Where the Ice Falls

by J. E. Barnard

  Leaping out the back door, she tied the crossed iron securely to the rope. “Stand back,” she yelled. She swung the heavy star on its rope and let it fly at the upper window. It clattered on the wall and fell to earth, vanishing into a snow drift. She hauled it in by the yellow rope, checked the knots, swung, and hurled again. This time it went through with a great crashing of glass. Zoe screeched.

  The kitchen window cracked ominously. Flames licked at the glass. If the pane broke, the fire would billow up the outside wall. Overhead, Zoe’s furious blows sent shards of glass and fragments of frame showering down.

  Lacey jumped out of the debris zone. “I’ll hunt for a ladder.”

  She frantically searched along the porch and sides of the smouldering cabin. No ladder. No Marcia, either, unless she was hiding in the dark forest, watching. She ran back. “How’s it coming?”

  “It’s getting loose,” Zoe yelled, “but it’s hotter now. Smoke’s coming through the floorboards.”

  “Keep hitting. I’ll check the shed.”

  Lacey powered through the crusted drifts. The shed had settled so far sideways the door was warped. She kicked at it in desperation. When the rotted wood gave, she stumbled inside. There was a rickety wooden ladder missing a couple of rungs, with others dangling. The ladder caught in the shed door on her way out and she wrenched it free. As she ran across the yard, it snagged on bushes. She yanked it off them.

  Smoke gusted from the window where she’d last seen Zoe. She slammed the ladder up against the wall.

  “Zoe! Zoe! I’m coming up.”

  A pale arm appeared through the smoke. Zoe was desperately prying at the window hinges. Lacey got one hand on the window and hung her whole weight off it. One hinge broke free. She closed her eyes as powdery splinters skimmed her cheeks. Thicker smoke billowed up around her.

  Zoe coughed. “I’m on the bed now, no leverage. The floor is too hot.”

  “Pass me the tire iron.”

  It was a tricky left-handed swing while Lacey’s right hand clutched the ladder rail, but she managed to land a blow in the V between frame and hinge. She smacked it again, metal striking metal. Smoke curled up her body. Flames licked from a lower window. One more blow.

  The hinge ripped free, taking the side frame with it. The little window fell past her. She hooked the tire iron on the windowsill, propped her knees against the rungs as best she could and got both hands on the lower frame. Yanking as hard as she could, with Zoe pushing from inside, they tore the board away, leaving a jagged hole.

  “Can you make it through?” Lacey yelled.

  Zoe’s feet appeared, and she wriggled out backward. Lacey guided her over to the uppermost rung. She eased herself down, feeling for each rung below lest it give way under her boot.

  The heat was intense. The night spiralled yellow and gold and black, smoke and ash and embers. Coughing, she dropped another step. The rung snapped beneath her.

  Zoe’s foot grazed her cheek. Flames swam up the wall. She jumped clear of the ladder and staggered backward, her shoulder slamming against the van.

  “Broken rung,” she yelled as Zoe’s foot scrabbled for support.

  Flames licked up the old logs, feasting on the fresh air and long-dead wood. Ignoring the throbbing in her arm, Lacey grabbed Zoe’s hips and pulled her from the ladder. Together they stumbled away into the snowy field as another window crashed to the ground. Sparks soared into the starry night.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Zoe watched the roof collapse. The fire roared, glazing the whole glade in gold. She shuddered, pulling her sweater up to her throat. Away from the flames, the chill bit through her clothing.

  “Where’s your coat?” Lacey asked.

  “I had to take it off to get through the window.”

  Lacey stripped off her jacket and wrapped it around Zoe. Snuggling in, shoving her freezing arms into sleeves prewarmed by body heat, Zoe took a deep breath. Or tried to. Coughing wracked her chest.

  “Let’s get you away from here.” Lacey led her wide around the flaming building. Onlookers had gathered on the road. An RCMP officer pushed through them. “Markov,” she yelled, waving.

  He ran toward them. “Fire truck from Ghost is inbound. Anybody else inside?”

  “Zoe, where’s Marcia?”

  Through coughing fits, Zoe managed to get out, “She left … on skis … up the Loop Trail, I think.”

