deal with on my own.’
‘I see.’ It was blindingly obvious that he wasn’t d
ealing with it at all well. ‘You should talk to an expert anyway. Better late than never. You’d be surprised how much it can help, and it certainly couldn’t hurt.’
Snævar made a non-committal noise. Thóra decided to leave it and ask about something more specific. ‘How’s your leg, by the way? Improving at all?’
‘I’m supposed to stay in plaster for six weeks.’ He slapped the plastic splint that jutted out from under his tracksuit bottoms, wrapped in yet another shopping bag, this time from the Nóatún supermarket chain. ‘I reckon I’m about halfway through, but I can’t deny I’m looking forward to being back on two feet. And to wearing what I like instead of the only clothes I can get into.’ A grin transformed his face.
‘You’ll be rid of that thing before you know it.’ At the sight of Snævar looking brighter Thóra’s own mood lifted. ‘That reminds me. Here are the papers from the Portuguese hospital. You’ll probably need to take them along when you go to see the doctor. Sorry I didn’t return them to you earlier.’
He held out a hand for the documents. ‘No problem. I still haven’t got round to it, so it doesn’t matter. I really should get a move on, though.’
‘I could give you a lift if you like, or get someone else to. The thing is, I should have asked you for a note from your doctor confirming that you weren’t fit to work because of a broken leg at the time you were supposed to sail home.’
‘But I could have sailed home.’
She tried to hide her irritation, which was directed not so much at him as at herself and her gnawing suspicions about Ægir. ‘Yes, no doubt you could have, but you didn’t, and I need confirmation that it was because of your broken leg. The Portuguese papers aren’t enough on their own.’ She would prefer not to tell him why. ‘I could always ask my ex-husband, who’s a doctor, to look in on you. He owes me a favour.’ Gylfi had got the job on the oil rig and was due to start as soon as he had finished his final school exams. In three months her life would change irrevocably. ‘Then you wouldn’t need to leave the house.’
‘Oh no, no need. I’ll go to my doctor. No problem.’ Judging by his expression, he was not at all keen to receive a visit from her ex. He cleared his throat. ‘Are they any closer to finding out how Halli died?’
‘I don’t think so.’ It was not her place to reveal what the police had confided in her. Although it was evident that Halli had drowned, the details surrounding his demise were so bizarre that it would be best to say as little as possible. ‘I’m sure it’ll become clear in due course.’
‘I see.’ It was obvious he didn’t entirely believe her.
‘Have you had any further thoughts yourself about what might have happened?’
‘No.’ He seemed to realise he was slouching again, and made a visible effort to look more alert. ‘Of course, I keep going over it in my mind and I reckon it must have been a combination of factors. Since we know now that two of the three crew members are dead, I’m guessing the captain copped it as well and after that the family took the idiotic decision to abandon ship.’ He flung out a hand. ‘But that theory doesn’t work either when you think about it, since who can have programmed the autopilot and set the course first to Grótta, then to port?’
After acquainting herself with the criteria for the pleasure craft competency certificate, Thóra had immediately discounted the possibility that Ægir could have learnt how to use an autopilot on the course. Admittedly, it was conceivable that one of the crew might have taken the time to teach him or Lára to use the system but that wouldn’t explain why they had set a course for Grótta. The most obvious option would have been to direct the yacht straight to Reykjavík harbour. None of the alternatives that occurred to her made any sense. There were too many unanswered questions, too many unsubstantiated theories. ‘One more thing, Snævar.’ He regarded her hopefully, as if pathetically keen to give her the answer she wanted. ‘Is there any chance there could have been a stowaway on board?’
From the way his face relaxed, it looked as if this could be answered with a straight yes or no. But it turned out not to be that simple. ‘I doubt it, but I couldn’t rule it out. He’d have had to be bloody clever. And quiet. Every nook and cranny on board is used to the max, so he’d have had to be incredibly lucky for no one to spot him. I guess someone could have hidden in an empty cabin, though it would have taken a hell of a lot of nerve.’
‘What about in the engine room or storage spaces on the bottom deck? Is there nowhere to hide down there?’
‘I suppose there could be. Not in the engine room, though, because they inspect that regularly. If I was going to hide on board, I’d steer clear of the engines and bridge as you’d almost certainly be spotted there.’
‘So it would be feasible, with a bit of luck?’
‘Well … I guess so. If you knew the yacht inside out.’ Snævar grimaced and shifted his injured leg, which seemed to be causing him discomfort. ‘But who could it have been? And why the fuck would they do it?’ There was no disguising the anger in his voice and Thóra could only hope he wouldn’t be the first to track down the stowaway if he or she turned out to exist. If he did, they wouldn’t have a hope in hell.
