Ægir looked at the beer in his hand and decided against drinking any more. Given the way his imagination was working overtime, the alcohol obviously wasn’t doing him any good. Seconds ticked past, the radio now silent, and the whole thing began to seem ridiculous. Of course it must be some idiot mucking about, as Loftur had said. He glanced at the young mate, intending to smile or crack a joke, but stopped short. Loftur’s expression was not unlike the one he himself must have been wearing a moment ago; naked fear. Ægir was badly shaken to see this taciturn man looking so scared, and he remembered what Halli had said over supper about the yacht’s being cursed; that explained a lot, though it did nothing to console him.
Their attention was suddenly attracted by a bleeping from the radar – too fast and too urgent. A winking black blur had appeared on the screen right beside the yacht, where a moment before there had been nothing.
Chapter 9
‘I recommend you apply to the district court for Ægir and Lára’s property to be declared their estate. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but soon, unless the situation changes significantly. If the court rules in your favour, a decision will be made about when they’re presumed to have died.’ It was clear from their faces that Sigrídur and Margeir were upset by Thóra’s suggestion, but she ploughed on regardless. She had suggested meeting at their house rather than her office for precisely this reason. They would cope better with the harsh facts in familiar surroundings. ‘It’s covered in the first article of the 1981 Missing Persons Act, the purpose of which is primarily to safeguard the interests of the individual who has disappeared; that is, to protect their property and other rights. I will then present all the facts relating to the disappearance to the court, and the judge will decide whether the evidence is satisfactory. You probably won’t be made to pay costs, as cases like this are covered by legal aid.’
‘That’s a relief. As you’re aware, we don’t have much money, so if the case went against us we’d have problems paying.’ Margeir waved his hand as if to draw attention to the small, plain flat. Thóra had already noted that the furniture was old but well cared for. In the sitting room a boxy television set stood on a crocheted cloth, which fell in a neat white triangle over the edge of the table. Family photographs, old and new, had been arranged on either side of the TV, the cheerful smiles of the subjects looking utterly out of place in the gloomy atmosphere. There was a vase containing what looked like supermarket flowers on the small, old-fashioned dining table, and Thóra guessed they had been sent with condolences by a friend or relative. The petals were drooping, their beauty wilted, their purpose done, but no one had thought to throw them away. Everywhere there were signs of mourning.
Thóra paused briefly before carrying on. She wanted them to absorb the message, and to keep it separate from the next matter she needed to raise. ‘But there are other things you should bear in mind. I went over the terms and conditions in Ægir and Lára’s life insurance policies and see nothing to preclude their being paid out. There are no clauses about death having to occur after a certain period, as is common in these contracts, nor is there anything about the right to make a claim being declared void if the insured party commits suicide. I know this isn’t suicide but it would complicate matters if the insurance company tried to claim that it was. The case is not straightforward, however.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Margeir, though he didn’t appear all that interested.
‘No. For example, the rule is that the insurance company has to be notified without delay if an event occurs for which a claim is to be made: in this instance, Ægir and Lára’s deaths,’ said Thóra. ‘The notification would have to be accompanied by more or less the same proof as that required by the district court, so at least that simplifies matters. But the most likely scenario is that the insurance provider will reject the initial claim. It’s very common – there was a recent case here in Iceland. A man disappeared when sailing a yacht from America to Iceland and the foreign insurance company refused to accept that he was dead. So the case went before the district court here in Iceland, which ruled that the man was missing presumed dead, and after that the insurance company was forced to pay out his life cover. I’m confident that your case would go the same way, which would mean that the court would examine the facts, but also that relatives and anyone else who might possess any relevant information could potentially be summoned to appear.’
‘Would the case have to be heard overseas, what with it being a foreign company? I’m not sure we’d feel up to appearing before a foreign court.’ Margeir sounded oddly detached, as if he were reciting lines from a play.
‘No, the Icelandic court has jurisdiction in cases in which the missing person was most recently domiciled in this country, regardless of where the insurance company is based. So it would go before the Reykjavík District Court.’ Thóra awaited further questions and when none were forthcoming, she carried on: ‘I know it’s a lot to take in and that this isn’t the best time, but I propose that I set about obtaining the documentation required by the insurance provider, then inform them of what’s happened. There’s no point delaying. If Ægir and Lára do turn up safe and sound, hopefully that will happen sooner rather than later, and in that case we’d simply send the company a correction. If the cover had already been paid out, it would have to be returned – subject to a reasonable depletion of the sum, which would be non-refundable.’
‘We’re not planning to use the money; we told you that the first time we met.’ Sigrídur ran a hand through her hair, which looked greasy and unwashed. There were two obvious stains on her shirt and her jeans could have done with a wash as well. Margeir’s grey stubble and dirty hair gave him the look of a man recovering from a serious illness. There was nothing to choose between them for suffering. ‘The money belongs to Sigga Dögg; we’d only use it for her upkeep. And to pay for all the legal proceedings you’re describing.’
‘That won’t make much of a dent in the money.’
‘Won’t it?’ snapped Sigrídur. Margeir laid a hand on his wife’s knee, as if afraid she would offend Thóra. But Thóra knew it wasn’t personal; the woman was angry with the world in general. Sigrídur continued: ‘You mentioned proof that would have to be sent with the letter. What did you mean?’
‘Documents showing when they left port, the route information they supplied on their departure from Lisbon, the weather conditions, where the yacht was last sighted with the crew and passengers on board, and so on. We’d also have to send a report detailing any signs that might indicate that the yacht had been abandoned in a hurry or that the passengers had been washed overboard, along with other material relating to the inquiry, which I should be able to obtain from the police. If they’re unwilling to cooperate, I’ll have to apply for a court order to compel them.’ The couple looked even more disheartened. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of all that. You have enough on your plate.’
‘You can say that again.’ Margeir made no attempt to play down their distress. ‘We’re on the verge of… well, I don’t really know what.’
‘Of madness,’ said Sigrídur emphatically. She flushed a little, then went on, candid in her grief: ‘The worst thing is hearing about the case on the radio and seeing it in the papers. I keep thinking about all the news of deaths and accidents I’ve heard over the years without really comprehending the pain they bring. Of course you think: Poor things, but it never occurred to me that this would happen to us – that we’d be the “poor things”.’ She sniffed loudly and sat up straighter. ‘But luckily the news has quietened down a bit now. And there’s another thing; I know it’s futile, but I can’t stop brooding over how it came about in the first place. They’d never intended to sail home.’ Her eyes slid sideways, as if she couldn’t bring herself to look at Thóra while getting this off her chest. Perhaps she was ashamed of these thoughts, though they were only natural in a grieving woman. ‘If that crew member hadn’t injured himself, they’d have flown home as planned. And if Ægir hadn’t taken that sailing course – no one could understand what had got into him at the time – he’d never have been asked to step in.’ Her eyes welled up and she broke off briefly. ‘And I would still have a son and a daughter-in-law and the twins.’ Margeir sat very still, staring into space. No doubt the same thoughts had been running through his mind, but he preferred not to share them with a stranger.