by Hanna Allen
For an instant, I thought I saw his head move, but it was a trick of the light.
I held my hand against his cheek, and felt a sudden rush of warmth. The tears had dissolved under my fingers. I lifted them to my lips, startled by the unexpected taste of salt.
The snow was falling heavily now. I thrust my hands deep into my pockets and gazed into the clown’s eyes.
And I asked myself again: Why had Jonas been watching me?
Chapter 21
After dinner, I sat in the lounge with Liz, although neither of us felt like socialising. She was tearful, talking first about Harry, then about the twins. After a while, Mike joined us, but his banter appealed less to me than it did to her. I listened to his attempts at flirting, grateful his attention was directed elsewhere.
My thoughts turned once again to Harry. They would have finished the post-mortem. God knows, it wasn’t necessary, the cause of death was obvious. What more was Hallengren expecting to find? I tried to imagine Harry dissected, his brains packing the scales, but all I saw was his ruined body spreadeagled on the Chapel floor.
Leo came and sat with us. His face was gaunt and he looked as though he hadn’t slept for days. ‘How are you doing, Maggie?’ he said.
I forced a smile. ‘Right at this moment, better than you are.’
‘I doubt that. I wasn’t the one who found Harry.’ He stiffened. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – ’
‘It’s all right, Leo.’ I squeezed his arm. ‘Hang on in there. Come on, have a drink with me.’
He sipped his beer, unable to keep up his end of the conversation. I was glad when he excused himself and left.
The atmosphere remained restrained; the Danes were nowhere to be seen. The reporters were huddled at the bar, Denny Hinckley amongst them. I was relieved he made no attempt to come over. Some guests smiled sympathetically at me, but turned away when I met their gaze; others spoke in hushed tones, throwing veiled glances in my direction. After an hour of this, I’d had enough. I finished my coffee, said my goodnights, and left.
I ran into Jonas and Erik. They were still in their black snowsuits, and were heading for the Activities Room. Jonas’s lips tightened when he saw me, but he said nothing, just nodded courteously and stepped back to let me pass. I put my head down and hurried to my room.
I lay on the bed, fully clothed, picking through the events of the afternoon, specifically Jonas’s behaviour. Strange how attentive he’d been to my welfare, suggesting a trip into Kiruna, or husky riding. Could I have been wrong, and the figure at the Ice Theatre was someone else? But who?
The phone rang, grating my nerves.
‘Maggie, it’s Jane.’ Her voice sounded tinny and far away. ‘We’re going on the river to see the aurora. Everyone’s here, Jim and Robyn too. We thought you might fancy coming along. I’ve had a quick peek and it’s stopped snowing. The sky’s clear, but it might not stay like that for long.’
The aurora was the last thing on my mind. But their kindness touched me. ‘I’m not sure, Jane . . .’
‘Well, have a think about it. If you do decide to join us, we’ll be taking the path between the Icehotel and the Chapel. There are ten in the group. You won’t miss us.’
‘Are you going now?’
‘Everyone’s in the foyer.’ A pause. ‘I hope you can make it, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to.’ She rang off.
I continued to lie on the bed, cradling the phone. The television clock told me it was only 11.00pm. I was wide awake and unlikely to get to sleep. Fresh air would help. I replaced the receiver, and left the room.
A faint murmuring, punctuated by laughter, came from the lounge. So not everyone was out. I wondered whether Jonas and Erik would be on the aurora watch or, as I suspected, they’d bedded themselves in for another night in the bar. I crept away, anxious not to be seen, the laughter swelling and fading as I passed the room.
I pushed against the door to the Activities Room, and stepped into darkness. That was odd, the light was always on. I ran a hand over the wall, groping for the switch, but couldn’t find it. No matter. A little faint light was coming in through the windows.
The racks of clothes fell away, disappearing into the shadows. I fumbled around in the gloom for the extra-thick snowsuits and chose one at random. A minute later, I’d fetched boots and gloves.
I was sitting on a bench, pulling on a ski mask, when I heard the door open. I froze. Another aurora watcher? Without knowing why, I crept to the nearest rack and climbed into it.
