Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

‘No problem.’ Thráinn made no more effort than Ægir to restore the fragile rapport that had recently been established between them. ‘I’ve stayed awake longer than this in my time.’

Before Ægir could respond, the door opened and Halli appeared in the gap. Neither Thráinn nor Ægir spoke and at first the young man did not seem to sense that anything was amiss. Then he picked up on the atmosphere and his face reddened, either from embarrassment or anger. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I was asking Ægir to take over for a while. I need some kip and I reckon you do too.’ Thráinn looked straight at Halli and Ægir couldn’t help admiring his seemingly indomitable spirit. He betrayed no sign of awkwardness or nerves when it came to informing one of his subordinates that he was out in the cold.

‘I see.’ Halli’s red face clashed badly with his dyed hair. He jutted his chin. ‘If you think I had anything to do with it you’re mistaken. Badly mistaken.’

‘No one knows anything for sure, so there’s no point discussing it. Everyone will simply have to obey my orders for the next couple of days; that way we’ll make it home safe and sound. I assume we’re all agreed that that’s our goal?’ said Thráinn.

Halli clenched his teeth, his jaws whitening. ‘Of course.’ Then relaxing slightly, he looked puzzled. ‘Where’s Loftur?’

‘Loftur?’ Thráinn repeated wearily. ‘As you can see, he’s not here. Last time I saw him he was going to fire up the hot tub. I expect that’s where he is now.’

‘Oh?’ Halli dithered in the doorway, unsure whether to stay or go. ‘From what I could see the tub still had its cover on. And he’s not below.’

‘Could he be in the saloon?’ Ægir’s words came out in a rush as they tended to in fraught situations. ‘I heard someone there earlier.’

Halli shook his head. ‘That was me. He hasn’t been in. I checked his cabin but he wasn’t there either.’ He licked his lips repeatedly. ‘Perhaps we missed each other. Or he’s out on deck.’

‘What the hell would he be doing out there?’ Thráinn rose from his chair. Going over to the console, he fiddled for a moment with his back to the two men. Careful not to meet Halli’s eye, Ægir feigned interest in the captain’s back. Thráinn turned again, having finished whatever he was doing. ‘We’d better look for him.’ He glanced at each of them in turn. ‘We’ll stick together.’

Neither objected. In silence they followed the captain out of the pilot house, their clumsy movements betraying the lack of trust between the members of their little party. It did nothing to lessen their paranoia when they finally found Loftur: submerged, fully dressed, under the closed lid of the Jacuzzi.

The darkness inside was pierced by a sunbeam. Motes of dust glittered in the ray of light, vanishing where it faded out. As she breathed in the stagnant air, Thóra was struck by how quickly buildings betrayed the signs of being uninhabited. After their three-week holiday last summer her own house had greeted them with cold, dry air and an unfamiliar musty smell; not until they had given it a good airing and then turned up the radiators had it felt like home again. Ægir and Lára’s house had stood empty for the same amount of time, and although this was her first visit she was sure they too would have made a face on entering the hall.

‘Shall I turn the lights on?’ Margeir stood in the doorway, looking bemused, momentarily arrested, like Thóra, by the play of dust in the light. ‘Or should I just open the curtains?’

‘Turn on the lights. It would be better.’ Thóra adjusted a sock that had been half pulled off when she removed her leather boots. ‘We should take the precaution of touching as little as possible, though of course we’ll have to rummage around in drawers and so on. But with any luck we’ll find the bank statements and other stuff straight away, so that won’t be necessary.’

‘They were over the moon when they bought this house.’ The old man groped disconsolately for the light switch. ‘I helped them with the painting before they moved in.’

Thóra was at a loss how to reply. The whole situation was so depressing that words would be inadequate plasters for the man’s wounds. Besides, the decorating job didn’t really deserve any praise. The house boasted a monochrome colour scheme of the type popular among young people. Yet unlike many similar homes now on the market, here the couple had not spent much on the furnishings. Most of the furniture looked like standard Ikea issue, and there were no paintings on the walls, only a few prints, which were probably wedding presents. Thóra was glad at any rate to see no evidence that the couple had been living beyond their means. That made it less likely that they had serious money troubles, unless the interest rate on their mortgage had recently shot up. And if their finances were in order, it would strengthen her case.

They began by sorting the post from the newspapers that lay piled up in the hall but, with the exception of a recent credit card bill, found nothing of interest. The family had gone abroad at the beginning of the month and there was still a week or so to go before the end. No doubt bank statements would pour in then but Thóra would rather not wait for these if she could use older ones to establish their financial situation. Mortgage payments didn’t rise that much from month to month. ‘Do you have any thoughts about how we should do this? Like whether we should start upstairs or downstairs?’ She averted her gaze from a withered pot plant that was crying out for water. There was no point in prolonging its death struggle by a few more days.

‘I’d rather start down here. I’m not sure I can face the bedrooms. I couldn’t cope with seeing the twins’ empty bunks.’ His head drooped. ‘This is all just unbearable.’

‘I know. It’s awful.’ Thóra looked around for a suitable place to begin. ‘Should we start in the kitchen? Perhaps they stuck their credit card statements to the fridge door?’ It was a long shot; she certainly wouldn’t display her own in such a place. She wouldn’t want Sóley, let alone a visitor, to see the sums that went on paying off loans and other expenditure every month. But they might be kept on top of the fridge or somewhere else in the kitchen. Neither she nor Margeir were keen to prolong this visit.

‘If we find the bills, will that give you enough evidence for the court?’ Margeir led the way into the kitchen. She suspected him of talking as a way of distracting himself from the empty husk of the missing family’s life.

‘Yes, as far as that side’s concerned. It’s essential to be able to demonstrate that they weren’t in dire straits financially because this will undermine any attempt by the insurance company to claim they’ve absconded. After all, what would they have to gain if everything was fine at home? Details like this will weigh heavily with the judge, if we have to go down that road. It’s also worth including this information with our request to have their property recognised as their estate.’

‘It’s preposterous that anyone could believe they did this deliberately. Preposterous. If I was in better shape, I’d sue the insurance company for putting such disgusting insinuations on paper.’

‘Unfortunately, the insurance company has probably had direct experience of similar cases where people have done a runner. Ægir and Lára may have been honesty personified but there are others who have no scruples about making fraudulent claims. By raising objections, the company isn’t trying to blacken your son and daughter-in-law’s reputations. But it’s a great deal of money and they can’t pay it out unless they’re entirely satisfied that Ægir and Lára really are dead. If our application to the court is successful, they’ll accept the verdict and release the money. Who knows? They might even pay up straight away.’