The Silence of the Sea

Chapter 16

The dog-eared bundle of photocopies on the desk in front of her showed evidence of rough handling. When she unfolded them she discovered flakes of tobacco and fluff that suggested they had been stuffed into a less than pristine anorak pocket. ‘Thanks for bringing these. It must be difficult getting around in weather like this with your leg in plaster.’ She smoothed out the papers and had a quick leaf through them. At first sight everything appeared to be present. She looked up at Snævar and smiled. ‘Did you have much trouble getting hold of them?’

‘Oh, no, not really. I looked through my junk and found these hospital forms. Halli must have chucked them in my bag when he packed it for me. I fetched some documents from the Social Insurance office too, in case you needed something official. I’ve nothing better to do at the moment. They probably won’t be much use to you; they’re just payments linked to my European Health Insurance card, but there’s also a bit about what they did at the hospital and so on. Anyway, you’ve got them now. Give me a shout if there’s anything else I can do for you. It makes a nice change to be busy.’

‘You obviously won’t be going to sea for a while. Do you have any idea when your leg will have healed?’

‘No, but hopefully in a couple of weeks.’ Snævar shrugged, and the stretched-out neckline of his garish jumper gaped to reveal a white T-shirt. He was wearing dirty tracksuit bottoms that in no way matched the shapeless, bobbly acrylic jumper. His dark hair, though shaven to within a millimetre of his scalp, smelt as though it was in need of a wash, and a close encounter with a razor around the jawline wouldn’t have hurt him either. Thóra tried to avert her attention from the young man’s slovenly appearance. After all, the way he looked now was probably not habitual. It must be difficult to find trousers with bottoms wide enough to fit over the plaster cast, and taking a shower couldn’t be easy either. ‘I go to sea every other month. The accident happened during my time off, so I’d better be mobile again before my next tour or I’ll be off work for another two months. Unless I can make a deal with the bloke who works opposite me.’

Peering under the desk, Thóra noticed that his plaster cast was wrapped in a plastic bag from Ríkid, the state-run off-licence. ‘Well, you certainly won’t get far like that.’

‘No.’ He smiled briefly without showing his teeth. ‘Do you know whose body it was on the beach?’ Evidently he did not have much time for small talk. Thóra understood his concern; his friend Halldór was one of the few likely candidates.

‘Yes. It wasn’t your friend.’ Earlier that morning Ægir’s father had rung to let her know that the police had told him the body was not that of his son or any other family member. The postmortem had confirmed this and the person in question’s next of kin had been notified. Since a statement would be issued to the press at midday, Thóra thought it wouldn’t matter if she revealed the man’s name to Snævar. ‘It was the mate, Loftur.’ She observed his relief, followed almost instantly by apparent shame at his selfishness; naturally it was still a tragedy, whoever was involved.

‘You didn’t know him?’ Thóra asked, though the answer was obvious from his reaction.

‘No. Never met him, as far as I know. But I’m not very good with faces. We may have worked on a short tour together, though I don’t think so.’

‘So you didn’t see him in Lisbon?’

‘No. Nor the captain either. I had my accident before they arrived, though of course I’d have met them if things had gone according to plan. I think I know who Loftur was, though. At least, I’ve heard people talk about him.’

‘Oh? What have you heard?’

‘Nothing bad, far from it. I forget exactly what it was but nothing like that. Just that he was a bloody good ship’s mate. He passed his certificate quite young, if I remember right.’ Snævar raised his eyes to the ceiling in an effort to recall. ‘That was it – they said it was a pity he turned his back on the fishing industry because he was very promising. He used to work on the same trawler as me but quit just before I started. He got on the wrong side of the first mate or something stupid like that, and people were wondering what he’d do instead. That’s all, I think.’

‘Did your friend Halli know him?’

Snævar shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so, though I can’t be sure.’ He craned his head so far back that Thóra had a momentary fear that his Adam’s apple would pop out of his neck. ‘God, it’s all so awful.’

‘It certainly is.’ Thóra watched him return his head to its normal position, wondering if people like him coped better with grief than those who wore their hearts on their sleeves. But going by Snævar’s expression, she thought maybe the silent type found it harder. ‘I suppose you realise that this greatly reduces the chances of finding the others alive.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘None of them are alive. I don’t know how anyone could believe they were.’

Thóra folded her arms. ‘I’m inclined to agree with you, but it’s incredible what people can endure.’

