Bonereapers (5 page)

Chapter Six

What kind of a name was Thor anyway? Had his parents christened him with the name of the Norse god of thunder or had he, in his overweening arrogance, adopted the moniker? She undressed, nestled under the duvet with her book of Norse myths, and scanned the index for references to Thor.

Thor, it seemed, was the greatest of the Norse gods, the most revered and the most beloved. His father, Odin, had created the earth, which would give anyone a big head. But Thor was different. Whereas Odin championed warriors and the nobility, Thor stood up for the little people, the farmers and peasants. Odin strutted about with a raven on each shoulder and amused himself by inciting wars and deciding on a whim who should win them and who should lose. By contrast, Thor liked law and order and stability. Thor came across as a reasonable sort of god. Dinah wasn’t so sure about the reasonableness of his namesake. She thought about him snooping around her room. Had he pawed through her suitcase, too? He must have.

There was a knock on the door. “
Hallo.
Service for the turndown,
behage
.”

“No need,” called Dinah.

“And extra towels and tomato juice, as you requested.”

Dinah dog-eared the page about Thor and let the maid in. Blond, blue-eyed, and petite, she could have doubled for Reese Witherspoon. While she changed the towels and restocked the mini-bar, Dinah reflected on an article she’d read somewhere about eye color. Apparently, ten thousand years ago, everybody had brown eyes and blue eyes were the result of a mutant gene. She wondered how Thor Ramberg had dodged this mutant gene that seemed to have colonized most of Norway. He must have mixed ancestry.

“Will there be anything else?” Reese asked.

“Nothing you can help me with. Thank you.”

When she had gone, Dinah refastened the door chain and went back to reading about the original Thor.

His wife Sif was another blonde. One night while her husband was off making thunder and she was sleeping, the mischievous trickster Loki sneaked into her bedroom and lopped off her shining tresses. The lady woke up to a very bad hair day. She was distraught and Thor was royally pissed. He would have murdered Loki, but Loki promised to replace every golden strand. And he did. He conned a pair of dwarf goldsmiths into spinning Sif a brand new head of hair so fine that the slightest puff of air would ruffle it. While their bellows was hot, the dwarfs forged other marvelous gifts for the gods—a magic spear for Odin, a magic boat for Frey. Somewhere during the description of Thor’s magic hammer, Dinah dropped off to sleep.

***

“Where the hell have you been?”

Once again, the sound of raised voices coming from the room next door awakened her. Overheated and thirsty, she hauled herself out of bed, turned down the thermostat, and went to the bathroom for a glass of water. Evidently, Erika hadn’t made it home before Colt and he was giving her what for. Had she not warned him that the walls had ears or didn’t she care?

What time was it anyway? Dinah picked her watch off the counter and was astounded. Six a.m. Had Erika stayed out all night or were they resuming a quarrel they’d begun earlier in the evening? If so, Dinah had slept through it. She walked back into the bedroom and opened the drapes. It was pitch black and in the winking blue lights, snow whirled past her window in a maelstrom. Good God, how did people cope with this climate when they didn’t see a sunrise for months on end?

“Don’t lie to me, Erika. Did you meet him? Did you tip him off about Jake?”

Dinah stretched and put on a pot of coffee to brew. The Sheridans’ marriage was fraught with drama. How much of it derived from personal issues and how much from politics she could only guess. But from what Dinah had seen and heard so far, the former songbird of Fata Morgana led her husband a merry chase. She would make a remarkable First Lady.

Starving, Dinah reviewed the directory of hotel services and amenities. “
Frokost
” was served from six-thirty until ten-thirty. She dressed in the first few layers she intended to wear on the tour of the seed vault and sat down to drink her coffee and wait until the restaurant opened. If the weather didn’t improve, maybe the tour would be postponed.

