by Hanna Allen
‘How did you sleep in the Icehotel, Harry?’ I said, trying to keep the interest out of my voice. ‘Did you hear anything? People moving in the corridor?’
‘That’s precisely what the Detective Inspector asked me, dear girl, apart from my name, rank and serial number. But I didn’t hear a thing. Never do in the watches of the night. I was oblivious to everyone and everything, probably because I drank too much in that Ice Bar.’ He winked. ‘I must find out what they put in Purple Kiss. Do you think it would go down well at my parties?’
Liz’s head jerked round. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harry, this is hardly the time to think about parties. In case it’s escaped your notice, a man has died.’
His smiled faded. ‘I’m aware of that, my dear. Yet life goes on.’ He put a hand on her arm but she snatched it away.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she said, her voice quivering. ‘It’s just a bit of a migraine.’
‘I’ve got a bottle of tablets upstairs,’ I said.
‘Please don’t bother, Mags. It’s an early night that I need. Will you all excuse me?’
At the door, she collided with Denny Hinckley who was entering the lounge. He stopped and stared after her, his mouth open.
Harry sighed. ‘Another who’s smitten. Wherever Liz goes, heads turn like sunflowers.’
But I wasn’t sure it was Liz’s beauty that had stopped Denny in his tracks. It wasn’t desire I saw in his eyes. It was more like calculation.
Chapter 13
I woke earlier than usual on Thursday. I dragged myself out of bed and drew open the curtains. Light lay in strips on the horizon under a slate-coloured sky. Yesterday’s snow covered the ground in soft dunes, faintly grey in the reflected light. I shivered as I watched the men arrive on the river for the ice-cutting.
It wasn’t yet 6.00am. Although the restaurant was open, Liz and Harry would still be asleep. I considered snuggling back into bed, but taking breakfast now would mean avoiding the reporters.
In the dining room, I nodded to the Ellises who were sitting at the window, eating quietly. The only other person in the room was Leo Tullis. He was at the buffet, helping himself to scrambled eggs as though he didn’t want them. He was wearing chinos and a coffee-coloured shirt, his thatch of fair hair uncombed. Beneath his eyes were large purple smudges.
He glanced up as I approached. ‘You couldn’t sleep either, then, Maggie?’ He sounded miserable.
I piled my plate high with reindeer sausages. ‘I usually wake early. Something to do with long commuting times.’ I tried to inject a note of cheer into my voice. ‘Are the excursions back on?’
‘For God’s sake, don’t talk to me about excursions.’
I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Come and sit with me, Leo,’ I said quietly.
We took seats out of earshot of the Ellises. I waited for Leo to speak, but he bent his head over his plate.
‘So was the bill for the snowmobiles large?’ I ventured.
‘It’s not the bill. Sven’s insurance is huge. It has to be.’ He glanced towards the Ellises. ‘Something’s happened.’
‘What?’
He hesitated.
‘Tell me, Leo.’
He laid his fork aside. ‘Sven doesn’t believe it was an accident. He examined the snowmobiles.’ There was an edge of panic to his voice. ‘Maggie, the brakes weren’t on. None of them.’
I stared at him in disbelief. Sven had shown me how to lock the brakes, making sure I did it correctly. He would have done the same for all the machines. ‘How can that be, Leo?’ I said. ‘He checked them himself.’
‘Someone loosened them. After Sven went up to the chalet.’
Harry’s words drifted into my head: What I find strange is that the snowmobiles, which had been checked by an expert, slipped their brakes. I felt a sudden shiver through my body.
‘How can Sven be sure?’ I said. ‘Look, you’ve ridden those machines many times. It would take only a flick of the finger to loosen the brakes. If a machine started to slip, that would jolt the brake loose, wouldn’t it? You saw the angle on that slope. It’s the most likely explanation.’
‘That’s the whole point, though, with that model. If the brakes are on, then the slightest movement causes them to lock. Something to do with an extra ratchet. Sven explained it, although I can’t say I took it in.’ He passed a trembling hand over his face. ‘He says there’s no way the brakes could have come loose on their own. No way.’
