Snow Light

by Danielle Zinn

  “Gooood. Now, hop oooff!” he said, imitating her voice until she could no longer help it and giggled.

  Thomas quickly lit the fireplace in the lounge. The crackling sound and spicy smell of birch wood calmed his mind. Warmth spread through his body, and he felt the burden of the day fall off his shoulders. All he actually wanted to do was snuggle up on the couch, with a blanket and a glass of whiskey, just himself for company. He longed to relive what happened in the park a year earlier. He could not let it go. It was a cruel kind of therapy. The darkness. The helplessness. His failure.

  Upstairs, he heard the soft voice of Sky explaining the origin and meaning of all her travel souvenirs to Collins. To make Sky feel comfortable in his house, while her father was away, he had allowed her to decorate one room the way she wanted.

  They had put up various national flags from different countries on the walls, as well as photographs and postcards. Animal soft toys and other mementos bought at markets and shops from Brazil to Taiwan sat neatly arranged on a large shelf. Every piece held its own story, and Sky told them with great passion. Some were funny, some more serious.

  A rumbling in Thomas’s stomach reminded him of his actual duty to prepare dinner.

  The kitchen was bright and tidy. An island sat in the middle with a worktop, oven, and cooktop, as well as a knife block. The centrepiece, however, stood in the corner — his beloved stainless-steel American-style fridge freezer — which David had given him as a house-warming gift.

  Thomas quickly precooked some potatoes and put them in the oven with a drizzle of oil and a rosemary twig. Then he took out some carrots, broccoli, and Brussels sprouts to slowly steam them when a banging noise made him look up. A football came rolling down the stairs.

  “Sky! For Christ’s sake! I’ve told you time and time again not to play football inside the house!”

  A head popped up behind the upstairs banister. “Sorry, sir. A trick gone wrong!” DS Collins said with an apologetic grin.

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “Could you two set the table, please? Just to avoid further damage.”

  Sky and Collins came downstairs in unison, radiating strength as if they had known each other for years — unbreakable and inseparable. He had much rather anticipated Collins showing Sky how much she disliked her and Sky responding in kind. But the motives of human interaction sometimes were unfathomable.

  Thomas returned to the kitchen and left the decorating of the dining table to the female duo.

  Just as the first steaks sizzled in his grill pan, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!” Sky, with Barney in tow, hurried towards the entrance.

  Thomas was about to put the last peppered steak into the pan when a high-pitched scream, a slamming door, and a madly barking dog made him drop his precious meat to the floor.

  Sky came running towards him, shaking and pale. He bent down to her and she clung to his arm.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got you. Calm down.” He wiped a strand of hair from of her face. “Who was outside?” he asked softly.

  “He didn’t have a face. He was all black!” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Thomas nodded towards Collins, who quietly followed them into the kitchen. The doorbell rang again. “Okay, Sky, you stay here with Collins.”

  He turned off the light in the lounge so that the only source of illumination came from the fire casting long, orange shadows across the room.

  With three long, quiet strides, he went to the door and opened it a crack. It was completely quiet outside as if the otherwise noisy winter was holding its breath.

  A thin, long, and shiny silver metal blade was silently pushed through the gap in the door and moved ever so carefully up towards Thomas’s chest. His heart was beating fast in his ears. All he could make out was a black silhouette against the light from the streetlamp.

  Sky had been right; the thing holding the blade did not have a face, but rather, was wearing a mask like a black steel case. Breath came out in puffs, freezing in the cold winter night.

  The hand stopped moving, and the tip of the blade wavered in front of Thomas’s throat without touching it. Then everything happened very quickly.

  The mask shouted, “Touché!” and Thomas grabbed the blade, pulling it towards him with one sharp move. The mask let go, and a ringing sounded through the house as the other end of the blade hit the doorframe.

  “You bloody bastard! You scared the living daylights out of us!” Thomas opened the door, and the mask walked inside, laughing heartily.

