ICEHOTEL (18 page)

‘Will you play for us, Harry?’ said Mike.

‘Alas, dear boy, I can’t. I’ve never learnt.’

‘But you’ve one at home,’ I said, remembering the piano with
its lacquered shine.

‘I bought it for one of my boyfriends. He was very good,
actually, although he only played Scott Joplin. But it didn’t last. He left
Edinburgh with a rich man, who kept him.’ He added as an afterthought, ‘I kept
the piano.’ He closed the lid and took a seat beside Liz.

As Mike fetched the drinks, my thoughts drifted to the interview
with Hallengren. I couldn’t put out of my mind the one thing that bothered me:
Harry, a scrupulously honest man, had lied to the police.

‘How did you sleep in the Icehotel, Harry?’ I said, trying
to keep the interest out of my voice. ‘Did you hear anything? People moving in
the corridor?’

‘That’s precisely what the Detective Inspector asked me,
dear girl, apart from my name, rank and serial number. But I didn’t hear a
thing. Never do in the watches of the night. I was oblivious to everyone and
everything, probably because I drank too much in that Ice Bar.’ He winked. ‘I
must find out what they put in Purple Kiss. Do you think it would go down well
at my parties?’

Liz’s head jerked round. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harry, this
is hardly the time to think about parties. In case it’s escaped your notice, a
man has died.’

His smiled faded. ‘I’m aware of that, my dear. Yet life goes
on.’ He put a hand on her arm but she snatched it away.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she said, her voice quivering.
‘It’s just a bit of a migraine.’

‘I’ve got a bottle of tablets upstairs,’ I said.

‘Please don’t bother, Mags. It’s an early night that I need.
Will you all excuse me?’

At the door, she collided with Denny Hinckley who was
entering the lounge. He stopped and stared after her, his mouth open.

Harry sighed. ‘Another who’s smitten. Wherever Liz goes,
heads turn like sunflowers.’

But I wasn’t sure it was Liz’s beauty that had stopped Denny
in his tracks. It wasn’t desire I saw in his eyes. It was more like calculation.

I woke earlier than usual on
Thursday. I dragged myself out of bed and drew open the curtains. Light lay in
strips on the horizon under a slate-coloured sky. Yesterday’s snow covered the
ground in soft dunes, faintly grey in the reflected light. I shivered as I
watched the men arrive on the river for the ice-cutting.

It wasn’t yet 6.00am. Although the restaurant was open, Liz
and Harry would still be asleep. I considered snuggling back into bed, but
taking breakfast now would mean avoiding the reporters.

In the dining room, I nodded to the Ellises who were sitting
at the window, eating quietly. The only other person in the room was Leo
Tullis. He was at the buffet, helping himself to scrambled eggs as though he
didn’t want them. He was wearing chinos and a coffee-coloured shirt, his thatch
of fair hair uncombed. Beneath his eyes were large purple smudges.

He glanced up as I approached. ‘You couldn’t sleep either,
then, Maggie?’ He sounded miserable.

I piled my plate high with reindeer sausages. ‘I usually
wake early. Something to do with long commuting times.’ I tried to inject a
note of cheer into my voice. ‘Are the excursions back on?’

‘For God’s sake, don’t talk to me about excursions.’

I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Come and sit with me, Leo,’ I
said quietly.

We took seats out of earshot of the Ellises. I waited for
Leo to speak, but he bent his head over his plate.

‘So was the bill for the snowmobiles large?’ I ventured.

‘It’s not the bill. Sven’s insurance is huge. It has to be.’
He glanced towards the Ellises. ‘Something’s happened.’

‘What?’

He hesitated.

‘Tell me, Leo.’

He laid his fork aside. ‘Sven doesn’t believe it was an
accident. He examined the snowmobiles.’ There was an edge of panic to his
voice. ‘Maggie, the brakes weren’t on. None of them.’

I stared at him in disbelief. Sven had shown me how to lock
the brakes, making sure I did it correctly. He would have done the same for all
the machines. ‘How can that be, Leo?’ I said. ‘He checked them himself.’

‘Someone loosened them. After Sven went up to the chalet.’

Harry’s words drifted into my head:
What I find strange
is that the snowmobiles, which had been checked by an expert, slipped their
brakes.
I felt a sudden shiver through my body.

‘How can Sven be sure?’ I said. ‘Look, you’ve ridden those
machines many times. It would take only a flick of the finger to loosen the
brakes. If a machine started to slip, that would jolt the brake loose, wouldn’t
it? You saw the angle on that slope. It’s the most likely explanation.’

‘That’s the whole point, though, with that model. If the
brakes are on, then the slightest movement causes them to lock. Something to do
with an extra ratchet. Sven explained it, although I can’t say I took it in.’
He passed a trembling hand over his face. ‘He says there’s no way the brakes
could have come loose on their own. No way.’

My mind was reeling. ‘Then the only explanation – ’

‘ – is that someone loosened them deliberately.’ He leant
forward. ‘Maggie, I’ll be honest with you. This thing is way over my head. And
now someone’s died. I don’t know what to do. I’m tempted to contact Head
Office, but they’ll think I’m not competent to deal with the situation and
reassign me.’ An earnest expression came into his eyes. ‘What would you do in
my place?’

