Ægir dropped the lid, then stepped out of the storeroom and walked over to Thráinn. ‘What now? We’ve been over every inch of the yacht. There’s no one here.’
‘We haven’t been down to the bottom deck where the tanks are yet.’ Thráinn was so red-eyed with exhaustion that he looked like a vampire. ‘We should probably take a look down there. Otherwise there’s little to show for our efforts.’
‘Let’s get on with it then.’ Ægir may not have been awake as long as Thráinn but he was shattered too. It ground one down having to be constantly on the alert. ‘I want to get back to Lára and the girls.’
‘They’re fine. The person they’ve got to fear is almost certainly down here with us. One of us, more to the point.’ Thráinn closed his eyes briefly, then slapped his thighs and stood up. ‘Best get this bullshit over with.’
Ægir turned to call Halli but was stopped in his tracks by an extraordinarily loud, penetrating crack that reverberated around the room. ‘What the hell was that?’ When he turned, he saw that Thráinn had set off at a run towards the exit. Without looking back, the captain shouted: ‘A shot. Presumably from the bridge.’
The sickly sweet smell of perfume intensified until Ægir thought it would suffocate him. He raced after Thráinn as if the devil were at his heels.
Chapter 24
Photocopies of the ship’s log lay strewn over Thóra’s desk. They had arrived in a muddle from the police, which meant she had to try and work out the chronology from the context. Although the entries were dated, it complicated matters when a day extended over more than one page. Nor did the missing leaves help, since they were probably the very ones that had contained the most significant information. It seemed odd that whoever was responsible for tearing them out hadn’t simply tossed the whole book overboard.
She had been disconcerted to discover that the log was written by hand; it felt somehow macabre to be puzzling over the handwriting of a man who was missing, presumed dead; to read his comments from the beginning of the voyage on the satisfactory condition of the engines and the yacht in general; his reflections on the weather forecast and his list of the crew and passengers – people who had believed they had five days’ pleasant cruising ahead of them. Nothing in the first entry gave any indication that their fates had been decided in advance; on the contrary, everything seemed to have been in good order. To be fair, the captain did mention that the seal placed on the door by order of the resolution committee had been broken, but he did not seem overly concerned by this, noting that there was no sign of a break-in or sabotage. However, since neither the captain nor the other crew members had any experience of forensic investigations, they might well have failed to notice important evidence. For example, it apparently hadn’t occurred to the captain that the person who broke the seal might have had a key. After all, why break in if you could simply unlock the door?
Next came a brief explanation of the passengers’ presence on board, accompanied by a few words of concern about the necessity of ensuring the two girls’ safety during the trip. Although the captain did not actually curse Snævar for his accident, his displeasure was easy to read between the lines. He was far from happy about allowing Ægir to step into the breach, but had been constrained to fulfil the conditions of the minimum safe manning document and to keep to schedule. These initial entries were excellent news for Thóra’s case. It was plain not only that Ægir had been enlisted by complete coincidence but that it had been at the captain’s behest rather than his own. Indeed, it was hard to see how Ægir could have planned a life insurance scam that would have required a complete stranger to propose that he sailed with the Lady K. There could be no arguing with that.
Neither did the final entry in the logbook presage any abnormal turn of events, though presumably the situation must have changed shortly afterwards since all the subsequent pages had been ripped out. The captain had recorded that the communications systems were malfunctioning and that the crew were working to fix them. At that point the yacht had still been able to make contact to a limited extent by radiotelephone. But apart from the captain’s barely intelligible conversation with the British trawler a day later, no one was aware of having heard from the yacht. If things had gone to hell at the point where the pages ran out, one would have thought the crew would at least have tried to transmit a distress signal or report the problem. But they had not, and it was disturbing to think that one person may have remained alive; the one who had sailed the yacht close to Grótta and from there to Reykjavík harbour with that strange detour out into Faxaflói bay. It was possible that the boat had taken this extraordinary route because the person who set its course had not known how to program the autopilot or GPS. And that did not look good for Thóra’s case; the only people on board with little experience of boats were Ægir and Lára – and the twins, of course, though she had to assume they couldn’t possibly count.
Thóra’s eyes ached from poring over the entries in the hope of spotting something that was missing, or of gaining a deeper insight into what had happened. She gathered the pages together, feeling frustrated yet again by the absent entries. What she wouldn’t give to know what they had contained, to learn from the captain’s illegible, old-fashioned script the answer to the flood of questions that plagued her; the explanation for the body he had reported over the faulty radio, and a description of the events leading up to the passengers’ disappearance – if that is how the situation had unfolded. Perhaps catastrophe had struck without warning, but if so it was hard to understand why the pages had been torn out. Unless it had been done for another reason – to plug a hole, for instance, or even to use for drawing pictures on. Neither explanation seemed plausible but there was little point wasting time on wondering; the missing pages would be floating somewhere in the sea by now or lying on the ocean floor where the fish would try in vain to interpret their secrets. The remnants of the ship’s log, the certificates of seaworthiness and other relevant documents would have to suffice for her report. Whether this would satisfy the insurance company’s queries remained to be seen.
