The Silence of the Sea Page 13

  The woman plucked at a loose thread on her shirt cuff. Her nails were badly bitten and her hands veiny; her fingers a little crooked, perhaps from arthritis. ‘Obviously we can’t answer that. Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told; all I can say is that if they were intending to come home by boat, they didn’t breathe a word about it to me. Not a word.’ She glanced at her husband for corroboration.

  ‘Nor me.’ His voice was firm now. ‘And they had plenty of opportunities to raise the idea. Presumably they didn’t because it was never part of their plan.’ From his body language, it appeared he had a better command over his feelings than Thóra had imagined.

  ‘Fine. I wouldn’t worry about it.’ Thóra regretted having created any doubt in their minds. They had enough worries as it was. ‘Did they send you any e-mails or other messages that would confirm their travel plans? With phone numbers, for example, or information about the hotel they’d be staying at, in case of emergency?’

  ‘We’re not on e-mail,’ Sigrídur replied, ‘but Ægir gave us a list of dates and hotels, as well as their mobile numbers. They were very anxious because it was the first time they’d left Sigga Dögg on her own. The list is still on the fridge. Do you want me to fetch it?’ Thóra nodded and the woman rose to her feet with an effort. As she went into the kitchen she held a hand to her hip as if it was painful. The sight did nothing to boost Thóra’s confidence about their chances of gaining custody. But her spirits rose when she saw the list, because it supported the current interpretation of events. The family had been intending to fly home and resume life as normal after their holiday. The neatly written itinerary with the phone numbers of the two hotels they would be staying at, one in London, the other in Lisbon; their flight numbers and departure and arrival times – this was all evidence that they had wanted to be absolutely sure they could be contacted and that Ægir’s parents would be in no doubt about where to find them at any given time. They gave her permission to take the note away with her, as long as she promised to return it afterwards.

  ‘Did you hear from them at any point while they were away? Before they left port, for instance?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Sigrídur. ‘They rang often. The last time was to tell us they were coming home by ship. They’d actually embarked by then and were just leaving harbour. I spoke to them both. Ægir gave me a brief account of how it had come about but they were mainly ringing to speak to Sigga Dögg.’ She reached down and picked up the little girl. ‘They said they’d ring back before they lost their signal but they never did. I don’t know why. Maybe they lost reception sooner than expected. I’ve no idea how far out at sea mobile phones stop working.’

  ‘Neither have I.’ Thóra had hoped to hear that they’d been in touch with Ægir or Lára during the voyage, via satellite phone or radio. That would have made it easier to ascertain when the family had gone missing. But it couldn’t be helped; doubtless the police had information that would narrow the time frame, like the captain’s communications with shore.

  Sigga Dögg laid her cheek against her grandmother’s chest and cuddled up to her. After a bit of wriggling to find a comfortable position, she turned her head to watch Thóra. The toddler’s large grey eyes observed her intently, though it was unclear what she was expecting. Perhaps she thought Thóra was yet another social worker come to set her a test or ask her questions – not that she seemed capable of answering; she hadn’t said a word since Thóra arrived. ‘Has she started talking yet?’

  The girl’s grandfather answered. ‘Oh, yes. She can say plenty. Though she’s been much quieter since … you know. She understands more than you’d think. Actually, that’s why we’re unhappy with what the experts have been saying to her. You’d have thought professionals like them would know better.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Thóra was puzzled. ‘Are you saying you’ve witnessed inappropriate behaviour?’

  ‘No, we weren’t allowed to be present during yesterday’s visit.’ He reached out and gently stroked Sigga Dögg’s leg. ‘But it doesn’t alter the fact that she’s suddenly started coming out with things she can only have heard from other people, and since it wasn’t from us, it must have been those jumped-up government flunkeys. We haven’t felt up to receiving visitors, so she doesn’t really see anyone else.’ He withdrew his hand. ‘Not that we’ve had to turn many away.’

