‘Perhaps she fell,’ Tom suggests, his focus slightly to the right of me in that odd way of his, as if eye contact causes him physical pain. ‘She could have hit her head on her desk.’
I gaze back at Tom. Could it be him? He found her after all. But he looks so distressed it’s difficult to believe.
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘I’m a doctor, not a detective. But it seems unlikely.’ I glance at the others. They appear paralysed, too traumatised to process what any of this means.
‘What are we going to do?’ Alice repeats, a rising note of panic in her voice.
No one responds.
‘First we need to get the power back on,’ I say, in the absence of anybody else taking the lead. ‘Then we can contact UNA, discuss what to do.’
‘What about the emergency sat phone?’ Rob suggests.
‘Where’s that kept?’
‘In here.’ He crosses to a cupboard, opens the door and shines a light inside. ‘What the hell … it’s gone.’
‘Gone?’ Alice wails. ‘Gone where?’
‘Perhaps one of the others has it.’ Sonya is clearly making an effort to keep her voice steady and calm. ‘Maybe Ark or Arne took it with them.’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Luuk interjects. ‘If they’d come in here to fetch it, they would have seen Sandrine. You reckon they’d simply go off and leave her?’
No reply from anyone.
‘So what shall we do with …?’ Tom’s voice chokes. He can’t bring himself to continue, simply nods in the direction of Sandrine’s prone body.
‘We shouldn’t touch anything for now,’ I say, trying to think through the fog in my head. ‘At the very least, we should take photos before we move her, but for that we need better light, which means restoring the power. Then UNA can tell us what to do.’
And what on earth might that be?
Dealing with Sandrine’s body is one thing, but what could the team in Geneva possibly suggest for managing an unidentified murderer in our midst? Tell us to barricade ourselves in our cabins for a months until they can send out a rescue plane? Or gather in the lounge perhaps, where we can all eye each other suspiciously, like Agatha Christie characters transposed to an Antarctic wilderness?
I glance at the open laptop on Sandrine’s desk, its screen black. On impulse, I touch the mousepad and the computer flickers into life. Still some battery power then. I stare at the log-in, wondering what our station leader was doing right before she was attacked.
Is it possible she was in contact with UNA? That they know we’re in trouble?
It’s a forlorn hope, but something to hang on to. They might not be able to do anything directly, but just the thought that somebody out there in the wider world is aware of our predicament would make me feel a whole lot better right now.
‘I’m going to see what’s happening with the others.’ Sonya heads for the door.
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘Nobody should go anywhere alone. The four of you go together, and check on Caro and Rajiv first. Rob and I will find out what’s happening with the generator. Let’s all meet back in the lounge.’
Sonya nods. ‘We’ll need some paraffin stoves. And the kerosene lamps.’
‘We could collect some duvets too, take them into the lounge,’ Alice adds. ‘They’ll help keep us warm.’
They’re right. Already, ominously, there’s a chill in the air – without power, none of the heating systems are working. I feel another frisson of alarm. What if there’s something serious wrong with the generator? How long before the kerosene for the stoves runs out and we all freeze to death?
Don’t be silly, I reassure myself, remembering the backup generator in the outhouse behind Beta. If Ark can’t get the main one going, we can switch to emergency power.
‘What about the walkie-talkies?’ Tom asks. ‘We could use them to stay in touch with one another.’
‘Good plan. Rob and I will pick some up from the boot room. I’ll find Arne and ask him to collect the lamps and stoves.’ I stand there, trying to work out what else we should do. ‘Conserve the torch batteries,’ I add. ‘Only use one, and for as little time as possible.’
With that, everybody files out of Sandrine’s office, leaving me alone with Rob. He gazes down at the body, then back at me.
‘Kate?’ he asks, keeping his voice low. ‘Shouldn’t one of us go and get the gun?’
I swing my gaze up to his. ‘Gun? What gun?’
‘It’s locked up in Beta. A pistol.’
‘A pistol?’ I frown. ‘What for? There are no polar bears or anything out here.’
