“Can’t you seize my passport and detain me for questioning?”
“I don’t know. Herr Dybdahl is rather anxious to get rid of his American guests. Let’s order some dinner and wine and discuss it.”
Neither of them wasted much time over the menu. Thor beckoned a nearby waiter. Feeling the need for protein to compensate for her blood loss, Dinah ordered a beefsteak. Thor ordered smoked lamb and a bottle of Sangiovese.
When the waiter had gone, he said, “If you decide to stay for a while, perhaps I’ll take you across the tundra by dogsled.”
“Aren’t you afraid of polar bears?”
“I have a pair of Karelian bear dogs. Crockett and Tubbs.”
She couldn’t hold back a guffaw. “The old TV show cops?”
He accorded her a sheepish half-smile. “I’ve always had a yen to visit Miami. It looks so lush and tropical. Do the men still wear t-shirts under pink and white Italian blazers and loafers with no socks?”
“I don’t think so, Thor.”
“Anyway, the Karelian dogs are bred and trained to drive off the isbjørn.”
“Is that Norwegian for bear?”
“Ice bear. It’s against the law to shoot a bear unless it attacks. The Karelians help to remind the isbjørn that his territory ends at the city limits.” Another sheepish smile. “But to be safe, we erected a fence around the kindergarten.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t want to meet one of your isbjørns, but I’d love to see the northern lights.”
“In the Sami language, they’re called Guovssahas, the lights that can be heard.”
“Do they actually make sound?”
“Scientific instruments haven’t detected them, but I’ve heard them and so have a lot of other people. But it’s the colors and the movement that dazzle you. The Sami believed Guovssahas would punish those who failed to appreciate their beauty.”
“Tell me about the Sami gods.”
“It was mostly ancestor worship and animal spirits. White animals carried special importance. There was a sky god, Horagalles, who was a precursor of Thor, the Viking god of thunder.”
“Does Horagalles have a lot of namesakes in Norway?”
A full smile. “Not so many as Thor, although they had roughly the same job—thunder, lightning, the weather, the oceans, and nailing the bad guys. Like Thor, Horagalles carried a hammer which he used to bash out the brains of evildoing trolls and giants.”
“Did the Sami pray to Horagalles?”
“All communication with the gods went through their shamans, called noaidi. They drummed and chanted and played the flute until they fell into a trance and abracadabra, enlightenment came.”
Their wine came. The waiter poured a taste. Thor gave the glass to Dinah. She swished it about pronounced it fine. The waiter poured and withdrew.
She held up her glass. “Skäl.”
“Cheers.” He took a sip and furrowed his brow. “I missed something. A man is dead because of it and you’ve been hurt. I should have held Eftevang until his enemies had left the country. If I had more time and the support of the governor, I could nail Mahler and his bodyguards.”
“You think it was Mahler?”
“He would be my prime suspect if I were allowed to investigate the murder properly.”
She fingered the bandage on her arm. She felt as if it were shrinking and cutting off circulation. “Why do you think Herr Dybdahl is so anxious to get rid of us?”
“I’ve asked myself that question.”
“And what was your answer?”
“I think he is what the American TV cops would say, ‘on the take’ from Tillcorp. Maybe he thinks that the longer I investigate, the more likely it is that his own corruption will be exposed.”
“Do you have cause to believe Dybdahl’s dirty or is it more of a gut feeling?”
“He lives exceptionally well on a minister’s salary. I’ve seen photographs of his home on Oslofjord.”
“His grandmother didn’t die and leave him the house and a chest full of kroner?”
“It’s possible.”
“Do you know of any special privilege or dispensation that he or the Norwegian government has granted to Tillcorp?”
“No.”
“Then I’d classify your suspicion as more of a gut feeling. But if Eftevang had documents that could implicate him in a bribery scandal, that would give him a motive to commit murder. But why would Eftevang or his accomplice, if he had one, shoot the agriculture minister in the eye with a laser?”
