The officer extricated himself and rose stiffly to his feet. ‘You should have informed us immediately.’
Thóra blew the fringe out of her eyes, annoyed. It was at least the tenth time he had mentioned this since she met him by the yacht. The same went for his colleague to whom she had reported the discovery of the glasses. She missed her friend with the green eyes and suspected that this man and the one who had answered the phone were the officers he had bawled out for their oversight in relation to Halldór’s body. That would explain their conduct towards her; they must be pleased to be in a position to offload the blame onto somebody else. ‘As I explained, it slipped my mind. I didn’t work out the connection until this morning when I saw a photo of the girl wearing the glasses. She didn’t have them on in the few other pictures I’d seen of her. To give you an idea of how little importance I attached to them, I didn’t even check to see if they were still there the second time I came aboard – even though I opened the closet.’
‘You should have let us know anyway. It’s not up to you to decide what is or isn’t significant.’
‘No. You’re right about that.’ Thóra gritted her teeth and tried to keep her cool. She was aware of a throbbing behind her eyes that threatened to develop into a full-blown headache if she didn’t leave the boat soon. She was clearly not cut out to be a sailor if she was in danger of feeling seasick in port. ‘Of course, I should have rung and told you about every single thing I saw, shouldn’t I? Like the towel in the bathroom. Two towels, actually. But I forgot.’
The policeman stood up straight and although Thóra was tall, he towered over her. The cabin may have been luxurious but it had a low ceiling, which had the effect of accentuating his height and making him seem almost a giant. ‘There’s no call for sarcasm.’
‘No, sorry.’ She relaxed her jaw. If she didn’t want to ruin her good relations with the police she had better find a way to lighten the atmosphere. Better drop the matter and get to the point. ‘Anyway, I don’t understand what can have happened to the dress.’ She opened the wardrobes one after the other and peered inside, though they had already conducted a thorough search. ‘Someone must have taken it.’ She took a step back to get a better view of the one that was open. ‘I couldn’t swear to it, but now I come to think of it some of the other dresses may be missing as well.’ She rubbed off the fingerprint powder that had coated her hands when she opened the doors. A forensics officer had gone round first, taking prints from the cupboards, light switches and the chest of drawers in the cabin, in case any new ones had appeared since the initial examination of the yacht. He had also vacuumed all the wardrobes in search of biological material which might prove that Bylgja or Arna had been hiding inside them. While he was working, Thóra and the policeman had been forced to cool their heels in the corridor, exchanging small talk that became increasingly strained with every moment that passed. Perhaps that was why, once they entered the cabin, they had quickly begun to get on each other’s nerves.
‘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.’