  “Why didn’t she take the van?”

  “I … don’t … know.”

  “Saw your light bar, I bet,” Lacey told Markov. “Move the checkpoint to the bridge just outside Black Rock. Stop everything leaving. She’s desperate enough to steal a vehicle, and there’s plenty to choose from around here.”

  “Search the Loop Trail,” Zoe rasped, “and … empty chalets.” Her tongue tasted like day-old cigarettes dipped in pine tar. What she wanted was a warm bath and clean clothes. And privacy so she could fall apart.

  Lacey must have sensed Zoe’s discomfort. “I’ll take Zoe over to the Thompson chalet. Send an EMT when they get here. If you trust me, I’ll bag the clothing and photograph the injuries so we can make her comfortable more quickly.”

  Markov pulled out his phone and snapped a half-dozen photos of Zoe: hands, face, ripped clothing, blistered boots. She let herself be bundled into the Lexus, too exhausted to put on her seatbelt until Lacey reminded her. Heat rose from her seat when the engine started, easing into her frozen legs and creeping up her back as the vehicle backed away from the burning heap of the cabin.

  “God,” she said, “I’m exhausted.”

  “Adrenalin’s wearing off.” Lacey honked at the gawkers. “And she most likely drugged you. You’ll be hellish sore soon. There must be first aid supplies at JP’s place. We can clean your scrapes and pull your splinters there.”

  At the word splinters, Zoe stared at her stinging palms. Jagged spears of dark wood were visible in the dashboard’s glow. “Holy shit. I didn’t feel those going in.”

  “You had other things on your mind.” Lacey honked at another group standing on the road. “Markov’s gonna need someone on traffic ASAP.”

  “We could have waited so you could help. My splinters aren’t going anywhere.”

  “I’m a Victim Services volunteer, not a cop. You’re my priority.” Lacey was matter-of-fact. The vibe that came with the words was calm and focused, showing no sign that she yearned to be back where the action was.

  Zoe yawned, which set off another bout of coughing.

  “It was Marcia all along,” she finally managed to say. “With the malware, I mean. I think she drugged me in the office, because when I woke up we were already most of the way here. She tried to get me to drink some hot chocolate, but I didn’t. That was probably drugged, too.” She shuddered. “Actually, Eric’s voice came to me so strongly that I dropped the mug on the printer. That’s when I saw the Cylon invoices. She was stealing more money from the year-end payment run.”

  The enormity of her escape crashed over her. Eric had saved her life. “If I’d drunk that hot chocolate, I’d have fallen asleep again and been helpless once the fire started. I’d be dead right now.” The horror of never waking, never seeing Nik or Lizi again, washed over her. She sobbed until they reached the chalet.

  When they got to the front door, she had to pull herself together to punch in the entry code. Then she staggered in, trailing snow and soot across the living room floor as she headed for the farthest door beyond the stairs.

  “What’s in there?” Lacey asked.

  “Master suite. Phyl’s bathroom. First aid and a shower. I reek.”

  “Let me.” Lacey entered the dark room first, fumbling for a light switch.

  Zoe sat on the bed and eased the coat off over her seeping palms. She wanted to sink into the bed and stay there.

  Lacey helped her undress, carefully photographing each item of clothing on and off Zoe’s body. “Chain of evidence,” she explained when Zoe asked why. “In case a jury needs to be convinced we
didn’t switch any items. I don’t suppose there are any paper bags around? They’re supposed to be used for any damp materials to avoid mould growth or spoilage of biological samples.”

  Zoe shook her head, feeling each muscle tug at the others. “There might be a dry-cleaning bag in Phyl’s closet.” Lacey went to look and came back with a sleek black-paper shopping bag handled and embossed in silver, a relic from some high-end clothing boutique. After giving it a good shake to get rid of miscellaneous fibres, she folded each item of clothing into it. Then she took photos of every scrape, burn, and splinter on Zoe’s aching body. Zoe directed her to the first aid kit, and Lacey set to work with hydrogen peroxide and a pair of tweezers. When she was done, she dabbed antibiotic ointment on the wounds and wrapped them in gauze. She got to her feet with the first signs of weariness that Zoe had yet noticed.