Thor stared into his wine glass and seemed to contemplate. “Maybe Dybdahl staged the attack on himself.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Perhaps to prevent the media from learning that he knew in advance that Mahler would be on that plane and that he expected to do business with him. Dybdahl seldom visits Svalbard or personally entertains foreign dignitaries. But if he came to get a payoff from Mahler, that would explain it.”
Dinah was skeptical. “A, nobody but you suspected him of being on the take. B, Eftevang hated Tillcorp. He wouldn’t be conniving with Dybdahl if Dybdahl was in league with the company. And C, Dybdahl wouldn’t sacrifice an eye when he could simply deny any accusation that he was on the take.”
“Odin sacrificed an eye.”
“You’re the second person who’s mentioned Odin’s eye today. But Odin was a god. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve conjured up a brand new eyeball. Dybdahl’s eye is irreplaceable.”
“Okay, I take your point. We’ll know more when we examine the laser for fingerprints.”
“You found it?”
“The postman found it. It had been dropped into a mail slot at the airport.”
She couldn’t fit the pieces together. “I can accept the proposition that Jake Mahler or Valerie Ives tried to bribe Dybdahl. I can accept the proposition that Eftevang knew something damaging about Tillcorp or possibly Whitney Keyes’ health foundations. And I’ve been warned against talking to people who don’t have Tillcorp’s best interests at heart, including you. But why would anyone want to kill me? It couldn’t be a case of mistaken identity. I’ve been wearing Erika’s coat for two days.”
“I don’t know who or why, Dinah. All I know is that Dybdahl’s going out of his way to obstruct my investigation.” One side of his mouth slanted up. “If I knew who shot you, I’d put a nid on him.”
“What’s a nid?”
“A Viking curse. You stick a horse’s skull on top of a pole called a nidstang and point it toward the house of your enemy. The destructive forces of Hel, the goddess of death, are channeled up the pole and out through the horse’s skull.”
“I thought Hel was a region. Like hell, only icy cold instead of hot.”
“That’s right. Hel was the fortress of Niflheim. But Hel was also a goddess, one of the children of Loki, who was the Father of Lies, and Angrboda, an evil giantess. The lower half of Hel’s body was greenish-black and decayed and she was always in a foul mood.”
“Not hard to see why.”
Their dinner arrived. The waiter laid a steak knife beside Dinah’s plate, replenished her wine, and retired.
She picked up the knife. “Was it a Radisson knife that killed Eftevang?”
“Yes. The logo was engraved on the handle.”
“No prints?”
“No.”
“Did the medical examiner find anything noteworthy?”
“We don’t have a medical examiner in Svalbard. Nobody dies here.”
“Because it’s against the law?”
“Against public policy anyway. The body was flown to Tromsø. I’ll have to wait for a report from the examiner there. He’s on holiday until after the New Year.”
“Isn’t there a backup?”
&nb
sp; “Also on holiday.” He cut into his lamb. “Have you heard Mahler say anything about Eftevang?”
“Nothing except…”
“Except?”
“Eftevang may have been in Myzandia and Mahler seems to think Myzandia is the root of all evil. He said I should ask Whitney Keyes what happened there.” Dinah didn’t think she’d get an answer, but why not ask? “Aagaard said you wouldn’t tell him what you found in Eftevang’s room. Will you tell me?”
“I didn’t tell Aagaard because he is a pain in the rumpeballe. But there’s no point in secrecy. There was nothing there.”
“No documents of any kind?”
“Not a scrap, not a cell phone, or a computer, or a digital device of any kind.”
Dinah perked up. “You could search everyone’s rooms again tonight. Whoever has Eftevang’s PDA is the murderer. Case solved.”
“I wouldn’t know what I’d be looking for. Anyway, thanks to Dybdahl and the influence of the senators, the governor has blocked my authority to search or detain any of you Americans.”
“And the shooting of an American citizen won’t alter his decision?”
