Ægir couldn’t give a damn whether Thráinn stayed or went. He fell to his knees beside his wife and clutched at the brightly coloured woollen blanket that they had probably used to carry her inside. He didn’t dare take her hand at first for fear of crushing it, for fear of being overwhelmed by rage at the unfairness of it all. Lára had never hurt a fly. She deserved better than this. Letting go of the blanket, he took her white hand in his. To his relief it felt hot and damp; he had been expecting her fingers to be cold. The blanket covering her looked disturbingly like a colourful shroud, so he pulled it off, revealing bare flesh and pink dressings that had no doubt been white when Thráinn applied them. The bullet appeared to have entered her abdomen beside the left hip. Ægir didn’t know if this was a good or a bad place, or if anything in the abdominal area was bad.
He squeezed his eyes shut and the tears spurted out. At first he stroked her hand blindly, then he forced himself to look at her again, concentrating on trying to speak, on groping for words that he would be reconciled to afterwards. He kissed her on the brow and temple and brushed the limp hair from her sweaty forehead. The fine lines that had distressed her so much seemed to have vanished, leaving her forehead unnaturally smooth. His mind blank of all else, he whispered this in her ear.
She opened her eyes, emitting a low croak that might have been a word, though he couldn’t make it out. Everything he had wanted to say came rushing to his lips and he poured out the words in case she could still hear him, though her spirit had departed. But she only stared at him with glassy eyes that would not close, giving no sign that she accepted his plea for forgiveness.
Chapter 26
‘The blood turned out to belong to Lára.’ The detective shot a glance at his colleague who thumbed through the sheaf of papers he was carrying, then handed a page to his superior. This time there was no hint of cigarette smoke or chewing gum. Thóra hoped this wouldn’t affect his mood, but the alacrity with which his much younger subordinate jumped to obey him did not bode well. ‘The test results remove practically all doubt, though there’s always a small margin for error. You can have a copy if you like. I imagine this will be helpful for your case.’
‘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.’