Snævar shook his head. ‘There’s no chance they’re drifting somewhere in a lifeboat, if that’s what you think. It would have capsized long ago.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Although she did not say as much, Thóra thought Snævar’s response to the news that the dead man was Loftur indicated that he too was holding out hope that Halli was alive. But he had a point; they must all be dead by now. The official search had been called off; there were no more helicopters hovering over the sea where the yacht had passed. Instead they were combing the beaches – in search of the dead, not the living. ‘When did you last hear from your friend Halldór? Ægir and his family called Iceland as the yacht was leaving port in Lisbon, but nothing was heard from them after that. Did Halli get in touch with you after the voyage had begun?’

‘No,’ Snævar said without hesitating. ‘Before he left he brought me painkillers, Coke, sweets, and so on. Then we said goodbye at the hotel the day he was supposed to sail. I didn’t hear from him again after that. He was great; bought me a plane ticket home and all that. We didn’t have our laptops with us so I couldn’t do it myself but luckily there was a computer in the hotel lobby. I really don’t know how I’m supposed to repay him; I don’t like to get in touch with his family yet in case they’re still hoping he’ll be found alive. I’d rather wait a bit. But I’m afraid I’ll forget and then they won’t understand what’s going on when his credit card bill arrives.’

Thóra had noticed the travel documents as she leafed through the pile of papers, and quickly turned back to them. She found a receipt from Expedia for a flight to London and another onwards to Iceland. The name of the card holder was Halldór Thorsteinsson. She showed it to him. ‘I’ll return this when I’ve taken a copy and then you’ll have the receipt to remind you.’ She put the papers down again. ‘One question that might sound a bit daft. Did Halldór have a mobile phone? Or a camera?’

Snævar looked at her as if she was an idiot. ‘Of course he had a phone. But I’m sure he didn’t have a camera. At least, I never saw him carry one. If he’d wanted to take a picture, he’d have used his phone. Though why he’d have wanted to take one, I don’t know.’ He tilted his head on one side. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, it’s only – they didn’t find any phones or cameras on board, which seems rather odd. If they abandoned ship in a hurry you’d have thought at least one of them would have left their phone behind, not to mention if they were washed overboard.’ She changed the subject. ‘Did it never occur to you to sail home yourself? To take the boat instead of flying, so you didn’t have to hang around in the hotel? Your leg wouldn’t have prevented you from taking your turn on the bridge, would it?’

‘I wouldn’t have been much use for the first forty-eight hours but after that I could have helped out, as you say. I went home after three days and the flight was just as tiring as if I’d taken a watch on board. It’s a nightmare travelling in this state but it’s not as if there’s any physical effort involved in sitting on the bridge. Once I was alone I remember being pissed off that Halli and I hadn’t slept on the yacht instead of wasting money on a hotel. I was sure they’d have given me a ride home if I’d been on board already. Though now I’m thanking my lucky stars I wasn’t, as you can imagine.’

‘Was sleeping on board an option?’

‘Yes, why not? We had the keys and no one would have complained. We were supposed to start making her ready and running checks on the engines and equipment before the others arrived, so I can’t see why anyone would have kicked up a fuss.’

‘You didn’t ring the captain to suggest it?’

‘No. He was so pissed off that I couldn’t face talking to him. I’ve learnt it’s pointless trying to reason with people when they’re angry. Halli did mention it in passing but the captain wasn’t having it. Anyway, by then it had been decided that the family should go instead. I have to admit I’m glad I didn’t try harder – the pain in my leg is nothing compared to what Halli must have gone through.’

Thóra brought out a file containing the documents that the police had released to her late the previous day. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask your opinion on something.’ She showed him the file. ‘This is the route that was programmed into the yacht’s GPS.’ She ran her finger along a line that followed a rather circuitous course between Lisbon and Reykjavík. Then she turned over the next two pages, which showed, on the one hand, a blown-up picture of the route within Icelandic territorial waters and, on the other, some circles the yacht had made not far from her destination. ‘I can’t get hold of the man who gave me this but the way I understand it, the yacht started sailing in circles around about here.’ She pointed at the first blown-up page. ‘I take this to be the date, which would mean that she made these manoeuvres about twenty-four hours before she careered into the harbour. Have you any inkling what might be going on here?’

