The Ice

by Laline Paull

  Kingsmith rubbed his head with both hands.

  ‘When we tried to go back to see, the passage was blocked. There was no room to move and the three of us were all shouting and treading on each other in there, trying to yell to them through the ice – and then we all felt it give again under our feet and after that we ran for the ladder, because you can’t help people if you’re trapped too.’ He looked at the coroner. ‘Danny and Terry were already at the top to get us out because the storm was coming. They didn’t even know about the collapse. They were very good, they checked inside the entrance, then they got us back down to the Lodge just before the blizzard hit.’

  Kingsmith looked for Angela Harding in the silent courtroom. ‘That was the right safety protocol, no matter what. If it had been me down there, trapped in the ice, they’d have done the exact same thing. As soon as the phones came on again, we raised the alarm, but that wasn’t until the storm passed. I can only offer my most sincere condolences to all Tom’s family.’ He turned back to the coroner.

  Mrs Osman put her hand up and rose. ‘Mr Kingsmith,’ she said in her hoarse voice. ‘Can I go back to when you met Tom and Mr Cawson, when they were students at Oxford and you were already a very successful … entrepreneur.’ Kingsmith nodded.

  ‘You took Mr Cawson on as your … protégé. Is that right?’

  ‘I mentored him. Still do, if he wants.’

  ‘You mentioned differences, with Tom. Did you fall out, at any time?’

  Kingsmith frowned slightly. ‘As in, ever have a disagreement? Or a fight?’

  ‘Either,’ Osman said mildly. ‘At any time, right up until … I suppose … the incident in the ice-cave.’

  ‘I do wish you wouldn’t call it that.’ Sawbridge stood up fully. ‘Your Honour, don’t you think it gives a very unpleasant slant to things? Mrs Osman is no stranger to correct terminology, so I fail to understand why she doesn’t use it. It was an accident.’

  ‘Mr Sawbridge, I will tell you what I think in my summing up and not before. Mrs Osman, I am in no doubt there was an accident: please use that term for now.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sawbridge emphasised, directing the remark to Mrs Osman.

  ‘Accident,’ she drawled, making it sound far worse. ‘The ac-cident … in the ice-cave. Were there any … arguments? Before you went in?’

  ‘Arguments?’ Kingsmith looked bemused.

  ‘Yes. Arguments.’ Mrs Osman looked through her file, laboriously. Everyone waited. She looked up. ‘Because Dr Mott received a call from Tom on the morning of the eclipse, from Midgard Lodge itself. Before his phone was cut off.’

  Sean’s eyes went to Ruth – she was right there waiting for him. She nodded. That’s right. He looked away, his heart pounding. Tom had told her.

  Quickly Sean leaned into Sawbridge and whispered. Sawbridge nodded vigorously and popped up again.

  ‘Objection! My client insists that no phones were “cut off” by human action, and that it is a most pejorative claim we dispute in the strongest terms. My client reiterates that it is a feature of the location that regular cell phones will not work, and the signal for the iridium phones provided by Mr Cawson to the whole party, and with which Mr Harding was also personally familiar from other remote travel, were also being affected over the whole of the archipelago, by the solar eclipse. It’s well documented. Mr Harding’s phone was certainly not “cut off”, but might well have been functioning erratically.’ He stared at Mrs Osman. ‘I hope that is quite clear.’

  ‘But they did have a few seconds to speak …’ Mrs Osman pulled out a sheet from her file. ‘Here is Dr Mott’s phone record for that day, which shows it as 10.58 a.m., registering one minute. Dr Mott says it was less, but one minute is the basic unit of record by the phone company. She says Tom was agitated about something.’

  ‘Mrs Osman, why did you not give this to me sooner?’ Mr Thornton was losing patience.

  ‘I apologise. I must have mis-filed it.’ She handed the page to one of her aides, who took it to the front. As the coroner studied it, Sean felt his spine prickle.

  ‘In Dr Mott’s words—’

  ‘Dr Mott is sitting in my courtroom, so if she does not mind, I will ask her to come back to the witness stand and tell me herself. Dr Mott? Are you willing?’