The Sheridans were holding it down this morning or maybe they’d kissed and made up. It was impossible not to speculate about the cause of their conflict. She inferred that the “him” Erika had tipped off was Brander Aagaard. Who else could he have had in mind? Aagaard’s question about Jake Mahler had definitely thrown him off balance. But how would a Montana senator’s wife know a
Dagbladet
muckraker and why would she feed him information that would embarrass her husband? One thing was certain: whoever tipped off whom, Iceberg Ramberg considered everyone who was in the airport lounge yesterday a suspect in the assault on Herr Dybdahl.

At six-thirty on the dot, she tucked her passport in her purse for safekeeping and sallied out the door to breakfast, riding her clogs with growing proficiency. As she entered the dining room, she saw Senator Keyes and Jake Mahler already seated at the table where the lovers had sat last night. Engaged in what appeared to be a troubling conversation, they didn’t look up. Before sitting down, she scoped out the buffet table. It was laden with smoked fish, pickled herring, boiled eggs, cheese, and bread. There were also individual boxes of muesli and a pitcher of milk. She’d hoped for a few slices of fruit, but after all, it was December at the North Pole. She would have to make do.

The long table set up for last night’s fete had been dismantled and she took a small, out-of-the-way table and sat facing the entrance with her back to Keyes and Mahler. If Senator Sheridan came down and joined his two friends, perhaps Erika would sit with Dinah and dish. A winsome young woman with blue eyes, deep dimples, and a lilting accent asked if she would prefer
kaffe
or
te
.

“
Kaffe
, please.”

She poured a cup and gestured toward the buffet. “
Frokost.
What you say in English, breakfast. Please help yourself at the
koldtbord
.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly, Dinah felt guilty that she hadn’t bothered to learn the words for please and thank you. “How do you say thank you in Norwegian?”

“
Takk
.”

“
Takk
. And thank you very much?”

“
Tusen
takk
.”

Dinah read her nametag. “
Tusen
takk, Greta
.”

The girl smiled and breezed off to the next table.

Dinah sipped her coffee and thought about what she would do to entertain herself today if the Svalbard tour had to be nixed due to the blizzard. Bitterly cold as it was, she supposed she ought to take at least one short walk through the town just to say she’d done it. She’d never be in this neighborhood again, that much was sure. She returned to the
koldtbord
and loaded her plate with enough protein to insulate her against the elements and was on her way back to her table when the Sheridans rolled in, smiling and holding hands like newlyweds. Or actors in a play.

Erika acknowledged Dinah with a suggestion of a smile, but walked past her without a word. Colt led her straight to the Keyes-Mahler table. The men stood up and there was a chorus of commentary about the blizzard before they all sat down. Erika expressed disappointment that the weather prevented them from seeing the aurora borealis.

Dinah sat down and devoted herself to her
frokost
. She chalked up Erika’s aloofness to the fact that she’d revealed too much about her husband and his entourage for comfort.

Valerie Ives, Norris Frye, and the two non-Secret Service bozos trooped into the dining room next, talking a blue streak. They filed past Dinah and seated themselves at a table adjacent to the Sheridans. An animated buzz of conversation ensued. Dinah listened for a mention of Thor Ramberg and his invasive and possibly illegal search, but the only words she picked up were “change of plans” and “delayed departure.”

Dinah finished her muesli and was about to slink away unseen when Tipton Teilhard III appeared in the doorway looking like a little lost boy. He had wet down his hair, but the cowlick on top of his head remained stubbornly perpendicular and his Brooks Brothers suit looked ridiculous when everyone else was decked out in ski outfits. He chewed his lower lip and hesitated, as if debating whether it would be okay to interrupt the grown-ups. Dinah flashed him a big smile and motioned him to her table.

“Oh, hi.” He looked stressed. “Everything’s a total shambles. Senator Sheridan is supposed to be in Iowa the day after tomorrow to get ready for the caucus and now our whole agenda is up in smoke.”

“It’s not your fault if the weather won’t cooperate, Tipton. The blizzard probably won’t last long. The tour of the seed vault can be put off until tomorrow and the senator will make it to Iowa with time to spare. Sit down, why don’t you? Have something to eat.”

