Inside the bridge there was no one to be seen; all the lights were off but the glow from the computer screens and instrument panels provided enough illumination to preclude anyone hiding there. Nevertheless, it was with extreme caution that Ægir opened the door and went in. Closing it behind him, he headed straight for the GPS. According to this, the yacht was still worryingly far from land. Because the engine had been turned off, the data about their course, which had previously been displayed at the bottom of the screen, had now vanished. As a result, there was no information about how long it would take to reach their destination. But he didn’t really need it; he guessed they had approximately ten hours’ sailing time left, but every hour the yacht remained motionless was another hour at sea. Perhaps he should start her up again? He and the girls couldn’t abandon ship in these waters and he suspected they wouldn’t be allowed to remain undisturbed in their cabin for the rest of the voyage. On the other hand, if he started the engine, the killer would be aware of his presence and might take steps to deal with him. Ægir was terrified that the killer would head straight for the girls and get to them first. That was unthinkable.
Abandoning the console, he began to hunt for flares. If he did try to start the engine again, he would do it last, before racing back down to the girls. He soon unearthed the flares in a white cardboard box in a drawer; he would just have to hope they were in working order. But the axe had vanished from its place on the wall and the realisation reduced him momentarily to panic. Then, pulling himself together, he went back to the drawers and began searching for a possible weapon. Finding a suitably heavy spanner, he took it with him, though it wouldn’t be much use against an axe. The weighty metal bar felt so good in his hand that he actively looked forward to having a chance to use it. He wouldn’t hold back. He tightened his grip and resolved to go out on deck and check that the lifeboats were still in place. If he had time, he would work out how to launch them – should they be forced to escape in one, he would have to act fast and there would be no room for mistakes. Once he had done this he would return to the bridge and try to get the yacht back on course. Then he would fly back to the girls as if the devil were at his heels.
A bracing gust of sea air hit him as he emerged on deck. Oddly, it carried not the tang of salt but a waft of perfume, and Ægir paused inadvertently to sniff the air in the hope of detecting its source. The yacht was facing into the wind and he peered warily round the corner of the pilot house towards the bows to discover whether the smell emanated from there. The lights had been switched off on the foredeck, yet he could see enough to tell that there was nobody about. The perfume was unquestionably coming from there. Instinct warned him to leave well alone but his curiosity proved stronger. It was a woman’s scent; no man would wear such a heavy, sweet floral fragrance. And if it was a woman, two things were clear; one, that there was a stowaway on board and, two, that he would almost certainly prove the stronger should it come to a fight. If he tracked her down and overpowered her, they would be able to sail fearlessly to port, instead of having to risk their lives in a flimsy life raft.
Creeping stealthily round the pilot house, Ægir tried to follow the scent. But before he had gone far he was met by a sight that caused his heart to miss a beat. Two legs were protruding from under the white bench that ran around the bows. Instantly he recognised the shoes that Halli had been wearing throughout the voyage. And he could not be asleep, that much was certain. His legs were lying at such an unnatural angle that they must be broken. Forgetting all caution, Ægir sprang towards the bench and bent down for a better view. The stench of perfume was so sickening that he would never be able to smell it again as long as he lived without retching. It got worse when he tugged at one cold limb and realised that it had been severed from the body. When he finally forced himself to look, he discovered that the rest of Halli’s corpse was nowhere to be seen. He snatched back his hand and leapt to his feet. He was not safe here, whether the killer was male or female. This person was clearly insane.
All thoughts of starting the engines again evaporated as he ran for the stairs that would take him back to the twins. He wanted to scream out their names, to tell them to be careful, that Daddy was coming. But he was silent, saving his breath for the sprint. Even as he opened the door he realised he needn’t have bothered. He would never reach his daughters now. That thought was almost more agonising than the axe that sank into his belly. It was dragged out and driven in again, under his chest. As his muscles ceased to obey him he dropped the flares and spanner, which fell with a series of thuds onto the steel deck. His last rational thought was not of the pain or his daughters, now left on their own. Rather, it was puzzlement as to how on earth this could be happening. Perhaps, after all, the dead could rise from the grave?
Chapter 30
‘So you knew nothing about this? Your friend Halldór didn’t say a word about meeting Karítas in Lisbon?’ Thóra had to raise her voice to be heard over the music that was blasting from the sound system behind her. She didn’t know the band and had no wish to become any more closely acquainted with them. The bass was turned up so high that her body seemed to throb with it and she was almost afraid her heart would start beating in time to the insistent drumming.
As soon as she and Bella left Karítas and her mother, she had rung Snævar and asked to meet him. She had taken care to reveal nothing about their errand, merely hinting that she wanted his opinion on a few small things. He had agreed and suggested she come round to his place as his leg was particularly bad that day, which made it hard to leave the house. If she wanted to see him at her office, it would have to wait until tomorrow. Thóra felt it was too urgent for that, so she and Bella drove straight from Arnarnes up to the suburb of Grafarvogur where Snævar lived in a long block of flats that could have done with some exterior maintenance.
Inside, Snævar’s flat was little better. Thóra hoped for his sake that the squalor could be blamed on his broken leg. As it was, he was lucky not to have tripped over the piles of rubbish that littered the floor and broken the other one. He apologised casually for the mess. It was obvious that he was glad of the company; perhaps it was a sign of his loneliness that he should be willing to receive guests in the midst of all this noise and chaos. But his pleasure visibly faded when Thóra accused him of having held back information. ‘Though to tell the truth, I find the whole thing rather far-fetched,’ she added. ‘And I’m fairly sure the police will too.’
Snævar stared blindly into an empty mug with a congealing ring of coffee froth around the inside. ‘I didn’t want to tell anyone. I was so afraid people would suspect Halli. None of you knew him so you’re bound to believe the worst of him. Even if he did speak to her, he didn’t do anything. I can’t and won’t believe it.’
‘You obviously don’t have much faith in the police.’ Thóra pushed a robot vacuum cleaner away with her foot in order to make more legroom. The poor thing had obviously run out of power and been prevented from reaching its recharging point by the obstacle course on the floor. ‘You can trust them to find out the truth.’
‘How can they, when there’s no one left to tell the tale? Surely you must see that?’ Snævar shoved an embroidered cushion behind his back for support. It looked like an heirloom from his grandmother’s house. ‘Anyway, nothing happened. I broke my leg and Halli had his hands full coping with me and preparing the yacht for departure. There’s no way he would have had time to help Karítas, so I didn’t think it was relevant.’