After adjusting the report to include this new information, Thóra read it over for what seemed like the hundredth time before sending it to the printer in Bragi’s office, feeling dispirited. Its contents were so over-familiar by now that she could no longer determine how well she had succeeded in her task. It was time to take a break and clear her head with a cup of coffee. After that she would decide whether to send it to Ægir’s parents in its current form.
‘Fucking weather,’ growled Bella from reception. Melting snow dripped from the shoulders of her anorak and flakes glittered in her hair.
Thóra dodged to avoid a shower as the secretary shook herself like a dog. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I had to run out to the district court with some stuff for Bragi.’ Bella stamped her feet to dislodge the compacted ice from under her shoes. Two dark footprints showed for an instant on the light-coloured parquet but quickly lost their shape on the warm wood. ‘I had to park bloody miles away, so I happened to drive past Faxagardur on my way back. It looked as if the police were sniffing around that yacht of yours.’
‘Really?’ Thóra didn’t know why she was surprised. The investigation might have uncovered a new detail or perhaps they were repeating their tests or subjecting a larger area to detailed forensic analysis. ‘Could you see what they were up to?’
‘No, I just noticed two police cars parked right beside the boat and a cop wandering around on deck. Maybe they were having a go in the Jacuzzi.’
Ignoring this, Thóra decided it was time for some fresh air.
The coffee provided by the resolution committee was far superior to the law firm brew and Thóra felt her dissatisfaction receding, despite having had a wasted journey so far. Ægir’s parents had been out when she called and only with considerable difficulty had she been able to cram the report into their letterbox. Papers and envelopes projected from the opening at all angles, like a failed flower ar
rangement. It was not hard to understand why: what could possibly come in the post that would matter to them now? In the end she had been forced to weed out some of the contents – junk mail and other unimportant-looking items – to make room. To ensure they received the report, she would have to ring them and let them know it was there. It would not do for the envelope to languish unnoticed among the yellowing newspapers for the duration. In addition, she needed to pass on the information that Ægir’s salary would be paid as usual, and that her conversation with social services about guaranteeing access had proved encouraging. It made a change to be the bearer of good news.
‘Are you making any progress?’ Fannar asked. ‘We’re doing our nuts here over the lack of information. The police keep giving us the brush-off.’ He was sitting facing her in a small meeting room, smartly dressed as usual, looking for all the world like one of the young bankers who used to swagger around the city streets and bars in the days before the crash. ‘Have they managed to clarify things at all?’
Thóra took another sip of coffee and shook her head. She was no better than Bella, inadvertently spraying the room with drops of water. Some landed on the gleaming table and she put down her cup to wipe them away, not wanting to be reminded of her insufferable secretary. ‘No, sadly. The only fact that seems incontrovertible is that Ægir and his family are dead. Nobody’s holding out any more hope that they could have survived.’
Fannar did not look particularly moved by this news. ‘Did anyone really believe that?’
Thóra shrugged; carefully, to avoid another shower. ‘Well, people tend to cling to hope for as long as they can. But now that two of the seven have turned up dead, it’s greatly reduced the chances that the others could have been saved – and time is passing.’ She kept quiet about the possibility that one or more of the people might have made it ashore. She had no intention of sharing with Fannar any details that were not in the public domain. The trick was to give the impression that she was revealing more than she should. ‘But you’ll keep that to yourself, won’t you?’
‘Absolutely. You can count on me.’ A gleam entered Fannar’s eyes. ‘Nothing we discuss here will go any further. That’s why I chose this room. Inevitably, everyone’s dying to know what’s happening because Ægir was one of us.’ He must think she was a complete idiot. Before she even reached her car he would have shared this new information with at least one or two of his colleagues. And by the time she got back to her office on Skólavördustígur, those one or two would doubtless have started spreading the gossip, and so it would snowball.
‘When I collected the papers from you, they included a page with Karítas’s name and phone number. Do you know why? I’ve been meaning to ask you but keep forgetting.’ She held out a copy of the page in question.
Fannar seemed surprised but was quick to assume a smile again. ‘Oh, that.’ He picked up a sugar-lump and popped it in his mouth. ‘That note was among the documents in Ægir’s file on the loan and the yacht repossession. I’ve no idea where he got the number or what he was intending to do with it, but I included it anyway.’
‘Was Ægir acquainted with Karítas at all?’
Fannar stopped sucking the sugar-lump for a moment. ‘No. I’m almost certain he wasn’t.’
‘Could he have needed to contact her for work reasons? To get her signature or notify her of the seizure of her property?’
‘It’s unlikely. The loan and the yacht were both in her husband’s name. There’d have been no reason to contact her, unless he meant to ask about her husband’s whereabouts.’
Thóra drank some more coffee and wondered what this could mean. The yacht-related documents that she had found in Ægir’s bedside table could indicate that he took his job seriously or that he had become obsessed with the case. Or something worse. ‘Do committee employees work outside the office at all? I mean, would you take your files home with you when there was a lot on?’