Snævar, looking surprised, studied the chart. ‘I suppose it’s possible that the autopilot developed a fault or the rudder jammed, though that’s pretty unlikely. The captain would never have let her sail round and round like that before he took action. It’s more likely that someone fell overboard and they were looking for him. Or her. Or them.’

‘That’s what occurred to me too. It’s a pity the printout doesn’t say who it was.’

‘The navigation system isn’t that sophisticated.’

‘I was joking.’ Thóra turned over to the enlarged chart. ‘What about the final part of the voyage? That looks odd too. If I have this right, there’s a change of course as the yacht approaches Iceland and she’s brought in very close to the shore at Grótta before heading back out to sea where she sails in another large circle before making a beeline for Reykjavík harbour. This is a blown-up picture of her final movements.’

Snævar pored over the chart. ‘What’s this?’ He pointed to the text at the top of each page.

‘I’m guessing they’re the dates which tell us when the course was plotted on the GPS.’

Snævar seemed to agree. ‘In other words, someone must have been alive on board as the yacht approached land?’ He pointed at the date on the second chart.

‘Yes. If my interpretation’s correct.’ Thóra ran her finger along the line of the ship’s course. ‘Is it possible that this person abandoned ship near Grótta and went ashore there? Do you know anything about the currents in that area?’

‘Jesus.’ Snævar ran both hands through his hair with such force that he pulled his eyes out of shape. ‘Jesus.’

‘I know.’ Thóra’s initial reaction had been the same, not least because it would considerably complicate her case. How was she to persuade a judge to rule that Ægir and Lára were dead if there was a chance they could have sneaked ashore? In fact, any of the people on board could probably have abandoned the yacht at that stage. All of them, even. Except Loftur, of course. Unless they had all lost their heads for some reason and drowned right by the shore. But that did not tally with the fact that Loftur’s body had turned up on the Reykjanes peninsula, some forty-five kilometres to the south. It could hardly have been carried all the way there from Grótta, which was a small isthmus crowned by a lighthouse that jutted out from the coast of Seltjarnarnes, Reykjavík’s westernmost suburb. ‘What’s the sea like off Grótta? Is it possible to swim ashore there?’

‘Yes. No. I really don’t know. It would depend how strong a swimmer you were and what the sea was like. You’d have to ask someone who’s experienced at swimming in the sea.’ Snævar was apparently still having trouble getting his head around this latest development. ‘Jesus. I wouldn’t trust myself to do it.’

‘How about in a diving suit?’

He smiled. ‘You’re asking the wrong man. I tried it once and it wasn’t for me. I’d never dive in the sea round Iceland, though maybe it wouldn’t be a problem for a pro.’

‘Another question. Is there any reason to sail close to land there? To avoid reefs, shallows or currents, that sort of thing?’

‘Nope. None at all.’

‘Okay.’ Thóra ran her finger round the loop that extended from near the lighthouse at Grótta and out into Faxaflói bay to the north of Reykjavík. ‘What about this? Do you have any idea why the yacht didn’t make straight for port?’

Snævar shook his head. ‘No. I can’t make head or tail of it. It’s crazy. Completely crazy. Unless someone fell overboard again. But that wouldn’t explain this loop because the circle’s too wide and doesn’t go back over the same area. It’s just mental.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ Thóra pulled the file back towards her. ‘Could someone who doesn’t know how to use the system enter the coordinates? Does it work like the GPS in a car?’

‘No. That is, the GPS works the same but you’d need to know how to set the autopilot – the specific system they had on board. If not, you wouldn’t be able to make it do tricks like that. Well, unless the strange manoeuvres were caused by the fact that the person fiddling with the system didn’t know how it worked. I suppose that’s possible.’

‘Yes.’ Thóra was thoughtful. ‘What about someone who has a pleasure craft certificate? Would he know how to use the system?’

Snævar snorted contemptuously. ‘No. They learn sod all on those courses. They don’t even teach them about magnetic variation when they’re plotting their coordinates on a chart. You would have as much chance of working it out as some genius with a pleasure craft certificate.’

That ruled out Ægir, as well as Lára and the twins, of course. Not to mention Loftur.

Which only left Thráinn and Halli.

