Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

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.’