A rasping sound came from the speaker grille at Loftur’s side. ‘There the bugger goes again.’ He stooped slightly towards it. For a while they heard nothing but the raindrops on the windows and their own heavy breathing. Then the machine crackled again and this time it was accompanied by another noise, which reminded Ægir of the popping of air bubbles when he’d been diving.
‘Is that the radiotelephone you were talking about?’ Loftur nodded, his attention riveted to the machine. ‘Is it making those noises because it’s broken?’
The radio was now completely silent. ‘Well, I think it’s faulty. You shouldn’t hear a thing unless someone’s transmitting. But no one would waste time transmitting stuff like that. I don’t know – it’s a VHF 16 channel with a very limited range, barely as far as the horizon. Maybe we’re receiving feedback from a message that wasn’t intended for us. There’s no vessel within thirty nautical miles according to the AIS, so I suppose it’s possible.’ He noticed that Ægir was looking blank. ‘All vessels are equipped with a transmitter that sends out information about which ships are in the area, where they’re headed, their position, and so on. The AIS is an automatic tracking system that receives all transmissions within a radius of thirty-five nautical miles. The Coast Guard and harbour authorities use it as well, to keep an eye on marine traffic.’
The radio emitted more static and they both stared at it. ‘Perhaps the radio transmitting the message is faulty?’ Ægir felt absurdly pleased when Loftur looked at him with a hint of respect. ‘You know, maybe someone’s trying to send a message but failing because there’s a glitch at his end.’
‘That could be it.’ Loftur seemed about to say more when the noises began again. This time instead of crackling they heard the sound of air bubbles and what may have been a human voice, but it was so distorted that it was impossible to tell. Silence fell again. Yet it was not complete silence; Ægir had the feeling that the channel was still open, as if the person at the other end was sitting there, staring at the transmitter. Loftur snatched up the microphone. ‘Hello.’ There was no answer. ‘Hello. This is the Lady K. Our position is 316 nautical miles north-west of Lisbon. Please identify yourself. Over.’ Although Loftur had a thick Icelandic accent, his English was perfectly comprehensible. There was no answer. ‘Please identify yourself. Over.’ Still no answer. Loftur replaced the microphone. ‘It must be some twat messing about.’
‘A twat with access to a radio, though.’ Ægir tried to sound jovial, to lighten the atmosphere. The air felt oddly charged; perhaps someone was in trouble but unable to call for assistance due to a broken radio. It might even be a yacht like theirs, with children on board. ‘Should you try again?’
‘Lady K.’ They both froze and stared at the loudspeaker. Now the sound was crystal clear, with no crackling or air bubbles, just those two words, unmistakably the name of their yacht. ‘Lady K,’ it repeated, and Ægir felt a cold shiver down his spine. The voice sounded vile, oozing malice, as if uttering an obscenity. The words were pronounced without haste or any hint of desperation, each letter enunciated precisely. Whoever it was, this person was not in any trouble. The radio fell silent again, and this time it was obvious that the channel had been switched off.
Ægir looked at the beer in his hand and decided against drinking any more. Given the way his imagination was working overtime, the alcohol obviously wasn’t doing him any good. Seconds ticked past, the radio now silent, and the whole thing began to seem ridiculous. Of course it must be some idiot mucking about, as Loftur had said. He glanced at the young mate, intending to smile or crack a joke, but stopped short. Loftur’s expression was not unlike the one he himself must have been wearing a moment ago; naked fear. Ægir was badly shaken to see this taciturn man looking so scared, and he remembered what Halli had said over supper about the yacht’s being cursed; that explained a lot, though it did nothing to console him.
Their attention was suddenly attracted by a bleeping from the radar – too fast and too urgent. A winking black blur had appeared on the screen right beside the yacht, where a moment before there had been nothing.