‘No, absolutely not. Naturally, we carry around information on our laptops but taking documents home is frowned on. Why do you ask?’
‘I was just wondering if there might be more paperwork relating to the case at Ægir’s house – if there’d be any point in going round to check.’ Again she decided it would be better not to reveal the whole story.
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. At least, I’d be very surprised. Ægir was highly professional – not the type to smuggle files home with him. Anything of substance should be here and we’ve already given you and the police copies of everything that isn’t subject to bank confidentiality. I can’t see how information relating to the former owner’s financial situation can be relevant to your case.’
Thóra smiled non-committally and finished her coffee. She longed for a refill but didn’t like to ask. ‘Would you be able to find out if Ægir rang Karítas’s number? I’m assuming he’d have called from the office since it’s work related.’
‘Um, I don’t know. We don’t usually keep track of phone calls but the bills are itemised and long, expensive calls are sometimes charged to a specific project. I can have it checked if you like. It rather depends on how busy the secretaries are, so it might not happen today.’ He held up the photocopy. ‘Can I keep this? Then I won’t have to hunt for the original.’
‘Sure.’ Thóra sincerely hoped no such call had been made. It would only complicate matters and they would probably never find out what it had entailed.
‘Right.’ Fannar darted a glance at the ostentatiously expensive watch on his wrist, which was half-hidden by a sleeve fastened, inevitably, by a flashy cufflink. ‘Oh. One more thing.’ He looked up quickly. ‘Had either of the bodies they found been shot?’
‘Shot?’ Thóra thought she must have misheard. ‘I’m pretty sure they hadn’t. Why do you ask?’
‘I’ve just sent the police some new paperwork that came in yesterday. They rang straight back, anxious to know if there had been a gun on board or if we’d had it removed before they embarked. I hadn’t a clue; it’s the first I’ve heard of any gun.’
It was the first Thóra had heard of it as well. ‘And they didn’t explain why they were asking?’
‘No. The guy rang off as soon as I’d answered his questions.’ He swallowed the rest of the sugar-lump. ‘But it occurred to me that it might be connected to the documentation I’d sent them, and I was right.’
‘What was the document?’ Thóra felt absurdly jealous at not having been entrusted with the same information.
‘It was a survey we had arranged in connection with the valuation of the yacht, which revealed that there was a revolver kept on the bridge. I asked around and apparently the captain has to be provided with one in case of a pirate attack. Can you imagine? Pirates!’
‘Apparently they still exist.’ She wondered if pirates could have boarded the yacht, killed the passengers and sailed away on the boat they came on, all without leaving a trace. ‘There was no mention of any gun in the inventory I received. Is this a different list?’
‘Yes, the list you have dates back to when the bank granted the owner a loan to purchase the yacht, so we couldn’t use it for the latest valuation. The new inventory only came through yesterday. We’d booked an overseas agent to do a survey on the boat a few days before she left Lisbon and the bastard took his time about compiling a report.’ He sighed. ‘Not that it’ll be much use to us now. The yacht’s damaged goods – not just the hull but her reputation too. Unless you can sort that out.’ He smiled.
Thóra returned his smile automatically, her mind on other things. ‘Could I get a copy of the new inventory?’
‘No problem. The police have requested a better version. I sent them a scan by e-mail but the quality wasn’t good enough so they want a hard copy. I’ll have another made for you at the same time.’
While Thóra was waiting in reception, a police officer arrived to collect the inventory. It was the man with the green eyes. If he found it odd to encounter her there, he didn’t show it. Too impatient to observe the fo
rmalities, she immediately asked him about the gun. At first he plainly had no intention of revealing anything but then he changed his mind. Apparently the gun listed in the most recent inventory was nowhere to be found on board. The original inspection of the yacht had turned up a small case of ammunition in the pilot house but this had been dismissed as insignificant since no gun was known to have been on board. The new inventory had changed all that. There was no forensic evidence that any shots had been fired on the yacht but six rounds were missing from the case. This indicated that the revolver had been used since the surveyor’s visit, because in his report the case had been full and the gun unloaded.
Thóra received her copy of the list and put it in her bag. Before she left, the detective asked her to drop by after lunch as he wanted to discuss a matter concerning one of her clients – Lára. Although he didn’t reveal any further details, Thóra could tell from his face that the news was bad.
So far the phone call had revolved around how tragic the whole affair was and how much Lára’s co-workers missed her. Thóra kept trying to guide the conversation back to the topic she had rung to discuss but without success; the woman was far too upset. While the resolution committee was directly linked to the circumstances of Ægir’s disappearance and therefore to the police inquiry, Lára’s colleagues were completely out of the loop and had received no news except via the media. Yet the woman was not motivated by nosiness; her questions revealed a genuine concern for the future of Lára’s little girl and the terrible grief her family must be suffering. Only after some considerable time did Thóra manage to get a word in edgeways: ‘The reason I’m calling is that I may need to ask one of Lára’s colleagues – someone who was well disposed towards her – to provide a character witness that would put an end to all speculation about her faking her own disappearance.’
The Silence of the Sea Page 29
