Arna shook her head and lay down on her back. She stared up at the same ceiling tile as Ægir had focused on earlier; perhaps like him she found it soothing to have nothing but its blank white surface before her eyes, not reminding her of anything. He longed to lie down beside her and copy her example but stopped himself. There were important matters to think about; such as how to act for the best in their current predicament. A noise overhead made him start and shoot an involuntary glance at the ceiling. It sounded as if it was coming from the same deck that Thráinn’s body had been dragged over. The noise, innocent enough in itself, would not have startled him in other circumstances, but now it reminded him that Halli was still at large and doubtless preparing his next move, which would surely be aimed against him and the girls. ‘What’s the matter, Daddy?’ Arna had turned to him and her face reflected his own alarm.
‘Nothing, darling. I’m just tired.’
‘Do you think it’s the bad man? The man Halli said was on the boat?’
‘No. There’s no one else here. It’s probably only Halli.’ Ægir had to make sure that neither Arna nor Bylgja found out what had happened to Thráinn. If they panicked it would make the whole situation far worse. Things were bad enough already. ‘Or Thráinn.’ All at once he regretted throwing the gun overboard. If he hadn’t, he could have hunted Halli down and killed him. The thought wasn’t in the least shocking. On the contrary, it was so tempting that he allowed his mind to play out the sequence of events, a smile rising to his lips as he blasted imaginary bullets into the young man’s back. It faded the instant Ægir forced himself back to earth. He must concentrate.
Bylgja stirred and half-opened her eyes. She appeared to be still asleep, though her gaze was resting on the colouring book that lay open in front of her. Arna passed her the red glasses and she sat up, struggling to focus, yawned and put them on. ‘I dreamt about Mummy.’
‘I didn’t.’ Arna looked hurt, as if her mother had been showing favouritism from beyond the grave. ‘I didn’t dream about anything.’
Ægir tried to block out his daughters’ chatter and concentrate on the sounds outside. Halli must need to sleep at some point as he’d had no more rest than Ægir. Even if he’d seized the opportunity while Ægir was dozing, a short nap like that would not have been enough to overcome his fatigue. But if Ægir could find out when next Halli went to sleep, he would have a chance to act to secure his daughters’ safety. For that he would need a plan, though. So far the only idea that had occurred to him was to escape in a lifeboat. Perhaps that would do. He didn’t have time to consider all the options and assess which was the right one. After all, there was no right decision.
They heard the door to the corridor open, then slam shut. Ægir gasped, feeling his heart miss a beat. What if there was another gun on board and Halli had got hold of it? What point would there be planning their getaway or trying to defend themselves? ‘Who’s that, Daddy?’ Arna whispered anxiously. She must sense that he felt threatened by whoever was out there. He laid a finger on his lips. The girls’ eyes widened and Bylgja clasped her hands over her mouth as if to prevent herself from screaming. Ægir came close to emulating her when he pressed his ear to the door and heard somebody walking along the corridor, systematically trying the handles to the cabins. Adrenaline coursed through Ægir’s veins for the split second that he doubted he had locked the door. But when their handle was grasped from outside, the door remained shut. All three stared transfixed at the handle, which remained motionless for a moment before someone turned it again, more forcefully. None of them said a word or moved so much as a little finger, as if they were actors in a film that had been paused. Not until they heard footsteps retreating down the corridor and the door at the end opening and closing again did they draw breath.
‘Who was that?’ Arna eyed the door as if she expected it to burst open any minute. Ægir felt the same. Although the corridor seemed empty, it might be a trap. And who could it have been? Halli knew precisely which cabin Ægir and Lára had been occupying and he also knew which room the girls were using. So why had he walked all the way down the row? Was it not Halli after all? The more he considered this possibility, the more his doubts grew. Surely Halli would know where the master key was kept, unless there was no such key on board? Perhaps it was Halli and he had gone to fetch the axe from the bridge in order to break down the door. Or perhaps it was someone else entirely.
‘Who was that, Daddy? Was it the bad man Halli was talking about?’ Arna wasn’t going to let her father get away without answering.
‘I’m sure it was only Halli. He’s tired like I was earlier, so perhaps he can’t remember which cabin he’s in.’ Ægir immediately regretted telling the girls what they wanted to hear rather than what they needed to know. If they were to come through this alive, they would have to be aware of the danger. It wouldn’t do for them to run to Halli when or if they encountered him. If he caught one of them, Ægir would go to pieces and that would be the end of them all.
‘It wasn’t Halli.’ Bylgja wrapped her arms round her narrow ribcage as if to keep warm, though it wasn’t cold in the cabin. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t Halli.’
‘How can you tell?’ It sounded as if Arna couldn’t decide whether she wanted her sister to be right or wrong.
‘It just wasn’t him.’ Bylgja shifted closer to the headboard. ‘Why don’t we go up and talk to them, Daddy? Halli and Thráinn might be able to help us and catch the bad man.’