  Ruth Mott nodded. ‘Mr Kingsmith, would you mind? You don’t need to leave the platform.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kingsmith stepped aside, his eyes fixed on Ruth Mott as she came up the aisle. She looked back defiantly, puffed up like a small threatened cat against the dog that could kill her. The coroner directed her where to stand. Now she ignored Kingsmith completely.

  ‘I’ll consider you remaining as sworn in. Please tell me what Tom said, in this very short phone call.’

  ‘He said there was a cave full of guns. He said it was unbelievable.’

  ‘Dr Mott, why have you not mentioned this before?’

  She looked at Mrs Osman for a moment before she answered. ‘I went through a bad depression when I lost my job. I’d been completely professionally discredited, I’d lost the man I loved, I was trying to put everything behind me and move on. But when his body was found – I knew I had to speak.’

  ‘You’ve had ample opportunity,’ said the coroner. ‘I find it very—’

  ‘I asked her not to,’ Mrs Osman interrupted. Sawbridge made a loud sound of exasperation and looked around for support.

  ‘Because?’ Mr Thornton was now visibly annoyed.

  Mrs Osman remained calm. ‘Because I believed, had Mr Kingsmith known of this detail, there was a chance he might have found himself busy today. And I thought it useful for him to be here, as scheduled.’

  The courtroom was silent, all eyes now on Kingsmith. He stared at Mrs Osman, and licked his lips once. Sean was suddenly put in mind of a Komodo dragon, tasting the air. Then Kingsmith smiled.

  ‘Well, I’m delighted to meet you too, Mrs Osman. But let me tell you, the décor at Midgard Lodge is truly impressive. There’s this majestic window, double storey, looking straight down Midgardfjorden. Stone fireplace on the back, same height. And then my collection of antique firearms on the walls.’

  ‘No,’ Ruth Mott said firmly. ‘He said it was a cave. A cave full of weapons.’

  Kingsmith looked at her sympathetically. ‘That’s absolutely the feeling of that part of the room. But the way you describe it makes me think it does strike the wrong note. It might feel threatening. Sean, maybe you want to look at that.’ Kingsmith spoke as if he were happy to talk about interior design all day. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. Dr Mott, can you tell me anything more about this phone call?’

  ‘He said they were about to leave. He didn’t say where. Then his phone cut out.’ She looked at Sean. ‘For whatever reason.’

  Sean remembered. Immediately after their confrontation in the boathouse, and before leaving on the skidoos, Tom had gone back into the Lodge. He’d said he needed to pee. But he hadn’t. Sean closed his eyes. As soon as he’d seen Tom heading for the boat hangar, he sensed trouble and told Terry Bjornsen to block the Wi-Fi. But he hadn’t done it in time.

  ‘OK?’ Sawbridge murmured it. Sean nodded, his eyes on Ruth Mott.

  ‘Your Honour?’ Mrs Osman spoke. ‘I do have a few questions more for Mr Kingsmith.’

  He bowed. ‘Please.’

  ‘Thank you. A point of curiosity really, but perhaps … of relevance. Why are you driving an armoured car?’

  ‘A what?’ Kingsmith laughed.

  ‘Your Vauxhall Insignia. It’s armour-plated.’

  ‘What an extraordinary thing to suggest!’

  ‘Not really,’ she replied. ‘When you’re familiar with them, the sound of the heavy door closing is quite distinctive. Then, when I walked around it, I noted it does indeed feature inch-thick bullet-proof glass. I merely wondered.’

  ‘Ma’am, with the greatest respect, you’re mistaken.’ Kingsmith smiled. ‘But I’d be very happy to let you inspect it at your leisure, if
you fancied a spin.’

  ‘I don’t, thank you. What I really want to ask is how you would characterise your role in the affairs of Midgard Lodge.’

  ‘Surely.’ Kingsmith switched tactics, as relaxed as if they were flirting in a bar. ‘I’m valued as a very amiable sleeping partner. For a long time, Sean and I have been involved in business ventures together. It started with me inviting him in, but in recent years he’s done a lot more hosting – by which I mean he’s thrown the party and I’ve brought the bottle and sometimes some of the guests, if you follow me.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘OK. If there’s an interesting financial opportunity, we like to help each other out. That’s how you grow. One way or another, I’ve been investing for him since his student days, and it’s no secret he’s done pretty well for himself on the gains. And for some time now, I’m pleased to say the pupil’s returned the favour and brought the old man in on a few deals.’

