The Silence of the Sea

Chapter 9

‘I recommend you apply to the district court for Ægir and Lára’s property to be declared their estate. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but soon, unless the situation changes significantly. If the court rules in your favour, a decision will be made about when they’re presumed to have died.’ It was clear from their faces that Sigrídur and Margeir were upset by Thóra’s suggestion, but she ploughed on regardless. She had suggested meeting at their house rather than her office for precisely this reason. They would cope better with the harsh facts in familiar surroundings. ‘It’s covered in the first article of the 1981 Missing Persons Act, the purpose of which is primarily to safeguard the interests of the individual who has disappeared; that is, to protect their property and other rights. I will then present all the facts relating to the disappearance to the court, and the judge will decide whether the evidence is satisfactory. You probably won’t be made to pay costs, as cases like this are covered by legal aid.’

‘That’s a relief. As you’re aware, we don’t have much money, so if the case went against us we’d have problems paying.’ Margeir waved his hand as if to draw attention to the small, plain flat. Thóra had already noted that the furniture was old but well cared for. In the sitting room a boxy television set stood on a crocheted cloth, which fell in a neat white triangle over the edge of the table. Family photographs, old and new, had been arranged on either side of the TV, the cheerful smiles of the subjects looking utterly out of place in the gloomy atmosphere. There was a vase containing what looked like supermarket flowers on the small, old-fashioned dining table, and Thóra guessed they had been sent with condolences by a friend or relative. The petals were drooping, their beauty wilted, their purpose done, but no one had thought to throw them away. Everywhere there were signs of mourning.

Thóra paused briefly before carrying on. She wanted them to absorb the message, and to keep it separate from the next matter she needed to raise. ‘But there are other things you should bear in mind. I went over the terms and conditions in Ægir and Lára’s life insurance policies and see nothing to preclude their being paid out. There are no clauses about death having to occur after a certain period, as is common in these contracts, nor is there anything about the right to make a claim being declared void if the insured party commits suicide. I know this isn’t suicide but it would complicate matters if the insurance company tried to claim that it was. The case is not straightforward, however.’

‘Isn’t it?’ said Margeir, though he didn’t appear all that interested.

‘No. For example, the rule is that the insurance company has to be notified without delay if an event occurs for which a claim is to be made: in this instance, Ægir and Lára’s deaths,’ said Thóra. ‘The notification would have to be accompanied by more or less the same proof as that required by the district court, so at least that simplifies matters. But the most likely scenario is that the insurance provider will reject the initial claim. It’s very common – there was a recent case here in Iceland. A man disappeared when sailing a yacht from America to Iceland and the foreign insurance company refused to accept that he was dead. So the case went before the district court here in Iceland, which ruled that the man was missing presumed dead, and after that the insurance company was forced to pay out his life cover. I’m confident that your case would go the same way, which would mean that the court would examine the facts, but also that relatives and anyone else who might possess any relevant information could potentially be summoned to appear.’

‘Would the case have to be heard overseas, what with it being a foreign company? I’m not sure we’d feel up to appearing before a foreign court.’ Margeir sounded oddly detached, as if he were reciting lines from a play.

‘No, the Icelandic court has jurisdiction in cases in which the missing person was most recently domiciled in this country, regardless of where the insurance company is based. So it would go before the Reykjavík District Court.’ Thóra awaited further questions and when none were forthcoming, she carried on: ‘I know it’s a lot to take in and that this isn’t the best time, but I propose that I set about obtaining the documentation required by the insurance provider, then inform them of what’s happened. There’s no point delaying. If Ægir and Lára do turn up safe and sound, hopefully that will happen sooner rather than later, and in that case we’d simply send the company a correction. If the cover had already been paid out, it would have to be returned – subject to a reasonable depletion of the sum, which would be non-refundable.’

‘We’re not planning to use the money; we told you that the first time we met.’ Sigrídur ran a hand through her hair, which looked greasy and unwashed. There were two obvious stains on her shirt and her jeans could have done with a wash as well. Margeir’s grey stubble and dirty hair gave him the look of a man recovering from a serious illness. There was nothing to choose between them for suffering. ‘The money belongs to Sigga Dögg; we’d only use it for her upkeep. And to pay for all the legal proceedings you’re describing.’

