Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

Snævar didn’t seem to understand what she was getting at. ‘Oh, yes, I expect so. I mean, I don’t actually know what it’s like to be a passenger, but I bet it’s cool to sail her. Whether you’re crew or passenger, the main thing is that you enjoy sailing in the first place.’

‘You said the crew didn’t mix with the passengers or owners, so where do they hang out? Is there a special deck where the staff can sunbathe and let their hair down?’ Thóra tried to remember how many decks there were but couldn’t picture the layout. She knew there were more than two, though, so it seemed reasonable that the crew would have one to themselves.

Snævar burst out laughing. ‘The crew don’t spend their time sunbathing, if that’s what you think. They work flat out pretty much round the clock and grab sleep whenever they can between watches. The kind of people who’d pay a fortune for a fancy vessel like this aren’t going to fork out for an extra deck for the staff. And who can blame them?’

Matthew seemed more impressed with the yacht than Thóra. Then again, he was seeing her for the first time, unaffected by the sadness that she felt about the fate of the passengers. She couldn’t gush over the design or craftsmanship when everything reminded her of that little girl who was now almost certainly an orphan. ‘How fast does she go?’ Matthew ran his fingers over the window frame, which he seemed, for some inexplicable reason, to find interesting.

‘Around sixteen knots, I imagine. Though she’d rarely cruise at that speed. She’d make around twelve as a rule.’

Thóra allowed her gaze to wander, bored by the talk of knots and certain that any minute the conversation would turn to engines. ‘I’m going to take a look around, see if I can spot anything unusual. It’ll be quicker if we split up, and you’ll be in better hands with Matthew.’ Leaving them in the saloon, she made her way down to the bedroom wing, if that was the right word. No doubt the sleeping quarters should be referred to as cabins but her own term seemed more appropriate for rooms that large. The moment she entered the corridor, she regretted her decision. Turning on the lights made her feel a little less uneasy, though they flickered alarmingly: as they had approached along the dock Snævar had remarked that the yacht’s batteries might be running low since the engine had not been used for a while. The corridor was empty and all the doors were closed, which made it seem all the more sinister, and Thóra couldn’t shake off the fear that the person who broke in might be lurking behind one of the doors. She tried to dismiss this thought as nonsense – the police could hardly have overlooked the presence of a burglar.

Pulling herself together, she started checking the cabins, one by one. She couldn’t remember exactly what they had looked like before this peculiar break-in, but they appeared to be completely untouched. It wasn’t until she opened the door to the master cabin that she realised something was amiss. She stood in the doorway, surveying the scene, before hesitantly stepping inside. The door slammed behind her. Thóra jumped, her heart racing, but forced herself to carry on. She knew the door had only slammed because of the movement of the boat; she had even expected it. This was a perfectly normal ship, she told herself; a terribly smart one, but only built of steel and aluminium. No different from her car, or her toaster; neither of these frightened her, so there was no reason to behave as if this yacht bore her any ill will. Yet even so she couldn’t quite rid herself of the uncomfortable sensation that there was something evil in the air.

There was no obvious sign of any illegal entry in the master bedroom. The bed had been made in a perfunctory manner, and a large bath towel hung from the back of the chair by the dressing table, but apart from that everything looked the same. Only the couple’s belongings had been removed, which may have accounted for the change she sensed. She turned a slow circle in the middle of the room but could detect no difference. The yacht must have sent her imagination into overdrive again. She refused to let her mind stray to the child’s feet she thought she had seen last time. Instead, she went over to the imposing wardrobe and forced herself to open it. She could have spared herself the effort. Everything looked exactly the same as before. The other closets also turned out to be packed with clothes, elegantly displayed on citrus-wood shelves and in compartments, or suspended from substantial hangers on rails that she would not have been surprised to learn were made of silver. The feminine garments emitted an overpowering floral fragrance that made her feel slightly queasy. A single unused hanger formed an odd contrast to all the rest. If Karítas had really gone to retrieve her clothes from the yacht when it was berthed in Lisbon, she had either abandoned the effort or only coveted one particular garment.

In the double wardrobe that had evidently belonged to Karítas’s husband, Thóra caught sight of a dial behind a row of shirts. Pushing the shirts aside, she discovered a sturdy-looking safe built into the back of the cupboard. Naturally it was locked and Thóra knew better than to turn the dial on the off-chance. But this did not prevent her from speculating about what it might contain; cufflinks sporting diamonds the size of cherries perhaps, or bundles of banknotes. Since neither Ægir nor his family were likely to have been able to open the safe, it could not possibly be concealing any evidence of relevance to the inquiry, but Thóra suspected that its contents, rather than any clothes or personal effects, were what had drawn Karítas to Portugal. No doubt it was empty now. After checking the remaining drawers, which contained rolled-up ties, socks and belts, she turned her back on the closets.

As she was berating herself for her own foolishness, she realised what had been niggling at her. It was nothing remarkable: the wooden box on the dressing table was missing. It had contained nothing but photographs and bits of paper that Karítas had wanted to keep for whatever reason, perhaps as mementos of the high life, and who would be interested in that? Hardly the police. Thóra went over to the dressing table and peered in the drawers and cupboards, in case the box had been tidied away. It was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would break into a luxury yacht to steal an item like that with all these other valuables lying about. The only people who could possibly be interested in its contents were tabloid journalists, and she doubted that even they would resort to burglary.

There was nothing much to see in the corridor, so Thóra felt she had done her duty there. She hurried out, switching off the light with her back to the darkness, then hastily climbed the stairs in search of Matthew and Snævar. She finally tracked them down in the bowels of the ship, where they were investigating a garage-like storeroom, which housed jet skis, fishing tackle and other equipment she could not identify. On the wall there was a large hatch that could presumably be opened outwards when people wanted to use these toys. Judging from the interest with which Matthew was examining the jet ski, they were no longer searching for signs of the break-in, or had at least allowed themselves to be sidetracked. Though, to be fair, Snævar was standing by the hatch, resting his injured leg and apparently inspecting the catch. As Thóra stepped in, the yacht rocked without warning and she had to grab the door frame to prevent herself from falling. Her palm came away smeared with thick grease.

‘How are you getting on?’ She walked past Matthew, barely glancing at the jet ski, and headed for the large sink on the wall behind him. ‘It looks to me as if there’s a box missing from Karítas’s dressing table. It contained nothing of obvious interest, so I don’t understand what the thief was up to. Perhaps he thought it was a jewellery case, but I checked inside the first time we came on board and found only personal papers.’ She rubbed her hand under the freezing jet of water and watched the sink fill as if the plug was down.