by Hanna Allen
I had their attention now. They sat up straight, gabbling to one another in Swedish.
Hallengren leant forward, searching my face. ‘The son? Are you sure?’
‘The light in the Locker Room was on. His hood was down and I saw his face. And his dark ponytail.’
He sat back, studying me. ‘Did he see you?’
‘He turned and looked at me – that’s how I saw his face – but I was standing in the dark with my hood up. He may not have recognised me. But – ’ The breath caught in my throat as I remembered how he’d tried to conceal himself.
‘Yes?’
I hesitated. ‘He was acting strangely. He turned in my direction and then pulled his hood up over his head.’
‘So that you could not see his face?’
‘I assumed that was the intention.’ I smiled wanly. ‘It was too late by then, of course.’
‘He may not have known that.’
‘But why would he do it?’
‘Some people are naturally suspicious, and do not want anyone knowing their movements, specially after dark.’ He paused. ‘Even if they are doing nothing wrong.’
‘I suppose.’
‘And then, Miss Stewart, did you go straight to bed?’
‘Yes,’ I said flatly. ‘Alone.’
A faint smile touched his lips. ‘You saw no-one else?’
‘Only Harry.’
His eyes bored into mine. He consulted his notepad, leafing back several pages. ‘Professor Harry Auchinleck?’ He pronounced it, Ow-hin-lek.
‘He was leaving his room as I reached my corridor.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘I called goodnight. Not too loudly as I didn’t want to wake the place. But loudly enough so he’d hear.’
‘Did he reply?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure he heard?’
That stiffening of the shoulders. Yes, Harry had heard. But something made me say, ‘I might have been mistaken.’
Engqvist was running a hand through his hair from the back of the neck upwards. He was no longer smiling.
Hallengren studied his notes. ‘Miss Stewart, Professor Auchinleck tells a different story. According to his statement, he’ – he read from his notes – ‘went out like a light and didn’t surface till morning. The screaming woke me.’
‘But that can’t be true,’ I said quickly. ‘I saw him leave his room.’
‘You are sure it was Professor Auchinleck?’ Hallengren said, watching me.
‘I’ve just said so. He was wearing the same blue snowsuit and the bobble hat, pulled down over the ears the way Harry does it. And he was walking exactly like Harry.’
‘Where do you think he was going?’ he said, after a pause.
‘Given the amount he’d had to drink, probably the loo. The lavatory,’ I added, seeing their faces. I could tell they didn’t believe me. ‘Look, it’s just possible he’s forgotten.’
But Harry had the memory of an elephant. And he wasn’t hung over this morning, so he couldn’t have been so drunk he’d forgotten getting up in the night. Why had he simply not told the police the truth?
Hallengren consulted his notes. ‘Your room is next to Mr Wilson Bibby’s.’
As this was a statement, not a question, I said nothing.
He waited silently.
I nodded.
‘Did you hear anything from his room? People talking?’
‘It was as silent as the proverbial grave.’ I rubbed my eyes. Why in heaven’s name was I making these crass remarks?
Hallengren raised an eyebrow. ‘How well did you know Wilson Bibby?’
‘I met him for the first time on Monday.’
‘And when did you see him last?’ He was writing again.
‘At the reception in the Ice Bar.’
‘Ah, yes.’ He glanced up. ‘Purple Kiss. Did you enjoy it?’
‘It was too sweet.’
He sat back, his eyes moving over my face. ‘Miss Stewart, how do you think Mr Bibby came to be outside his sleeping bag? Do you not think it strange he was not wearing a coat and boots?’
‘Don’t ask me, I haven’t a clue. His heart may have given out, and he collapsed before he had a chance to get dressed.’ I shrugged. ‘I rather think it’s your job to find out, not mine.’
Hallengren smiled for the first time. The effect was stunning. ‘We will find out, Miss Stewart,’ he said slowly. ‘The Swedish police are nothing if not efficient. The body is already at our laboratories.’
‘A post-mortem?’
‘When there is an unexpected death, there is always a post-mortem. It is the same in your country, I believe.’ After a pause, he said, ‘Miss Stewart, there is something I would like you to do.’ The smile had vanished. ‘I would like you to tell no-one that you saw Professor Auchinleck leave his room last night.’
