Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

Thóra’s eyes ached from poring over the entries in the hope of spotting something that was missing, or of gaining a deeper insight into what had happened. She gathered the pages together, feeling frustrated yet again by the absent entries. What she wouldn’t give to know what they had contained, to learn from the captain’s illegible, old-fashioned script the answer to the flood of questions that plagued her; the explanation for the body he had reported over the faulty radio, and a description of the events leading up to the passengers’ disappearance – if that is how the situation had unfolded. Perhaps catastrophe had struck without warning, but if so it was hard to understand why the pages had been torn out. Unless it had been done for another reason – to plug a hole, for instance, or even to use for drawing pictures on. Neither explanation seemed plausible but there was little point wasting time on wondering; the missing pages would be floating somewhere in the sea by now or lying on the ocean floor where the fish would try in vain to interpret their secrets. The remnants of the ship’s log, the certificates of seaworthiness and other relevant documents would have to suffice for her report. Whether this would satisfy the insurance company’s queries remained to be seen.

After adjusting the report to include this new information, Thóra read it over for what seemed like the hundredth time before sending it to the printer in Bragi’s office, feeling dispirited. Its contents were so over-familiar by now that she could no longer determine how well she had succeeded in her task. It was time to take a break and clear her head with a cup of coffee. After that she would decide whether to send it to Ægir’s parents in its current form.

‘Fucking weather,’ growled Bella from reception. Melting snow dripped from the shoulders of her anorak and flakes glittered in her hair.

Thóra dodged to avoid a shower as the secretary shook herself like a dog. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I had to run out to the district court with some stuff for Bragi.’ Bella stamped her feet to dislodge the compacted ice from under her shoes. Two dark footprints showed for an instant on the light-coloured parquet but quickly lost their shape on the warm wood. ‘I had to park bloody miles away, so I happened to drive past Faxagardur on my way back. It looked as if the police were sniffing around that yacht of yours.’

‘Really?’ Thóra didn’t know why she was surprised. The investigation might have uncovered a new detail or perhaps they were repeating their tests or subjecting a larger area to detailed forensic analysis. ‘Could you see what they were up to?’

‘No, I just noticed two police cars parked right beside the boat and a cop wandering around on deck. Maybe they were having a go in the Jacuzzi.’

Ignoring this, Thóra decided it was time for some fresh air.

The coffee provided by the resolution committee was far superior to the law firm brew and Thóra felt her dissatisfaction receding, despite having had a wasted journey so far. Ægir’s parents had been out when she called and only with considerable difficulty had she been able to cram the report into their letterbox. Papers and envelopes projected from the opening at all angles, like a failed flower arrangement. It was not hard to understand why: what could possibly come in the post that would matter to them now? In the end she had been forced to weed out some of the contents – junk mail and other unimportant-looking items – to make room. To ensure they received the report, she would have to ring them and let them know it was there. It would not do for the envelope to languish unnoticed among the yellowing newspapers for the duration. In addition, she needed to pass on the information that Ægir’s salary would be paid as usual, and that her conversation with social services about guaranteeing access had proved encouraging. It made a change to be the bearer of good news.

‘Are you making any progress?’ Fannar asked. ‘We’re doing our nuts here over the lack of information. The police keep giving us the brush-off.’ He was sitting facing her in a small meeting room, smartly dressed as usual, looking for all the world like one of the young bankers who used to swagger around the city streets and bars in the days before the crash. ‘Have they managed to clarify things at all?’

Thóra took another sip of coffee and shook her head. She was no better than Bella, inadvertently spraying the room with drops of water. Some landed on the gleaming table and she put down her cup to wipe them away, not wanting to be reminded of her insufferable secretary. ‘No, sadly. The only fact that seems incontrovertible is that Ægir and his family are dead. Nobody’s holding out any more hope that they could have survived.’

Fannar did not look particularly moved by this news. ‘Did anyone really believe that?’

Thóra shrugged; carefully, to avoid another shower. ‘Well, people tend to cling to hope for as long as they can. But now that two of the seven have turned up dead, it’s greatly reduced the chances that the others could have been saved – and time is passing.’ She kept quiet about the possibility that one or more of the people might have made it ashore. She had no intention of sharing with Fannar any details that were not in the public domain. The trick was to give the impression that she was revealing more than she should. ‘But you’ll keep that to yourself, won’t you?’

‘Absolutely. You can count on me.’ A gleam entered Fannar’s eyes. ‘Nothing we discuss here will go any further. That’s why I chose this room. Inevitably, everyone’s dying to know what’s happening because Ægir was one of us.’ He must think she was a complete idiot. Before she even reached her car he would have shared this new information with at least one or two of his colleagues. And by the time she got back to her office on Skólavördustígur, those one or two would doubtless have started spreading the gossip, and so it would snowball.

‘When I collected the papers from you, they included a page with Karítas’s name and phone number. Do you know why? I’ve been meaning to ask you but keep forgetting.’ She held out a copy of the page in question.

Fannar seemed surprised but was quick to assume a smile again. ‘Oh, that.’ He picked up a sugar-lump and popped it in his mouth. ‘That note was among the documents in Ægir’s file on the loan and the yacht repossession. I’ve no idea where he got the number or what he was intending to do with it, but I included it anyway.’

‘Was Ægir acquainted with Karítas at all?’

Fannar stopped sucking the sugar-lump for a moment. ‘No. I’m almost certain he wasn’t.’

‘Could he have needed to contact her for work reasons? To get her signature or notify her of the seizure of her property?’

‘It’s unlikely. The loan and the yacht were both in her husband’s name. There’d have been no reason to contact her, unless he meant to ask about her husband’s whereabouts.’

Thóra drank some more coffee and wondered what this could mean. The yacht-related documents that she had found in Ægir’s bedside table could indicate that he took his job seriously or that he had become obsessed with the case. Or something worse. ‘Do committee employees work outside the office at all? I mean, would you take your files home with you when there was a lot on?’

‘No, absolutely not. Naturally, we carry around information on our laptops but taking documents home is frowned on. Why do you ask?’

‘I was just wondering if there might be more paperwork relating to the case at Ægir’s house – if there’d be any point in going round to check.’ Again she decided it would be better not to reveal the whole story.