My mind was reeling. ‘Then the only explanation – ’
‘ – is that someone loosened them deliberately.’ He leant forward. ‘Maggie, I’ll be honest with you. This thing is way over my head. And now someone’s died. I don’t know what to do. I’m tempted to contact Head Office, but they’ll think I’m not competent to deal with the situation and reassign me.’ An earnest expression came into his eyes. ‘What would you do in my place?’
I thought for a minute. But there was only one thing he could do. ‘Go to the police,’ I said firmly.
‘Sven’s already done it. He reported it yesterday.’
‘Did he speak to Inspector Hallengren?’
‘He didn’t say who.’ The furrows in his forehead deepened. ‘Why would someone do that, Maggie? If it was a prank, then I might understand it.’ His voice broke. ‘But I don’t think it was meant as a prank.’
I felt my heart pumping. ‘Why do you think someone did it?’
He said nothing. He didn’t need to. I knew with a terrible certainty what was going through his mind. ‘There were people on the path,’ I said. ‘Below that overhang.’
He nodded dumbly, tears at the corners of his eyes. He glanced towards the Ellises. ‘Jim and Robyn went down there to look at the view. And Jane.’
And not just Jane. Liz and Harry had been on the path.
‘Oh my God, Leo, whoever loosened those brakes intended to kill someone.’
‘That’s the conclusion Sven came to. It’s the conclusion I’ve come to.’
I could almost smell his fear. ‘Sven did the right thing in going to the police.’ I squeezed his hand. ‘They’ll know how to handle this.’
‘What about the excursions? Should I cancel them?’ The appeal in his eyes was distressing.
‘Go and speak to the Inspector. He’ll advise you.’
His face cleared. ‘That’s a good idea,’ he said, half to himself. He pushed his plate aside, the eggs uneaten. ‘Thanks, Maggie,’ he said with feeling.
After he’d gone, I sat for a long time, watching my coffee grow cold. Something was niggling. Something about the snowmobile trip. I tried to remember who else had been below that overhang.
In a flash, it came to me: Marcellus Bibby.
And Wilson.
Wilson, who was now dead.
My conversation with Leo had shaken me. I needed space to think. I grabbed a snowsuit from the Activities Room and tugged it over my clothes.
The sun had risen into an ice-blue sky. I stepped onto the path and was instantly dazzled by the light bouncing off the snow. It wasn’t until my eyes had adapted that I found I was standing next to a figure in a black snowsuit. He was leaning against the lion-tamer as though waiting for a bus. A pall of cigarette smoke hung above him in the still air.
‘Is it always as cold as this?’ he said, gazing into the distance. His voice was deep, with a pronounced American accent.
‘You think this is cold?’ I said, remembering Leo’s words. ‘The temperature starts dropping about now.’
He stared at me, the cigarette partway to his lips.
It was an interesting face, with mild eyes, and bushy brows that almost met in the middle. The plaster of black hair was combed in a way that emphasised the slightly domed head. It was impossible to tell if he was tanned, because the black snowsuit took the colour from his skin.
‘The temperature’s about to drop? That’s swell. How’s a Manhattan boy expected to survive in a goddamn freezer?’
I studied his snowsuit, unfastened a
t the wrists and ankles. ‘You could put your hood up for starters,’ I said lightly. ‘And I’d get rid of that cigarette and find some gloves. Sneakers aren’t such a good idea, either. You need fur-lined boots.’
He continued to smoke, his eyes sliding down my snowsuit. As he brought his hand to his lips, the light reflected off his signet ring. ‘You sound like an expert. Been here all week?’
‘By, here, I take it you mean the Icehotel.’
‘You slept in there?’ he said slowly, eyes focussed on the tip of his cigarette.
‘Yes.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Cold.’
He half closed his eyes. ‘How cold?’
‘Cold cold. Minus five cold.’
A look of alarm crossed his face. ‘Fahrenheit?’
‘Celsius.’
His cigarette was burning down. ‘A man could freeze to death at minus five,’ he said, looking at his feet.
I hesitated. ‘If he’s not properly dressed.’
‘Or if he’s out of his sleeping bag.’