‘Why?’ I said coldly.
He leant forward. ‘Because I am asking you.’ His voice was equally cold.
‘Very well,’ I said, dropping my eyes.
‘One more thing, Miss Stewart.’ He was speaking briskly now, his tone business-like. ‘You say you saw Marcellus Bibby outside the Locker Room. I would like you to keep that to yourself also. You must tell no-one that you were even up and about last night, let alone that you left the Icehotel. Have I made myself clear?’
‘Perfectly.’ I was beginning to dislike him.
He said something in Swedish to Engqvist. They got to their feet.
He held the door open, watching me, unsmiling. ‘You have been very helpful, Miss Stewart. If I need to see you again, I will let you know.’
I stepped into the corridor. As I glanced back, I caught him looking at my backside.
Chapter 12
I was still smiling to myself when I reached the lounge.
I’d hoped to find the others, but they’d vanished. Yet the room was fuller than it had been earlier; a group of men in suits were mobbing the bar. As I moved towards the window, one of them glanced at me, then turned, following me with his eyes.
The Ellises were on the three-seater.
‘May I join you?’ I said.
‘Of course,’ Jim replied with a kindly smile. He shifted to make room.
‘I take it you’ve just been interrogated.’ Robyn’s lips stabbed at the word.
There was sympathy in Jim’s voice. ‘The Inspector’s quite fierce, isn’t he?’
‘I suppose he’s just doing his job.’ I gestured to the crowd. ‘Who are all those people?’
‘Reporters,’ Robyn said, wrinkling her nose. ‘They’ve come to cover Wilson Bibby’s death.’ She fixed me with her gaze. ‘Did you know he was a millionaire?’
‘I heard he was,’ I said vaguely.
‘That explains the interest.’ She nodded towards the bar. ‘Talking of which, one of those reporters seems unduly interested in you.’
The man who’d watched me was heading towards our table.
‘Have you spoken to them?’ I said.
‘Once they realised we knew nothing, they moved on to pastures new,’ said Jim, smiling sadly.
‘Miss Stewart?’
I looked up.
‘I’m Denny Hinckley, from the Express. Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?’ The accent was strong, from the East End of London.
He was short and slight with bandy legs, a thin face, and silky brown hair that was receding early: if he hadn’t told me he was a reporter, I’d have taken him for a jockey. His smile was friendly, but the expression in his eyes was pure insolence. I’d had dealings with reporters before, as Bayne Pharmaceuticals were often in the spotlight. I took an instant dislike to him.
‘I’m with friends, Mr Hinckley,’ I said, turning away. ‘Another time, perhaps.’
He pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘You were in the room next to Wilson Bibby.’
For a second, I wondered how he knew, then I realised there were a number of ways a reporter could have found out.
&nb
sp; ‘Mr Hinckley, I said I’m with friends.’
‘You see, neither me nor the other lads can get into the Icehotel. It’s cordoned off. So I wondered if you could describe Wilson Bibby’s room for me. I hear there are statues and all sorts.’ He whipped out a notebook.
I glared at him. Whether it was a reaction to my interview with Hallengren, or tiredness from lack of sleep, something inside me snapped. ‘Which part of, “I don’t want to talk to you just now”, did you not understand, Mr Hinckley?’
Something other than insolence appeared in his eyes. ‘Come on, love,’ he said testily. ‘Surely you’d like to see your name in the papers?’ An oily smile spread across his face. ‘I’ll make it worth your while, if you catch my drift.’
‘Oh, hold me back,’ I said under my breath.
Before he could reply, a heavy hand was placed on his shoulder.
‘Don’t you understand what the lady’s saying? No? Then here it is in your language. Piss off.’ Mike took him by the shoulders, lifted him off the chair, and swung him around. I thought he was going to propel him towards the bar, but he released him.
Hinckley threw him a look of loathing before slinking off.
‘What did he want?’ Mike said, sitting down.
‘He wanted me to describe Wilson’s room in the Icehotel.’
He smiled. ‘And did you?’
