The Silence of the Sea (3 page)

‘Are they trying to take her away?’

‘Yes, they are. The only thing stopping them is the uncertainty. You see, her parents entrusted her to us before they went abroad, so there’s still a chance we’re just looking after her for them. But the state is gearing up to take action and we’re afraid they may knock on our door any day now armed with a court order.’ The man broke off, distressed. ‘Ægir was our only son. Sigga Dögg is all we have left.’

Thóra steepled her fingers on the desk in front of her. There was no easy way to break it to the couple that they probably wouldn’t be allowed to keep the child. They were too old, and no doubt too badly placed financially. ‘I really don’t want to upset you, but nor do I want to give you any false hope that you’ll be allowed to keep your granddaughter in the event that your son and daughter-in-law are dead. The fact is that it’s extremely unlikely you’d be granted custody. The law isn’t on your side, as the permitted age bracket for family adoptions is very narrow and you fall outside it; I’m afraid I don’t know of any cases in which the child protection service has made an exception to this rule.’ When they opened their mouths to protest, she added hastily: ‘But now’s not the moment to discuss this. Do you live here in Reykjavík?’

‘Yes. Just round the corner. We walked here,’ said Sigrídur. ‘It’s still a bit nippy out, though at least it’s sunny.’

It was extraordinary the details people felt compelled to share when discussing an uncomfortable subject, as if by this they could avoid the topic. Thóra wasn’t about to be sidetracked into talking about the weather. ‘What about your grandchild? Were your son’s family based in Reykjavík too?’ This time they merely nodded. ‘It’s relevant to the question of which local authority will decide the case. If you like, I can assist you in trying to gain access, and – if you really think it’s in the child’s best interests – to obtain full custody. But let me repeat that the latter is highly unlikely. There are countless examples of close relatives being denied custody due to their age – it seems horribly unfair, I know.’

Margeir and Sigrídur sat as if turned to stone.

‘Could I give you a word of advice, ignoring the legal side for a moment? If I was in your shoes I’d try not to worry about this right now. You’ve got more than enough on your plates and it’s important for the little girl’s sake that you bear up. Take it one day at a time.’

‘Of course.’ The man looked up. ‘We’re well aware of that.’

Naturally they knew far more about grief and shock than she did. ‘You mentioned a letter in English. What’s that about?’ Thóra hoped this would prove a less emotive issue.

‘Our son and daughter-in-law had a life insurance policy with an overseas company,’ said Margeir. ‘He gave the papers to us for safekeeping before they set off on their trip and left instructions about what to do in the event of an accident. From the little we can understand, we need to inform the company immediately in the case of death. So we’d like you to write them a letter explaining what’s happened.’

Thóra considered: why the hurry? ‘I wouldn’t have thought any notification would have to be sent until the initial inquiry is complete. Your son and daughter-in-law are officially still only missing.’

‘I know. And I can tell you think we’re motivated by greed, since the first thing we’ve asked about is the insurance money.’ Margeir met Thóra’s gaze unwaveringly and she hoped she had managed to disguise the fact that this was precisely what she had been thinking. ‘But it’s not like that. If we’re to have any chance of keeping Sigga Dögg, we’ll need the financial security that the insurance money would bring. I have nothing but my pension and Sigrídur works part time in a canteen, so it wouldn’t be easy for us to provide for the child. The money would almost certainly improve our bargaining position.’

‘Did you bring the policy documents with you?’

The woman burrowed in her handbag, pulled out a see-through plastic file stuffed with papers and handed it to Thóra. ‘These are the originals, so we’d need them back. Could you take a photocopy?’

‘Not at present, I’m afraid. Our copier’s out of order. Maybe later.’ Thóra hid her blush by bending over the documents. There were two sets: a life insurance policy in the name of their son, Ægir, and another in the name of their daughter-in-law, Lára. The beneficiary would be Lára in the case of Ægir’s death and vice versa, but Ægir’s parents were named if the prime beneficiary was unavailable. The sums insured were the same in both policies and Thóra raised her brows when she saw the figures. The couple had insured their lives for a total of two million Euros. It would be perfectly feasible to raise a child on that amount. She cleared her throat. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, how come your son and daughter-in-law are insured for such a large sum? Were they heavily in debt?’