“Not so long as you’re able to walk onto that plane tomorrow.”
Dinah touched her tongue to the sore spot where she’d bitten the inside of her cheek and cradled her sore arm. She was glad her injuries didn’t disable her from walking. Her life might have been changed forever if the bullet had found a vital organ or her head. But when it came to being shot, there was no such thing as a minor injury. She was unnerved by her close call and it would be nice if somebody babied her just a little. “Will you cut my steak for me?”
He cut the steak into small bites. She watched his hands as he worked and wondered if the attraction was mutual. He slid her plate back across the table. “There you go.”
“Tusen takk.”
Conversation tapered off. She chewed her steak as delicately as she could and tried to conceal her thoughts, which were inappropriate in the extreme. Thor quaffed his wine and looked at everyone and everything in the restaurant but her. Perhaps he was attracted, but had a girlfriend and the decency not to cheat on her with a one-night stand. Dinah wasn’t feeling as decent as she ought. If he were to suggest…
He stood up and waved. “Senator Sheridan, a word please.”
Dinah stiffened. Sheridan was walking into the dining room with Mahler and Valerie. Sheridan broke away and came over to their table. “Good evening, Dinah, Inspector Ramberg. Any progress to report on the investigation?”
“I’m afraid not. I must tell you there’s been an attempt on Ms. Pelerin’s life.”
“An attempt on…Are you serious?”
“As a bullet hole.” Thor’s face was inscrutable. “We don’t know if she was the target. She was wearing your wife’s coat. Do you know anyone who might want to harm Mrs. Sheridan?”
“Jesus, no.” Sheridan blanched beneath his tan. His eyes fastened on Dinah’s bandage. “Are you all right?”
“My arm hurts.”
“But who…?” Sheridan appeared at a loss.
Thor said, “With the death of Herr Eftevang, it is unlikely that any other resident of Norway would have a reason to attack a member of your entourage.”
Sheridan heard the innuendo and brought himself back to a brusque, authoritative mode. “I’ll make sure that both Dinah and my wife receive protection until we leave for the U.S. tomorrow, Inspector. And if you need anything further following our departure, feel free to contact my Washington office or Senator Keyes’ office. We’ll be happy to provide written statements or…or whatever you need.”
“On behalf of the governor of Svalbard, we appreciate your cooperation.”
“Certainly.” Sheridan nodded summarily and rejoined Mahler and Valerie. The three of them spoke excitedly and left in a hurry.
Thor said, “Sheridan’s a worried man.”
Dinah didn’t doubt that the senator was worried, but his problems seemed too gnarly and convoluted to think about at the moment, maybe ever. She was beginning to reconcile herself to the idea that she might never know anything more than she knew right now. In twelve hours, she’d be out of Longyearbyen and on her way to Washington and she wouldn’t tarry there longer than it took to get a flight to Honolulu. That was as far as she could see into the future.
Thor paid for the meal and walked her to her room.
At the door, she said, “Will you keep in touch? Let me know what you find out about Inge and…and anything else?”
“You may learn a bit more before take-off. If the runways haven’t been graded because the work crew was called away on an emergency, there’s not much anyone can do.”
“Inspector Ramberg, you are devious.”
“It’s only a holding action. When Dybdahl finds out, he’ll see to it that the governor sends a fresh crew and an official reprimand for me.”
“Then I guess we’d better say good-bye tonight. How do you say good-bye in Norwegian?”
“Like this,” he said, and kissed her in a way that made jouncing over the tundra in a dogsled seem considerably more desirable than she had previously imagined.
Chapter Sixteen
It was ten p.m. in Longyearbyen, therefore ten a.m. in Hilo. Eleanor would have had her usual two cups of mamaki tea, which lowered her blood pressure, and she would have finished her traditional morning hula, which always put her in a tolerant, spiritual frame of mind. She would be as mellow right now as Dinah was ever likely to find her. All Dinah really needed to tell her was that her hapai banana shoots were safe in Svalbard, but pursuant to international treaty, they were up for grabs from the seed bank back home. There was no pressing need to communicate this fact. The deposit had been made and the die was cast. But somehow, she felt the need to speak with Eleanor.