  ‘What’s she been saying that’s led you to that conclusion?’

  They both pursed their lips as if reluctant to answer. Then their eyes met and Sigrídur silently urged Margeir to speak. ‘Things connected to the accident. Things she can’t have made up herself. A two-year-old knows nothing about d-e-a-t-h, let alone d-r-o-w-n-i-n-g.’ He laboriously spelt out the words. ‘She must have heard that from someone else and, as I said, there aren’t many obvious candidates.’

  Thóra’s mind kicked into action. Was it possible that the child had heard this not from the social worker or psychologist, but from her parents? Could they have been plotting in front of the little girl? It was just conceivable that it might emerge now, when the child grasped that all was not well with her parents and sisters. Thóra opened her mouth to ask a leading question but couldn’t frame one. If Lára and Ægir were lying on a beach somewhere, soaking up the sun, then his parents were plainly not in on the secret. Their grief was too real, their bewilderment too palpable for them to be acting a part. The more she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. No one would do that to their parents or child. ‘Children are easily distracted,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she’ll soon become interested in something else.’ She caught the little girl’s gaze. ‘Maybe pussy-cats? Do you like pussy-cats? I’ve got one. She’s rather fat.’

  Sigga Dögg raised her head from her grandmother’s chest, her lips slightly parted, a trickle of saliva glistening between them. It looked almost silver in the strange light from the window.

  ‘Mummy.’

  Thóra felt the blood rise to her cheeks. What had she been thinking of to talk about cats to a child in this situation? She knew nothing about child psychology, despite having almost completed the practical when it came to her own children and grandchild. That clearly wasn’t enough, however. ‘Yes, sweetheart.’ Unsure what else to say, she hoped the child would stop talking, or that one of her grandparents would jump in. But they sat in silence, perhaps disconcerted by how much they had revealed to a virtual stranger.

  ‘Mummy got water in mouth.’ The little girl’s own mouth turned down. ‘Oh, dear.’

  Thóra coughed, flustered. She glanced at Sigrídur and Margeir. ‘Is this what you meant?’

  They nodded, their eyes perturbed. ‘There’s more,’ said Sigrídur, almost in a whisper. ‘Just wait.’

  The child didn’t seem to notice that she had her grandparents’ full attention. She sat with eyes wide open, gazing at Thóra who had the feeling that the little girl was frustrated at being unable to communicate what she wanted to say. ‘Oh, dear. Poor Adda and Bygga.’ She stuck out her lower lip to indicate sadness. ‘Bad water.’

  Thóra wasn’t sure if she had heard right; it sounded as if the little girl was referring to her sisters Arna and Bylgja. ‘Bad water?’

  The child nodded. ‘Poor Adda and Bygga.’ She inclined her head towards Thóra, the gesture uncomfortably adult in such a young child. ‘Big bad water. Water in mouth.’

  Thóra’s mobile bleeped in her bag; a pale blue light was visible through the opening. Profoundly grateful for the interruption, she fished for it apologetically. The office number flashed up. She put it on silent, though the screen continued to glow. ‘It doesn’t sound as if she’s repeating anything that adults would say.’

  ‘Well, who else could she have got it from? She hasn’t met any other children since …’ Sigrídur clutched her granddaughter tight as if she was afraid Thóra would snatch her away. Her voice was shrill and she placed her hands solicitously over the little girl’s ears to protect her from hearing her agitation.

  ‘Is it possible she
could have heard someone discussing the family’s fate and is trying to understand it in her own way?’ The big water must surely mean the sea and water in mouth could be a child’s understanding of drowning, though a two-year-old couldn’t be expected to comprehend such a word.

  ‘I wouldn’t know; as far as I’m aware no one’s discussed it in front of her. But whatever’s behind it, it’s terribly distressing. She woke up crying last night, stammering these words between sobs and calling for her mother. The same thing happened this morning. She’s quiet now, but last night she was out of her mind with terror. What can you say to a child who calls for her mother, when no one knows what’s happened to her?’