  “I was the one who was scared. Thought you’d shoot me on the spot!”

  Sky looked incredulously at Thomas. He nodded towards her. “Come here, kiddo. You know this person very well.”

  He pulled the mask off the face and revealed his beaming neighbour, who softly poked him in the stomach with an epee. “I heard steaks will be served here for dinner. Hope I’m on time.”

  “Oh my god! The steaks!” Thomas dashed into the kitchen only to find that Collins, in her wisdom, had switched off the cooker.

  He was meticulous when it came to the right procedure for cooking steaks, and although his timing had been interrupted, at least the steaks had not ended up burnt to a cinder.

  A munching sound from behind the kitchen island grabbed his attention.

  And indeed, one casualty had to be mourned.

  In all the turmoil, he had forgotten about the dropped steak, that Barney was now savouring appreciatively, and holding tightly with both paws.

  Thomas bent down and patted the dog on the back. “Don’t ask me if you get a Christmas present this year, okay, buddy? You are just enjoying a nine-ounce fillet steak,” he whispered.

  In the lounge, Richard explained enthusiastically the characteristics of fencing — a martial art with blades.

  Modern fencing had originated in Spain, with the Spanish forces carrying the practice around the world before it was banned by the Catholic Church. In the eighteenth century, fencing shifted from military training to a sport, and fencing academies for the aristocracy were established until it became a form of exercise available for everybody.

  Thomas smiled when he saw Sky’s amazed eyes soaking in every word Richard was saying. He wondered how much longer she could hold back the urge to grab the epee and hit someone with it. Richard went on, explaining that a fencing outfit consisted of a mask, with a metal mesh covering the face and ears; a bib to protect the throat; a plastic chest protector, called a plastron; long-sleeved jacket and breeches, both made of tough cotton or nylon to resist forces of 800 newtons; knee-length socks; shoes; and one glove for the hand holding the weapon.

  Generally, the fencer’s clothes were white; however, the black jacket he was wearing was for the fencing master only.

  Finally, there were three different types of weapons: the epee, the foil, and the sabre — each with its own rules and strategies.

  Richard looked towards Thomas. “As requested, I have brought you an epee, and I am more than happy to share my knowledge with you, even though I cannot say this for your part.” He blinked at him and offered Thomas the weapon.

  The pistol-like handle felt cold in his hand. It was much lighter than he had expected; he guessed around half a kilo.

  At one end, the three-sided blade was connected to an aluminium bell guard, which was big enough to shield his hand behind it, and it had a movable tip at the other end.

  Richard put on his mask and established himself in front of Thomas. “Now, put your right foot forward, turn your hip a bit inward, and bend your knees like you want to sit down. Put your weight on both feet. There you go. Now extend your arm and hit my chest.”

  Thomas gave Richard a mild blow into the shoulder, unsure how much force to put into it.

  The epee bent slightly upwards, and he quickly released the pressure by moving his arm backwards. “Does that hurt?” Sky looked uncertainly at Richard. It was clear she was still not entirely sure about what was going on around her. />
  “No, it doesn’t actually. At the most, you get a light bruise.” He showed her how thick the padding inside the jacket was while Thomas bent the epee to the limit.

  “Could I break this with just muscle power?” he asked.

  “A new epee or blade complying with the standards of the International Fencing Federation is generally made from maraging-steel, known for great strength and toughness. So, no, you can’t just break it. Having said that, though, it happens fairly regularly in training sessions and competitions where long-used blades do break. They just wear out.”

  “So, it is quite a dangerous sport after all?”

  “No, no, don’t be deluded by that. The injury risk is extremely low. You might twist your ankle or get a bruise, but since the thirties only five people have died while fencing, and four of them had a heart attack. One foil fencer died in the eighties when his opponent’s blade broke, and it went through the mesh of his mask, right into his eye and lodged in the brain. But after that, protective clothing has improved significantly.”

