‘Did you email your ex?’ I ask quietly.
He releases me. Straightens up and rubs his face. ‘I’m sorry. It completely slipped my mind. I found out about you, then got into that argument with Sandrine. I totally forgot.’ There’s frustration in his expression, but I sense it’s directed more at himself than me.
I believe him, I realise, with a mix of surrender and relief. Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I do. And I long for him to hold me again, to pretend that we are anywhere but here, in this place.
Suddenly, as if I’ve unconsciously given him a signal, he reaches out and pulls me towards him. We kiss, at first tenderly and slowly, then more urgently. Desire fills me, pushing everything else to the margins.
I want this, I think. I need this.
I’m so sick of being alone.
But, as abruptly as it began, Arne pulls away. ‘Not like this,’ he whispers. ‘Not here, okay?’
I’m crushed with disappointment, but he’s right – this isn’t a good idea.
‘Listen, I’ll tackle Sandrine again tomorrow,’ he says. ‘Sonya’s on her case too – she’s threatening to report her to UNA if she doesn’t release you. You’re entitled to some kind of hearing, Kate, to defend yourself.’
Defend myself how? Am I simply going to announce to everyone what I told Sandrine? Tell them I think Jean-Luc and Alex were murdered?
What would be worse, I wonder. If they believed me?
Or if they didn’t?
‘Do you believe me?’ I ask Arne, as he gets to his feet. I tilt my head so I can look straight into his eyes. ‘That someone killed Jean-Luc and Alex?’
Arne runs a hand through his hair. I watch him searching for the right words. And in his hesitation I read everything I need to know.
Caro and I are in this alone.
35
6 July
It takes an age to get back to sleep after Arne leaves. I spend half the night tossing and turning, alternately in the grip of sweats then shivers. I’m ragged with exhaustion when I hear another tap on my door in the morning.
‘Come in,’ I croak, assuming it’s Alice or Caro with breakfast. Not that I’ve touched the sandwich they brought yesterday – appetite, it seems, is the first casualty of opiate withdrawal.
To my surprise, Sandrine enters my room. Instinctively I brace myself. What now? Has she found out about Arne’s visit in the night? Is she going to lock the pair of us up in Beta?
Presumably not together.
‘Can we talk?’ she asks, and amazingly her tone has none of its usual brusqueness.
‘Okay,’ I reply warily, feeling stupidly self-conscious in my pyjamas. Hardly a dignified way to hold what will no doubt be a serious conversation. ‘Have a seat.’ I nod at the chair by my desk.
‘Not here,’ Sandrine says. ‘Can you meet me in the library?’
I squint at her, bemused. ‘You sure you trust me not to do a runner?’
The station leader gives me a steady look. ‘I’ll see you there in ten minutes.’
I lie there for a moment after she’s gone, pondering this turn of events. What is Sandrine up to? Is this some sort of trap?
Will I be put under house arrest the moment I step out of this room?
Only one way to find out. I haul myself out of bed and examine my clothes. In all the upheaval of the last few days I haven’t had a chance to put on a wash and I’m all out of clean laundry. I pull on a pair of rather grubby sweat pants and a black T-shirt. They’ll have to do, I decide, but all the same I run a brush through my hair and check myself in the mirror.
Ugh. I look gruesome, my scar more obvious than ever. I feel horrible too, hollow and shaky, the fever and nausea replaced by a constant nagging craving for some kind of pharmacological relief.
How long will this last? I wonder. Days? Weeks?
The rest of my life?
I drag myself to the library, my bad knee objecting to every step, sending sharp signals of distress. I find Sandrine sitting in an armchair, two mugs on the table. She hands one to me as I shut the door and sit opposite.
‘Black, no sugar. Is that right?’
I nod, amazed she’s aware how I take my coffee. Seems I consistently underestimate this woman.
‘Why here?’ I nod at the shelves, filled with paperback thrillers and old copies of New Scientist and National Geographic. ‘What’s wrong with your office – or my cabin?’
