‘The blood stains were found on the sofa, you say?’ Thóra saw no point in discussing what was too late to change now. Would it have made any difference if the yacht had been treated as a crime scene from the beginning? She doubted it. Every time a new piece of evidence emerged it only served to confuse her more. In fact, she had yet to be convinced that any actual murders had been committed, and the police probably took the same view. ‘I don’t remember seeing any blood on the sofa; in fact, I don’t recall seeing a single drop of blood anywhere.’
‘There wasn’t much but it was enough to enable us to run tests. We didn’t spot it until forensics conducted an ultraviolet scan of the yacht and discovered traces on two of the four cushions. All from the same person – Lára.’
‘It doesn’t sound as if the bleeding can have been fatal.’
‘It’s hard to say. There were also signs that someone had cleaned up a trail of blood that led from the deck to the saloon. We can’t tell whether it was a minor accident or the result of something more serious. At any rate, there are no indications that large amounts of blood were spilt anywhere else on the yacht. But then we don’t know if it was an accident at all. Lára may have been stabbed or struck with a weapon of some kind.’ The policeman relieved his subordinate of the stack of papers. ‘Or shot, of course. This latest information puts a completely new light on the possible sequence of events.’
‘You mean the information about the revolver?’ Thóra asked, though the answer was obvious. She watched the young policeman awkwardly shuffling his feet; now that he had surrendered the documents to his superior, his role was undefined. With no part in the conversation and no chair available, he was forced to stand there beside his boss, pretending to be occupied. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve found it?’
‘No. We’re confident we’ve searched every inch of the ship but it’s always possible the gun’s still there. To be on the safe side, I’ve instigated an even more thorough examination which is ongoing as we speak.’
Although the yacht was large, the living quarters were limited and they were prepared to go over the whole place with a microscope. On the other hand, if the gun had ended up in the sea, they hadn’t a hope. ‘Have you had the results of the tests on the blood that was found between the tanks on the bottom deck?’
‘Yes. That was Halldór’s; the comparison was easier in that case since we have his body.’
Thóra began hastily talking to distract herself from the memory of that grisly discovery. ‘So, you have concrete evidence that Halldór and Loftur are dead, and it’s likely that something bad happened to Lára, but the fate of Thráinn, Ægir and the twins remains a mystery?’
‘You could put it like that, yes.’ At his shoulder the junior officer nodded sagely, as if to emphasise his superior’s reply.
‘And if their fate was the result of criminal action, there can’t be many suspects left.’
‘No.’ The detective fixed and held her gaze. ‘And one of those is your man, Ægir.’ The younger officer’s expression grew stern; anyone would have thought his role was to interpret their conversation through mime. Thóra studied him, wondering if she could train Bella to do the same. The secretary should be capable of arranging her features into a far more fearsome grimace than this callow youth. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but we took a sniffer dog over every inch of the yacht at the outset, with no result. Smuggling had seemed the most likely explanation but there’s absolutely no evidence of it. Moreover, the Portuguese narcotics division have confirmed that they received no tip-offs about anyone on board being involved in the drugs trade over there. In other words, we’ve pretty much ruled out that angle. Though I suppose the drugs could have been stashed in such a way that the sniffer dog wouldn’t be able to detect them once they’d been removed. But who could have been responsible? Having said that, it’s not hard to guess where they could have brought the stuff ashore if there was any: Grótta. In which case there would have been people waiting to receive the goods and the smuggler too.’
‘Have you checked the possibility that there might have been a stowaway on board?’ Thóra felt foolish for asking this but she needed an answer. The likelihood that Ægir or Lára would end up under close scrutiny increased with every victim they found, and if the captain washed up on shore as well, the outlook would not be good.