  “Stay there. I’ll raid the closet for something you can wear.”

  Zoe groaned. She was so tired, but each time her eyelids drifted shut, a vision of flames and snow and shattered windows flared up behind them. As Lacey helped her into some of Phyl’s workout gear, the silence was broken by the sound of breaking glass.

  They both froze.

  “Did you hear that?” Zoe whispered.

  “Shh,” said Lacey. “Wait here.” She crept over, turned off the light, and slowly opened the door. Then she was gone, leaving Zoe in the dark bedroom.

  Alone in the dark. Again.

  Zoe crept to the door and peered out. The long, shadowy living room was slashed by a yellow light coming from the kitchen. Neither she nor Lacey had turned on that light. Someone had broken in.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Pressed against the wall near the kitchen archway, Lacey clearly heard the sound of a drawer sliding open, then the muffled chink of keys. She tensed as footsteps sounded, and relaxed a bit as the back door closed, leaving the kitchen silent. She risked peeking into the room and saw a head moving on the porch outside. Boots tramped down the wooden steps. It was so quiet she heard the squeak of snow as they moved away.

  “Did you see who it was?” Zoe whispered behind her.

  Lacey jumped. “Jesus!” she hissed. “Don’t do that!”

  “Sorry. Did you see who it was?”

  “All I saw was a head of brown hair and the collar of a white and black ski jacket.”

  “That’s Marcia! Why is she here?”

  “Are there keys in a drawer by the fridge?”

  “Oh, shit. Yeah, for the snowmobiles.”

  Lacey spun around. “Where are they?”

  “In the garage, filled with fuel and ready to go. The trails behind here run all the way past Waiparous.”

  “And across the river and down to Highway 1A … Can you manage my phone?”

  Zoe looked down at her dressings and nodded. “I think so.”

  Lacey handed her the phone. “Call Sergeant Drummond. Tell him what’s happening. Under B for Bull.” She darted across the living room. A moment later she eased the front door open and slipped out onto the porch.

  Zoe retreated to the master suite, where the blackout curtains hid her from anyone in the yard. She turned on the bedside lamp, laid the phone beneath it face up, and clumsily scrolled through the contacts list until she found Bull’s number. She hit Dial and put it on speakerphone. Sergeant Drummond barked his hello, and Zoe whispered back. “It’s not Lacey, it’s Zoe. We’re at the Thompson chalet. Marcia just broke in and took the snowmobile keys. The machines are in the garage. Lacey went out to try to stop her. Can you send someone?”

  “On our way. Lock the doors and stay inside, away from the windows.”

  She disconnected. Stay inside? But Lacey was out there alone. She crept out of the master suite and stared across the dark living room at the ghostly glimmer of the front door. Out there was the woman who had killed Eric, who had tried to kill her. If Marcia made it to the trail, she’d be gone before the RCMP could get here. Lacey had no weapon, no backup. She might even be killed. This was no time for staying locked in the house!

  Zoe ran to the foyer and grabbed the nearest ski jacket off the coat rack. A toque fell out of the sleeve as she pushed her hand through, and she tugged that over her hair. Then she shoved her feet into boots, opened the door, and crept outside.

  When the lights in the garage came on, Lacey left the shelter of the Lexus and dashed across the yard. Flattening herself against the garage wall, she edged along to the first window. She peeked inside, but could only see the concrete floor and several snowmobile suits hanging on a rack. She crept along the wall, wincing each time the snow crunched beneath her boots. As she reached the side door, she found it ajar. She hesitated. Only an hour ago she’d told Zoe she was no longer a cop, and yet here she was, out of shape from months away from the gym, about to burst in on a possible triple murderer, unarmed, with no backup. But what was the alternative? Even if the RCMP were on their way, it would take ages for them to get here from the far side of the Bowl. She was on her own.

  She slid past the door and peered in the next window. It showed her the whole back half of the garage, containing a large tool bench, a pair of well-used dirt bikes, and two gleaming snowmobiles whose noses pointed at a single-wide garage door in the rear wall. It was closed for the moment. Marcia was bending over the nearest snowmobile, strapping a fuel can to its cargo rack.