‘I never saw it. Apart from a brief peek over the heads of the crowd this morning.’
‘You should have made something up and pocketed a fat fee,’ said Jim. ‘He’d never have found out.’
Robyn was frowning. ‘He knew your name, and that your room was next to Wilson’s.’
Mike nodded at the crowd. ‘Those fellers have found out a good deal already. I saw one of them filming in front of the Icehotel. I take it you’ve seen the TV vans outside? They’ve been trying to get a story from everyone. As soon as Harry heard there were reporters here, he vanished.’ He grinned. ‘But not before exchanging a few choice words.’
‘How did they get here so quickly?’ I said. ‘It takes hours from the UK. And I can hear some American accents.’
‘They’ve come from Stockholm. They’ve been covering Bibby’s big splash there.’
‘Of course. So where are they staying? Surely not here.’
‘There’s nowhere else, and the Excelsior’s half-empty.’
‘Just peachy,’ said Jim. ‘Bang goes our holiday.’
‘Don’t talk so wet.’ Robyn snapped her jaws at her husband. ‘The excursions will be back on tomorrow. We’ll be mushing with the huskies.’
Jim smiled unhappily.
I glanced towards the bar. Denny Hinckley was drinking from a tall glass, studying me over the rim, the insolence back in his eyes.
Liz had been missing at dinner. A tray of half-eaten food lay in the corridor, a full ashtray among the plates. There was no reply to my gentle tap at the door. I tried turning the handle, but the door was locked. At this time of evening, there was only one other place she could be.
Mike and Harry were already in the computer room. Liz was talking into a webcam. On the screen, I could see Annie in yellow pyjamas. Lucy, in pink, was rubbing her eyes.
‘Hello, sweetie-pops,’ said Liz. ‘You look awfully sleepy.’
Lucy climbed onto a chair and leant forward, her face filling the screen. ‘We’ve just been getting ready for bed, Mummy.’ Her expression brightened. ‘There you are, Maggie. Have you seen Father Christmas yet?’
‘No, pet,’ I said. ‘But I will soon.’
‘You haven’t forgotten what you were going to ask him? About the doll’s house?’
I registered the expectation in her voice, but was unable to remember when I’d made this particular promise. But I was an expert at thinking on my feet. ‘Absolutely. He’s going to be bringing it personally.’
Annie shoved her sister off the chair. ‘I want to talk now.’ She pointed at the screen. ‘Who’s that strange man, Mummy?’
‘This is Mike. Say hello.’
‘You look like the giant who lives at the top of the beanstalk,’ she said, her voice a challenge. ‘There’s a picture of you in my story book.’
Mike put his face close to the webcam. ‘I’m the handsome prince, darling. The one who rescues the princess from the wicked stepmother.’
‘You made that up. There’s no such story.’
‘What’s a stepmother?’ said Lucy.
Annie was glaring at Mike. ‘You talk funny.’
He flashed her his smile. ‘Well now, that’s how handsome princes talk.’
She didn’t look convinced. ‘Don’t go away.’ She left the room quickly.
Lucy, delighted at having us to ourselves, climbed back onto the chair. ‘The Icehotel’s been on the telly, Mummy, but we didn’t see you.’
I exchanged a glance with Liz. It was inevitable that the news of Wilson’s death would have been reported at home. ‘When were you watching telly?’ she said sternly.
‘We weren’t watching. It was Siobhan. I came into the room and saw the picture of the Icehotel. It looked just like in your magazines.’
Annie bounced in, clutching a large book. ‘I want to show the giant his picture.’ She pushed Lucy off the chair, and held the book up to the webcam. ‘See. He looks exactly like you.’
The balding giant had yellow teeth, a bulbous nose, and warts on his face. But the eyes were brown and flecked with amber, and their expression, pure Mike. Mike was evidently at a loss for words. I felt a twinge of pity; his ego would be taking a knock.
Annie dropped the book onto the floor. ‘Harry, do the flower trick.’
‘Alas, my lovely, I’ve no carnations. It’s far too cold for flowers here.’
She stared, open-mouthed. I had to suppress a smile; this was probably the first time Harry had refused her request.