Chapter 9
‘I recommend you apply to the district court for Ægir and Lára’s property to be declared their estate. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but soon, unless the situation changes significantly. If the court rules in your favour, a decision will be made about when they’re presumed to have died.’ It was clear from their faces that Sigrídur and Margeir were upset by Thóra’s suggestion, but she ploughed on regardless. She had suggested meeting at their house rather than her office for precisely this reason. They would cope better with the harsh facts in familiar surroundings. ‘It’s covered in the first article of the 1981 Missing Persons Act, the purpose of which is primarily to safeguard the interests of the individual who has disappeared; that is, to protect their property and other rights. I will then present all the facts relating to the disappearance to the court, and the judge will decide whether the evidence is satisfactory. You probably won’t be made to pay costs, as cases like this are covered by legal aid.’
‘That’s a relief. As you’re aware, we don’t have much money, so if the case went against us we’d have problems paying.’ Margeir waved his hand as if to draw attention to the small, plain flat. Thóra had already noted that the furniture was old but well cared for. In the sitting room a boxy television set stood on a crocheted cloth, which fell in a neat white triangle over the edge of the table. Family photographs, old and new, had been arranged on either side of the TV, the cheerful smiles of the subjects looking utterly out of place in the gloomy atmosphere. There was a vase containing what looked like supermarket flowers on the small, old-fashioned dining table, and Thóra guessed they had been sent with condolences by a friend or relative. The petals were drooping, their beauty wilted, their purpose done, but no one had thought to throw them away. Everywhere there were signs of mourning.
Thóra paused briefly before carrying on. She wanted them to absorb the message, and to keep it separate from the next matter she needed to raise. ‘But there are other things you should bear in mind. I went over the terms and conditions in Ægir and Lára’s life insurance policies and see nothing to preclude their being paid out. There are no clauses about death having to occur after a certain period, as is common in these contracts, nor is there anything about the right to make a claim being declared void if the insured party commits suicide. I know this isn’t suicide but it would complicate matters if the insurance company tried to claim that it was. The case is not straightforward, however.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Margeir, though he didn’t appear all that interested.
‘No. For example, the rule is that the insurance company has to be notified without delay if an event occurs for which a claim is to be made: in this instance, Ægir and Lára’s deaths,’ said Thóra. ‘The notification would have to be accompanied by more or less the same proof as that required by the district court, so at least that simplifies matters. But the most likely scenario is that the insurance provider will reject the initial claim. It’s very common – there was a recent case here in Iceland. A man disappeared when sailing a yacht from America to Iceland and the foreign insurance company refused to accept that he was dead. So the case went before the district court here in Iceland, which ruled that the man was missing presumed dead, and after that the insurance company was forced to pay out his life cover. I’m confident that your case would go the same way, which would mean that the court would examine the facts, but also that relatives and anyone else who might possess any relevant information could potentially be summoned to appear.’
‘Would the case have to be heard overseas, what with it being a foreign company? I’m not sure we’d feel up to appearing before a foreign court.’ Margeir sounded oddly detached, as if he were reciting lines from a play.
‘No, the Icelandic court has jurisdiction in cases in which the missing person was most recently domiciled in this country, regardless of where the insurance compan
y is based. So it would go before the Reykjavík District Court.’ Thóra awaited further questions and when none were forthcoming, she carried on: ‘I know it’s a lot to take in and that this isn’t the best time, but I propose that I set about obtaining the documentation required by the insurance provider, then inform them of what’s happened. There’s no point delaying. If Ægir and Lára do turn up safe and sound, hopefully that will happen sooner rather than later, and in that case we’d simply send the company a correction. If the cover had already been paid out, it would have to be returned – subject to a reasonable depletion of the sum, which would be non-refundable.’
‘We’re not planning to use the money; we told you that the first time we met.’ Sigrídur ran a hand through her hair, which looked greasy and unwashed. There were two obvious stains on her shirt and her jeans could have done with a wash as well. Margeir’s grey stubble and dirty hair gave him the look of a man recovering from a serious illness. There was nothing to choose between them for suffering. ‘The money belongs to Sigga Dögg; we’d only use it for her upkeep. And to pay for all the legal proceedings you’re describing.’