  Lacey assessed the situation. Marcia had come via the ski trail, straight to the back door of the chalet. She’d left the same way, so it was possible she hadn’t seen the Lexus parked in the drive and didn’t realize anyone was in the building. She wouldn’t have turned on the garage lights unless she’d thought she was alone. The element of surprise lay with Lacey. The yard was quiet, the only sounds coming from inside the garage: some shuffling and a clunk that was probably the fuel can. As long as she could hear Marcia in there, she had time to plan her attack.

  Snow crunched behind her.

  She whirled around. The yellow garage light faded from her vision, leaving the yard pale in the starlight. Nobody was there. Inside the garage, something clanked. She crept back along the wall, eased the ski-room door open wider, and slipped inside. It wasn’t much darker than outside, and the light from the main garage outlined the inner door. She tiptoed across to it and put her eye up to the crack.

  Marcia entered her narrow field of vision to drag a snowmobile suit off its hanger. She removed her ski boots and climbed into the suit. She grabbed snowmobile boots, gloves, and a helmet from a shelf and walked toward the back of the garage. Lacey heard a snow machine rumble to life. She cracked open the door to the garage and looked in. Marcia, now standing beside the machine, picked a backpack up off the floor and slid her arms through the straps. She trudged over to the wall and pushed a button. The single garage door began to rise, spilling yellow light out onto the snow. A pair of legs was visible — someone was standing out there.

  Marcia gave a glad cry. “Phyl! What are you —”

  Zoe ducked under the rising door, brandishing a chunk of firewood like an avenging angel. She ran straight at Marcia, swinging wildly.

  As Marcia grabbed at Zoe’s arm. Lacey bounded out from hiding. She leaped onto the seat of the idling machine and hurled herself through the air. Her shoulder rammed Marcia between the shoulder blades, slamming her face-first into the wall.

  Lacey barely got her feet under her before Marcia pushed off from the wall, turned and lunged at her. Zoe stuck out a foot and tripped up the accountant. Marcia went sprawling across the hood of the snowmobile. As she struggled to stand up, Lacey grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her down to the floor, planting a knee on her back in the best police tradition. For good measure, she wrenched one of Marcia’s arms up and held it firmly between her shoulder blades.

  “Zoe,” she said, breathing hard, “Find something to tie her up with.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Lacey dragged Marcia to her feet as the sound of sirens reverberated up the Bowl. Soon the flashing blue-and-white
s danced through the trees. As she pulled her captive out to the yard, an RCMP SUV wheeled in, its headlights bathing her and Marcia in a bright white glare. Someone jumped from the driver’s door and ran toward them.

  “Stop right there!”

  “It’s me, Bull,” said Lacey, squinting against his headlights. “We got her.”

  Lacey and Zoe sat on the living room couch across from Bull Drummond. Lacey had explained, from the beginning, everything that had transpired since she first found Zoe’s phone on her office floor. After he’d grilled first Zoe and then Lacey about the events at Marcia’s cabin and at the chalet, Lacey handed over her phone so he could examine the photos of Zoe’s injuries. “Her clothes are bagged in the bedroom.”

  Bull thumbed through the photos and glanced at the tattered gauze on Zoe’s hands. “That’s solid coverage of the evidence handling. Thanks. It should be enough to anchor an attempted murder charge. What about the accounting fraud angle?”

  “Zoe saw invoices for the fraudulent company in the cabin, but any material evidence of Marcia’s ongoing theft probably went up in flames.” Lacey rubbed her shoulder. “If you can find a money trail connecting the earlier cheques to her, we … you can prove she had a motive for Eric’s death. Apparently, she carried the malware script on a USB stick on her keychain. But she likely left that behind in the cabin, along with Eric’s paper printouts and his backpack, hoping all the evidence would be destroyed in the fire. I think she also stole a thumb drive backup from his house the day she took his laptop.” Lacey shook her head. “They must have been in her bag when she left the funeral reception. To think, she banged me in the hip with her bag of stolen evidence on her way out. But even if I’d searched her, I never would have suspected a plastic spaceship was the USB backup.”

  Zoe started to say something, then shook her head wearily.

  Lacey looked at her. “What?”