Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

‘They took photographs in here when the yacht first arrived in port, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.’ The man looked at the sea of colour suspended from the hangers. ‘Though I don’t understand how you can tell. The wardrobes are so full it doesn’t look as if there’d be room for anything else.’

‘There were more dresses.’ Thóra stepped back still further and made an effort to picture the contents as she had originally laid eyes on them. There was still only one empty hanger, but the garments did not seem as tightly packed. ‘Yup, there were definitely more dresses.’ She closed the door.

The policeman surveyed the cabin with a frown. ‘If you’re right and there are dresses missing as well as the glasses, the question is who could have removed them?’

Thóra smiled at him patiently, feeling her headache intensify. ‘These are designer clothes – some of the dresses are worth a fortune.’

‘But they’re used. Who wants second-hand clothes, even if they are expensive?’

‘It’s not unheard-of, you know.’ Personally, she would not have wanted any of the dresses in that cupboard, not because they were second-hand but because she never had the occasion to dress up in glamorous, floor-skimming evening gowns. ‘I’d hazard a guess that the owner of these clothes or somebody close to her would be the most likely suspects. How have you been getting on with tracking down Karítas and her PA?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘I see.’ She kept her thoughts to herself. Bella had had no luck in contacting Karítas, let alone finding out where her assistant, Aldís, was living. At least she had succeeded in discovering the latter’s full name, by pestering Karítas’s mother with phone calls until the woman had caved in and taken the trouble to dig out Aldís’s patronymic. Thóra suspected she had in fact known it all along. But when Thóra had used the information to contact the girl’s family, they seemed utterly indifferent, claiming they often didn’t hear from Aldís for months as she was kept very busy by her employer. Bella was not exactly known for her psychological insight, but even Thóra had to agree when she said there was clearly no love lost between the PA and her family. However, the fact that she hadn’t crawled home with her tail between her legs could indicate that she was in Brazil with Karítas. Another possibility was that both women had come to a sticky end. And a third, that Aldís had played a part in Karítas’s demise. These things did happen. This conjecture was lent more substance by the expression of hatred Thóra had seen on the young woman’s face in the photo where she was helping her employer into her dress. She’d looked as if she’d rather be planting a knife between Karítas’s shoulder blades than doing up her zip.

‘Do these numbers mean anything to you?’ Watching Snævar struggle to decipher Ægir’s almost illegible handwriting, Thóra was disappointed by his blank expression. She had felt considerably better once she was back on dry land, but her headache still lingered in spite of the painkillers she’d swallowed on returning to the office a good two hours ago.

‘No. I doubt they’re connected to the yacht. Maybe it’s a registration number. Though not like any I’m familiar with.’ As he put down the piece of paper he looked as frustrated as Thóra. He had agreed at once when she rang to ask him to drop by, and it was all too apparent that he was fed up with sitting at home alone. Few young men would have jumped for joy at the prospect of visiting a lawyer, even a female one.

‘Thanks for coming in, by the way.’ She hoped he would sense how important it was for her to be able to call on him for help. She wasn’t well enough acquainted with any other seamen to approach them about such matters, so a sailor marooned on shore by a broken leg, one who actually knew something about the yacht in question, was a godsend. ‘I really appreciate being able to consult you about Ægir’s case, but of course you’re free to refuse any further meetings.’ She smiled at him.

The figure slumped in the chair facing her sat up a little. He looked smarter than he had last time, in a much more presentable jumper, properly shaven. Only the grubby tracksuit bottoms were the same. ‘It’s really no bother. I’m going stir-crazy at home, so I’m glad of any excuse to leave the house. I just wish I could be of more use.’

‘Oh, I’ve only just started, don’t you worry.’ She realised she hadn’t offered him any coffee. He looked as if he could do with some. In spite of the extra care he had taken over his appearance he was still rather pale and drawn. ‘How have you been coping since finding Halldór? It must have been horrific for you.’

‘Oh, you know.’ His response was as one would expect; he avoided meeting her eye and his fingers twitched in his lap. She didn’t need a degree in psychology to see that he was having a tough time.

‘Have you received any trauma counselling, Snævar?’

‘No. They offered but I refused. I can’t really see what use it would be.’ He sniffed and shifted in his chair. ‘It’s just something I have to deal with on my own.’

‘I see.’ It was blindingly obvious that he wasn’t dealing with it at all well. ‘You should talk to an expert anyway. Better late than never. You’d be surprised how much it can help, and it certainly couldn’t hurt.’

Snævar made a non-committal noise. Thóra decided to leave it and ask about something more specific. ‘How’s your leg, by the way? Improving at all?’

‘I’m supposed to stay in plaster for six weeks.’ He slapped the plastic splint that jutted out from under his tracksuit bottoms, wrapped in yet another shopping bag, this time from the Nóatún supermarket chain. ‘I reckon I’m about halfway through, but I can’t deny I’m looking forward to being back on two feet. And to wearing what I like instead of the only clothes I can get into.’ A grin transformed his face.

‘You’ll be rid of that thing before you know it.’ At the sight of Snævar looking brighter Thóra’s own mood lifted. ‘That reminds me. Here are the papers from the Portuguese hospital. You’ll probably need to take them along when you go to see the doctor. Sorry I didn’t return them to you earlier.’

He held out a hand for the documents. ‘No problem. I still haven’t got round to it, so it doesn’t matter. I really should get a move on, though.’

‘I could give you a lift if you like, or get someone else to. The thing is, I should have asked you for a note from your doctor confirming that you weren’t fit to work because of a broken leg at the time you were supposed to sail home.’

‘But I could have sailed home.’

She tried to hide her irritation, which was directed not so much at him as at herself and her gnawing suspicions about Ægir. ‘Yes, no doubt you could have, but you didn’t, and I need confirmation that it was because of your broken leg. The Portuguese papers aren’t enough on their own.’ She would prefer not to tell him why. ‘I could always ask my ex-husband, who’s a doctor, to look in on you. He owes me a favour.’ Gylfi had got the job on the oil rig and was due to start as soon as he had finished his final school exams. In three months her life would change irrevocably. ‘Then you wouldn’t need to leave the house.’

‘Oh no, no need. I’ll go to my doctor. No problem.’ Judging by his expression, he was not at all keen to receive a visit from her ex. He cleared his throat. ‘Are they any closer to finding out how Halli died?’

‘I don’t think so.’ It was not her place to reveal what the police had confided in her. Although it was evident that Halli had drowned, the details surrounding his demise were so bizarre that it would be best to say as little as possible. ‘I’m sure it’ll become clear in due course.’