Tipton drooped into the chair across from Dinah. “I’ve left a dozen messages for our campaign chairman back in D.C, but he’s not answering. Whitney will be livid, not that he’d ever let anyone see. Oh…my…God. His strategy was brilliant. Sheridan’s speech to the Club for Growth last week positioned him squarely between the wingnuts crying foul about overregulation of business and the wingnuts whining for a business czar to implement still more burdensome rules. The trip to Longyearbyen was the frosting on the cake for Colt, the perfect setting to highlight his pro-industry, pro-conservation, pro-science
and technology views. And then that Norwegian crackpot showed up. My mother won’t believe it.”

The pretty girl with the coffee traipsed by and Dinah held out an empty cup for Tipton. The girl poured him a cup and refilled Dinah’s.

“
Tusen
takk.
”

“You are welcome.” She smiled and sailed on to the next table.

Tipton tried to finger-comb the cowlick into place, but succeeded only in making it worse. “I don’t drink coffee.”

Dinah was about to ask him if he would rather have a glass of milk when he pulled a bottle of Pepto-Bismol out of his jacket pocket and poured himself a capful.

She said, “You’re overly concerned. The senators all seem to be in good spirits this morning in spite of the ruckus. Frankly, I’d have thought they’d be outraged that the police barged in here last night and questioned them and their Tillcorp friends. At the very least, I’d have expected Ms. Ives to insist on seeing a warrant before their rooms were searched.” She backed up. “Were their rooms searched?”

“Oh, yes. Whitney was adamant that we put our best foot forward. He doesn’t like to make waves.” Tipton chugged the Pepto and shuddered. “Now it’s the mother of all waves.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t think how to tell him.”

“For pity’s sake, tell him what?”

“That stupid policeman released the protester. Into the streets, for Christ’s sake.” He closed his eyes and shimmied.

“Jerusalem. What did he do? Did he attack the agriculture minister again?”

“Murdered.”

“Herr Dybdahl is dead?”

“No. The protester. Somebody found his body in an alley this morning. Behind some sleazy pub, stabbed in the chest. Oh, Christ, it’s a publicity nightmare. There’s no way to spin this without the words Tillcorp and genetic engineering cropping up next to Colt’s.”

Chapter Seven

“Murdered?” Erika made an ugly, strangling noise and covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes were riveted on her husband’s face.

Sheridan glared back at her with what Dinah read as bafflement and fury. Fury, anyway. “A homicide. I must be jinxed. What next?”

Val reached out and waggled Sheridan’s arm reassuringly. “It’ll be all right, Colt. We’ll handle it.” The look in
her
eyes portended more rough waters for the Sheridans’ marriage. The manicured hand on the senator’s sleeve was a blatant assertion of ownership.

Dinah tried to read Erika’s reaction, but almost immediately she lowered her head and her hair covered her face like a veil.

Senator Keyes’ élan had deserted him and he seemed vacant, unable to comprehend. “How could he have been murdered? What did the police say? Was he involved in a fight? Tipton?”

“They wouldn’t tell me, sir. The man I spoke with said that Inspector Ramberg would be coming to the hotel later this morning to interview everyone.”

“Not everyone,” said Valerie. “You won’t have to submit to questioning, Colt. There are protocols about questioning diplomats.”

“If I may?” Tipton emitted a diffident cough. “Colt Sheridan is perceived as a straight shooter. Not to be, oh, you know, up front would seem…”

Keyes shook off his bewilderment. “Good thinking, Tip. This isn’t Russia or France. Norway’s got no negatives back home. Not to cooperate with the local authorities investigating a murder wouldn’t play well in the media.”

“I agree,” said Sheridan. He, too, had regained a semblance of calm and self-control. “You’re not well, Erika. Going to pieces over the death of a stranger. I shouldn’t have let you come with me on such a tiring trip. You need to go and lie down.”