  “Yuck! When is it my turn?” Sky was bouncing from one foot to the other, bursting with excitement.

  “Honey, I’m not really sure if you’re old enough to try that,” Thomas said, looking uncertainly at Richard.

  “Rubbish! I started when I was eight! But remember, you only hit me and nothing or no one else. It hurts when you don’t wear protective gear. Understood?”

  She slightly poked her own foot, looked up, and nodded. “Where can I hit you?”

  “You can hit me anywhere on the front side of my body. With the epee, the entire body is a valid target.”

  Sky made a step forward and thrust the epee into Richard’s chest.

  “I think you can do a lot better than that! Use more power, and make a quick step forward to gain some speed.”

  She tried again, and this time, the epee found Richard’s arm and made a slight upward bend.

  “So how does this work in a competition?” she asked.

  “In a real fight, I would have an epee as well, obviously, and I would try to block your attack by pushing your blade aside and then start a counter-attack to hit you. There are many different manoeuvres one has to practice. Sometimes, you have to pretend you’re about to attack, or trick your opponent into making a move towards you, so you can score a point. It’s a bit like chess. You have to think one step ahead of your competitor.”

  “That’s cool! Can you go and get a second one, so we can have a real fight?”

  Richard laughed. “Not tonight. But I do have more epees and clothing. And there is enough space to practice in the attic. If your minder over there,” he nodded towards Thomas, “is fine with it, you can come over at the weekend, and I can show you the proper legwork and teach you some rules.”

  Sky beamed expectantly at Thomas, who was actually glad of Richard’s involuntary offer of babysitting her, as he doubted the case would be closed by the weekend, and so he nodded his approval.

  “How do you count points? I believe a real fight would be too fast to see the details with the bare eye,” Collins asked.

  She had done it again, Thomas thought. Standing aside so quietly and observing others that he had almost forgotten about her.

  “Fair question. With a cable, the epee is connected to a scoring box emitting an audible tone, and a green or red light shows who has landed a touch. The other end of the cable is plugged into a connection inside the bell guard from where a wire is running along the blade all the way to the tip of the epee. When the tip hits the body, you will hear a beep and see either the red or green light.”

  “I have a question as well,” Thomas said. “Can fencing be done by everybody, or do you need, say, a certain height or other physical requirements?”

  Richard frowned. “All children under the age of eighteen who do competitive fencing need a medical certificate stating that they are healthy and fit for the sport. Lots of quick movements, plus the warm gear you’re wearing, make it quite exhausting.”

  “So, say someone has severe heart problems or asthma, then he or she might not get this certificate, and can’t do it as a competitive sport?”

  His neighbour nodded. “Exactly. But you can still learn how to fence at your own risk and have the odd duel; you just can’t participate in competitions.”

  “Why did you bring all this stuff over, Richie?” Sky asked, still gripping the pistol-like handle firmly.

  “Because Nat asked me to,” he replied truthfully.

  She turned to him, and he cursed inwardly. At some point during the day, he had made a note deciding what to tell her if the subject of a dead body popped up. The note must have fallen off the table.

  All eyes were on him. He wanted to tell her the truth, as he expected it from her as well, but at the same time he did not want to scare her. She was still a child, after all. Sometimes alone in a big house when it was dark outside, and he did not know if, or when, he would catch whoever had committed the murder.

  “I’ll tell you after dinner, all right?”

  Seeing that arguing about learning the reason for their sporty endeavour before dinner might rob her of her chance of being brought into the loop at all, Sky handed the epee back to Richard and nodded.

  “Speaking of dinner, Allison asked me to excuse her. She had to see her mother… wasn’t feeling too well, apparently. She sends her regards.”

  Dead luck, Thomas thought. Otherwise one of them would have ended up with a vegetarian dinner. “What a pity,” he said aloud, though. “Everybody please take a seat. The steaks will be served in a moment.”