‘Isn’t everyone?’ Sigrídur looked at her husband. ‘Do you know?’

‘No. They have a sizeable mortgage on their house, I think, but I have no idea exactly how much. I doubt it’s in negative equity, though. They don’t live above their means and it’s only a terraced house. But you never know – perhaps all the life cover would go towards paying off the mortgage if it was sold. We’re living through strange times.’

‘You do realise that two million Euros is equivalent to over three hundred million krónur? It’s highly unlikely they would owe that much on a modest terrace.’

‘What?’ the couple blurted out as one. Margeir stared at Thóra uncomprehendingly, tilting his head on one side as if this would help. Since his world had been turned upside down, this might well have been a more suitable angle at which to view it. ‘Did you say three
hundred
million? I’d worked it out at thirty something.’

‘You missed a zero.’ Thóra reached for a bulky old calculator and tapped in the numbers, then turned the screen round to show them all the noughts. Perhaps they would leap to their feet and head straight over to one of the big, expensive solicitors. But for the moment these were just numbers on a screen. ‘It’s a substantial sum.’

Little of any interest emerged after this bombshell. Still dazed by the news, the couple went through the formalities of instructing her and, in spite of the potential fortune that could land in their laps, Thóra offered them the lowest rate. The money would be better spent on the little girl’s upbringing or kept safe in the bank until she was older. Besides, the case promised to be rather interesting and at least she would be free of the smell of sick for a few days. Before they rose to leave, Thóra posed a question that she was not sure they would be able to answer. ‘You don’t happen to know why your son and his wife put you as beneficiaries on their insurance policies? You’d have thought it would be more usual to name their daughters.’

The couple exchanged glances before Margeir replied. ‘It’s not really a secret, though it’s awkward discussing it with strangers.’

‘I assure you it won’t go any further.’

‘Lára’s younger brother is a real dropout, who’s always after money to fund his lifestyle. If the girls came into money, Ægir was afraid he’d hassle them or try to scrounge off them, or even wangle his way into becoming their financial guardian. It might sound far-fetched but that brother of hers is capable of anything – even of cleaning up his act for just long enough to appear reliable. But Ægir knew we could be trusted to look after the money for the girls and that we wouldn’t let that bastard manipulate us. Lára’s parents are another matter. They let him fleece them, so it’s clear they’d never have been suitable.’

‘I see. That does sound like a sensible precaution.’ Thóra accompanied them to the door and asked them to get in touch as soon as there was any news. In the meantime, she would investigate the life insurance situation.

While they were standing in reception, two men appeared with the photocopier on a dolly and tried to manoeuvre it round the corner. The reek was more overpowering than ever. ‘Maybe you could pop into a shop and take a copy of the insurance documents. Our machine is on its way for repairs, as you can see. I could fetch them tomorrow morning, if that would be convenient.’

‘Yes, of course,’ replied Sigrídur. ‘You have our address and phone number. It would be best to ring ahead, though we’re almost always in.’ The couple said goodbye and made their exit before the photocopier blocked their path. Thóra stood there, preoccupied, until she was jerked back to the present by one of the removal men tapping her on the shoulder.

‘You might want this.’ He handed her a sheet of A4. ‘It was in the machine.’ He grinned and winked at her before turning back to assist his colleague. Thóra inspected the piece of paper. Although the image was dark, almost black, there was no question of what the flash had revealed. The culprit had leant on the machine in the act of retching and inadvertently pressed the button. Thóra peered at the dim, blurry outline: Bella. Of course, who else? She turned round to give her a tongue-lashing but the secretary was nowhere to be seen. She could evidently move fast when required.

Triumphant at acquiring this piece of evidence, Thóra marched back to her office. One thing was certain: when Bella came back she would have to be confronted, but until then Thóra needed to get some work done. Thanks to the yacht affair, though, it would be hard to concentrate on mundane matters. It was all very peculiar and the high life insurance policy did nothing to lessen the mystery. Heavy drops of rain began to rattle against the window and gooseflesh prickled her arms as she tried to imagine what it would feel like to be trapped on a boat in a storm, or to fall overboard and struggle to stay afloat, knowing that help was unlikely to arrive. She hoped the passengers would be found alive, adrift in a lifeboat. If not, the odds were that they had met a sudden, tragic end.