Sandrine does an offhand little shrug, in that way only the French can pull off. ‘I thought it might be better to meet on neutral territory.’
Or perhaps she doesn’t want to be overheard. Hardly anybody uses this room besides Sonya.
I take a sip of my coffee, deciding to let Sandrine take the lead and get to whatever point she’s brought me here to make. Knowing she’ll go straight to it – this woman doesn’t do small talk.
‘I think we need to bury the …’ she pauses, searching for the right word.
‘Hatchet?’ I offer.
‘Yes, make peace.’
‘Okay,’ I say cautiously, puzzled by this sudden change of heart. ‘So what does that involve?’
‘I let you return to active duty, and you agree to leave this situation to me.’
I consider this. ‘What situation, exactly?’
Sandrine sighs. ‘The one you’ve been investigating. For my part I’m willing to concede that things have got rather out of hand. You’re the station doctor, Kate. Caro is pregnant and needs regular care, so you and I need to come to some sort of truce.’
Truce. Interesting choice of word. Is Sandrine admitting she might be at fault? I’m sceptical, but let her continue.
‘Did you take those missing drugs?’ Sandrine holds her gaze directly on mine.
‘Some of them,’ I admit. No point in lying any more.
Something relaxes in the station leader’s face. ‘Thank you for being honest. Can you tell me why?’
I inhale, let my breath out slowly. ‘Because I … because I have a problem. With pills. Since the accident.’
‘The car accident?’
I nod.
‘It is very difficult,’ she says carefully, her gaze drifting away, ‘when something hits you out of the blue like that. It can be devastating.’
The station leader turns back, clears her throat. ‘I loved him, Kate. I loved Jean-Luc, but I couldn’t openly grieve his death. The only way I could cope was to keep going.’
She closes her eyes for a second or two, fighting to get her emotions under control. ‘I’m aware I have not handled my feelings in the best way. It has been hard, seeing him replaced, life going on without him. Very difficult indeed.’
So it wasn’t entirely personal, I realise, her antipathy to me. Resenting his replacement was her way of grieving her lover. I think again of Jean-Luc’s things in that locker – perhaps, simply, Sandrine was reluctant to let them go. I’m tempted to ask her about them, and that letter, but right now I don’t want to jeopardise this unexpected détente between us.
‘Jean-Luc would have liked you.’ She takes a deep breath and looks me full in the face. ‘You are both very determined people.’
‘Determined? I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘It was one of the reasons he and I clashed. We had a big argument a day or so before he died – something I now regret bitterly.’
‘Over those DNA samples?’
Sandrine’s face stiffens. ‘How do you know about those?’
‘I watched his video log,’ I confess. In for a penny. I ready myself for an indignant lecture, but it doesn’t come.
‘So you’re aware, then, of what Jean-Luc wanted me to do?’
‘Not entirely,’ I hedge. ‘Just that he asked you to cross-check some DNA samples.’
Sandrine sighs. I can see her weighing up how much to tell me. ‘As you know, UNA has them on file for each winterer. Jean-Luc wanted to compare them with those taken from Naomi Perez, a woman who died at McMurdo. Or more specifically, her foetus.’
‘Her foetus?’ I stare at her, aghast. ‘She was pregnant?’
‘Yes. He wanted to find out if there was a match with anyone on the base.’
I frown. ‘You mean if it was possible that someone here was the father?’
Sandrine nods. ‘I refused. I knew UNA wouldn’t contact the US Antarctic Program and request those samples without good reason, and it seemed to me that Jean-Luc didn’t have one. Not sufficient reason anyway. Besides, what would it prove, even if it turned out that someone here did father that baby? Certainly not murder.’
‘So he suspected somebody on the station was linked to her death,’ I confirm. ‘Why would he think that?’
Another shrug. ‘He wouldn’t tell me. A matter of patient confidentiality, apparently. That’s also why I refused. UNA would require solid reasons for that sort of investigation, and Jean-Luc couldn’t give me any. Just a hunch, he said.’