  Collins followed him into the kitchen. “I’m curious. Are you going to turn this case into a goodnight story for the kid?”

  “Firstly, she is too old for goodnight stories, so no, she reads on her own. And, secondly, I’ll just tell her roughly what happened, so she knows what I’ll be working on and why she might spend more time at Richard’s place than usual until her father’s back.”

  Thomas preheated the pans and put the steaks back in. They were certainly not going to be his masterpiece. He knew he should have thanked Collins for switching off the cooktop earlier, but somehow her recent comment had angered him. So instead, he could only bring himself to ask her how she liked her steak.

  “Rare, if that’s still possible.”

  “You should have said that earlier.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “You’re an adult. You may start a conversation without being asked.”

  “I eat whatever I get, okay? So how does what we have learnt from Richard help us with this case?”

  “I’m not sure. Not yet. There weren’t any weapons or fencing equipment in Wright’s cabin. It doesn’t really make sense. Anyway, I have the broken epee in my car. I want Richie to have a look as soon as Sky’s in bed. Maybe he can identify the make or model. Laura said there were no fingerprints on it, which isn’t really a surprise when you plan to kill someone in the middle of a winter’s night. Unfortunately, it was not some historic weapon; they are sometimes listed. It’s just an ordinary sporty weapon. Not classified as dangerous. Available to everybody. And, as my neighbour said, everybody can learn how to fence.”

  “You don’t really need to know the rules to ram it into someone’s heart. Which means for us that we cannot exclude anybody from the investigation. Great.” She sighed.

  “Let’s eat something first.”

  The veggies were a bit too soft for Thomas’s liking, but the steaks turned out surprisingly well.

  They talked about the weather, Christmas preparations, and the slow performance of the new ski lift up at Cannonball Mountain. According to Sky, the operator needed to employ someone to brush the snow off you once you made it to the top.

  “We’re having a bake sale at school in three days, and the money will go to a children’s charity so they can have Christmas presents as well,” Sky announced. “What can you bake?” She looked inquiringly at Thomas.

  “Chris
tmas biscuits?”

  “Boring… that’s too easy. What else?”

  “Strawberry cake?”

  “And how will we get the strawberries? It’s not their season.” She rolled her eyes. “What else?”

  “What kind of three-storey wedding cake do you have in mind?”

  “Cami’s mum made a Mars-bar cake last time. Can you do a Snickers cake?”

  Richard and Collins laughed in unison. “Now I know why you were bouncing off the walls that day. Probably didn’t sell any of it, did you? But I’ll think about something competitive we can bake. Now, please finish your veggies. It’s late already. And stop slipping Brussels sprouts down to the dog!”

  “Don’t worry. Barney’s not stupid. He doesn’t eat them either. He just plays with them.”

  Thomas knew he should have told her off for such a cheeky reply, but her happy-go-lucky attitude regularly turned him into a softy. “All right, bedtime for you.”

  Sky got up, and took her plate to the kitchen, the dog always a foot behind her.

  “Night, Richie. Night, Ann. Come on, Barney!” And the duo skipped upstairs.

  Collins got the epee out of Thomas’s car while he cleared the table and opened a bottle of wine. His guests made themselves at home on the couch in front of the crackling fire, and Thomas went upstairs quickly to say goodnight to Sky.

  On the wall above her bed, they had painted the outline of the world with all its countries, and each country she had already visited was coloured in a different paint with photos and postcards attached to it. She kissed goodnight to Australia, where her father was residing on a business trip, and put her tablet on the nightstand to Skype him before school.

  “All right, the tablet remains switched off until the morning. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” She smiled at him. “Why did Richard bring the fencing stuff over? You said you’d tell me after dinner.”

  “Do you know what happened today?”

  “Yes, the weirdo from the cabin was killed. Cami told me, and she knows it from her mum, and she knows it from the bakery. He had a knife in his heart.”