‘That won’t make much of a dent in the money.’

‘Won’t it?’ snapped Sigrídur. Margeir laid a hand on his wife’s knee, as if afraid she would offend Thóra. But Thóra knew it wasn’t personal; the woman was angry with the world in general. Sigrídur continued: ‘You mentioned proof that would have to be sent with the letter. What did you mean?’

‘Documents showing when they left port, the route information they supplied on their departure from Lisbon, the weather conditions, where the yacht was last sighted with the crew and passengers on board, and so on. We’d also have to send a report detailing any signs that might indicate that the yacht had been abandoned in a hurry or that the passengers had been washed overboard, along with other material relating to the inquiry, which I should be able to obtain from the police. If they’re unwilling to cooperate, I’ll have to apply for a court order to compel them.’ The couple looked even more disheartened. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of all that. You have enough on your plate.’

‘You can say that again.’ Margeir made no attempt to play down their distress. ‘We’re on the verge of… well, I don’t really know what.’

‘Of madness,’ said Sigrídur emphatically. She flushed a little, then went on, candid in her grief: ‘The worst thing is hearing about the case on the radio and seeing it in the papers. I keep thinking about all the news of deaths and accidents I’ve heard over the years without really comprehending the pain they bring. Of course you think: Poor things, but it never occurred to me that this would happen to us – that we’d be the “poor things”.’ She sniffed loudly and sat up straighter. ‘But luckily the news has quietened down a bit now. And there’s another thing; I know it’s futile, but I can’t stop brooding over how it came about in the first place. They’d never intended to sail home.’ Her eyes slid sideways, as if she couldn’t bring herself to look at Thóra while getting this off her chest. Perhaps she was ashamed of these thoughts, though they were only natural in a grieving woman. ‘If that crew member hadn’t injured himself, they’d have flown home as planned. And if Ægir hadn’t taken that sailing course – no one could understand what had got into him at the time – he’d never have been asked to step in.’ Her eyes welled up and she broke off briefly. ‘And I would still have a son and a daughter-in-law and the twins.’ Margeir sat very still, staring into space. No doubt the same thoughts had been running through his mind, but he preferred not to share them with a stranger.

Thóra picked up a brightly coloured Duplo brick and handed it to the little girl who had sidled up to her. The child stared down at it as if expecting it to do something entertaining. Thóra knew she was two years old – it felt like only yesterday that her grandson, Orri, had been the same age. There was an air of sadness about the girl. ‘And how has she taken it?’ Thóra smiled warmly at Sigga Dögg, who looked surprised. ‘Is she too young to grasp what’s happened?’

‘She hasn’t a clue what’s going on. She cries for her mother every night.’ The woman shivered. ‘I don’t know what to do. How do you explain something like that to a baby? We had a visit from a child psychologist and a social worker but neither of them could give us any advice.’

‘It must be very unusual. It’s not every day that almost an entire family goes missing. Perhaps they don’t know how to deal with it.’ The child held out the brick to Thóra, having decided it was no fun, and she took it back. ‘I mean, I can’t begin to put myself in your shoes, so I can’t claim to fully understand. This is a tragedy no one should have to go through. Maybe it’s a good thing she’s too young to comprehend what’s happened.’ Thóra couldn’t tell from the grandmother’s expression whether she agreed or not. Her face looked as if it had been turned to stone; as if the corners of her mouth were doomed to turn down for the rest of her days. It was harder to interpret her husband’s state; if anything, he appeared even more destroyed. ‘Have you had any further thoughts about her future? I imagine you still want access, at the very least.’