‘Not now. We’ll go out presently, but not quite yet.’ They left it at that, though neither twin seemed satisfied. Ægir wasn’t either, but it couldn’t be helped. While he didn’t know who was out there or whether that person was still on the prowl, there was little he could do. Then again, he wouldn’t find out if he stayed in the cabin. But he couldn’t bring himself to confront this fact just yet. It was better to sit tight and hope for the best. Wasn’t it?
Ægir had succumbed to sleep again. He woke from his dreamless state with such a violent jolt that he was lucky not to fall out of his chair. Something had changed, and in his horror at having fallen asleep on guard again he thought at first that someone had entered their cabin. But it turned out to be the long-desired silence that had woken him. Previously the deep throbbing of the engine had been constantly in the background but now all was quiet. The yacht was no longer moving. ‘How long is it since we stopped? When did it happen?’ He tried to keep the despair out of his voice. This did not bode well.
‘A while ago.’ Arna rolled over and closed her colouring book. ‘We didn’t want to wake you because you were so tired.’
‘How long is it since I dropped off? Did it happen straight after that or only just now?’ The girls exchanged glances; clearly they had no idea. It was still pitch dark outside, so assuming he hadn’t slept for twenty-four hours it must be the same night. ‘Has anyone tried to get in again?’
‘No. No one.’ Bylgja laid aside her book as well.
Ægir rose and went to the door. There was no sound from the corridor outside. Perhaps this was the chance he had been waiting for; he might not get another. There was no need to shut down the engines in order to go to sleep, but perhaps, just perhaps, this indicated that Halli – or whoever it was – was resting. Perhaps he was afraid of over-sleeping and entering Icelandic territorial waters while he was dead to the world. It was entirely possible that he had pressed his ear to the door just as Ægir was doing now, and, hearing that Ægir was asleep, judged it safe to take a nap himself. ‘Was I snoring, girls?’ They nodded. He vacillated. If he could make a dash for the bridge to fetch some emergency flares and the axe, or simply to find out where in the world they were, they would be much better off. He could set off a flare if he heard or saw any other ships. ‘Okay. Now I need you two to be brave one last time.’ They looked far from happy. ‘I’m going up to see what’s happening. You must wait for me here in the meantime. You mustn’t leave the cabin, whatever happens. Do you think you can do that?’
‘We d
on’t want to stay here alone.’ Bylgja looked at her sister in hope of support. ‘What are we to do if someone comes in while you’re away?’
‘No one’s going to come in. You’ll lock the door behind me.’
‘But what if he pretends to be you?’
‘No one can pretend to be me. You know my voice.’ Reluctantly, they accepted this, though it was obvious from their expressions that it was the last thing they wanted. They needed him. He was their father. But it couldn’t be helped; he couldn’t take them with him when God alone knew what awaited him upstairs. ‘Perhaps you should hide in the wardrobe just to be on the safe side. If anyone looks in here, they’ll think you went with me and go away again.’
‘But then we won’t hear you when you knock.’
‘I’ll knock extra loud.’ He put his ear to the door again and listened intently. Still no sound. ‘And I’ll be very quick.’ He meant to seize the door-handle and leap into action before he lost his nerve but was filled with a powerful longing to kiss his daughters one last time before he abandoned them. Their cheeks were soft and warm and the scent of their young skin was the best thing he had ever smelt. What had he been dreaming of to think they needed more money for their life to be perfect? You couldn’t improve what was already perfect; you could only ruin it. His eyes fell on the briefcase that was still leaning against the wall where he had left it and he wanted to scream until his vocal cords gave way. Instead, he looked sadly at his daughters, so lost, so desperately fragile and vulnerable. ‘Hide in the wardrobe and wait there until I knock. I’ll call out my name so you won’t be confused.’ He gave them each a lingering kiss on the brow.
The corridor was deserted and Ægir met no one on his way up to the bridge. Every muscle, every nerve and sinew was tense, ready to confront the murderer, whether it was Halli or a stranger. Of course he hoped it wouldn’t happen, yet part of him desired nothing more than to find the man and beat him to a pulp. Although he’d never had any real experience of fighting, he was fairly sure he would succeed. No matter what was driving the other man, Ægir had hatred on his side. The sight of his face reflected in the pilot house window brought him to a standstill; rage had contorted his features. He hoped with all his heart that he hadn’t looked like that when he said goodbye to the girls; if anything happened to him, he didn’t want that to be their last memory of him.
Inside the bridge there was no one to be seen; all the lights were off but the glow from the computer screens and instrument panels provided enough illumination to preclude anyone hiding there. Nevertheless, it was with extreme caution that Ægir opened the door and went in. Closing it behind him, he headed straight for the GPS. According to this, the yacht was still worryingly far from land. Because the engine had been turned off, the data about their course, which had previously been displayed at the bottom of the screen, had now vanished. As a result, there was no information about how long it would take to reach their destination. But he didn’t really need it; he guessed they had approximately ten hours’ sailing time left, but every hour the yacht remained motionless was another hour at sea. Perhaps he should start her up again? He and the girls couldn’t abandon ship in these waters and he suspected they wouldn’t be allowed to remain undisturbed in their cabin for the rest of the voyage. On the other hand, if he started the engine, the killer would be aware of his presence and might take steps to deal with him. Ægir was terrified that the killer would head straight for the girls and get to them first. That was unthinkable.