Whoever had entered was in a hurry. He didn’t bother with the light switch. He paused for a second, then walked purposefully towards the racks. I dropped to my knees, feeling the blood pulsing through my temples. I parted the snowsuits carefully and peered out. A pair of boots marched past.
I sank back, my heart thumping wildly. I was being ridiculous. This was someone getting dressed for the aurora.
But the ice-axe that had butchered Harry – this was where the killer had come to fetch it.
Suddenly, the rack began to shake. There was a rustling, followed a moment later by the heavy creak of a bench. He’d taken a snowsuit and had sat down to remove his boots.
I slipped out of the rack on the side away from him and edged towards the exit, ready to make a dash for it if I had to. I pulled open the door as quietly as I could, and nearly fell into the corridor.
I padded quickly towards the foyer. Halfway there, something made me look back. The door to the Activities Room was swinging. Had I done that? Or had he followed me out? I glanced around. The corridor was deserted.
I stole past the reception, instinctively turning away from the man on the desk.
‘Are you going to watch the northern lights, Miss Stewart?’ he said, smiling happily. ‘The party has just left. You should see them from the door.’
I nodded, fastening the hood securely. I wondered whether I should ask for a torch. But I wouldn’t need one; there should be enough ambient light. I drew on my gloves, pushed open the front door, and stepped out.
The freezing air filled my lungs, settling like fog. It would be minus fifteen tonight. I was getting good at estimating the air temperature. I scanned the sky. It had snowed earlier, but there were no clouds now and, despite the light from the Excelsior, the aurora was faintly visible.
In my hurry, I collided with the penguins. I lost my footing and slithered down the path, bringing myself to a stop by grabbing the ballerina’s outstretched arm. I peered at the circus statues. The snow lay at bizarre angles on their heads and arms, sparkling in the reflected light, ready to fall at the merest touch. I had the strangest sensation that they were coming to life, and the whole ghostly company would follow me to the river.
I took the path through the trees, my steps creaking in the new snow. The ground was strewn with tiny crystals, winking in the feeble light, and the temptation to kick them into a glittering arc was almost irresistible.
Ahead of me was the crowd of watchers. The night air was so still that their voices carried clearly.
They had just reached the path beside the Chapel, when a dark figure detached itself from the group. He hung back, waiting until the others had disappeared, then turned and moved stealthily towards the Icehotel. He was in a crouch, but it was impossible not to recognise the bandy legs and jockey’s build. I watched from behind a tree. He dropped under the cordon and, on reaching the main doors, bent to examine the taped-up handles. So that was it: Denny Hinckley was going to get his photographs if it killed him.
He straightened, then wheeled round and stared in my direction. I felt a pricking on the backs of my hands. He must have heard me, or perhaps he sensed my presence. A shutter closed with a bang in one of the upstairs windows. He turned away, apparently satisfied.
He moved silently past the Icehotel, then, all pretence at stealth gone, walked confidently to the Locker Room. Something about his swagger made me suspect he wouldn’t be letting a little thing like taped handles stand in his way. The sensib
le thing would have been to leave quietly. Instead, I decided to follow him.
I stole through the trees and, with a final furtive glance around, crept into the Locker Room. A faint square of light from the window lay like an open mouth on the giant molehill of sleeping bags. I hurried through the washroom, and crossed the passageway to the Icehotel. Strangely, the handles at the side hadn’t been taped, surely an oversight on Hallengren’s part. So much for Swedish efficiency, I thought, smiling to myself. I pulled at the antlers and stepped inside.
The candles were unlit and the lights were off. I should have realised – why burn electricity in an out-of-bounds building? I debated whether I should go back for a torch but, if I asked the receptionist, his suspicions would be raised. He looked like the type who’d report it to Hallengren. And the last thing I wanted was to be reported to Hallengren.
As I stood, undecided, my eyes slowly adapted. Then I saw him, at the far end of the corridor, his shape inked against the wall. He was on tiptoe, peering at the signs. With a rapid movement, he unzipped his suit and produced a torch. After playing the beam over the wall, he disappeared abruptly through a curtain. It was the way to my corridor, I realised then. And to Wilson’s room . . .