Just a hunch. So Jean-Luc didn’t have proof. Then again, I know from experience how much doctors rely on hunches, especially in diagnosis. You learn to trust your instincts, when you might need to dig deeper.
‘So what are you going to do?’ I ask. ‘About this situation. About Jean-Luc and Alex.’
Sandrine rubs her temple. Underneath her neat make-up she looks exhausted. ‘I’m not sure. My main priority is simply to get us all safely through this winter.’
‘Mine too,’ I add. ‘I very much do not want anyone else to get hurt. Or worse.’
She looks at me. ‘Do you really believe Alex’s death wasn’t suicide?’
I hesitate. ‘I can’t be absolutely certain, but there are too many things that don’t add up.’
To my astonishment she nods. ‘Then I’ll make a deal with you – you agree to leave this with me, and I’ll allow you to go about your work unhindered. But without relying on any more drugs. I’ve taken the precaution of removing the offending medication from your clinic and locking it up in Beta. If anyone needs it, they’ll have to request it from me.’
I swallow. ‘Okay.’
Sandrine’s expression softens. ‘You’ve got to come off this stuff sooner or later, Kate – and it strikes me this place is as good as any. Do you think you can manage that?’
‘I guess I’ll have to. Though right now I feel like shit.’
The station leader allows herself a small smile. ‘I’m sure you do.’
Fair punishment, I conclude. I know, too, that this woman is doing me a favour – unlike rehab or some recovery programme, you can’t check out of Antarctica.
Where better to face your demons? Or monsters, as Ark prefers to call them.
‘So you’ll tell UNA what’s going on?’ I confirm, wondering whether to mention Luuk’s lie about the vape pen. Decide against it. Any more ‘wild accusations’ might make her change her mind.
To my immense relief the station leader nods again. ‘Leave it with me,’ she says, glancing at her watch. ‘In the meantime, let’s get some breakfast.’
36
7 July
Something’s wrong.
I wake with a start, gazing around in confusion as yesterday comes crashing back: that unexpected reconciliation with Sandrine, the guarded welcome from the rest of the crew – thankful, at least, to see me back on duty. And my own relief that Sandrine was onside. That finally she was going to do something about Alex’s death.
So why this feeling of dread? I lie there, dazed, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the twilight of the cabin. Is this another side effect of withdrawal? The creeping horrors?
And then I realise. The room is pitch black. The night light is off. In panic, I grope for the switch, flick it a few times.
Nothing.
The bulb has blown, I tell myself, trying to stay calm. I feel in my drawer for my torch, then remember it’s on my desk. I get out of bed and fumble my way through the darkness towards the switch by the door.
Fuck! A flash of pain as I stub my toe on the leg of my chair. I grit my teeth, waiting for it to subside, then stumble towards the far wall and turn on the main light.
Nothing happens.
Heart beating faster, I try the switch again, but I’m still surrounded by absolute blackness, unable to see even my hand before my face. A surge of irrational terror makes me whimper out loud. I consider screaming, calling for help, but I’m finding it hard to breathe.
I force myself to inhale and exhale a few times, steady and slow. Then feel my way back to the desk, fumbling for the torch. As my fingers make contact with the metal, it clatters to the floor.
Shit, shit, shit.
Dropping to my hands and knees I search all around me, but I can’t find it anywhere. I crawl towards the window and open the blind, hoping for a little moonlight, but it’s as dark outside as in.
I stand there, shivering with fear and cold. Neither light working can only mean one thing – and that thing is much, much worse than my fear of the dark.
The power is out.
Perhaps it’s only this part of the station, I pray, dropping to the floor again and feeling around for my torch. Where is it? Steeling myself, I force my fingers under the bunk, gripped by some primitive childish terror of what might lurk underneath.
Nothing, Kate, I mutter out loud. Grow up.
Finally the tips of my fingers make contact with the smooth edge of my torch, right up against the far wall. I push my arm in as far as it will go and manage to pull it towards me, hoping it didn’t break in the fall.