‘That won’t make much of a dent in the money.’
‘Won’t it?’ snapped Sigrídur. Margeir laid a hand on his wife’s knee, as if afraid she would offend Thóra. But Thóra knew it wasn’t personal; the woman was angry with the world in general. Sigrídur continued: ‘You mentioned proof that would have to be sent with the letter. What did you mean?’
‘Documents showing when they left port, the route information they supplied on their departure from Lisbon, the weather conditions, where the yacht was last sighted with the crew and passengers on board, and so on. We’d also have to send a report detailing any signs that might indicate that the yacht had been abandoned in a hurry or that the passengers had been washed overboard, along with other material relating to the inquiry, which I should be able to obtain from the police. If they’re unwilling to cooperate, I’ll have to apply for a court order to compel them.’ The couple looked even more disheartened. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of all that. You have enough on your plate.’
‘You can say that again.’ Margeir made no attempt to play down their distress. ‘We’re on the verge of … well, I don’t really know what.’
‘Of madness,’ said Sigrídur emphatically. She flushed a little, then went on, candid in her grief: ‘The worst thing is hearing about the case on the radio and seeing it in the papers. I keep thinking about all the news of deaths and accidents I’ve heard over the years without really comprehending the pain they bring. Of course you think: Poor things, but it never occurred to me that this would happen to us – that we’d be the “poor things”.’ She sniffed loudly and sat up straighter. ‘But luckily the news has quietened down a bit now. And there’s another thing; I know it’s futile, but I can’t stop brooding over how it came about in the first place. They’d never intended to sail home.’ Her eyes slid sideways, as if she couldn’t bring herself to look at Thóra while getting this off her chest. Perhaps she was ashamed of these thoughts, though they were only natural in a grieving woman. ‘If that crew member hadn’t injured himself, they’d have flown home as planned. And if Ægir hadn’t taken that sailing course – no one could understand what had got into him at the time – he’d never have been asked to step in.’ Her eyes welled up and she broke off briefly. ‘And I would still have a son and a daughter-in-law and the twins.’ Margeir sat very still, staring into space. No doubt the same thoughts had been running through his mind, but he preferred not to share them with a stranger.
Thóra picked up a brightly coloured Duplo brick and handed it to the little girl who had sidled up to her. The child stared down at it as if expecting it to do something entertaining. Thóra knew she was two years old – it felt like only yesterday that her grandson, Orri, had been the same age. There was an air of sadness about the girl. ‘And how has she taken it?’ Thóra smiled warmly at Sigga Dögg, who looked surprised. ‘Is she too young to grasp what’s happened?’
‘She hasn’t a clue what’s going on. She cries for her mother every night.’ The woman shivered. ‘I don’t know what to do. How do you explain something like that to a baby? We had a visit from a child psychologist and a social worker but neither of them could give us any advice.’
‘It must be very unusual. It’s not every day that almost an entire family goes missing. Perhaps they don’t know how to deal with it.’ The child held out the brick to Thóra, having decided it was no fun, and she took it back. ‘I mean, I can’t begin to put myself in your shoes, so I can’t claim to fully understand. This is a tragedy no one should have to go through. Maybe it’s a good thing she’s too young to comprehend what’s happened.’ Thóra couldn’t tell from the grandmother’s expression whether she agreed or not. Her face looked as if it had been turned to stone; as if the corners of her mouth were doomed to turn down for the rest of her days. It was harder to interpret her husband’s state; if anything, he appeared even more destroyed. ‘Have you had any further thoughts about her future? I imagine you still want access, at the very least.’