  ‘I can’t begin to imagine.’ Thóra realised it was time to call a halt. These people were seething with suppressed rage and grief over what had happened and with anxiety about the future. It must be a terrible strain to live with such uncertainty. She pitied the psychologist and social worker who had to advise them. ‘Look, I know it’s naive of me, but I really hope they’re found drifting in a lifeboat somewhere and that everything will soon be back to normal.’

  They regarded her suspiciously at first, then seemed to accept that she was sincere. Margeir stretched. ‘So do we.’ He clenched his fists until the knuckles whitened. ‘As you can no doubt imagine.’

  The phone on Thóra’s lap had gone dark. When she darted a glance at it, it flashed once to indicate a text message. ‘Excuse me.’ It might be Bragi or one of her other colleagues needing to get hold of her urgently. But the message was from Bella: Saw online body turned up – prob from yacht.

  Instantly all hope of finding them adrift in a lifeboat vanished.

  Chapter 10

  Thóra was far from satisfied when she hung up. It wasn’t that she had expected to be supplied with exhaustive detail about the body that had been washed ashore but she had hoped to get a little more for her trouble. In the event, the news websites proved more informative. The police had stonewalled all her enquiries with: I’m afraid we can’t reveal any information at present. She was still in the dark about the gender and age of the deceased, and could receive no confirmation that the body was even connected with the yacht.

  ‘Who is it? Do you know?’ Bella appeared in the doorway and leant against the frame, holding a steaming mug of coffee. The aroma wafted across the room, and Thóra realised she was in dire need of caffeine. For a split second it crossed her mind to ask Bella for a sip, but she was not that desperate.

  ‘They refused to say.’ Thóra turned back to her computer and checked in case there was any more news. There wasn’t.

  ‘Those bloody cops are useless.’ Bella scowled.

  ‘Oh, I expect they’re just following protocol; no doubt they have to notify the next of kin before they can discuss it with all and sundry.’ Thóra’s thoughts flew to little Sigga Dögg, who probably had a greater interest than anyone in knowing the identity of the body. But then again, the crew members might also have children who were now waiting in fearful suspense. The papers had just published the names of the missing men but not their family circumstances. No doubt those would follow in the next reports, along with the promise of interviews with loved ones desperately waiting for news. She had tried googling their names but they were too common, though one had been familiar: Halldór Thorsteinsson, the sailor who had worked on the yacht for a three-month period while it was owned by Karítas and Gulam. It must be the same man – anything else would be too much of a coincidence – so that ruled out the possibility of picking his brains about the yacht’s life-saving equipment or what he thought had happened.

  Thóra was torn between hoping that the body was not from the yacht and praying that it was. At least the recovery of a body would make it easier to secure the insurance money. Presumably it would also be a comfort of sorts for the families if the remains of their loved ones were found. Though what did she know? If it were her children, would she want closure or would she rather cling to hope for years, for the rest of her life even? On balance she’d probably prefer to live with the uncertainty. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but I get the impression from the news reports that it’s a man. There’s something about the way it’s phrased. Even though it’s the twenty-first century, people still write differently about women – with more delicacy somehow.’

  ‘Is there a picture?’ Bella’s eagerness struck Thóra as tasteless.

  ‘No, of course not.’ No on-line media source had published any photos with a direct link to the incident; one showed the crippled yacht moored in Reykjavík harbour; another the coastline where the body had been discovered; the rest made do with vague sea-related visuals. The police had managed to evade the vigilant eyes of photographers while carrying out their duties, helped by the fact that the beach where the body had washed up was well off the beaten track. It was located some way to the south of the village of Sandgerdi, on the western tip of the Reykjanes peninsula, about forty-five kilometres south of Reykjavík. Anyway, even if reporters had stumbled on the scene, it was unthinkable that any news site would publish a picture of the corpse.