After a brief silence, I said, ‘What newspaper are you with?’
The thin smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’m not a reporter.’ He drew on his cigarette, letting the smoke drift from his mouth. ‘I’m a lawyer.’
When I said nothing, he added, ‘Aaron Vandenberg.’ He turned and gazed at the Icehotel.
A lawyer. Of course, Bibby’s lawyers would have arrived on the next plane.
‘I thought you were one of the press, Mr Vandenberg,’ I said. ‘You didn’t strike me as someone who’s come here on holiday.’
He swivelled his head. ‘A holiday? Here? Are you nuts? I’m out of this place the minute I’ve wound things up.’
‘Things to do with Wilson Bibby?’
‘You guessed right. I’m Wilson’s lawyer.’ He corrected himself. ‘I was Wilson’s lawyer.’ A strange look came into his eyes. ‘I was also his friend.’
There was little I could say. ‘I’m sorry.’
He stubbed the cigarette out against the lion-tamer’s chest. ‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘We spoke a few times. And we had a game of chess.’
A gleam came into his eye. ‘I bet he won. He always does.’
I was surprised; it hadn’t taken me long to uncover Wilson’s strategy. ‘Always?’
‘Every time. You could make book on it.’
I was inclined to throw back a caustic remark, but it would be bad form to criticise a dead man’s chess-playing skills. And Wilson had been the man’s friend.
‘How is Marcellus coping?’ I said. ‘We’ve hardly seen him since Wilson’s accident. I have to confess I’m a bit worried about him.’
He drew his brows together. ‘He’s in that hick town, at the coroner’s office.’
It wasn’t an answer, but I let it go. A lawyer wasn’t going to discuss his client’s feelings with a stranger.
‘I take it you were with Wilson in Stockholm,’ I said.
He seemed preoccupied. ‘Stockholm? Yes, Stockholm,’ he said slowly, turning his restless eyes on me. ‘I flew up this morning.’
‘Well, I’m off for a walk. If you’re staying here’ – I motioned to the Excelsior – ‘then perhaps I’ll see you later.’
I made to go, but he put out an arm, barring my way. I was surprised at the gesture.
‘You say you’ve been speaking to Marcellus?’ There was a hint of menace in his voice.
I stepped back. ‘That’s right.’
‘May I ask about what?’
I was tempted to tell him to mind his own business. ‘Small talk, mainly. He told me about his work with the Bibby Foundation. And Wilson’s schools’ programme.’
He relaxed visibly.
‘Why are you so concerned about my conversation with Marcellus, Mr Vandenberg?’
His composure had returned. ‘I’m not concerned.’ He spoke lazily. ‘If I sounded concerned, it was for Marcellus’s wellbeing. He’s had a nasty shock. He was close to his father.’
‘Have you known Marcellus long?’
‘Long enough.’ He dismissed me with a look of indifference. ‘Enjoy your walk.’
Interesting. Aaron Vandenberg might be concerned for Marcellus’s welfare, but he was more concerned about the nature of his conversations. What secrets did he think Marcellus was going to spill? Marcellus was an experienced businessman, someone who’d know when to keep his counsel. But something was rattling the family lawyer . . .
I trudged down the path between the ice statues, leaving him standing, a statue himself.
I took the path by the Chapel and made for the bank. The sun was climbing into the sky, and the distant river was a dark scar on a white face, ice crusting the edges like a scab.
As I stepped off the path, Denny Hinckley materialised from behind the trees. He parked himself beside the brazier and warmed his hands as though he’d been there for hours.
‘Well, hello there,’ he said, in mock surprise.
I was in no mood for politeness. ‘Not again, Mr Hinckley.’ I took in the thick white snowsuit, the hood up, fur framing his face. ‘Are you in camouflage so you can lie in wait for people?’
‘Look, Maggie, I know we’ve got off on the wrong foot – ’
‘It’s Maggie now? You seem to be taking a lot for granted.’
‘Give me a break, love. I was trying to put you at your ease.’ He produced a packet of cigarettes and shook one loose. ‘All I’m after is some detail of the room. Wilson Bibby’s. Then, scout’s honour, I’ll leave you alone.’
