Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

The discovery of the body had placed the mystery of the yacht in a whole new light. When Loftur’s corpse washed up on shore it had merely lent support to earlier speculation that the disappearance of the passengers must be due to a single catastrophe, but a dead man wrapped in a tarpaulin and left hanging on the end of a rope was quite another matter. This was Thóra’s third visit to the police station in the wake of the discovery; Matthew and Snævar had only been summoned twice. Perhaps they would be asked to come back too, but Thóra suspected the police were daunted by having to question Matthew in English, and Snævar doubtless needed time to recover from the shock of witnessing his friend Halldór in such a horrific state. Strong emotion presumably would not make for a clear statement.

Thóra followed the detective along a corridor that had clearly not been decorated with a view to pleasing the eye. He was the same man she had originally spoken to about the yacht, but this time she herself was a witness and the case had taken a far more serious turn. The officer looked tired and preoccupied; his nicotine gum was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. With cuts to the police budget putting extra pressure on her contacts, she imagined they would hardly welcome a complicated, time-consuming case like this. The man didn’t let it show, however, and Thóra was grateful. For some strange reason she felt as if she was to blame for the whole affair and kept having to stop herself from apologising for the nuisance.

The detective halted before the door to a small interview room that looked even less inviting than the corridor. Thóra sat down on a hard chair, feeling very upright and unrelaxed, not because of the chair so much as her own desire to get the conversation over with as soon as possible. The room was hot and stuffy. She undid the top button of her coat and loosened the collar a little so her face wouldn’t turn scarlet during the interrogation. ‘Have there been any developments?’

‘Yes and no.’ The man’s face was impassive as he placed a file on the table and took a seat himself. ‘We’ve finally had the initial results of the tests on the body samples. As you can imagine, things were considerably delayed by the fact that someone had vomited over the evidence.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Thóra was about to share her photocopier experience but caught herself in the nick of time; her cheeks turned pink at the thought that this should even have crossed her mind. ‘Have you been able to verify that it’s Halldór? Snævar was adamant but the body was such a mess that I don’t know how he could tell for sure.’ Pictures of the crew and passengers had just been published; their black-and-white faces had met her gaze that morning as she read the paper over her tea and toast. She had already seen photos of Ægir and his family but this was the first time she had laid eyes on the other three men and learnt about the families they had left behind. The captain was a widower with three grown-up children; the other two were unmarried and childless but had parents and siblings. The picture of Halldór had rung no bells.

‘Yes, we’ve received verification.’ He leafed through the file. ‘There’s no further doubt.’ He focused unusually intense green eyes on Thóra. Was he wearing tinted contact lenses? He didn’t seem the type. His irises were probably naturally that colour. ‘Just as importantly, we’ve also established the cause of death, though the postmortem results have only complicated matters. You see, it appears that the man drowned, regardless of how he ended up hanging on a rope. That’s why I called you in – to consult your opinion on a few details.’

Thóra was wrong-footed. It had never occurred to her that the man might have died in an accident. She had been convinced that he had been murdered and that the postmortem would reveal stab wounds or signs of violence. She hadn’t noticed any injuries on the part of his body that had been visible; her assumption had been based entirely on the way the corpse had been disposed of. Which is not to say that she had examined him very closely; she had merely gaped at the grisly vision for the instant it took her brain to register the badly decomposed head, then she had looked away to avoid following Snævar’s example. Her stomach turned over at the memory. ‘Ah. I was thinking something new must have come to light.’

‘Quite. We haven’t made this public yet. And I trust you won’t discuss the matter with anyone apart from those working on the case with you?’

‘No, of course not.’ She couldn’t exactly see herself posting the news on Facebook or gossiping about it with her friends.

‘I’m glad to hear it. The postmortem results are indisputable: the man drowned and there’s nothing to suggest coercion. His body showed grazing and contusions but not in the places you’d expect if force had been used. What’s more, he seems to have incurred these injuries at an earlier stage because they’d already begun to heal by the time he died.’

‘I see.’ Thóra didn’t really expect an answer to her next question. ‘Have you made any progress in finding out how he came to be wrapped in canvas and sunk in the sea?’

‘Well, I can’t go into any detail,’ the detective replied, ‘but rest assured that the investigation’s in full swing. Though it doesn’t help that all the people involved are either dead or missing. It’s going to be tricky, but we hope to get to the bottom of it eventually.’

‘I hope you do.’ Thóra undid another button on her coat. The police budget cuts did not seem to extend to the central heating.

‘I don’t know if you’re aware but when we boarded the yacht after the crash, the only door we found locked was the one to the storeroom where Halldór’s body was suspended from the hatch. It’s hard to tell if it’s significant but the key was discovered in the corner of one of the stairwells.’

Thóra had not heard this before but regarded it as of secondary importance. ‘What about Loftur? Was he drowned as well?’

‘The same applies to this as to what I told you before; you must treat the information as confidential.’ Thóra merely nodded. ‘His body was in pretty bad shape after being immersed for so long in the sea, which means the postmortem results weren’t as unambiguous, but we’ve established that he drowned as well; the question is how he managed to do so in chlorinated seawater.’

‘Chlorinated?’

‘So it appears. We had to send some tissue samples abroad for testing to be absolutely certain and we haven’t had those results back yet, but I’d be surprised if they contradicted the earlier findings.’

‘What about Halldór? Did he drown in chlorinated seawater too?’

‘No. His lung tissue and other physical evidence indicate that he drowned in the usual manner.’ The man linked his hands behind his head and tipped back his chair. ‘Do you remember the Jacuzzi on one of the smaller decks?’

Thóra realised what he was implying. ‘Loftur drowned in that?’

‘In all likelihood. In fact, it’s the only real option.’ He lowered his arms, sat up in his chair and moved closer to the desk. ‘Of course it could happen to anyone, especially if they’re drunk, but that wasn’t the case with Loftur. There was next to no alcohol in his bloodstream. Yet somehow the poor sod ended up drowning, stone-cold sober, in one metre of water.’

‘Are you suggesting he was given a helping hand?’

‘No. Not necessarily. It’s possible, but of course it’s also conceivable that he had some kind of fit when he was in the tub and passed out, or couldn’t save himself for some other reason.’ The policeman seemed to be waiting for her to comment. When she didn’t, he added: ‘Aren’t you going to ask what he was wearing?’