  ‘I reckon it’s a woman.’ Bella slurped her coffee. ‘And I bet I know who.’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t take a clairvoyant: Lára was the only woman on board.’

  ‘I don’t mean her. I think it’s Karítas.’

  Thóra looked up from the screen. ‘What on earth makes you say that? That would be really weird.’

  ‘Well, firstly, I’m sure she must of snuffed it.’

  ‘Must have,’ Thóra corrected her automatically – it came from living with three children. She might get away with it this time but it was excruciating when she caught herself doing the same to clients or colleagues. The worst occasion was the time she had corrected a judge. She was still convinced her client had received a heavier sentence as a result.

  ‘Must of, must have. Whatever.’

  ‘Never mind that, why do you think so?’

  ‘I’ve been combing the Internet for any news or blogs mentioning Karítas. However hard I search, I can’t find a single photo or any other information about her since she left for Portugal to sort out her stuff. Which is kind of suspicious.’

  ‘She’s hardly big enough news for the papers to go chasing her halfway round the world in hope of a story. Surely she’s simply lying low in Brazil like her mother said? Just because she’s managed to disappear so effectively doesn’t mean there’s any cause for concern. She hasn’t been gone that long.’

  ‘I have zero concern for her. I couldn’t care less whether she’s lying in a body bag in the morgue or on a sun-lounger somewhere in South America.’ Bella’s tone belied her words. People rarely forgave others for what they did to them when they were children, and the secretary wasn’t exactly the magnanimous type. ‘I’m not just talking about the Icelandic sites – I’m talking about the Internet as a whole. There’s a ton of pictures and websites recording that she attended various parties, but they all pre-date her visit to Portugal. What’s more, there were two fairly recent articles that mentioned her old man and his agreements with his creditors, but not a single word about her. If you ask me, that’s fishy. I can’t believe she’d voluntarily steer clear of the limelight, wherever she is. She gets off on the attention.’ Bella gulped down her coffee with an exaggerated relish that made Thóra green with envy. ‘She’s a goner. Her old man’s killed her.’

  Although the possibility had already occurred to Thóra, it sounded implausible when spoken aloud. Indeed, she now understood Matthew’s sceptical reaction when she had voiced a similar idea. ‘We know nothing for certain about this woman apart from one thing: it’s not her body. It just doesn’t fit. For one thing, if her husband had killed her, how could she have been on board?’

  ‘Maybe he’d hidden her body on the yacht and the passengers found it, freaked out and threw it overboard. Then maybe they regretted it and tried to recover her body but something went wrong and they ended up in the sea themselves.’

/>   Thóra bit back a mocking riposte. Ever since she had started working on this case, Bella’s attitude towards her had been unusually mellow. Their relationship had been strained for a while, and this armistice made a welcome change. It felt like ages since Thóra had been able to relax at the office without worrying about what the secretary might be plotting behind her back, so she had everything to gain by keeping the peace. She had even refrained from giving Bella too much of a bollocking about the photocopier, which they were having no success in recovering from the workshop. ‘Who knows? Maybe.’

  Bella frowned. ‘Or maybe an alien swallowed her whole and puked her up in the sea just off Reykjanes – by total coincidence.’ Her gaze was fixed provocatively on Thóra’s. ‘I know when you mean what you say and when you don’t. I’m not a total idiot. If you think my idea about Karítas is bullshit, just say so.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s bullshit in this case, Bella. That’s the trouble. I’d be surprised if you were right, but then I’d probably be surprised by all the possible alternatives. The explanation’s bound to be extraordinary, so there’s no need to take offence.’

  ‘I’m not offended.’ Clearly, she was. Her coffee was no longer steaming and the delicious aroma had gone, to be replaced by the familiar smell of stale vomit. Though it had faded, the miasma still seemed to linger and Thóra was beginning to wonder if it was in her imagination. If so, she would never be rid of it. She wrinkled her nose.