‘Is this the only tune in your repertoire?’ I said sadly.
He gestured to the Icehotel, its blue colour bleached white in the sunlight. ‘No-one can get in. It’s like Fort bloody Knox.’
‘I bet you could if you wanted to,’ I said carelessly. ‘There are no locks to pick. The handles are taped, but it wouldn’t take much to cut through them.’
He snorted, lighting his cigarette. ‘You think I’d try a caper like that? Have you seen the A-list detective running this case? He’s marked my cards and no mistake.’
‘Don’t tell me you tried to interview him.’
He drew his head back and blew smoke into the air. ‘We all did. We won’t get much change out of him. He’s issuing press statements but nothing else. And there’s not much there. Nothing I can go back to my boss with.’ He chewed his lip. ‘Please, Maggie, you’re my only hope. Give me something. I need a break. My boss has got me by the short and curlies.’
The man was a walking cliché. ‘You’re wasting your time,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what Wilson’s room looks like.’
‘But you were in the one next to his.’
‘That doesn’t mean I went in.’
‘What about the morning his body was discovered? Was it you who found him dead?’
‘It was the girls who bring the drinks.’ I felt a twinge of guilt; he’d be pestering Karin and Marita now.
He dropped his cigarette and began to scribble furiously. ‘Go on.’
‘There’s nothing more to tell. Harry and I saw a little way into the room, that’s all.’
‘That’s Harry Auchinleck?’
I was no longer surprised at the extent of his knowledge. ‘I suppose you’ve already pumped him for information.’
‘Fat chance, love. We’ve locked horns in the past. He can clam up tighter than a virgin’s thighs.’
‘Locked horns?’
‘I’ve seen him in court.’
‘Ah, yes. Harry’s been an expert witness many times.’
‘That’s as may be, darling, but me and the boys never get anything from him. Zippo. Zippo. Zippo.’
I grinned. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘These professors are all the same. They think they’re anointed rather than appointed. I’m sure he’s got a funny handshake, if you catch my drift. And I bet he eats muesli for breakfast. My paper offered him top whack for a story. Cash on the nail. And he turned us down
.’ He jeered. ‘You’d think, from the way he dresses, he could use the dough.’
‘You may find this hard to believe, but it’s not money that floats Harry’s boat.’
‘He can’t be a carbon-based life form, then.’ He paused. ‘So, what about it, love? I’ll give you an exclusive.’
‘Look, Mr Hinckley – ’
‘Denny.’
‘Denny, there were loads of people around when Wilson’s body was discovered. Why don’t you go and harangue someone else? And here’s some friendly advice – it might be helpful not to rush in with both ones blazing.’
‘I’ve tried everyone. No-one can remember a thing,’ he said in disgust. ‘As soon as I appear, it’s a case of galloping amnesia. And my editor won’t let me offer money.’ He added quickly, ‘You were going to be the exception, of course.’
I laughed. ‘Well, without money, you’re going to have to rely on that winning personality.’
He stared at the Icehotel. ‘If this godforsaken place weren’t on the edge of the known world, I might have got here before they’d taped it off.’ He scratched his nose. ‘I suppose I could ask Mr Hoity Toity Detective to send an officer in with me.’
‘Forget it, Denny. You’ll spend all your time filling out forms in triplicate.’
‘Why? The place isn’t a crime scene.’ A gleam came into his eye. ‘In my line of work it’s easier to be granted forgiveness than permission. Maybe I should break in after all.’
‘Do that, and stuff’s going to happen.’ I paused. ‘You know, I don’t make you as the type to go looking for trouble.’
He spoke with feeling. ‘Oh, I don’t need to. I know where it is.’ His face sagged. ‘Listen, Maggie, I have to find a big story. I can’t afford to let the grass grow under my feet. There are young guys coming up behind me, if you catch my drift.’
I was starting to feel sorry for him. Something about his look of desolation made me ask, ‘Do you have family, Denny?’
He seemed surprised at the sudden shift in the conversation. ‘My ex remarried so we don’t see each other no more. Maybe just as well. I don’t have to continue with the payments. She likes the high life.’