‘We’ve found a considerable number of fingerprints but the results are inconclusive. There were several years’ worth, at least in the places that weren’t cleaned regularly. Whereas in the public spaces, like the saloon, galley and even on the bridge, we were surprised by how few we found. Chances are that somebody deliberately wiped them off – unless they kept the place unusually clean.’ The detective scratched his chin, intent on the problem. ‘What we did find was confusing, as I said, and it doesn’t help that we can’t be sure if we’ve correctly identified the prints belonging to Ægir, Lára and the twins. None of them had a police record, so they’re not on any register. We’re planning to lift their prints from their house but haven’t had time yet. However, we did obtain Loftur and Halldór’s prints from their bodies. Inevitably, they had deteriorated badly but forensics managed somehow.’
‘What about the captain, Thráinn? Did you have his prints?’
‘Yes. He was arrested about ten years ago after a punch-up. Nothing serious but enough to earn him a night in the cells.’
‘So you haven’t noticed anything unusual? Like too many recent fingerprints to fit the profile of the people on board, for example?’
‘I wouldn’t rule it out. We found two sets of fingerprints all over the place that we haven’t managed to fit to any of the passengers. On balance, it seems more likely that they belong to women but that doesn’t tell us much. They could easily date from before the yacht was confiscated.’
‘Do you know who they belonged to? Could it have been Karítas and her PA, Aldís?’
‘I couldn’t say. Neither are on our register, but we do know they were in Lisbon at around the right time, so they could well be theirs. We haven’t yet decided whether to seek permission to lift prints for comparison from their houses or parental homes. As matters stand, we see no reason to cause their families unnecessary alarm with such a request. After all, there’s no indication that they were involved. Unless you have reason to believe otherwise?’
‘No. But have you verified that Karítas and her PA have left Lisbon? Have you checked the flights and so on?’
The detective studied her with his strange green eyes and sucked his front teeth. The younger man contented himself with assuming an intelligent expression, as if he too were considering whether it would be right to answer her question. ‘We’ve checked that, yes. In light of the captain’s report we thought it only right to request that information, though we wouldn’t usually go to these lengths unless a person was reported missing. We were hoping to be able to rule out the possibility that one of them was the female body on board by establishing that they both travelled on from Lisbon by other means.’
‘And?’
‘The PA flew to Frankfurt the day the yacht left port, but Karítas doesn’t appear to have left the city, at least not by air.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Though of course that doesn’t preclude other methods of travel. She could have taken the train or driven. Even left by sea, for that matter. Or, since she was within the Schengen area, flown under a different name. I don’t know how people like her live their lives; she might have used an alias. But wherever she is and however she got there, she’s no longer in Lisbon. Her mother claims to be in touch with her, though sporadically, and insists she’s alive and kicking – in Brazil. I’m not so sure; nobody by her name has flown to Brazil during the last month. We checked that as well. You’d need a passport to go there and we believe she’s travelling on an Icelandic passport as her mother is fairly certain that she hasn’t applied for foreign citizenship. As long as her mother insists she’s alive, though, there’s little we can do.’
Thóra s
at back in her chair. She was convinced now that the woman found dead on board was Karítas. It was a relief to have something straight at last. But in reality she was still just as perplexed, since this only gave rise to further questions, such as who had killed her and why? And what was worse – could Ægir have been responsible?
‘Does this look like the same handwriting to you?’ Thóra held up the two pages to Matthew and watched as he examined them.
‘No. That’s pretty clear, even though one’s only a signature and the other a short text. And people often sign their names quite differently from their normal style.’ He took a closer look. ‘But these are so distinctive that it’s unlikely they could be by the same person. If I were to guess, I’d say this one was written by a woman and that one by a man.’ He pushed the papers back over to her.
It was what Thóra had wanted to hear. One of the documents was the last page of the life insurance policy bearing Ægir’s signature, the other the photocopy of the piece of paper on which an unknown individual had written Karítas’s name and phone number. ‘That’s what I thought. But then who was the woman who wrote this for Ægir? Karítas herself?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Matthew yawned. He had left work early and dropped by in the hope of persuading Thóra to call it a day. Instead, she had dragged him into her office to pick his brains about various problems that were preoccupying her. ‘It could be anyone.’
