ICEHOTEL (17 page)

Hallengren consulted his notes. ‘Your room is next to Mr
Wilson Bibby’s.’

As this was a statement, not a question, I said nothing.

He waited silently.

I nodded.

‘Did you hear anything from his room? People talking?’

‘It was as silent as the proverbial grave.’ I rubbed my
eyes. Why in heaven’s name was I making these crass remarks?

Hallengren raised an eyebrow. ‘How well did you know Wilson
Bibby?’

‘I met him for the first time on Monday.’

‘And when did you see him last?’ He was writing again.

‘At the reception in the Ice Bar.’

‘Ah, yes.’ He glanced up. ‘Purple Kiss. Did you enjoy it?’

‘It was too sweet.’

He sat back, his eyes moving over my face. ‘Miss Stewart,
how do you think Mr Bibby came to be outside his sleeping bag? Do you not think
it strange he was not wearing a coat and boots?’

‘Don’t ask me, I haven’t a clue. His heart may have given
out, and he collapsed before he had a chance to get dressed.’ I shrugged. ‘I
rather think it’s your job to find out, not mine.’

Hallengren smiled for the first time. The effect was
stunning. ‘We will find out, Miss Stewart,’ he said slowly. ‘The Swedish police
are nothing if not efficient. The body is already at our laboratories.’

‘A post-mortem?’

‘When there is an unexpected death, there is always a post-mortem.
It is the same in your country, I believe.’ After a pause, he said, ‘Miss
Stewart, there is something I would like you to do.’ The smile had vanished. ‘I
would like you to tell no-one that you saw Professor Auchinleck leave his room
last night.’

‘Why?’ I said coldly.

He leant forward. ‘Because I am asking you.’ His voice was
equally cold.

‘Very well,’ I said, dropping my eyes.

‘One more thing, Miss Stewart.’ He was speaking briskly now,
his tone business-like. ‘You say you saw Marcellus Bibby outside the Locker
Room. I would like you to keep that to yourself also. You must tell no-one that
you were even up and about last night, let alone that you left the Icehotel.
Have I made myself clear?’

‘Perfectly.’ I was beginning to dislike him.

He said something in Swedish to Engqvist. They got to their
feet.

He held the door open, watching me, unsmiling. ‘You have
been very helpful, Miss Stewart. If I need to see you again, I will let you
know.’

I stepped into the corridor. As I glanced back, I caught him
looking at my backside.

I was still smiling to myself when I
reached the lounge.

I’d hoped to find the others, but they’d vanished. Yet the
room was fuller than it had been earlier; a group of men in suits were mobbing
the bar. As I moved towards the window, one of them glanced at me, then turned,
following me with his eyes.

The Ellises were on the three-seater.

‘May I join you?’ I said.

‘Of course,’ Jim replied with a kindly smile. He shifted to
make room.

‘I take it you’ve just been interrogated.’ Robyn’s lips
stabbed at the word.

There was sympathy in Jim’s voice. ‘The Inspector’s quite
fierce, isn’t he?’

‘I suppose he’s just doing his job.’ I gestured to the
crowd. ‘Who are all those people?’

‘Reporters,’ Robyn said, wrinkling her nose. ‘They’ve come
to cover Wilson Bibby’s death.’ She fixed me with her gaze. ‘Did you know he
was a millionaire?’

‘I heard he was,’ I said vaguely.

‘That explains the interest.’ She nodded towards the bar.
‘Talking of which, one of those reporters seems unduly interested in you.’

The man who’d watched me was heading towards our table.

‘Have you spoken to them?’ I said.

‘Once they realised we knew nothing, they moved on to
pastures new,’ said Jim, smiling sadly.

‘Miss Stewart?’

I looked up.

‘I’m Denny Hinckley, from the Express. Would you mind if I
asked you a couple of questions?’ The accent was strong, from the East End of
London.

He was short and slight with bandy legs, a thin face, and
silky brown hair that was receding early: if he hadn’t told me he was a
reporter, I’d have taken him for a jockey. His smile was friendly, but the
expression in his eyes was pure insolence. I’d had dealings with reporters
before, as Bayne Pharmaceuticals were often in the spotlight. I took an instant
dislike to him.

‘I’m with friends, Mr Hinckley,’ I said, turning away.
‘Another time, perhaps.’

He pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘You were in the room
next to Wilson Bibby.’

For a second, I wondered how he knew, then I realised there
were a number of ways a reporter could have found out.

‘Mr Hinckley, I said I’m with friends.’