Mahler hadn’t budged from the breakfast table or shown so much as a flicker of emotion. He held a rye cracker between his front teeth and his cell phone against his ear, on hold for somebody named Tom. He took the cracker out of his mouth and signaled to one of the bodyguards. “Lee, see Mrs. S to her room, make sure she’s comfortable, and stay with her until you hear otherwise. Rod, you go up and fetch Senator Sheraton’s briefcase. He’s probably got the names and numbers for all the spin doctors he’ll have to contact.”

Dinah caught Erika’s eye as she passed by. She’d gone blank, passive. Off to the Tower, thought Dinah. By royal command.

Spurred to action, Keyes dispatched Tipton to reserve a meeting room and bring him his laptop. “And Tip, make sure Colt’s press secretary in D.C is up to speed. See if Dybdahl’s people have any background on this Fritjoe Ef…what was it?”

“Fritjoe Eftevang,” said Tipton. “I’ll do a computer search.” And he was up and away like a retriever after a Frisbee.

“That kid is gung-ho,” cracked Mahler. “What do you do, put uppers in his Ovaltine?”

“He’s the best assistant I’ve ever had,” said Keyes. “He has a habit of taking everything I say as crucial to the health and welfare of the republic. And he’s a computer whiz.”

Valerie seemed to take this as a personal slight. “I was the best assistant you ever had. You like that little kiss-up because he’s constantly telling you what a genius you are and stroking your ego.”

“We all know that you’d never cater to a man’s ego,” twitted Mahler, looking pointedly at Sheridan.

She blushed bright red.

If Sheridan picked up on the allusion or the blush, he pretended not to. He sawed a finger across his chin and paced. “Eftevang. I’ve heard that name somewhere before. What was he? Who’d he work for?”

“He was a recurring pain in the ass,” said Mahler. “One of those kooks who thinks everything’s a secret plot against humanity. He showed up whenever and wherever I did, beating his breast about the intrinsic value of natural organisms and the risk of creating human allergens. One of those people who can’t see the forest for the trees.”

Sheridan smacked a fist into his hand. “That prick Aagaard. He’s probably salivating over this.
Sheridan Protester Knifed in Alley
. He’ll slime us and it’ll spread from Oslo to every other news outlet.”

“To be accurate,” said Keyes, “he was protesting against Tillcorp.”

Mahler sneered. “By all means, keep it accurate, senator.” He pointed a cracker at Valerie. “Find out which news outlets are covering our visit and put out a feeler to the friendlies. If anybody’s slimed, let’s make sure it’s Eftevang. Can you handle that, Val?”

“You know very well she can handle it,” said Keyes, as if to atone for his previous slight. “She’ll craft the story. By the time it crosses the Atlantic, if Colt’s name appears at all, it’ll be a passing mention in the last paragraph.”

“Let’s hope she can keep the company that pays her salary and funds Colt’s campaign out of the story, too,” said Mahler. He laughed. “If she needs help, I’m sure Tipton will be happy to pitch in.”

Valerie ignored him. “Are you okay, Colt?”

“What? Yes, sure.”

She seemed to waver, as if she didn’t trust Mahler and Keyes to take care of him while she was gone. “Don’t worry, Colt. We’re a long way from Iowa. We’ll be fine.” She gave his arm a consoling little shake and left.

Senator Frye’s eyes followed the back-and-forth as if he were watching a tennis match. “I don’t get it. Why the fire drill? What does this nutty Norwegian’s murder have to do with us?”

Sheridan rounded on Norris. He seemed taken aback, as if he’d forgotten the Democrat was there. “It’s got nothing to do with
you
, Norris. You’re not sticking your neck out to run for the highest office in the land. Your life’s not under a microscope and every word you’ve ever uttered twisted and blown out of proportion. You’re not forced to defend yourself against false insinuations by cheap-shot reporters and Democrat lies. Admit it. The only reason you’re here is to keep an eye on me and report on any mistakes that your man Obama can use against me.”

