‘Did your friend Halli know him?’
Snævar shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so, though I can’t be sure.’ He craned his head so far back that Thóra had a momentary fear that his Adam’s apple would pop out of his neck. ‘God, it’s all so awful.’
‘It certainly is.’ Thóra watched him return his head to its normal position, wondering if people like him coped better with grief than those who wore their hearts on their sleeves. But going by Snævar’s expression, she thought maybe the silent type found it harder. ‘I suppose you realise that this greatly reduces the chances of finding the others alive.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘None of them are alive. I don’t know how anyone could believe they were.’
Thóra folded her arms. ‘I’m inclined to agree with you, but it’s incredible what people can endure.’
Snævar shook his head. ‘There’s no chance they’re drifting somewhere in a lifeboat, if that’s what you think. It would have capsized long ago.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Although she did not say as much, Thóra thought Snævar’s response to the news that the dead man was Loftur indicated that he too was holding out hope that Halli was alive. But he had a point; they must all be dead by now. The official search had been called off; there were no more helicopters hovering over the sea where the yacht had passed. Instead they were combing the beaches – in search of the dead, not the living. ‘When did you last hear from your friend Halldór? Ægir and his family called Iceland as the yacht was leaving port in Lisbon, but nothing was heard from them after that. Did Halli get in touch with you after the voyage had begun?’
‘No,’ Snævar said without hesitating. ‘Before he left he brought me painkillers, Coke, sweets, and so on. Then we said goodbye at the hotel the day he was supposed to sail. I didn’t hear from him again after that. He was great; bought me a plane ticket home and all that. We didn’t have our laptops with us so I couldn’t do it myself but luckily there was a computer in the hotel lobby. I really don’t know how I’m supposed to repay him; I don’t like to get in touch with his family yet in case they’re still hoping he’ll be found alive. I’d rather wait a bit. But I’m afraid I’ll forget and then they won’t understand what’s going on when his credit card bill arrives.’
Thóra had noticed the travel documents as she leafed through the pile of papers, and quickly turned back to them. She found a receipt from Expedia for a flight to London and another onwards to Iceland. The name of the card holder was Halldór Thorsteinsson. She showed it to him. ‘I’ll return this when I’ve taken a copy and then you’ll have the receipt to remind you.’ She put the papers down again. ‘One question that might sound a bit daft. Did Halldór have a mobile phone? Or a camera?’
Snævar looked at her as if she was an idiot. ‘Of course he had a phone. But I’m sure he didn’t have a camera. At least, I never saw him carry one. If he’d wanted to take a picture, he’d have used his phone. Though why he’d have wanted to take one, I don’t know.’ He tilted his head on one side. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, it’s only – they didn’t find any phones or cameras on board, which seems rather odd. If they abandoned ship in a hurry you’d have thought at least one of them would have left their phone behind, not to mention if they were washed overboard.’ She changed the subject. ‘Did it never occur to you to sail home yourself? To take the boat instead of flying, so you didn’t have to hang around in the hotel? Your leg wouldn’t have prevented you from taking your turn on the bridge, would it?’
‘I wouldn’t have been much use for the first forty-eight hours but after that I could have helped out, as you say. I went home after three days and the flight was just as tiring as if I’d taken a watch on board. It’s a nightmare travelling in this state but it’s not as if there’s any physical effort involved in sitting on the bridge. Once I was alone I remember being pissed off that Halli and I hadn’t slept on the yacht instead of wasting money on a hotel. I was sure they’d have given me a ride home if I’d been on board already. Though now I’m thanking my lucky stars I wasn’t, as you can imagine.’
‘Was sleeping on board an option?’
‘Yes, why not? We had the keys and no one would have complained. We were supposed to start making her ready and running checks on the engines and equipment before the others arrived, so I can’t see why anyone would have kicked up a fuss.’
‘You didn’t ring the captain to suggest it?’
‘No. He was so pissed off that I couldn’t face talking to him. I’ve learnt it’s pointless trying to reason with people when they’re angry. Halli did mention it in passing but the captain wasn’t having it. Anyway, by then it had been decided that the family should go instead. I have to admit I’m glad I didn’t try harder – the pain in my leg is nothing compared to what Halli must have gone through.’
Thóra brought out a file containing the documents that the police had released to her late the previous day. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask your opinion on something.’ She showed him the file. ‘This is the route that was programmed into the yacht’s GPS.’ She ran her finger along a line that followed a rather circuitous course between Lisbon and Reykjavík. Then she turned over the next two pages, which showed, on the one hand, a blown-up picture of the route within Icelandic territorial waters and, on the other, some circles the yacht had made not far from her destination. ‘I can’t get hold of the man who gave me this but the way I understand it, the yacht started sailing in circles around about here.’ She pointed at the first blown-up page. ‘I take this to be the date, which would mean that she made these manoeuvres about twenty-four hours before she careered into the harbour. Have you any inkling what might be going on here?’
Snævar, looking surprised, studied the chart. ‘I suppose it’s possible that the autopilot developed a fault or the rudder jammed, though that’s pretty unlikely. The captain would never have let her sail round and round like that before he took action. It’s more likely that someone fell overboard and they were looking for him. Or her. Or them.’
‘That’s what occurred to me too. It’s a pity the printout doesn’t say who it was.’
‘The navigation system isn’t that sophisticated.’
‘I was joking.’ Thóra turned over to the enlarged chart. ‘What about the final part of the voyage? That looks odd too. If I have this right, there’s a change of course as the yacht approaches Iceland and she’s brought in very close to the shore at Grótta before heading back out to sea where she sails in another large circle before making a beeline for Reykjavík harbour. This is a blown-up picture of her final movements.’
Snævar pored over the chart. ‘What’s this?’ He pointed to the text at the top of each page.
‘I’m guessing they’re the dates which tell us when the course was plotted on the GPS.’
Snævar seemed to agree. ‘In other words, someone must have been alive on board as the yacht approached land?’ He pointed at the date on the second chart.
‘Yes. If my interpretation’s correct.’ Thóra ran her finger along the line of the ship’s course. ‘Is it possible that this person abandoned ship near Grótta and went ashore there? Do you know anything about the currents in that area?’
‘Jesus.’ Snævar ran both hands through his hair with such force that he pulled his eyes out of shape. ‘Jesus.’
‘I know.’ Thóra’s initial reaction had been the same, not least because it would considerably complicate her case. How was she to persuade a judge to rule that Ægir and Lára were dead if there was a chance they could have sneaked ashore? In fact, any of the people on board could probably have abandoned the yacht at that stage. All of them, even. Except Loftur, of course. Unless they had all lost their heads for some reason and drowned right by the shore. But that did not tally with the fact that Loftur’s body had turned up on the Reykjanes peninsula, some forty-five kilometres to the south. It could hardly have been carried all the way there from Grótta, which was a small isthmus crowned by a lighthouse that jutted out from the coast of Seltjarnarnes, Reykjavík’s westernmost suburb. ‘What’s the sea like off Grótta? Is it possible to swim ashore there?’