Abandoning the console, he began to hunt for flares. If he did try to start the engine again, he would do it last, before racing back down to the girls. He soon unearthed the flares in a white cardboard box in a drawer; he would just have to hope they were in working order. But the axe had vanished from its place on the wall and the realisation reduced him momentarily to panic. Then, pulling himself together, he went back to the drawers and began searching for a possible weapon. Finding a suitably heavy spanner, he took it with him, though it wouldn’t be much use against an axe. The weighty metal bar felt so good in his hand that he actively looked forward to having a chance to use it. He wouldn’t hold back. He tightened his grip and resolved to go out on deck and check that the lifeboats were still in place. If he had time, he would work out how to launch them – should they be forced to escape in one, he would have to act fast and there would be no room for mistakes. Once he had done this he would return to the bridge and try to get the yacht back on course. Then he would fly back to the girls as if the devil were at his heels.
A bracing gust of sea air hit him as he emerged on deck. Oddly, it carried not the tang of salt but a waft of perfume, and Ægir paused inadvertently to sniff the air in the hope of detecting its source. The yacht was facing into the wind and he peered warily round the corner of the pilot house towards the bows to discover whether the smell emanated from there. The lights had been switched off on the foredeck, yet he could see enough to tell that there was nobody about. The perfume was unquestionably coming from there. Instinct warned him to leave well alone but his curiosity proved stronger. It was a woman’s scent; no man would wear such a heavy, sweet floral fragrance. And if it was a woman, two things were clear; one, that there was a stowaway on board and, two, that he would almost certainly prove the stronger should it come to a fight. If he tracked her down and overpowered her, they would be able to sail fearlessly to port, instead of having to risk their lives in a flimsy life raft.
Creeping stealthily round the pilot house, Ægir tried to follow the scent. But before he had gone far he was met by a sight that caused his heart to miss a beat. Two legs were protruding from under the white bench that ran around the bows. Instantly he recognised the shoes that Halli had been wearing throughout the voyage. And he could not be asleep, that much was certain. His legs were lying at such an unnatural angle that they must be broken. Forgetting all caution, Ægir sprang towards the bench and bent down for a better view. The stench of perfume was so sickening that he would never be able to smell it again as long as he lived without retching. It got worse when he tugged at one cold limb and realised that it had been severed from the body. When he finally forced himself to look, he discovered that the rest of Halli’s corpse was nowhere to be seen. He snatched back his hand and leapt to his feet. He was not safe here, whether the killer was male or female. This person was clearly insane.
All thoughts of starting the engines again evaporated as he ran for the stairs that would take him back to the twins. He wanted to scream out their names, to tell them to be careful, that Daddy was coming. But he was silent, saving his breath for the sprint. Even as he opened the door he realised he needn’t have bothered. He would never reach his daughters now. That thought was almost more agonising than the axe that sank into his belly. It was dragged out and driven in again, under his chest. As his muscles ceased to obey him he dropped the flares and spanner, which fell with a series of thuds onto the steel deck. His last rational thought was not of the pain or his daughters, now left on their own. Rather, it was puzzlement as to how on earth this could be happening. Perhaps, after all, the dead could rise from the grave?
Chapter 30
‘So you knew nothing about this? Your friend Halldór didn’t say a word about meeting Karítas in Lisbon?’ Thóra had to raise her voice to be heard over the music that was blasting from the sound system behind her. She didn’t know the band and had no wish to become any more closely acquainted with them. The bass was turned up so high that her body seemed to throb with it and she was almost afraid her heart would start beating in time to the insistent drumming.
As soon as she and Bella left Karítas and her mother, she had rung Snævar and asked to meet him. She had taken care to reveal nothing about their errand, merely hinting that she wanted his opinion on a few small things. He had agreed and suggested she come round to his place as his leg was particularly bad that day, which made it hard to leave the house. If she wanted to see him at her office, it would have to wait until tomorrow. Th�
�ra felt it was too urgent for that, so she and Bella drove straight from Arnarnes up to the suburb of Grafarvogur where Snævar lived in a long block of flats that could have done with some exterior maintenance.
Inside, Snævar’s flat was little better. Thóra hoped for his sake that the squalor could be blamed on his broken leg. As it was, he was lucky not to have tripped over the piles of rubbish that littered the floor and broken the other one. He apologised casually for the mess. It was obvious that he was glad of the company; perhaps it was a sign of his loneliness that he should be willing to receive guests in the midst of all this noise and chaos. But his pleasure visibly faded when Thóra accused him of having held back information. ‘Though to tell the truth, I find the whole thing rather far-fetched,’ she added. ‘And I’m fairly sure the police will too.’
Snævar stared blindly into an empty mug with a congealing ring of coffee froth around the inside. ‘I didn’t want to tell anyone. I was so afraid people would suspect Halli. None of you knew him so you’re bound to believe the worst of him. Even if he did speak to her, he didn’t do anything. I can’t and won’t believe it.’
The Silence of the Sea Page 34