‘I haven’t a clue.’ In fact, she had already formed an opinion but wanted to avoid rousing his suspicion. If someone had stowed away on board, that person must surely have been linked to the former owners. It was the only logical conclusion. Karítas, Aldís – even the owner, Gulam. Or a henchman he had hired to recover the yacht. The last scenario was a long shot, however, as they would have little to gain by stealing the boat. ‘Not a clue.’
Once Snævar had left, Bella came in and plonked herself down in front of Thóra. ‘Look, I know I couldn’t sort out the photocopier before the weekend, but would you be prepared to trade the upgrade for information about Aldís?’
‘What?’ Thóra asked eagerly. ‘Where did you get it from?’
‘I rang a girl who used to work with Aldís before she took the job with Karítas. A sort of friend.’
‘And how did you find out about her?’
‘I rang Aldís’s mum and asked. Told her we wanted to check if she’d been in touch with any of her mates because we needed to get hold of her urgently. She gave me this girl’s name and I tracked down her number.’
‘Damn it, Bella, you did this here in the office during working hours. I shouldn’t have to bribe you to do your job. Anyway, I’m afraid Bragi and I decided the other day not to install a high-speed connection after all. We’ll review the situation in ten years.’ Thóra couldn’t resist winding her up a little. ‘I’m sorry.’
Bella pushed her chair back. ‘Okay, fine. No worries.’
‘Hey, you can’t leave. Tell me what the friend said.’
‘What friend? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Try asking me again in ten years – perhaps I’ll remember then.’ Bella heaved her bulk out of the chair.
‘For goodness’ sake, come on – I was only teasing. We’re going to organise the bloody upgrade. I’ve been waiting for a good moment to tell you. I just didn’t want it to look as if I was giving in to blackmail.’
‘It wasn’t blackmail. It’s called a trade-off.’ But the news of the upgrade had brought out the best in Bella and she sat down again, her face shining. No doubt she was daydreaming about how fast she could now jump in with last-minute bids on eBay. ‘Well, according to this girl, Aldís wasn’t exactly the sociable type. She was a bit of a snob, but all right really – she just had dreams of being rich and famous, though mainly rich.’
‘Famous for what?’
Bella gave Thóra a pitying look. ‘Where have you been? You don’t have to be famous for anything these days. She just wanted to be a rich celebrity. But her plans were going badly, so she was getting a bit pissed off. Her mate thought things would change for the better when she started working for Karítas, but no such luck. She said she couldn’t understand why on earth Aldís stayed on if she was so fed up.’
‘Was the pay bad?’
‘The friend didn’t say, so maybe she didn’t know.’
‘Why was she so fed up then?’ Aldís sounded to Thóra like one of those girls who become an au pair, dreaming of foreign travel, only to discover that washing dishes in another country is just as boring as it is in Iceland.
‘If I understood her right, Aldís was totally hacked off with running around after Karítas. And with Karítas herself, as well.’
‘So she couldn’t stand her?’
Bella rolled her eyes. ‘Duh … what do you think? Aldís was always slagging her off. The friend said Aldís was forever ringing her to let off steam. She couldn’t talk to any of the other staff in case it got back to her boss. They weren’t especially close but the friend felt sorry for her because she seemed so disappointed. I bet she thought she’d be allowed to go to the parties and join in all the fun, but that was way off the mark.’
Thóra understood. She had been to drinks receptions at offices and ministries where the young waiting staff had forgotten their place and started mingling with the guests. That could only happen in a society where everyone was equal, at least in theory. In countries with deeper class divisions the picture was probably very different, as poor Aldís seemed to have learnt the hard way. ‘So she was at best a PA, or at worst some kind of maid?’
‘Yes. I gather that’s what she was paid for. And it sounds like she found it hard to swallow.’
‘Did she mention anything to this friend about wanting to resign?’
‘I didn’t ask. But I did discover that her mate hasn’t heard from her for weeks, which is much longer than usual.’ Bella fiddled with the ring on her finger, which was so huge that it resembled a piece of armour. ‘Do you reckon she was mixed up in this case? Maybe even bumped off Karítas?’ Her face radiated schadenfreude.
Thóra was disturbed by her gloating. ‘I doubt it, but it bothers me that we can’t get hold of either of them. It’s a bit too much of a coincidence and I’d like to know what’s going on.’ She opened the window. Fresh air flooded into the room and the splitting headache that had afflicted her since her visit to the yacht receded a little. ‘There’s a chance that finding out won’t help us at all, but it’s still frustrating not to know.’
The Silence of the Sea Page 27