‘Of course,’ replied Sigrídur. ‘But we still haven’t decided whether we should apply to keep her. Of course it’s what we really want, but we appreciate that there’s no guarantee we’d be granted custody, or that it would be deemed in her best interests. As I told you on the phone, the social workers came round yesterday and again this morning, and we feel as if they hold all the cards. They’ll take her away, regardless of what happens about the money, and leave us empty-handed. It doesn’t look good. They haven’t had the guts to break it to us yet but I can see it in their eyes.’ Sigrídur looked at the little girl, who was still gazing silently at Thóra. ‘Sadly, there are no uncles or aunts; Ægir was an only child and Lára had no siblings apart from that no-good brother of hers. It would be out of the question for him to adopt Sigga Dögg. And Lára’s parents are no better off than us, they say they can’t take her. Naturally we’ve been to see them and talked a great deal on the phone, but Lára’s mother is so distraught she can’t even have Sigga Dögg round to her house for a few hours. I know it’s not fair on the child but I can’t help praying every night that we’ll be allowed to keep her. I’ve handed in my notice at work, and together we could give her all our attention.’ She wiped the corners of her eyes angrily, as if furious with her own grief. ‘She’s named after me. It’ll be so unfair if she’s taken away from us. If she vanishes from our lives as well, it’ll be as if we never had any children. As if those pictures were only borrowed.’ She gestured at the framed photographs.
The child extended her hand for the brick again and Thóra laid it on the little palm. She had a sudden urge to take in the child herself, to guarantee that her grandparents would be allowed access. But it was only a momentary impulse; a decision like that couldn’t be made in a hurry, quite apart from the fact that Thóra was in no position to add a small child to her household. ‘As soon as you’re ready, I’ll look into it for you. Even if they allow Sigga Dögg to stay here for a while, you won’t have long to make up your minds. Once Ægir and Lára are declared dead, you can expect the child protection authorities to take up her case.’ She couldn’t say any more than that. While she was fairly confident that the formalities relating to the will and Ægir and Lára’s life assurance policies would eventually be dealt with in a reasonable manner, a question-mark hung over the child’s fate. In her opinion, the best solution would probably be for the child to be adopted by a nice young couple and for her grandparents to be allowed regular contact with her, though it was unlikely to be frequent enough to satisfy them. She decided to turn to more pressing matters. If they asked her to act for them in their application for custody or access, the little girl’s case would of course take precedence, but right now there were other concerns. ‘If you can face it, I’d be grateful if you could answer a few questions relating to the points I need to cover in my letter to the insurance provider.’ They both agreed
, apparently relieved by the change of subject.
‘Had Ægir or Lára been diagnosed with a critical illness, either recently or before they took out their life cover? If they failed to disclose any information about their health when they took out their policies, it could invalidate them. Any recent illness could be used to cast suspicion on their deaths.’
‘They were both fighting fit. Never suffered a day’s serious illness.’ Margeir sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. ‘Neither of them smoked and they only drank in moderation,’ he added, as if that alone were enough to provide a watertight bill of health.
‘Good. Could I have the name of their GP in case I’m asked for documentary evidence?’
‘I don’t think we know which surgery they went to,’ replied Sigrídur. She looked at her husband hopefully, but neither could answer.
‘It doesn’t matter. I can probably find out from their local health centre. Let’s turn to the incident itself. Was there no suggestion at all before they set out that Ægir and his family might sail home to Iceland?’
Margeir appeared irritated but when he spoke his voice was as flat and empty of feeling as before. ‘Not a word. They would have told us. After all, we were taking care of their daughter. No, I’m positive it wasn’t planned.’
‘People often discuss possibilities, then change their minds – they could have toyed with the idea before deciding against it. But it’s good to hear they didn’t. It’ll support your claim that Ægir was forced to step in.’ Thóra was keen to remove all doubt; she didn’t like to raise the matter, but the insurance company’s potential assertion that the family had arranged their own disappearance would be undermined if it could be proved that the voyage had been a last-minute decision. Conspiracies required considerable preparation; it was highly unlikely that they could be organised at extremely short notice. Either the decision to vanish without trace had been taken before they left Iceland, or they had made no such plan. In any case, the idea was patently ridiculous. What kind of person would abscond like that and put his parents through such anguish? The same anguish that Lára’s parents must be experiencing right now. ‘Is it at all conceivable that they were considering returning by sea but forgot to tell you?’
The Silence of the Sea Page 12