Hands shaking, I turn it on, feeling almost faint with relief as light illuminates my little room. Pulling on my dressing gown, I venture into the corridor. A second later I collide with someone. I give an involuntary yelp of fright and swing my torch upwards, get a terrifying glimpse of a ghoulish face peering down at me.
‘Kate,’ Drew grabs my arm. ‘I was just coming to see if you’re okay.’
‘Jesus, you scared me,’ I gasp. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Power cut,’ says a voice behind us. Luuk, accompanied by Alice, her face pale with fright.
‘Power cut?’ I echo. ‘Is it the generator?’
‘Ark and Arne have gone to check,’ says Drew.
‘How long’s it been down?’
‘About twenty minutes,’ Luuk replies.
‘Where’s Sandrine?’
‘We just went to look for her.’ Alice’s voice is tight with anxiety. ‘She’s not in her cabin.’
‘Give me a moment.’ I go back into my room and start to get dressed, but a wave of dizziness forces me to pause. Oh God. What I wouldn’t give right now for a couple of hydrocodone. And some Valium to chase them down.
I push the thought away and struggle into my leggings, searching around for a pair of socks. I’m almost done when Alice bursts in, her lovely face rigid with shock. Then I see she’s trembling. She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
‘What’s the matter?’ My own panic rises up again. ‘Alice, what’s going on?’
She shakes her head, as if she can’t bear to put it into words. ‘Come with me,’ she croaks, heading out of the door.
Grabbing my torch, I follow her up the corridor to Sandrine’s office, hearing voices arguing as we approach. A small crowd stands inside – Tom, Rob, and Sonya.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
They all turn to me, their faces wearing the same expression of disbelief and horror as Alice. Rob swings his flashlight across the room. At first I can’t take in what I’m seeing, can’t make sense of the patches of light and deep shadow.
Then I realise.
There’s a body splayed on the floor, just visible behind the desk. And it’s not moving.
Sandrine.
Oh fuck. I drop down beside her. As I put a hand to her neck to check for a pulse, I catch sight of a dark patch on the carpet by her head.
‘Can you give me more light?’ I say urgently.
Blood glows red in the beam of several flashlights. It’s oozing from the back of her sku
ll, forming a small pool by her left cheek. No pulse that I can detect, though her skin is still warm.
I shine my own torch straight into her open eyes. No pupil response at all. My chest tightens with shock and disbelief.
She’s dead.
Lifting her head, I examine the back. Find a large swelling, the skin broken, skull dented beneath. It appears someone hit her very hard – and recently.
Definitely not an accident. Nor suicide.
Oh God. Poor Sandrine. I’m hit by a wave of sadness and horror, not just for her but for all of us.
What on earth will we do now?
‘I’m sorry.’ I get to my feet. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’
Alice starts sobbing, but no one contradicts me. It’s pretty obvious Sandrine is past the point of resuscitation. ‘Who found her?’ I ask.
‘I did.’ Tom’s voice is quiet. Even in the constantly shifting light of the torch beams, I can see he looks pale and shocked. He glances around at everyone, as if waiting to be accused of something.
‘How long ago?’ I ask.
‘Just now. She wasn’t in her cabin, so I came to check in here.’
‘Where are the others?’
‘Drew’s gone to check in with Ark and Arne,’ Luuk says. ‘Rajiv’s in the kitchen checking the refrigerators.’ He grimaces. ‘Like we need to worry about the food staying cold.’
‘What about Caro?’
‘I told her to stay in her cabin,’ says Sonya. ‘Safer there than out here.’
We stand in silence for a few moments, trying to take this all in. Sandrine dead and the power down – could this be coincidence?
It seems unlikely.
‘What are we going to do, Kate?’ Alice echoes my own thoughts. All eyes turn to mine, as if in the absence of a station leader, authority has somehow devolved to me.
‘I don’t know,’ I admit.
Rob clears his throat. ‘Do you think she was murdered?’
I hesitate. What should I say? ‘I can’t be certain, but it appears she was hit with a blunt instrument.’
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