He shrugs. ‘Guess someone thought it was a good idea.’
Did UNA envisage a situation like this? It seems absurd. Then again, I guess they provided that gun for a reason.
Rob crosses to the key cupboard and opens the door. Stands there, peering inside.
‘What’s up?’ I ask, but the look of dismay on his face as he turns back to me says everything.
‘The gun locker key isn’t there,’ Rob confirms. ‘Somebody’s already taken it.’
We stare at each other, both thinking the same thing: someone on this station, someone we know, someone we’ve lived with all these months, shared food and wine and conversation with, has killed Sandrine and taken the sat phone – and now they have access to a lethal weapon.
It’s only then I remember the filing cabinet. I go over and pull on the handle, but it’s locked. I shine my torch into the key cupboard again, but can’t see any that might fit.
Maybe Sandrine hid them, after she caught me snooping inside. Decided to put them somewhere safe. I cringe at the irony. Getting in that filing cabinet might turn out to be the only way to deal with the danger that’s stalking us on this station.
But right now there’s a more urgent problem.
‘Come on,’ I say, turning back to Rob. ‘We should go and check where the gun’s kept. Perhaps it’s still there.’
37
7 July
‘Shit.’ Rob shines his torch into the empty space in the gun locker.
‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘Shit.’
‘We’re really screwed, aren’t we?’ He drops his torch to his side, and turns to me. The laddish bravado he normally adopts around Luuk has completely fallen away, and Rob looks plain scared.
I shiver, wondering how to respond. Decide on honesty. ‘I reckon that just about sums it up, yes.’
We stand in the eerie gloom, the darkness almost palpable, pressing in on us as inexorably as the lethal cold that’s slowly invading our protective little bubble.
‘Do you have any idea who’s doing this?’ he asks.
‘Not yet.’ If I could access those personnel files in Sandrine’s office, ascertain exactly who was at McMurdo at the same time as Jean-Luc and Naomi, I might have a clue. But caution prevents me saying as much to Rob – better to do that alone.
‘We should check on Ark,’ he suggests. ‘It’s getting pretty cold around here.’
But even if I discover who’s doing this, I wonder gloomily as I follow Rob along the dark corridors, what good will that do? Whoever it is, they have the gun, and presumably ample ammunition.
How can any of us defend ourselves against that?
We find Ark alone in the generator room, down on one knee, working on the machine in front of him, a couple of torches rigged up to illuminate the area. No sign of Drew or Arne.
‘You discovered what’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘Cooling fan broken.’ He points to a piece of metal that means nothing to me.
Rob frowns. ‘How would that happen?’
‘Not right question,’ Ark says. ‘Who, not how.’
I stare back at him, horrified. ‘You mean somebody did this deliberately?’
‘Only explanation.’ Ark studies the generator, his expression despondent, as if someone has assaulted his favourite child. ‘Whoever did this knew what they were doing. It … how do you say … completely fucked.’
I stand there, tr
ying to take this in. Someone deliberately sabotaged our power supply – the thing that makes life in this frozen hellhole possible. Why would anybody in their right mind do that?
To stop us contacting UNA for help, maybe. Or to keep us preoccupied with basic survival.
Or perhaps, more simply, whoever did this isn’t in their right mind at all.
‘Can you mend it?’ I ask Ark.
‘Not easy. We need backup going.’
‘Is it undamaged?’
‘No idea. Drew and Arne gone to check. You take care of others, okay? Make sure they safe.’
But how, I want to ask? How to keep them safe if I don’t know who to protect them from?
‘You got any idea how long it might take to get the emergency generator going?’ I ask instead. With heat and light, it will be much easier to defend ourselves.
Ark heaves himself to his feet, groaning as he straightens his back. ‘That depends on what we find.’
I nod, try a different tack. ‘Can we survive without electricity?’
Ark scratches his beard and squints down at me. ‘Many problems, Kate. No heat, no light, and most bad is, no water.’
Jesus. I never thought of that. ‘Can’t we get snow from outside?’