I followed, keeping a safe distance, catching the last bobbing light from the torch as I rounded the corners. But I’d miscalculated. I turned into my corridor to find that he’d vanished.
I squinted at the room numbers, counting off the curtains to Wilson’s room. Perhaps now was the time to blaze in and challenge Denny. Perhaps not. I was tailing someone at night in a deserted building, which had been placed out of bounds after two people had been murdered. Perhaps it was time to go. Perhaps even time to call Hallengren.
I was sneaking away when a flash of light came from under the curtain. A second later, there was another. So Denny was prepared to trample over the crime scene to get his photographs. He’d scoop his law-abiding colleagues and make a big journalistic splash. I decided there and then that, even if it meant a night in the Swedish cells, I was going to report him.
There were more flashes, coming fast now. Denny must be nearing the end. I decided to hide in my room, wait until he left, then creep away. My hand was on the curtain when something made me stiffen. I looked back down the tunnel-like corridor, towards the entrance from the Locker Room, but there was nothing. Nothing but shadows. I was becoming jittery. I pulled aside the curtain, and stepped into my room. Too late, I remembered there was no ceiling window. The curtain fell back and I was plunged into darkness.
I heard a soft singing. I moved the curtain an inch and peered out. Denny was standing smiling, his teeth glinting in the light from the torch. He stuffed something inside his snowsuit, then zipped it up carefully. But instead of turning left towards the side door, he went right. A strange decision; that way would take him longer. Of course. He’d thought of everything. His intention was to exit by the back. He’d slip out and rejoin the aurora watchers. And deny he was ever in the Icehotel.
I watched him go. At the end of the corridor, he paused before switching off his torch. I could still make out his form, a thickening of the darkness. Then he disappeared.
I let the curtain drop and shuffled into the room like a blind man. My foot struck something hard. I patted the reindeer hides and sat on the bed. What would Denny have found in Wilson’s room? Only skins. The sleeping bag would have been removed for forensic tests, along with Wilson’s clothes. Maybe he wanted a picture of where the millionaire had died. He must have gone into Harry’s room, too. The double bill would earn him a nice tidy sum. Mr Paparazzo. I had to hand it to him, he had balls. If Hallengren ever found the images in his camera, it would be Denny seeing the inside of a Swedish jail.
I’d give him another minute before leaving, to be sure he was out of the building. I lay back on the skins and spread my arms out, counting silently.
That was when I heard the sound.
There was no mistaking it. Someone else was in the Icehotel.
I held my breath, straining to listen, and I heard it again, muffled, but louder. A spasm of fear ran through my body. The sound came from within the room. Had Denny returned? But why? And why to my room? No, this wasn’t Denny, Denny was long gone. I leapt off the bed and thrust my arms out, wheeling in a circle, ready to scream if I touched anything.
To my horror, something brushed against my face. I jumped back and dropped to my knees, my heart racing. I had one thought – find the curtain or I would die here, in the blackness of the Icehotel.
I felt around frantically until I found the bed. I paused to listen. But I heard nothing over the pounding of my heart except my ragged breathing. I crawled around the block of ice, my shoulder rubbing against the skins, and stopped when I thought I’d be in front of the curtain. Silently, I shifted into a crouching position and held my arms out like a sleepwalker. Praying I wasn’t in front of a wall, I sprang forward and ran. My hands hit the curtain. I beat it out of the way and rushed out of the room.
The corridor stretched endlessly in either direction. I’d never make it. I’d have to hide. I ran into Harry’s room, holding the curtain down behind me to stop it swinging. The ceiling window cast a strange light over the objects in the room, coating them with silver. I looked around swiftly. The only hiding place was behind the bed, but I had no intention of lying on the floor. As I backed away, my stomach cramping with fear, I collided with something hard: the statue of Pan, his manic leer faintly visible in the dim light. I squeezed into the niche behind him and flattened myself against the wall.