  ‘So Midgard Lodge was a financial opportunity, in which Mr Cawson invited you to participate? Yes or no would be the most helpful answer.’

  ‘Ah, Mrs Osman – you know how they so often limit our understanding.’

  ‘Or seek to obfuscate it.’

  ‘Business is always about relationships. They’re delicate living things, way past the yes and no binary. Relationships are about politics, and politics is always about needs, resources and access. And before you pull me up for being evasive, I am answering the question fully – if you’ll just stay with me a minute. When Midgard Lodge came up for sale in Svalbard, Sean saw a great business opportunity – but he’s made plenty of money. This time he wanted more. Sorry, Sean boy, but let’s be honest and help this inquest along. Plain and simple, he wanted glory. Anyone thinks he’s a playboy in a suit, hasn’t got him. In his heart, he’s an explorer, and they’re the world’s greatest romantics. No amount of money makes up for a lack of adventure in life. Not for men like us.’

  Sean felt an untimely surge of pride. Men like us.

  ‘And then this chance of a lifetime comes up – it fits perfectly with his brand, and it’s the part of the world that’s closest to his heart. And now he’s mature enough to want to give, not just get.’

  Kingsmith came out from behind the witness stand, the better to connect, and the clerk moved out of his way. Sean thought of Kingsmith the first time he’d seen him at the Oxford Union, how people had physically reacted to him, instinctively drawing away. As though they were afraid.

  ‘Protecting the Arctic is a job that needs doing and it goes hand in hand with trying to steward best business practice there. Sean’s trying to do both – he knew he needed Tom’s help.’

  ‘Mr Kingsmith.’ The coroner was less enamoured. ‘You’re not running for office, so please simply answer my questions. Do you think Mr Harding shared your view on development in the Arctic Ocean?’

  ‘Yes, as his vision became more sophisticated.’

  ‘That is a lie!’ Ruth Mott said it to Kingsmith, then turned to Sean. ‘What did you say to him? What lies did you tell him, to get him in? He knew, didn’t he? He found something out – I know he did!’

  ‘Dr Mott, please, if you have some evidence – other than your wishful thinking—’ Sawbridge was also standing, ‘you’ve had ample opportunity to bring it to the coroner’s attention. We understand you’re very upset, but while we sympathise—’

  ‘Being upset does not make me a fool! Making mistakes in the past does not mean I’m going to miss this chance to do the right thing!’ Ruth Mott also came out to the front of the stand, looking ready to punch the next person who spoke.

  ‘Everyone sit down!’ The coroner banged his palm on the table. He pointed at Mrs Osman: ‘Not you.’ And at Kingsmith, who was unperturbed: ‘Or you.’

  ‘There’s a cover-up!’ Ruth Mott turned to the coroner. ‘I know it!’

  Sean wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, and yell in her face to shut up, none of this will bring Tom back so just let it go, we all have to move on without him, we all have to live with our mistakes. Tom is dead and we’re going to make a huge fucking donation in his name tomorrow night and put it into what he believed in. Tom forced the issue and look what happened. It didn’t have to happen!

  Ruth looked right back at him as surely if he had actually yelled it out loud instead of in his head. Then, trembling and white-faced, she walked off the platform and between the staring rows of people.

  ‘Dr Mott!’ called the coroner, but she did not stop, and as she went to push the double doors it looked as though they were opened from the outside. Sean caught a flash of a tall figure in a red jacket.

  ‘Let her go.’ Sawbridge put a restraining arm on Sean’s, but he broke free.

  ‘Mr Cawson!’ called the coroner. ‘Mr Cawson!’

  Outside Court No. 1 the lobby was empty. Then Sean saw her, huddled in the seat on the first-floor landing, her face turned away. Sean looked around for whoever had opened the door for her, but they were alone. There was no one in a red jacket, and the only movement was Ruth Mott’s shoulders, shaking. She knew he was there.