‘Of course. But we must melt, not so easy when below zero in here too. We have fuel stoves, yes, but we need them for food and heat.’ Ark offers me a gallows-humour smile. ‘Look on bright side, Kate – whoever kill Sandrine perhaps get us first.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve any idea …?’ I let the question hang. It’s obvious what I mean.
Ark raises an eyebrow. ‘If I did, they be dead already.’
‘The gun has gone,’ I tell him.
His expression clouds further. ‘Blyad,’ he mutters in Russian. It needs no translation, and I put a hand on his arm, grateful for his honesty. To my surprise Ark enfolds me in a bearish hug for a second or two, then releases me.
‘Good girl.’ He grins at my startled reaction. ‘I always have best feeling about you.’
I hurry back to Alpha, Rob in my wake. Both of us silent as the implications of our situation start to hit home. We’re trapped on the ice without heat or power, and possibly little water, with a killer who has a gun.
Hard to see how this could end well.
I’ll check everyone’s okay, I decide, then hunt for that key for the filing cabinet; if I can’t find it, I’ll have to get someone to jemmy it open.
But who? asks a small voice in my head. If one of us is the killer, who can I trust to help me?
Suddenly a bright torch beam flashes in the corridor, and Alice looms out of the darkness. ‘It’s Caro,’ she says, sounding breathless. ‘She tripped in the dark.’
My stomach gives a little flip of alarm. ‘Is she okay?’
‘She says she is, but I thought you’d better look her over. She fell pretty hard.’
I take a deep, steadying breath, then hurry to the lounge, where Sonya, Luuk, and Rajiv are all huddled under duvets and sleeping bags. Rajiv isn’t wearing his turban, I notice, long dark hair tumbling around his shoulders – clearly he left his cabin in a rush and didn’t want to return. I turn to Caro, lying on one of the sofas, and shine my torch on her face. She smiles up at me.
‘What happened?’ I crouch in front of her, observing her tear-stained cheeks.
‘I tripped over a chair leg in the canteen and fell onto the corner of a table.’ She shakes her head, as if marvelling at her own stupidity.
‘When did this happen?’
‘About ten minutes ago,’ says Alice. ‘I was on my way to find you. Is Ark going to get the power back on?’
‘Not yet,’ I hedge, wondering whether to mention the missing gun. Should I warn everyone? Or will that make matters worse?
After all, someone here right now could have taken that pistol, stashed it away in the dark – the last thing I want to do is provoke them into using it.
Focus, Kate, I urge myself. Deal with the emergency at hand. ‘You in any pain?’ I ask Caro.
‘Not really. Just a bit winded.’
‘Have you felt the baby move since?’
Caro nods. ‘A couple of kicks.’
‘I really should examine you in the surgery.’
‘I’m fine,’ Caro insists. ‘No need for any fuss.’ She smiles at Alice, who’s gazing down at her, frowning with concern.
‘Give me fifteen minutes – we’ll do a proper check over then, okay? There are some things I have to do first.’ I glance around. ‘Where’s Tom?’
‘In the comms room,’ Sonya says. ‘He’s trying to set up the portable high frequency radio. To see if we can get in touch with one of the other stations.’
‘Is he on his own?’
Sonya nods. ‘I told him not to go alone, but he wouldn’t listen. Someone should check in on him.’
‘I will,’ I say.
‘You want me to go with you?’ Rob asks.
I shake my head. ‘I’ll find Arne. We can do it together,’ I say, seizing on the excuse to go alone, then head out of the door before anyone can argue.
38
7 July
The station leader’s office is pitch black and deathly cold. Literally, I think despondently, staring at the body on the floor. Someone has covered Sandrine with a sheet, trying to give her a little dignity in death, but the effect is to render the scene even more gruesome.
Who killed her – and why?
There’s an awful conclusion I don’t want to face. If Jean-Luc died for attempting to expose a killer on the station, it seems likely Alex and Sandrine were murdered for the same reason. And in Sandrine’s case, I was the one who persuaded her to contact UNA.
