‘Oh, you know.’ His response was as one would expect; he avoided meeting her eye and his fingers twitched in his lap. She didn’t need a degree in psychology to see that he was having a tough time.
‘Have you received any trauma counselling, Snævar?’
‘No. They offered but I refused. I can’t really see what use it would be.’ He sniffed and shifted in his chair. ‘It’s just something I have to deal with on my own.’
‘I see.’ It was blindingly obvious that he wasn’t dealing with it at all well. ‘You should talk to an expert anyway. Better late than never. You’d be surprised how much it can help, and it certainly couldn’t hurt.’
Snævar made a non-committal noise. Thóra decided to leave it and ask about something more specific. ‘How’s your leg, by the way? Improving at all?’
‘I’m supposed to stay in plaster for six weeks.’ He slapped the plastic splint that jutted out from under his tracksuit bottoms, wrapped in yet another shopping bag, this time from the Nóatún supermarket chain. ‘I reckon I’m about halfway through, but I can’t deny I’m looking forward to being back on two feet. And to wearing what I like instead of the only clothes I can get into.’ A grin transformed his face.
‘You’ll be rid of that thing before you know it.’ At the sight of Snævar looking brighter Thóra’s own mood lifted. ‘That reminds me. Here are the papers from the Portuguese hospital. You’ll probably need to take them along when you go to see the doctor. Sorry I didn’t return them to you earlier.’
He held out a hand for the documents. ‘No problem. I still haven’t got round to it, so it doesn’t matter. I really should get a move on, though.’
‘I could give you a lift if you like, or get someone else to. The thing is, I should have asked you for a note from your doctor confirming that you weren’t fit to work because of a broken leg at the time you were supposed to sail home.’
‘But I could have sailed home.’
She tried to hide her irritation, which was directed not so much at him as at herself and her gnawing suspicions about Ægir. ‘Yes, no doubt you could have, but you didn’t, and I need confirmation that it was because of your broken leg. The Portuguese papers aren’t enough on their own.’ She would prefer not to tell him why. ‘I could always ask my ex-husband, who’s a doctor, to look in on you. He owes me a favour.’ Gylfi had got the job on the oil rig and was due to start as soon as he had finished his final school exams. In three months her life would change irrevocably. ‘Then you wouldn’t need to leave the house.’
‘Oh no, no need. I’ll go to my doctor. No problem.’ Judging by his expression, he was not at all keen to receive a visit from her ex. He cleared his throat. ‘Are they any closer to finding out how Halli died?’
‘I don’t think so.’ It was not her place to reveal what the police had confided in her. Although it was evident that Halli had drowned, the details surrounding his demise were so bizarre that it would be best to say as little as possible. ‘I’m sure it’ll become clear in due course.’
‘I see.’ It was obvious he didn’t entirely believe her.
‘Have you had any further thoughts yourself about what might have happened?’
‘No.’ He seemed to realise he was slouching again, and made a visible effort to look more alert. ‘Of course, I keep going over it in my mind and I reckon it must have been a combination of factors. Since we know now that two of the three crew members are dead, I’m guessing the captain copped it as well and after that the family took the idiotic decision to abandon ship.’ He flung out a hand. ‘But that theory doesn’t work either when you think about it, since who can have programmed the autopilot and set the course first to Grótta, then to port?’
After acquainting herself with the criteria for the pleasure craft competency certificate, Thóra had immediately discounted the possibility that Ægir could have learnt how to use an autopilot on the course. Admittedly, it was conceivable that one of the crew might have taken the time to teach him or Lára to use the system but that wouldn’t explain why they had set a course for Grótta. The most obvious option would have been to direct the yacht straight to Reykjavík harbour. None of the alternatives that occurred to her made any sense. There were too many unanswered questions, too many unsubstantiated theories. ‘One more thing, Snævar.’ He regarded her hopefully, as if pathetically keen to give her the answer she wanted. ‘Is there any chance there could have been a stowaway on board?’
From the way his face relaxed, it looked as if this could be answered with a straight yes or no. But it turned out not to be that simple. ‘I doubt it, but I couldn’t rule it out. He’d have had to be bloody clever. And quiet. Every nook and cranny on board is used to the max, so he’d have had to be incredibly lucky for no one to spot him. I guess someone could have hidden in an empty cabin, though it would have taken a hell of a lot of nerve.’
‘What about in the engine room or storage spaces on the bottom deck? Is there nowhere to hide down there?’
‘I suppose there could be. Not in the engine room, though, because they inspect that regularly. If I was going to hide on board, I’d steer clear of the engines and bridge as you’d almost certainly be spotted there.’
‘So it would be feasible, with a bit of luck?’
‘Well… I guess so. If you knew the yacht inside out.’ Snævar grimaced and shifted his injured leg, which seemed to be causing him discomfort. ‘But who could it have been? And why the fuck would they do it?’ There was no disguising the anger in his voice and Thóra could only hope he wouldn’t be the first to track down the stowaway if he or she turned out to exist. If he did, they wouldn’t have a hope in hell.
‘I haven’t a clue.’ In fact, she had already formed an opinion but wanted to avoid rousing his suspicion. If someone had stowed away on board, that person must surely have been linked to the former owners. It was the only logical conclusion. Karítas, Aldís – even the owner, Gulam. Or a henchman he had hired to recover the yacht. The last scenario was a long shot, however, as they would have little to gain by stealing the boat. ‘Not a clue.’
Once Snævar had left, Bella came in and plonked herself down in front of Thóra. ‘Look, I know I couldn’t sort out the photocopier before the weekend, but would you be prepared to trade the upgrade for information about Aldís?’
‘What?’ Thóra asked eagerly. ‘Where did you get it from?’
‘I rang a girl who used to work with Aldís before she took the job with Karítas. A sort of friend.’
‘And how did you find out about her?’
‘I rang Aldís’s mum and asked. Told her we wanted to check if she’d been in touch with any of her mates because we needed to get hold of her urgently. She gave me this girl’s name and I tracked down her number.’
‘Damn it, Bella, you did this here in the office during working hours. I shouldn’t have to bribe you to do your job. Anyway, I’m afraid Bragi and I decided the other day not to install a high-speed connection after all. We’ll review the situation in ten years.’ Thóra couldn’t resist winding her up a little. ‘I’m sorry.’
Bella pushed her chair back. ‘Okay, fine. No worries.’
‘Hey, you can’t leave. Tell me what the friend said.’
‘What friend? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Try asking me again in ten years – perhaps I’ll remember then.’ Bella heaved her bulk out of the chair.
‘For goodness’ sake, come on – I was only teasing. We’re going to organise the bloody upgrade. I’ve been waiting for a good moment to tell you. I just didn’t want it to look as if I was giving in to blackmail.’