Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - The Silence of the Sea

‘It certainly will.’ Thóra took the paper and scanned the figures, though she understood little beyond the summary of results. ‘How did you get hold of Lára’s blood or DNA for comparison?’ She passed the paper back to the younger officer and accepted the offer of a copy.

‘They took a blood sample from her youngest daughter and also found some hairs in a brush in her make-up bag on the yacht. The results aren’t a hundred per cent conclusive, as I said; they never are. But they’re good enough for me and any judge.’ The detective was grave today and the only hospitality on offer was a glass of water, which Thóra had refused. It was just as well; the bitter police station coffee would have ruined the memory of the superior brew she had enjoyed earlier at the committee offices. ‘Rest assured that we’ve prioritised the analysis to make up for the fact that the murder inquiry got off the ground rather late in the day.’ He folded his hands on the desk before him. ‘Of course, that’s because we were originally under the impression that we were dealing with an accident; we can’t afford to launch costly investigations unless we’re certain that a crime has been committed.’

‘The blood stains were found on the sofa, you say?’ Thóra saw no point in discussing what was too late to change now. Would it have made any difference if the yacht had been treated as a crime scene from the beginning? She doubted it. Every time a new piece of evidence emerged it only served to confuse her more. In fact, she had yet to be convinced that any actual murders had been committed, and the police probably took the same view. ‘I don’t remember seeing any blood on the sofa; in fact, I don’t recall seeing a single drop of blood anywhere.’

‘There wasn’t much but it was enough to enable us to run tests. We didn’t spot it until forensics conducted an ultraviolet scan of the yacht and discovered traces on two of the four cushions. All from the same person – Lára.’

‘It doesn’t sound as if the bleeding can have been fatal.’

‘It’s hard to say. There were also signs that someone had cleaned up a trail of blood that led from the deck to the saloon. We can’t tell whether it was a minor accident or the result of something more serious. At any rate, there are no indications that large amounts of blood were spilt anywhere else on the yacht. But then we don’t know if it was an accident at all. Lára may have been stabbed or struck with a weapon of some kind.’ The policeman relieved his subordinate of the stack of papers. ‘Or shot, of course. This latest information puts a completely new light on the possible sequence of events.’

‘You mean the information about the revolver?’ Thóra asked, though the answer was obvious. She watched the young policeman awkwardly shuffling his feet; now that he had surrendered the documents to his superior, his role was undefined. With no part in the conversation and no chair available, he was forced to stand there beside his boss, pretending to be occupied. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve found it?’

‘No. We’re confident we’ve searched every inch of the ship but it’s always possible the gun’s still there. To be on the safe side, I’ve instigated an even more thorough examination which is ongoing as we speak.’

Although the yacht was large, the living quarters were limited and they were prepared to go over the whole place with a microscope. On the other hand, if the gun had ended up in the sea, they hadn’t a hope. ‘Have you had the results of the tests on the blood that was found between the tanks on the bottom deck?’

‘Yes. That was Halldór’s; the comparison was easier in that case since we have his body.’

Thóra began hastily talking to distract herself from the memory of that grisly discovery. ‘So, you have concrete evidence that Halldór and Loftur are dead, and it’s likely that something bad happened to Lára, but the fate of Thráinn, Ægir and the twins remains a mystery?’

‘You could put it like that, yes.’ At his shoulder the junior officer nodded sagely, as if to emphasise his superior’s reply.

‘And if their fate was the result of criminal action, there can’t be many suspects left.’

‘No.’ The detective fixed and held her gaze. ‘And one of those is your man, Ægir.’ The younger officer’s expression grew stern; anyone would have thought his role was to interpret their conversation through mime. Thóra studied him, wondering if she could train Bella to do the same. The secretary should be capable of arranging her features into a far more fearsome grimace than this callow youth. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but we took a sniffer dog over every inch of the yacht at the outset, with no result. Smuggling had seemed the most likely explanation but there’s absolutely no evidence of it. Moreover, the Portuguese narcotics division have confirmed that they received no tip-offs about anyone on board being involved in the drugs trade over there. In other words, we’ve pretty much ruled out that angle. Though I suppose the drugs could have been stashed in such a way that the sniffer dog wouldn’t be able to detect them once they’d been removed. But who could have been responsible? Having said that, it’s not hard to guess where they could have brought the stuff ashore if there was any: Grótta. In which case there would have been people waiting to receive the goods and the smuggler too.’

‘Have you checked the possibility that there might have been a stowaway on board?’ Thóra felt foolish for asking this but she needed an answer. The likelihood that Ægir or Lára would end up under close scrutiny increased with every victim they found, and if the captain washed up on shore as well, the outlook would not be good.

‘We’ve found a considerable number of fingerprints but the results are inconclusive. There were several years’ worth, at least in the places that weren’t cleaned regularly. Whereas in the public spaces, like the saloon, galley and even on the bridge, we were surprised by how few we found. Chances are that somebody deliberately wiped them off – unless they kept the place unusually clean.’ The detective scratched his chin, intent on the problem. ‘What we did find was confusing, as I said, and it doesn’t help that we can’t be sure if we’ve correctly identified the prints belonging to Ægir, Lára and the twins. None of them had a police record, so they’re not on any register. We’re planning to lift their prints from their house but haven’t had time yet. However, we did obtain Loftur and Halldór’s prints from their bodies. Inevitably, they had deteriorated badly but forensics managed somehow.’

‘What about the captain, Thráinn? Did you have his prints?’

‘Yes. He was arrested about ten years ago after a punch-up. Nothing serious but enough to earn him a night in the cells.’

‘So you haven’t noticed anything unusual? Like too many recent fingerprints to fit the profile of the people on board, for example?’

‘I wouldn’t rule it out. We found two sets of fingerprints all over the place that we haven’t managed to fit to any of the passengers. On balance, it seems more likely that they belong to women but that doesn’t tell us much. They could easily date from before the yacht was confiscated.’

‘Do you know who they belonged to? Could it have been Karítas and her PA, Aldís?’

‘I couldn’t say. Neither are on our register, but we do know they were in Lisbon at around the right time, so they could well be theirs. We haven’t yet decided whether to seek permission to lift prints for comparison from their houses or parental homes. As matters stand, we see no reason to cause their families unnecessary alarm with such a request. After all, there’s no indication that they were involved. Unless you have reason to believe otherwise?’