Google Translate had its uses. Thóra had tried typing in the comments that the doctor or nurse had scribbled on what she took to be Snævar’s admission form for the casualty ward in Lisbon. One box turned out to be marked Description of Incident, and when to the best of her ability she typed the text it contained into the translation program, her curiosity was piqued. It emerged that, when being admitted, the seriously intoxicated patient had claimed that the person who pushed him had been an Icelander. He had not known who it was and when asked if it had been his companion, Halldór, he had denied it and begun to ramble incoherently. The doctor’s verdict was to postpone reporting the incident to the police until the patient was sober enough to make sense. Since there was no further mention of this in the accompanying documents, it was impossible to tell what the outcome had been. Snævar had not said a word about his assailant being an Icelander when describing the events to her.

Thóra rang when she guessed he would have reached home, to avoid catching him in a bus or taxi. People tended not to talk as freely on the phone when strangers were listening. After apologising for bothering him again so soon, she described the contents of the hospital report. ‘Do you remember it at all?’

‘Yes. Vaguely.’ Snævar sounded rather embarrassed.

‘Do they quote you correctly? That you were pushed by an Icelander?’

‘Well… That’s what I thought at the time, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it. I was pissed out of my mind. But I’m fairly sure the man who pushed me said something in Icelandic just before the blow sent me flying.’

‘Surely it must have been Halldór? You were out together that evening, weren’t you?’

‘No way. He was inside paying the bill. I’d gone outside for some fresh air – I was totally wasted, like I said. So it definitely can’t have been him.’

Thóra was silent for a moment. ‘Was it reported to the police?’

‘No. I couldn’t face getting involved with the police in a foreign country, and nothing would have come of it anyway. What were they supposed to do? Take his fingerprints from my jacket?’

‘Was the hospital satisfied with that?’

‘Yes, they were just relieved to be able to discharge me. Halldór stayed with me overnight and in the morning I got him to lie to them that I was going home that day. I couldn’t be bothered to go back for a check-up either. They’d sorted out my leg and there was nothing more to do but wait until the bones knitted. They swallowed the story and gave him the forms to hand in at home.’

‘Then why have I got the originals? Haven’t you been to see a doctor since you got back?’

‘No.’ Snævar sounded even more sheepish than he had at the beginning of the conversation. Thóra felt like his mother. ‘I keep meaning to go.’

‘You should do it. I’ll photocopy these and return the originals to you. I could have them dropped off at your GP’s surgery if you like.’ But Snævar asked her to give the papers to him and Thóra suspected he would delay the doctor’s appointment as long as possible, probably until it was time to remove the cast. Or perhaps tough guys like him removed it themselves. ‘Tell me another thing: do you have any idea when Loftur and Thráinn arrived in Lisbon?’ Given that there were no direct flights between Iceland and Portugal, it was unlikely there would have been many Icelandic tourists around at that time of year. And it was extremely implausible that Ægir and his family would have attacked a fellow countryman who they didn’t even know.

‘They were supposed to arrive three or four days after us, I think.’

‘When was that?’ Thóra dug out the copy of Snævar’s flight ticket to Lisbon and compared the date with that of his hospital visit. They were three days apart. ‘The day after your accident?’

There was a pause as Snævar apparently searched his memory, then he replied: ‘Yes, I have a feeling it was the day after.’ He paused again. ‘I can’t remember the dates for the life of me. Wait a minute. Yes, they were supposed to arrive on the afternoon of 3rd March. So that was probably the day I broke my leg.’

Thóra checked the date on the hospital admission forms: 3rd March. So it was conceivable that either Thráinn or Loftur might have been involved. She decided to ask Bella to type the hospital report into Google Translate in case the nursing staff had recorded any further details about Snævar’s statement. Since his own memory of the events was hazy in the extreme, they might have more luck in finding out the story there. She thanked him and rang off.

All this was very bad news for her case; there would be no call now to refer to the hospital report or attach it to her summary as she had intended. In fact, she would be better off persuading Snævar to go to his GP and get a signed letter stating that his leg was broken and avoiding all mention of the mysterious Icelander who might have caused his fall. If the insurance company got their hands on the report, they could well use it to concoct an explanation for Ægir and Lára’s disappearance. It would be a simple matter to claim that they had planned it all in advance and that their decision to take the boat home was no coincidence: Ægir must have pushed the man deliberately in order to take his place on board. Highly improbable as it sounded, the theory couldn’t be ruled out entirely. Oh, why was nothing ever simple?

Thóra sat up and stretched. Perhaps there were jobs for lawyers on the oil rig.