  ‘Something else happened.’ She did not look up. ‘I absolutely know it.’

  Sean could not help himself, he went to her.

  ‘Ruth. We both lost him.’

  To his surprise, instead of shoving him away, she held out her hand. He took it and felt the bones and the muscles and the warmth of her skin tighten around his own. He crouched down beside her, then he put his arms around her. Her grief went through him like a shock wave.

  ‘Ruth,’ he heard himself say, in a tender tone he’d not used in so long. She heard it and turned and clung to him, and through her sobs he felt the heat of her wet face against his neck, and held her closer. He felt her breasts pressing against him, and the curve of her ribs under one hand. He let go abruptly.

  ‘Sean, you’re freaking me out.’ Ruth stood up and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I can’t breathe in here. I have to get out.’ She ran down the stairs.

  Sean stayed where he was until her footsteps were gone. He wanted air too. A thread of freshness was coming from somewhere and he turned to find the source. It came from a door on the staircase landing, opening onto the black iron fire escape. It was slightly ajar. He became aware of someone repeating his name.

  ‘Sean!’ Sawbridge stood higher up, outside the double doors of the court. ‘Thornton’s about to lose it. Are we bailing for the day?’

  ‘No I’m there.’ Sean went back in, but as he did, suddenly he understood. The fire escape led down to the car park. Mrs Osman’s dark hooded eyes had a new brightness as she met his gaze. Her bathroom break had been her chance to go out onto the fire escape, and down to the car park. That was the only way she could have examined Kingsmith’s car. Smiling faintly, she turned away.

  If we only had a little pemmican to eat when the tent is pitched, we should not mind being fatigued, for pemmican is easily cooked, and then one can lie down and rest. But dog’s flesh must be boiled for a long time to make it eatable at all, and it is hard to keep awake until it is done. We let it stew for about an hour and a quarter – we cannot wait any longer, and for the last five or ten minutes we are wakeful enough, digging and poking at the meat with a sail needle, to see if it is tender. As soon as we think it is cooked, soup and meat are divided as fairly as possible; the soup is what we value most, for there is not much meat, and what there is, is tough as leather. I have considerable difficulty in eating it, for my teeth are still loose from the scurvy, and to my great annoyance I cannot even pick the bones clean.

  Lost in the Arctic: Being the story of the ‘Alabama’ Expedition 1909–12 (1913)

  Captain Ejnar Mikkelsen

  31

  At the end of Kingsmith’s cross-examination at 16.30 on the Wednesday afternoon, Mr Thornton announced that, in the light of the new evidence – the phone record and subsequent testimonies – he needed more time to consider all factors. He knew an event co
nnected with Tom’s legacy was being held the following evening, so he had hoped (and here a look specifically to Mrs Osman) to deliver his conclusion before that time. Instead it would be Friday morning.

  ‘Better, actually,’ Sawbridge said, packing his papers as the courtroom dispersed. ‘Gives you a chance to recover before your big night. Chin up, it might be very therapeutic for you.’

  Sean nodded and smiled, but he was dreading it. After these three days, his starring role would be a very particular form of torture. Smiling, pressing the flesh, raked over by five hundred pairs of eyes as he eulogised Tom. For once, he loathed the thought of the spotlight. At least in black tie he would blend in and disappear. And at least Angela and the Harding family had declined his invitation.

  ‘You’ll have Martine by your side,’ Sawbridge said wistfully. ‘She’s rather wonderful.’

  Sean smiled, but if Martine had suddenly needed to go away on business, he would have been glad. He wanted telly and wine and to bury himself in comfort. He wanted to disappear.

  ‘Told you this was a bugger,’ Sawbridge said, ‘but you’ve done very well. Always tell my clients, book yourself a really good holiday afterwards. Push the boat out. These things are like throwing a bloody great rock in a pond – ripples long after the whole thing’s past. Got to physically get away, mental and physical space. Move on.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Sean thought of the blazing chandeliers of the Carrington, the colossal floral arrangements, the swarms of dull people he would have to charm and connect and fan to life. ‘Are you sure you won’t come tomorrow? We can easily find you a place.’