Without going all introspective and psychoanalytical, she supposed this need had something to do with her guilt feelings. Not that she had any reason to feel guilty. It wasn’t as if she owed Jon a duty not to kiss another man and she certainly didn’t owe his Aunt Eleanor an explanation for her extracurricular kissing. But as she had learned to her sorrow, whenever she had to try and rationalize her actions in order to feel good about herself, she was already pretty well launched on a guilt trip. She reached for the phone.
Somebody knocked on her door. Fate.
Dinah accepted it. She unhooked the chain and peeped out.
Valerie smiled solicitously. “Colt told me that you’d been wounded. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Thank you for your concern.”
“Please, Dinah, may I come in?”
“I’m all right, Valerie. Don’t trouble yourself.”
“Please?”
Sensing an ulterior motive and in no mood to be pushed around, Dinah nevertheless relented and opened the door.
Valerie looked hard at her bandaged arm and then at her face. “Someone really shot you?”
“What do you want, Valerie? A surgeon’s report?”
“No, of course not.” She walked around to the armchair by the window and sat down, uninvited. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it does seem to be a very slight injury.”
“This is a test, right? If I haul off and punch you in the mouth, that will prove that my arm is fine and I wasn’t shot?” It was amazing how fast this woman could bring her to a simmer.
Valerie didn’t seem to notice. “But why would anyone want to kill you?”
“Gosh, Val. You make it sound as though I’m not worth wasting a bullet on.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She stood up and bit her lower lip. “Look, Dinah, I know we started off on the wrong foot. But it’s my job to look out for Senator Sheridan and my employer and some very strange things have been going on.”
“You think, Val?”
She ignored the sarcasm. “Since you were wearing Erika’s coat, we don’t know whether the target was you or her.”
“That’s true,” said Dinah. “But Erika’s coat is pretty distinctive. Erika and Lee and everyone who went on the seed vault tour knew that I was wearing it.”
“I expect this will infuriate you, but until we know who is doing these things, I would appreciate it—Senator Sheridan and Jake Mahler, all of us would appreciate it—if you didn’t speak to the press when we get back to D.C. It’s difficult enough to have a Norwegian with some connection to us murdered. But to have an American, a member of the senators’ entourage shot, you can imagine. It would cause a feeding frenzy. Can we count on your discretion, Dinah?” She humbled herself. “Please?”
“I don’t expect to be mobbed by reporters in D.C. and I don’t plan to call a press conference.”
“Thank you.” She bounced up to leave. “And I really am sorry you were hurt.”
Chapter Seventeen
Overstimulated on multiple levels, Dinah changed into her nightshirt, performed her nightly regimen, and tried to calm her nerves by reading something boring. She browsed her book of myths for a benign, soporific story, but Norse mythology, like the climate in which it was conceived, offered no respite from the grim reality of Fate. The main thrust was that everyone dies and, according to the page she ended up on, the Valkyries got to choose who died in battle.
The Valkyries were a squadron of winged female death angels with names like Shrieking, Raging, Axe-Wielder, and Wrecker of Plans. This fearsome ensemble circled above the battlefields, meting out death or deliverance as they saw fit, and bearing away the fallen heroes to Valhalla, Odin’s celestial hall of the dead. The queen of the Valkyries was Freyja, a golden-haired, blue-eyed beauty who divided her time between accommodating lovers and accumulating corpses. Her husband Od must have known she was a corpse goddess when he married her, but he may have objected to the free and easy way she bestowed her sexual favors. Giants, dwarfs, goats—she serviced them all. Od didn’t cite his grounds, but one day he walked out and didn’t come back. Freyja never stopped weeping for him.
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