‘You see, neither me nor the other lads can get into the
Icehotel. It’s cordoned off. So I wondered if you could describe Wilson Bibby’s
room for me. I hear there are statues and all sorts.’ He whipped out a
notebook.

I glared at him. Whether it was a reaction to my interview
with Hallengren, or tiredness from lack of sleep, something inside me snapped.
‘Which part of, “I don’t want to talk to you just now”, did you not understand,
Mr Hinckley?’

Something other than insolence appeared in his eyes. ‘Come
on, love,’ he said testily. ‘Surely you’d like to see your name in the papers?’
An oily smile spread across his face. ‘I’ll make it worth your while, if you
catch my drift.’

‘Oh, hold me back,’ I said under my breath.

Before he could reply, a heavy hand was placed on his
shoulder.

‘Don’t you understand what the lady’s saying? No? Then here
it is in your language. Piss off.’ Mike took him by the shoulders, lifted him
off the chair, and swung him around. I thought he was going to propel him
towards the bar, but he released him.

Hinckley threw him a look of loathing before slinking off.

‘What did he want?’ Mike said, sitting down.

‘He wanted me to describe Wilson’s room in the Icehotel.’

He smiled. ‘And did you?’

‘I never saw it. Apart from a brief peek over the heads of
the crowd this morning.’

‘You should have made something up and pocketed a fat fee,’
said Jim. ‘He’d never have found out.’

Robyn was frowning. ‘He knew your name, and that your room
was next to Wilson’s.’

Mike nodded at the crowd. ‘Those fellers have found out a
good deal already. I saw one of them filming in front of the Icehotel. I take
it you’ve seen the TV vans outside? They’ve been trying to get a story from
everyone. As soon as Harry heard there were reporters here, he vanished.’ He
grinned. ‘But not before exchanging a few choice words.’

‘How did they get here so quickly?’ I said. ‘It takes hours
from the UK. And I can hear some American accents.’

‘They’ve come from Stockholm. They’ve been covering Bibby’s
big splash there.’

‘Of course. So where are they staying? Surely not here.’

‘There’s nowhere else, and the Excelsior’s half-empty.’

‘Just peachy,’ said Jim. ‘Bang goes our holiday.’

‘Don’t talk so wet.’ Robyn snapped her jaws at her husband.
‘The excursions will be back on tomorrow. We’ll be mushing with the huskies.’

Jim smiled unhappily.

I glanced towards the bar.
Denny Hinckley was drinking from a tall glass, studying me over the rim, the
insolence back in his eyes.

Liz had been missing at dinner. A
tray of half-eaten food lay in the corridor, a full ashtray among the plates.
There was no reply to my gentle tap at the door. I tried turning the handle,
but the door was locked. At this time of evening, there was only one other
place she could be.

Mike and Harry were already in the computer room. Liz was
talking into a webcam. On the screen, I could see Annie in yellow pyjamas.
Lucy, in pink, was rubbing her eyes.

‘Hello, sweetie-pops,’ said Liz. ‘You look awfully sleepy.’

Lucy climbed onto a chair and leant forward, her face
filling the screen. ‘We’ve just been getting ready for bed, Mummy.’ Her
expression brightened. ‘There you are, Maggie. Have you seen Father Christmas
yet?’

‘No, pet,’ I said. ‘But I will soon.’

‘You haven’t forgotten what you were going to ask him? About
the doll’s house?’

I registered the expectation in her voice, but was unable to
remember when I’d made this particular promise. But I was an expert at thinking
on my feet. ‘Absolutely. He’s going to be bringing it personally.’

Annie shoved her sister off the chair. ‘I want to talk now.’
She pointed at the screen. ‘Who’s that strange man, Mummy?’

‘This is Mike. Say hello.’

‘You look like the giant who lives at the top of the
beanstalk,’ she said, her voice a challenge. ‘There’s a picture of you in my
story book.’

Mike put his face close to the webcam. ‘I’m the handsome
prince, darling. The one who rescues the princess from the wicked stepmother.’

‘You made that up. There’s no such story.’

‘What’s a stepmother?’ said Lucy.

Annie was glaring at Mike. ‘You talk funny.’

He flashed her his smile. ‘Well now, that’s how handsome
princes talk.’

She didn’t look convinced. ‘Don’t go away.’ She left the
room quickly.

Lucy, delighted at having us to ourselves, climbed back onto
the chair. ‘The Icehotel’s been on the telly, Mummy, but we didn’t see you.’