I swallow down a wave of guilt and sorrow, clutching the torch in my hands. Would she be alive now if I hadn’t pushed this so hard?
Enough, Kate. Tackle the most immediate danger – and that means finding out who’s doing this. You’ve got to get inside that filing cabinet. It’s the only way to establish who might have been at McMurdo without actually asking everyone, which I can’t help thinking would be a grave mistake – whoever’s behind this will clearly do anything to keep their identity hidden.
I check through the keys in the cupboard again, then try the drawers in Sandrine’s desk, but they contain nothing more than a neat assortment of stationery, and a single photograph tucked into the back of a notebook.
I study it in the light of my torch. It’s a snapshot of Sandrine and Jean-Luc, together on the ice, both grinning in the bright sunshine. A lump rises to my throat. She was a woman, alone, trying to cope in an impossible situation. And she lost the person she loved.
I can relate to that.
But now she’s dead. Jean-Luc and Alex too. It’s too much to comprehend, too much to bear. I’m overwhelmed by a surge of longing for a good hefty dose of medication, a chemical buffer from all this horror and chaos.
You could find where Sandrine put the pills she removed from the clinic, argues a tempting voice. They’ll be in one of the locked cabinets in Beta.
But no. I glance down at her body, recalling my promise the last time we spoke – somehow her death makes me all the more reluctant to break it.
Dragging my attention back to the keys for the filing cabinet, I quickly search the rest of Sandrine’s office – inside the lever arch files on the shelf, behind the books in the small bookcase in the corner. I even lift the chairs and look on the underside of the desk to make certain she hasn’t secured them out of sight.
No sign of them anywhere. They must be in her room, I decide, but right now I should check on Tom. More than anything I want to track down Arne – I haven’t seen him since the power went out; I’m desperate to find him, to make sure he’s okay, and discuss what we should do.
I recall the sensation of his lips on mine, the feel of him so close to me, the reassuring warmth of his presence, and for a moment the heaviness in my heart lifts a little.
If anything happened to him, I’m no
t sure I could bear it.
Tom is huddled over a large red box on his desk, looking clumsy and awkward in his thick down jacket. It’s even colder in Beta than the main building, and I see him struggling to hold the tiny screwdriver in his gloved hand as he works on the delicate electronics by torchlight.
‘Any joy?’ I ask.
‘Not so far.’ He shoots a quick glance in my direction. ‘It’s not working. I’m trying to figure out why.’
‘Can’t Rob help? He’s the comms expert after all.’
Tom raises his eyes and allows himself an almost imperceptible smile. ‘That doesn’t mean he knows how to dismantle a radio. I used to make my own, when I was a kid. At least I have some clue what I am looking at.’
‘All the same, Tom, you shouldn’t be here on your own.’
He shrugs. ‘I can’t stand the atmosphere in the lounge, everyone so suspicious of each other – I had to get away.’
They hate me.
Tom’s words that time he came to my clinic ring in my ears. His admission that he sees and hears things that aren’t there. I watch him work on the machine in front of him, wondering. Is it possible that I was right, that Tom isn’t well? That his illness might have progressed into full-blown paranoia?
And what might that make someone do?
All of a sudden, he puts down his screwdriver and sighs. Actually looks me square in the face. ‘Do you have any idea who’s doing this, Kate? Who killed Sandrine? Sabotaged the generator?’
I shake my head. ‘Do you?’
‘No. But if we can radio another base, we can at least communicate with UNA and tell them what is happening.’
‘If you can’t get it working,’ I nod at the machine on the workbench, ‘do you know how long it might take UNA to gather there’s something seriously wrong?’
Tom shrugs again. ‘Not long. A few hours maybe. They might assume we have comms problems, but they’ll try to reach us on the sat phone. They’ve probably realised by now that we’ve got something going on.’
I stand there taking this in. ‘Let me know if you get anywhere, won’t you?’ I say. ‘But really, I’d be happier if you returned to the lounge. It’s dangerous to be here on your own.’
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