From the back of the alcove, the curtain wasn’t visible but its weak reflection smeared the wall opposite like a bloodstain. I waited, counting the minutes, my body tense. I was beginning to think it was safe to leave, when I heard the slow swishing of footsteps in snow. He was in the corridor immediately outside. Numb with fear, I pressed my body deeper into the alcove.
I listened, holding my breath. The footsteps were dying away. Relief flooded through me. He’d gone. He’d have left the Icehotel by now, even reached the Excelsior. But, to be on the safe side, I would leave by the back and join the aurora watchers. I slid out from the alcove, and was squeezing past the statue when, in the half-light from the ceiling window, I saw the bloodstain ripple and gently dissolve. The curtain was drawn back and a black-suited figure lumbered into the room.
He was huge, twice Denny’s size. His hood was over his head, his face hidden beneath a ski mask. He paused, moving his head purposefully like a grizzly bear looking for its kill. I slipped back behind the statue, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The figure lurched towards the bed. As he swung his arms, I caught the glint of metal. I felt myself grow cold as though the blood had drained from me. He was holding an ice-axe, not by the handle, but near the top where the shaft meets the blade. He pawed at the jumbled heap of skins, sifting through them and hurling them to the ground. If I didn’t think quickly, I wouldn’t leave the Icehotel alive. I had one chance: he might not see me – dressed in a white suit and hood, I was camouflaged against the snow. And his movements were sluggish. With luck, I might outrun him.
He leant forward to look behind the bed. I crept out of the alcove. With my back against the wall, I sidled towards the curtain. But as I reached it, I overbalanced and fell, jarring my knee so badly that I cried out. The figure straightened.
God knows how – I was exhausted by fear – I struggled to my feet and, ignoring the pain in my knee, ran thrashing through the curtain. I bolted down the corridor in a blind panic. If I could find one of the doors, I didn’t care which, I would be safe. I would scream my lungs out the moment I was outside.
But he’d been quick. I heard him pounding behind me. I tore through the maze of corridors, searching desperately until I found the double doors. Without pausing to fumble for the handles, I rammed my body into them. They swung open, banging off the outside walls and slamming back against my shoulders. Panting heavily, the blood thundering in my ears, I ra
n out into the night.
To the left was the great curve of the Ice Theatre; I’d exited by the back. I rushed onto the frozen river, my breaths coming in huge gulps, my knee an agony. As I sped past the wall of ice blocks, I heard a deep bellow behind me. A metallic taste filled my mouth. The dark figure was close. In a second, he’d reach me. I was sobbing now, my throat and lungs on fire, my breath streaming in a white vapour. I summoned all my strength and ran on, no longer caring where I was going.
Suddenly, the ground gave way and I fell, still running, into water. I flailed my arms, thrashing blindly at the ice, and felt a sharp stab of pain as my face scraped against something hard. The sky disappeared and silence enveloped me. My descent slowed, then stopped altogether, leaving me suspended in a murky alien world. A second later, the icy water seeped through my suit and I gasped, drawing water into my lungs. Cold ripped through my chest. I tried to swim to the surface, kicking, beating my arms, willing myself to move upwards, but my legs were held in a vice. Exhausted, I let my body go limp.
I peered up through the spiral of water and saw a pale light far above. Giant figures swam into my vision – the circus statues and chess pieces, the Knight Templar. And Denny, his eyes wide with fright, bubbles streaming from his open mouth. They tumbled heavily towards me, performing huge somersaults before taking up position in a circle. From somewhere far away, I watched myself drifting in the water, Denny and the ice statues jigging and reeling furiously around me. An eternity later, the silence was broken by a roaring that I felt rather than heard. I made a last desperate attempt to save myself, wriggling feebly, trying to free my legs. The water turned red, my vision tunnelled, and then it faded altogether.
Chapter 22
‘Miss Stewart. Miss Stewart!’
I opened my eyes into an unfamiliar world, everything a blur, like seeing through somebody else’s glasses. A faraway voice was calling, insistent. It was familiar, but I couldn’t identify it. My face hurt and there was a dull ache in my knee. I tried to move, but the pain in my head worsened, shooting bright lights which left firework trails before my eyes. My eyelids drooped and I drifted back into a fitful sleep.