‘Like who?’ Thóra stared at the page as if she expected the owner of the handwriting to jump out at her. ‘You don’t acquire celebrities’ phone numbers just anywhere. Karítas lives abroad so she’s unlikely to be in the telephone directory, and I gather from Bella that she doesn’t have many friends in this country.’
Matthew shrugged indifferently. ‘I wouldn’t know. Maybe it was her mother. Didn’t you say she lived in Iceland?’
‘It wasn’t her. That’s exactly what occurred to me before you arrived, so I rang her. She denied having given Karítas’s number to Ægir or anyone else. She was very emphatic about it.’
‘What does it matter?’ Matthew had plainly lost interest. ‘Even if you do track down the person who wrote it, I don’t see why it’s so desperately important.’
‘Maybe not, but I’d be happier if I could be sure that Karítas and Ægir weren’t acquainted and had never spoken. If it suddenly emerges that they had met, it wouldn’t be hard for the insurance company to cast a dubious light on their connection.’
‘I don’t see why. He was working on the yacht repossession, wasn’t he? Would it have been that irregular for him to communicate with the former owners? Perhaps the note dates from when the committee was in the process of confiscating the vessel. He may have wanted to give her the option of settling or paying off part of the debt.’
‘She didn’t have any stake in the yacht, so it would have been extremely unorthodox for him to contact her about the settlement.’
‘Might she have contacted him, then? On her husband’s behalf – in the hope of talking him round?’
‘I don’t know.’ Thóra was trying to ignore Matthew’s obvious eagerness to leave. ‘Maybe Fannar has solved the mystery. I asked him to look into it and he promised to let me know. Would you mind waiting five minutes, just while I ring him to chase it up? After that I’m all yours.’
Matthew looked put out but in the end he grudgingly agreed to allow her five minutes. Not ten, mind. Or even six. Five minutes precisely. He stood up and announced that he would wait in the lobby.
As a result, Thóra’s request to be put through to Fannar came out rather breathlessly, and she was still flustered as she explained her business to him. Fortunately, he cottoned on immediately and said he had been about to ring her on the same subject. Apparently their receptionist had remembered the incident straight away, since it had involved a high-profile figure. When Karítas had rung to enquire who was handling the yacht affair, the receptionist had been unwilling to reveal the information, but Karítas had sounded distressed and claimed she needed to go on board to fetch a few personal effects that she’d left behind by mistake. As Ægir was not in his office, the woman had agreed to pass on the request to him but refused to give Karítas his name. Ægir had apparently been astonished when the receptionist gave him the message. Although she hadn’t been privy to any telephone conversation between them, she believed they must have spoken at some point because about a week later Karítas had called again, this time asking for Ægir by name. Fannar added that when the receptionist subsequently expressed curiosity about their conversation, Ægir had turned bright red and insisted that he hadn’t been in contact with her. The woman had also noticed that after the conversation with Karítas, Ægir had received two or three phone calls from abroad, which had been diverted to her when he didn’t answer his direct line. The caller had refused to leave a message, so she didn’t know what they were about, yet she clearly remembered Ægir’s odd expression each time she had mentioned them to him.
Thóra rose to her feet at the end of the phone call, glad to be leaving work early for a change but simultaneously disappointed not to be able to follow up the lead. This was yet another piece of bad news, since she now had little doubt that the mysterious body on board was Karítas and that she had died in Lisbon – at around the time Ægir and his family were in the city.
On the plus side, at least she hadn’t exceeded Matthew’s five-minute limit.