‘Of course,’ replied Sigrídur. ‘But we still haven’t decided whether we should apply to keep her. Of course it’s what we really want, but we appreciate that there’s no guarantee we’d be granted custody, or that it would be deemed in her best interests. As I told you on the phone, the social workers came round yesterday and again this morning, and we feel as if they hold all the cards. They’ll take her away, regardless of what happens about the money, and leave us empty-handed. It doesn’t look good. They haven’t had the guts to break it to us yet but I can see it in their eyes.’ Sigrídur looked at the little girl, who was still gazing silently at Thóra. ‘Sadly, there are no uncles or aunts; Ægir was an only child and Lára had no siblings apart from that no-good brother of hers. It would be out of the question for him to adopt Sigga Dögg. And Lára’s parents are no better off than us, they say they can’t take her. Naturally we’ve been to see them and talked a great deal on the phone, but Lára’s mother is so distraught she can’t even have Sigga Dögg round to her house for a few hours. I know it’s not fair on the child but I can’t help praying every night that we’ll be allowed to keep her. I’ve handed in my notice at work, and together we could give her all our attention.’ She wiped the corners of her eyes angrily, as if furious with her own grief. ‘She’s named after me. It’ll be so unfair if she’s taken away from us. If she vanishes from our lives as well, it’ll be as if we never had any children. As if those pictures were only borrowed.’ She gestured at the framed photographs.

The child extended her hand for the brick again and Thóra laid it on the little palm. She had a sudden urge to take in the child herself, to guarantee that her grandparents would be allowed access. But it was only a momentary impulse; a decision like that couldn’t be made in a hurry, quite apart from the fact that Thóra was in no position to add a small child to her household. ‘As soon as you’re ready, I’ll look into it for you. Even if they allow Sigga Dögg to stay here for a while, you won’t have long to make up your minds. Once Ægir and Lára are declared dead, you can expect the child protection authorities to take up her case.’ She couldn’t say any more than that. While she was fairly confident that the formalities relating to the will and Ægir and Lára’s life assurance policies would eventually be dealt with in a reasonable manner, a question-mark hung over the child’s fate. In her opinion, the best solution would probably be for the child to be adopted by a nice young couple and for her grandparents to be allowed regular contact with her, though it was unlikely to be frequent enough to satisfy them. She decided to turn to more pressing matters. If they asked her to act for them in their application for custody or access, the little girl’s case would of course take precedence, but right now there were other concerns. ‘If you can face it, I’d be grateful if you could answer a few questions relating to the points I need to cover in my letter to the insurance provider.’ They both agreed, apparently relieved by the change of subject.

‘Had Ægir or Lára been diagnosed with a critical illness, either recently or before they took out their life cover? If they failed to disclose any information about their health when they took out their policies, it could invalidate them. Any recent illness could be used to cast suspicion on their deaths.’

‘They were both fighting fit. Never suffered a day’s serious illness.’ Margeir sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. ‘Neither of them smoked and they only drank in moderation,’ he added, as if that alone were enough to provide a watertight bill of health.

‘Good. Could I have the name of their GP in case I’m asked for documentary evidence?’

‘I don’t think we know which surgery they went to,’ replied Sigrídur. She looked at her husband hopefully, but neither could answer.

‘It doesn’t matter. I can probably find out from their local health centre. Let’s turn to the incident itself. Was there no suggestion at all before they set out that Ægir and his family might sail home to Iceland?’

Margeir appeared irritated but when he spoke his voice was as flat and empty of feeling as before. ‘Not a word. They would have told us. After all, we were taking care of their daughter. No, I’m positive it wasn’t planned.’

‘People often discuss possibilities, then change their minds – they could have toyed with the idea before deciding against it. But it’s good to hear they didn’t. It’ll support your claim that Ægir was forced to step in.’ Thóra was keen to remove all doubt; she didn’t like to raise the matter, but the insurance company’s potential assertion that the family had arranged their own disappearance would be undermined if it could be proved that the voyage had been a last-minute decision. Conspiracies required considerable preparation; it was highly unlikely that they could be organised at extremely short notice. Either the decision to vanish without trace had been taken before they left Iceland, or they had made no such plan. In any case, the idea was patently ridiculous. What kind of person would abscond like that and put his parents through such anguish? The same anguish that Lára’s parents must be experiencing right now. ‘Is it at all conceivable that they were considering returning by sea but forgot to tell you?’

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.