‘If it’s any help, the Marine Accident Board were perfectly happy for you to get involved,’ said Fannar encouragingly, which was an improvement on his earlier derision. ‘When I went over to fetch the keys, the guy I talked to even said he hoped you’d spot a new angle that the people who deal with this stuff every day might have missed. He doesn’t believe this was your standard accident and thinks the trouble with the experts is that they’ll try to fit this into a conventional box. He also said that this isn’t a unique case – this kind of thing happens fairly frequently but no one ever manages to find an explanation that satisfies everyone. People come up with all kinds of theories but none that are obviously right.’
This did little to raise Thóra’s morale. Looking round, she saw Bella picking her way gingerly across the deck towards them. ‘Did he happen to mention any theories about this incident?’
The key seemed to have jammed in the lock and the young man jiggled it to and fro until finally it turned. ‘No, and I didn’t like to ask. But the opinion going round the office is that they must have freaked out – thought the boat was sinking and flung themselves overboard, thinking it was their only hope. But nobody can imagine what would have made them crack up like that. Sunstroke, maybe.’
‘Is that plausible?’ Thóra peered around. ‘I doubt people would jump into the sea if there were lifeboats available.’ She couldn’t see them anywhere, though they should still be in place according to the report Fannar had sent that morning. ‘Have they been removed?’
‘No, they’re still here. See the container that looks like a barrel lying on its side?’ Thóra followed his finger and nodded. ‘The life raft’s inside that. There are four of them. One on each side, this one, and then one in the bows. They haven’t been touched, as far as I know. Maybe they panicked and couldn’t work out how to launch them. It seems a bit odd, to say the least, that the yacht should have been deliberately designed to disguise the life-saving equipment. I suppose it didn’t go with the décor. And perhaps the passengers didn’t take the time to study the safety procedures before they left port.’
Thóra turned to Bella. ‘Take some pictures of that barrel, would you? There are three more that you’ll find if you do a circuit of the ship. And photograph the instructions that should be displayed near them, and any lifebelts, that kind of thing.’ The presence of the life rafts on board was the clearest indication that something extraordinary must have happened. Thóra tried to envisage the kind of circumstances that would force her to abandon ship with her children in the knowledge that another child was waiting at home. Her own daughter, Sóley, was a similar age to the twin sisters who had in all likelihood perished with their parents. Her son, Gylfi, was almost twenty but still a child in her eyes, for all that he was a father himself.
She tried to picture herself seizing the two of them by the shoulders, forcing them to the side and urging them to throw themselves into the icy waves with her. No, it didn’t make sense. You didn’t need much knowledge of the sea to realise that there would be little hope of survival. And she doubted sunstroke would make that much difference.
‘Come inside. That’s where things really get spectacular.’ Anyone would have thought Fannar was trying to sell her the yacht. ‘Check this out. Smarter than any hotel, don’t you think?’
Thóra nodded distractedly. Rather than being impressed she was struck by the stale air inside, mingled, she thought, with a faint trace of perfume. ‘Is there a funny smell in here?’
Fannar sniffed. ‘Hm, you may be right. Like soap or something. Maybe they’ve been cleaning in here, though I can’t think who would have arranged that without my knowledge.’ His nostrils flared as he inhaled. ‘Nope, it’s gone. But don’t take any notice of me; I haven’t got much sense of smell.’ He was right; the scent was no longer there.
While she recognised that the interior was extremely stylish and finely crafted, Thóra’s attention was mainly drawn to the signs of human occupancy. An open paperback lying face down on the table beside an armchair upholstered in black leather; a DVD case and some magazines on a coffee table towards the back of the room. Beside them were a wine glass and an open bottle that had rolled over. The dried-up spillage had stained the glass table-top pink. Items of clothing lay in a heap on a chair, presumably placed there by the police during their search. ‘Can I touch this? Are the police coming back to conduct any further examinations?’ No sooner had she spoken than she noticed the white fingerprint powder coating the surfaces.
‘No, they’re not coming back; they spent almost an entire day here. You can poke around wherever you like. At least, nobody warned me not to touch anything. It’s not as if it’s a murder scene. I gather they’re treating it as an accident. Or at most, a missing-persons case.’
The boat kept up a continual gentle movement and Thóra noticed the wine bottle rocking slightly without moving from its place. From the description of the yacht’s collision with the docks one would have expected the bottle to have rolled off the table onto the floor. The police must have replaced it there during their inspection. ‘Wasn’t everything sent flying when the yacht crashed into the jetty?’ Two paintings, one of which looked like it might be of Karítas, hung askew on the walls.
‘Yes, it certainly was. There was stuff littered all over the place. I saw the pictures taken at the beginning of the investigation and it was a real mess in here.’ Looking round, he added: ‘Actually, the yacht’s furnishings are designed to resist fairly heavy seas before they start falling over or being knocked off the walls, but it’s a different story with the passengers’ own belongings.’
Thóra ran her gaze around the room. ‘What happened to the pictures that used to hang here?’ The dark wood panelling on two sides bore traces of missing frames. ‘Might they have fallen off and not been replaced?’
‘No, the former owner took them down and had them valued when his money troubles began. The yacht was on the market with all her contents, but this was at the height of the crash and even the people who could afford expensive toys like this weren’t in the mood for buying. It didn’t help that the boat was mortgaged to the hilt and the bank hadn’t agreed to a sales price. The loan didn’t cover the pictures, though, so the guy was free to sell them and I gather they went for a small fortune. Apparently they included some serious art. But the sale didn’t raise enough cash, so towards the end he must have sold off paintings from his other homes too. It’s unbelievable how quickly even a vast fortune like that can vanish into thin air. Must be a traumatic experience.’
‘No doubt.’ Thóra may have lacked the imagination to visualise the lives of the super-rich but she had no trouble guessing what it would feel like to lose a fortune. It was easy to grow accustomed to money; quite another matter to lower your standard of living. One didn’t have to be rich to know that.
‘I took the pictures you wanted.’ Bella reappeared, her cheeks ruddy. She glanced round, evidently unimpressed. ‘God, this is tacky. I thought this boat was meant to be classy.’ She examined the portrait of Karítas. ‘Look at that bimbo. I went to school with her, she was a total moron.’
Thóra couldn’t suppress a grin when she saw the indignant expression on Fannar’s face. But experience had taught her that it wouldn’t pay to allow Bella to make any further comments; she had a tendency to be foul-mouthed, especially when least appropriate, and Fannar didn’t seem the type to appreciate it. ‘Where are the guest quarters? Should we maybe look at them next? Bella, could you take some pictures in here, including the belongings left behind by the passengers?’