Chapter 27
The heavens absorbed the white trail left behind by the jet. Despite its great altitude, the plane’s wings and outline were just visible, unless it was his imagination filling in the gaps. No doubt the airliner was full of people; some on holiday, others travelling for work. Ægir envied every single one of them. They were in paradise compared to the hell that reigned here on board the yacht. He shaded his eyes against the sun. It was strangely unsettling to watch the jet recede into the distance, taking with it his foolish dream of salvation coming from on high. Dropping his hand, he looked down.
‘Daddy.’ Bylgja was tugging at the sleeve of his jumper. He had no idea how long she had been doing this but her insistence suggested it had been some time. His dry eyes stung as he looked down at her. Never in his life had he been as mentally and physically exhausted. ‘Daddy. Your lips are bleeding.’
Ægir licked his split lips and tasted iron. No wonder his mouth was dry; it was hours since he had drunk anything. This was not from any shortage of things to drink, as he had ferried a large supply of cans and bottled water down to the cabin before barricading himself inside with the girls. It was simply that he felt neither thirst nor hunger. There was no room for such sensations when his heart was in a thumbscrew that had been tightened to breaking point. His exhaustion didn’t help. How long had he been awake? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. If it hadn’t been for the girls he would have thrown himself overboard and become one with the sea, but for their sake he couldn’t allow himself that way out. He had to ensure that they reached home safely. And for that he needed to stay awake, which is why they were now standing on deck in the last rays of the evening sunlight.
He had been so overcome by drowsiness in the airless cabin that a quick trip outside had been essential. He took in a great lungful of sea air and closed his eyes. Fog stole into his mind, as if a curtain had been drawn, concealing all the terrible thoughts that had been plaguing him so relentlessly.
‘Daddy. Daddy. You mustn’t fall asleep.’ He couldn’t tell which twin was speaking. ‘Daddy!’
Ægir started and opened his eyes wide. The fresh air was supposed to have had the opposite effect, to wake him up and invigorate him, not knock him out. ‘I’m awake.’ It wasn’t working. He would have to find another way of warding off the beguiling drowsiness. If he had been able to trust Halli or Thráinn he would have asked if they had any stimulants in the medicine chest for use in emergencies. But this was merely another example of irrational thinking caused by fatigue, for if he could have trusted either of them, he wouldn’t need to kee
p vigil – they could take it in turns to rest. ‘Let’s go. That’s enough.’
‘Do we have to go below again?’ Arna’s face was a picture of dread. ‘What if the ship sinks?’
‘It won’t.’ Ægir was too tired to be kind or understanding. He was desperately sorry about this, aware that they needed him to be a father, not just a bodyguard, but he couldn’t perform both roles. He would trust himself to stay awake for the rest of the voyage but not to give free rein to his emotions. If he did he would fall to pieces. ‘Come on. We can watch a DVD.’
‘We’ve watched all the films we’re allowed to.’ Bylgja sounded close to tears but this did not stem from the limited selection of videos, as Ægir was well aware. He couldn’t discuss the loss of their mother with them now, though. Later he would have time to choose the right words and arrange them into sentences designed to provide solace for their grief. But for now such a task was beyond him. He had explained that their mother had died as the result of an accident and that they would have to be brave. He had stressed that they must bear up until they reached port but after that they would deal with their grief together and face the future without Mummy. It was all he was capable of in that moment. The tears had poured down their small cheeks but his daughters had shown a self-control far beyond their years. No doubt they sensed how much was at stake. ‘I don’t want to watch the grown-up films.’ Bylgja smothered a sob.
‘Then we’ll just watch the funniest one again.’ Ægir scanned their surroundings, suddenly apprehensive about going below. He hadn’t been aware of Thráinn or Halli on their way up, or during the short time they had been standing outside on the lower deck, in a corner where no one could creep up on them from behind. The yacht was making good speed, but that did not necessarily mean that the bridge was manned. The men could be anywhere and if either of them wanted to harm him and the girls, they would make an easy target on their way below. Then again, perhaps only one of the men was left alive. Or neither. He desperately regretted his foolish decision to leave the cabin. If anything, it had only exhausted him further.
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