She turned to the computer screen. Her current cases could wait half an hour or so; she wanted to refresh her memory of the yacht incident. As she trawled the Internet, it occurred to Thóra that she had failed to ask the couple a crucial question: why had their son gone on the trip in the first place – and taken his family too? It was still winter; hardly ideal cruising season, even on a luxury vessel. And why had the bank’s resolution committee allowed one of its employees to make use of an asset for a family holiday? There must be more to this than met the eye.

Not for the first time on this trip, Ægir felt he had been born in the wrong place; surely he wasn’t meant to go through life bundled up against the cold in Iceland? The weather may have been cool for Lisbon, but it was nothing like the arctic conditions at home and he relished the sensation of walking the streets in light clothes. Underfoot were the white cobblestones from which all the city’s pavements seemed to be made. There was something oddly pleasing about negotiating their uneven surfaces, though his wife, Lára, would probably not have agreed as she teetered along in high heels at his side, barely keeping her balance. They were wandering the steep, narrow lanes of the old city centre, built long before the invention of the motor car. They were a little lost but the square they were looking for was near the riverfront, so they knew they should be heading downhill. Glancing round, Ægir saw that his daughters were lagging behind.

‘Hurry up, girls. We’re going to be late. I’m supposed to meet the man in ten minutes.’

They picked up speed a little, but ten minutes is a lifetime to eight-year-olds, so they saw no need to rush. As usual it was Arna who decided the twins’ pace; she had entered the world first and although the order in which they were born was probably coincidental, Ægir often got the impression that they had worked out their roles in the womb. Arna, daring and extrovert, usually charged ahead, while the comparatively reserved and introverted Bylgja took things more slowly. Where her twin rushed in, she would pause to consider. In appearance, however, they were almost identical; had it not been for Bylgja’s glasses, it would have been virtually impossible for strangers to tell them apart. ‘How many stones are there in this pavement, Daddy?’ Bylgja was walking behind her sister, her eyes fixed on the ground.

‘I don’t know, darling. A million and seven. Something like that.’ Ægir wished he had never mentioned the number of cobbles when they set out from the hotel. He should have known his daughter would become obsessed with the idea, but it hadn’t occurred to him that she would actually try to count them.

‘Hey! There it is.’ Lára pointed down a side street. ‘There can’t be many squares that big in the city.’

As if they had been waiting for this moment, the girls broke into a run. They were extraordinarily like their mother: their dark wavy hair, green eyes and prominent front teeth, their build, even their hands were miniature versions of Lára’s.

A feeling of melancholy stole up on Ægir, though he couldn’t put his finger on the cause; melancholy about what lay ahead, perhaps, in the magnificent square that opened out at the end of the street. It could simply have been the awareness that life was perfect right now, that it couldn’t get any better, and from now on it could only go downhill. He was reluctant to let go of the moment. ‘Do you think we should do this another time?’

‘What?’ Lára looked astonished. ‘What do you mean?’

Ægir was sorry he’d mentioned it. Or was he? ‘I mean, maybe we should just extend our holiday here and forget about the cruise. They don’t really need me and I’m sure the crew problem can be sorted out some other way.’ A strange note had entered his voice; he didn’t know where it had come from. A few minutes ago he had been looking forward to the voyage, seeing it as a godsend, but now he felt reluctant to leave dry land. Despite its opulence, the yacht didn’t actually have much room on board. Besides, they were well off here, with little restaurants and cafés on every corner and no end to the delights on offer. What would they do with themselves all day on the boat? Play cards? He didn’t want to leave this bright city that seemed to radiate light. Everywhere one looked there were vibrant colours to raise the spirits; tiled walls in pastel hues that he couldn’t recall having seen anywhere else. It must be good for the soul to live among them. How could anyone be unhappy here? Whereas at sea they would probably spend the entire voyage hanging over the rail, being wretchedly sick. What had he been thinking of, volunteering when he learnt that one of the crew had dropped out? Why hadn’t he just said no and flown home as planned?