Frye’s chin jutted and his chest swelled. “I’m here for the reasons you stated in the press conference. International cooperation and protecting the world’s food supply.”

“In a pig’s eye, you are.”

“Easy, Colt.” Senator Keyes laid a hand on Sheridan’s arm. “Norris isn’t your enemy.”

Mahler snapped his fingers for quiet and growled into his cell phone. “That you, Tom? Well, get him. Tell him we took some verbal abuse from a conspiracy nut at the press conference yesterday and now he’s dead. We need to get out in front of the story, control the message.” He looked up, saw Dinah staring at him, snapped his fingers again, and pointed.

Senator Keyes responded with the alacrity of a bouncer. “Dinah, Norris. Forgive our rudeness, but you can see that we have a public relations problem here. Senator Sheridan has a lot at stake. You know how twisted stories can get, especially when they involve a major corporation and a presidential candidate. Would you two mind leaving us to deal with it in private?”

Norris sniffed. “Your candidate is being paranoid, Whitney. If this is how he reacts to every crime that happens in a town where he shows up for a photo op, pretty soon people will start to believe he’s a serial killer.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Norris. Colt and I hold you in high esteem as both a colleague and a friend.”

“Now who’s lying?” Norris spun around, snagged Dinah’s arm, and hobbled out of the restaurant with her in tow. When they reached the lobby, he dropped her arm and flopped into one of the leather chairs in front of the fireplace. “Well, well, well. That was interesting. What do you make of Sheridan’s behavior?”

“He seems exceedingly perturbed. They all do.”

“If you ask me, Colt and Whitney know something they’re not telling. Did you see the way they looked at Mahler? They’re spooked. This Eftevang had been badgering Mahler for a long time. I wouldn’t put it past that man to order a hit on anyone who interfered with his boy’s procession to the White House.” Norris chuckled, then grimaced and pulled a bottle of Aleve out of his pocket. “Damn big toe is killing me. I’m going to rest here for a few minutes and then go back to my room. Maybe I’ll give the hotel sauna a try. If they reschedule the tour of the seed vault, I want you to go in my place. You can give me a full report.”

Dinah didn’t doubt that he was in pain, but she suspected that the lovely Ursille and a bottle of Viagra might also figure in his afternoon plans. She would like to believe that her senator wasn’t so petty or spiteful that he would resort to partisan smears in connection with a murder. But he was already reaching for his cell phone. Maybe Sheridan’s paranoia was justified, after all.

She said, “I’m going to go out for an hour or so.”

“In this blizzard?”

“The outside weather can’t be any more blustery than the inside weather.”

“Suit yourself. What’s your phone number?”

“My cell isn’t a global phone. It doesn’t work in Europe. I’ll check at the front desk for messages when I get back.”

She crossed the lobby and started up the stairs. Politics wafted over everything like a bad smell. Norris’ gibe about Mahler ordering a hit was unfounded and totally off-the-wall, not to mention mean-spirited in the extreme. And it didn’t enhance Sheridan’s or Keyes’ stature in her eyes to hear that a man’s death meant no more to them than a public relations problem.

On her way up, she met Rod carrying Sheridan’s briefcase on the way down. She didn’t fault herself for having mistaken Rod and Lee for Secret Service agents. They fit the stereotype to a T. Medium height, medium build, medium coloring, no distinguishing physical traits, and a Doberman-like alertness. On the flight from D.C., they’d kept to themselves, reading magazines and taking turns catnapping. She studied Rod more closely as he passed. Norris had planted a seed of doubt in her mind. She couldn’t help but wonder if Mahler’s bodyguards doubled as hit men.

The memory of Erika’s stricken face stirred more doubts. She’d been out last night. Had she witnessed the murder? No. She wouldn’t have sauntered into the restaurant all smiley-faced and fresh after seeing someone stabbed to death. But maybe she’d met with Eftevang before the murder. Could that be why Colt was so wrapped around the axel? Holy moly! Maybe it wasn’t Brander Aagaard he’d accused her of meeting, but Fritjoe Eftevang. But how would Erika know him and, if she did, why in the world would she meet with him? Dinah’s thoughts brimmed over with questions and whatever was eating Erika, she needed somebody to sympathize.