Lucy spoke hesitantly. ‘Can you do magic tricks too, Mike?’
‘Of course. Close your eyes and count to ten and, when you open them, I’ll have disappeared in a puff of smoke.’
‘Can you really do that?’
Annie looked sceptical. ‘Bet you can’t. Even Harry can’t make himself disappear.’
‘Talking of disappearing,’ said Liz, ‘it’s time you two disappeared to bed.’
‘Do we have to?’ whined Annie.
‘We’ll be back tomorrow, sweetie-pops. Now scoot. And ask Siobhan to come in.’
She tilted her head back and shouted so loudly that Lucy cringed. ‘Siobhan! Mummy wants you.’
Siobhan was a work colleague, a single woman who lived nearby and babysat for Liz. She was plump and cheerful, and had an easy way with children. The twins adored her, something I hadn’t failed to notice, and I felt a prick of jealousy whenever I saw them together.
Siobhan arrived and jerked her thumb in the direction of the door. ‘Bed.’ The girls scuttled away, giggling.
‘How have they been, Siobhan?’ Liz said.
‘Wonderful. No trouble at all,’ came Siobhan’s lazy voice.
‘What have you heard about the Icehotel? Lucy said it was in the news.’
‘Not much. Just that some millionaire had a heart attack.’
Liz was playing nervously with her ponytail. ‘The girls didn’t see that, did they?’
‘I always sit with the remote in my hand. They saw a bit of the building, but I switched off before they heard anything. It’s been in the papers, too.’
‘What, specifically, Siobhan?’ said Harry.
‘The same stuff, Professor, only more detail. I suppose these things happen, even on holiday. I hope it’s not spoiling things for you.’
‘Not at all, my dear,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Can you try to keep the twins from finding out?’ said Liz. ‘You know what children are. They’ll jump to all sorts of conclusions. I really don’t want them fretting.’
‘I’ll be careful, Liz. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’ She pressed a key and the image disappeared.
�
��Your children are adorable,’ said Mike, getting to his feet.
Liz seemed distracted. ‘Thank you.’
‘And you’re good with kids, Mike,’ I said.
‘You sound surprised. I’m the eldest of eight. I helped my Mam bring up the young ones.’
The statement said much about Mike. I had thought his interest in Liz’s children was a ploy to wangle his way into her affections. Perhaps I was wrong, and it was genuine. Yet, despite his friendliness, there was still something about him I didn’t trust.
‘You’ve got that thirsty look on your face again,’ I said, turning to Harry.
‘Well spotted, dear girl. Are you children ready to hit the bar?’
‘I’ll pass, sweetheart.’
‘Come for a quick nightcap, Liz,’ I said. ‘I promise I’ll keep Denny Hinckley at bay.’
‘All right then. But just one drink, and then I’m off upstairs. Anyway, who’s Denny Hinckley?’
‘You’ve not met him, then?’ said Mike. ‘He’s from the Express.’ He said it as though it tasted bad. ‘He’s been giving Maggie a hard time.’
‘I can handle him,’ I said defiantly.
He gave me an old-fashioned look, but said nothing.
We took the window-seat near the piano. Liz sat half hidden behind the curtain, her head turned towards the window. Her anxiety had deepened. But then, if I had children, I’d be worrying about what they’d be hearing at school. I squeezed her hand, but there was no response.
Harry was sitting at the baby grand, looking thoughtfully at the keys. I imagined him in a sparkling gown, like Liberace, raising his hands high before launching into Schubert’s Serenade.
‘Will you play for us, Harry?’ said Mike.
‘Alas, dear boy, I can’t. I’ve never learnt.’
‘But you’ve one at home,’ I said, remembering the piano with its lacquered shine.
‘I bought it for one of my boyfriends. He was very good, actually, although he only played Scott Joplin. But it didn’t last. He left Edinburgh with a rich man, who kept him.’ He added as an afterthought, ‘I kept the piano.’ He closed the lid and took a seat beside Liz.
As Mike fetched the drinks, my thoughts drifted to the interview with Hallengren. I couldn’t put out of my mind the one thing that bothered me: Harry, a scrupulously honest man, had lied to the police.