I exchanged a glance with Liz. It was inevitable that the
news of Wilson’s death would have been reported at home. ‘When were you
watching telly?’ she said sternly.

‘We weren’t watching. It was Siobhan. I came into the room
and saw the picture of the Icehotel. It looked just like in your magazines.’

Annie bounced in, clutching a large book. ‘I want to show
the giant his picture.’ She pushed Lucy off the chair, and held the book up to
the webcam. ‘See. He looks exactly like you.’

The balding giant had yellow teeth, a bulbous nose, and
warts on his face. But the eyes were brown and flecked with amber, and their
expression, pure Mike. Mike was evidently at a loss for words. I felt a twinge
of pity; his ego would be taking a knock.

Annie dropped the book onto the floor. ‘Harry, do the flower
trick.’

‘Alas, my lovely, I’ve no carnations. It’s far too cold for
flowers here.’

She stared, open-mouthed. I had to suppress a smile; this
was probably the first time Harry had refused her request.

Lucy spoke hesitantly. ‘Can you do magic tricks too, Mike?’

‘Of course. Close your eyes and count to ten and, when you
open them, I’ll have disappeared in a puff of smoke.’

‘Can you really do that?’

Annie looked sceptical. ‘Bet you can’t. Even Harry can’t
make himself disappear.’

‘Talking of disappearing,’ said Liz, ‘it’s time you two disappeared
to bed.’

‘Do we have to?’ whined Annie.

‘We’ll be back tomorrow, sweetie-pops. Now scoot. And ask
Siobhan to come in.’

She tilted her head back and shouted so loudly that Lucy
cringed. ‘Siobhan! Mummy wants you.’

Siobhan was a work colleague, a single woman who lived
nearby and babysat for Liz. She was plump and cheerful, and had an easy way
with children. The twins adored her, something I hadn’t failed to notice, and I
felt a prick of jealousy whenever I saw them together.

Siobhan arrived and jerked her thumb in the direction of the
door. ‘Bed.’ The girls scuttled away, giggling.

‘How have they been, Siobhan?’ Liz said.

‘Wonderful. No trouble at all,’ came Siobhan’s lazy voice.

‘What have you heard about the Icehotel? Lucy said it was in
the news.’

‘Not much. Just that some millionaire had a heart attack.’

Liz was playing nervously with her ponytail. ‘The girls
didn’t see that, did they?’

‘I always sit with the remote in my hand. They saw a bit of
the building, but I switched off before they heard anything. It’s been in the
papers, too.’

‘What, specifically, Siobhan?’ said Harry.

‘The same stuff, Professor, only more detail. I suppose
these things happen, even on holiday. I hope it’s not spoiling things for you.’

‘Not at all, my dear,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Can you try to keep the twins from finding out?’ said Liz.
‘You know what children are. They’ll jump to all sorts of conclusions. I really
don’t want them fretting.’

‘I’ll be careful, Liz. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’ She
pressed a key and the image disappeared.

‘Your children are adorable,’ said Mike, getting to his
feet.

Liz seemed distracted. ‘Thank you.’

‘And you’re good with kids, Mike,’ I said.

‘You sound surprised. I’m the eldest of eight. I helped my
Mam bring up the young ones.’

The statement said much about Mike. I had thought his
interest in Liz’s children was a ploy to wangle his way into her affections.
Perhaps I was wrong, and it was genuine. Yet, despite his friendliness, there
was still something about him I didn’t trust.

‘You’ve got that thirsty look on your face again,’ I said,
turning to Harry.

‘Well spotted, dear girl. Are you children ready to hit the
bar?’

‘I’ll pass, sweetheart.’

‘Come for a quick nightcap, Liz,’ I said. ‘I promise I’ll
keep Denny Hinckley at bay.’

‘All right then. But just one drink, and then I’m off
upstairs. Anyway, who’s Denny Hinckley?’

‘You’ve not met him, then?’ said Mike. ‘He’s from the
Express.’ He said it as though it tasted bad. ‘He’s been giving Maggie a hard
time.’

‘I can handle him,’ I said defiantly.

He gave me an old-fashioned look, but said nothing.

We took the window-seat near the piano. Liz sat half hidden
behind the curtain, her head turned towards the window. Her anxiety had
deepened. But then, if I had children, I’d be worrying about what they’d be
hearing at school. I squeezed her hand, but there was no response.

Harry was sitting at the baby grand, looking thoughtfully at
the keys. I imagined him in a sparkling gown, like Liberace, raising his hands
high before launching into Schubert’s Serenade.