She hesitated outside Erika’s door. Well, nothing ventured…

The other guard, Lee, answered her knock. He was a couple of inches taller than Rod, but they could have been brothers. Same thin mouth, same thin nose, same thin hair.

“I’d like to talk with Erika, please.”

“Mrs. Sheridan doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Is she ill?”

“She’s resting.”

“I won’t stay long.”

“Look, she doesn’t want to be disturbed, okay?”

The door was closing when Erika peeped around his shoulder. “What is it, Dinah? Did you bring a message from Colt?”

“No, Erika.” Did she expect that he would send a gofer to apologize for him? “You looked so shaken when you left the restaurant. I thought I’d come and sit with you for a while.”

“I guess it would be all right.”

Lee folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance. “Senator Sheridan said you should rest.”

Erika skimmed a sideways look at his face. “Colt’s right, of course. I have to take care of myself or I’ll get a migraine.”

Dinah didn’t believe her. “Exercise is always good for what ails you. I’m going for a walk. Come with me.”

“In a blizzard?”

“It’ll be invigorating. Like you said, too much warmth isn’t healthy.”

“That’s not exactly what I…Wait!” Erika’s eyes brightened. “I want you to take my parka. You’ll freeze to death in that pea jacket you brought.” She went back inside the room.

Lee stood in the doorway with his arms across his chest. His eyes were as hard and unreflective as slate.

“Must be a full-time job protecting Mr. Mahler,” said Dinah.

No comeback.

“You must have had previous encounters with Mr. Eftevang. Valerie says he’s been a real nuisance.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Dinah frowned. The hit man hypothesis began to seem less far-fetched.

“Here you are.” Erika reached past him and handed her the coat. “The hood is lined with mouton and the body’s down-filled. It will keep you warm.”

“Thanks, Erika. I’ll return it this afternoon.”

“No hurry,” said Lee, and closed the door in her face.

Dinah retreated to her room. Outside her window, the blizzard Ramberg had forecast was swirling in the blue lights. Her thoughts swirled as furiously as the snow. What was going on next door? Was Erika being held incommunicado by her husband or was she cutting off communication of her own volition? Dinah slumped into the chair and propped her feet on the window sill.

Why had Eftevang’s murder rattled the Sheridans? A raft of possible explanations scudded through her head. Maybe Eftevang knew an embarrassing secret about the senator or Erika and had threatened to expose it. Or maybe he knew something damaging about Tillcorp and Sheridan’s dealings with the company and was on the verge of passing whatever it was to WikiLeaks. What had Mahler said?
Clamp a lid on it. It can’t go any farther
. What had he meant by that? During the press conference, he and Valerie had been seated near the back of the audience. Dinah wished she’d seen their faces when Eftevang charged the podium yelling, “They’ve brought the death gene.”

She sat up and took another look at the outside world. The snow was coming down so fast and so thick that it covered some of the lights. The heat put out by the little blue bulbs couldn’t melt it fast enough. It was hard to think of a storm of this magnitude as an aggregation of separate, unique snowflakes, but that’s what it was. Perhaps that was the story with the human storm roiling around her. It was an aggregation of unrelated problems that just happened to converge in the same place at the same time.

With no one to talk to and nothing to do, she was in limbo. She supposed she should call Eleanor with an update, but all she could think about was Eftevang’s murder and Erika’s predicament and she had no idea if these matters had anything whatever to do with the seed vault. She decided to wait and call Eleanor after the tour of the vault, if it ever took place. In the meanwhile, she had told Norris that she was going out and, if she was going to enjoy a taste of this bracing climate, now was the time. She dressed and took her excess of curiosity and nervous energy downstairs.