I thought for a minute. But there was only one thing he
could do. ‘Go to the police,’ I said firmly.

‘Sven’s already done it. He reported it yesterday.’

‘Did he speak to Inspector Hallengren?’

‘He didn’t say who.’ The furrows in his forehead deepened.
‘Why would someone do that, Maggie? If it was a prank, then I might understand
it.’ His voice broke. ‘But I don’t think it was meant as a prank.’

I felt my heart pumping. ‘Why do
you
think someone
did it?’

He said nothing. He didn’t need to. I knew with a terrible
certainty what was going through his mind. ‘There were people on the path,’ I
said. ‘Below that overhang.’

He nodded dumbly, tears at the corners of his eyes. He
glanced towards the Ellises. ‘Jim and Robyn went down there to look at the
view. And Jane.’

And not just Jane. Liz and Harry had been on the path.

‘Oh my God, Leo, whoever loosened those brakes intended to
kill someone.’

‘That’s the conclusion Sven came to. It’s the conclusion
I’ve come to.’

I could almost smell his fear. ‘Sven did the right thing in
going to the police.’ I squeezed his hand. ‘They’ll know how to handle this.’

‘What about the excursions? Should I cancel them?’ The
appeal in his eyes was distressing.

‘Go and speak to the Inspector. He’ll advise you.’

His face cleared. ‘That’s a good idea,’ he said, half to himself.
He pushed his plate aside, the eggs uneaten. ‘Thanks, Maggie,’ he said with
feeling.

After he’d gone, I sat for a long time, watching my coffee
grow cold. Something was niggling. Something about the snowmobile trip. I tried
to remember who else had been below that overhang.

In a flash, it came to me: Marcellus Bibby.

And Wilson.

Wilson, who was now dead.

My conversation with Leo had shaken
me. I needed space to think. I grabbed a snowsuit from the Activities Room and
tugged it over my clothes.

The sun had risen into an ice-blue sky. I stepped onto the
path and was instantly dazzled by the light bouncing off the snow. It wasn’t
until my eyes had adapted that I found I was standing next to a figure in a
black snowsuit. He was leaning against the lion-tamer as though waiting for a
bus. A pall of cigarette smoke hung above him in the still air.

‘Is it always as cold as this?’ he said, gazing into the
distance. His voice was deep, with a pronounced American accent.

‘You think this is cold?’ I said, remembering Leo’s words.
‘The temperature starts dropping about now.’

He stared at me, the cigarette partway to his lips.

It was an interesting face, with mild eyes, and bushy brows
that almost met in the middle. The plaster of black hair was combed in a way
that emphasised the slightly domed head. It was impossible to tell if he was
tanned, because the black
snowsuit took the
colour
from his skin.

‘The temperature’s about to drop? That’s swell. How’s a
Manhattan boy expected to survive in a goddamn freezer?’

I studied his snowsuit, unfastened at the wrists and ankles.
‘You could put your hood up for starters,’ I said lightly. ‘And I’d get rid of
that cigarette and find some gloves. Sneakers aren’t such a good idea, either.
You need fur-lined boots.’

He continued to smoke, his eyes sliding down my snowsuit. As
he brought his hand to his lips, the light reflected off his signet ring. ‘You
sound like an expert. Been here all week?’

‘By, here, I take it you mean the Icehotel.’

‘You slept in there?’ he said slowly, eyes focussed on the
tip of his cigarette.

‘Yes.’

‘What was it like?’

‘Cold.’

He half closed his eyes. ‘How cold?’

‘Cold cold. Minus five cold.’

A look of alarm crossed his face. ‘Fahrenheit?’

‘Celsius.’

His cigarette was burning down. ‘A man could freeze to death
at minus five,’ he said, looking at his feet.

I hesitated. ‘If he’s not properly dressed.’

‘Or if he’s out of his sleeping bag.’

After a brief silence, I said, ‘What newspaper are you
with?’

The thin smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’m not a reporter.’
He drew on his cigarette, letting the smoke drift from his mouth. ‘I’m a
lawyer.’

When I said nothing, he added, ‘Aaron Vandenberg.’ He turned
and gazed at the Icehotel.

A lawyer. Of course, Bibby’s lawyers would have arrived on
the next plane.

‘I thought you were one of the press, Mr Vandenberg,’ I
said. ‘You didn’t strike me as someone who’s come here on holiday.’

He swivelled his head. ‘A holiday? Here? Are you nuts? I’m
out of this place the minute I’ve wound things up.’

‘Things to do with Wilson Bibby?’

‘You guessed right. I’m Wilson’s lawyer.’ He corrected
himself. ‘I was Wilson’s lawyer.’ A strange look came into his eyes. ‘I was
also his friend.’

There was little I could say. ‘I’m sorry.’

He stubbed the cigarette out against the lion-tamer’s chest.
‘Did you ever meet him?’

‘We spoke a few times. And we had a game of chess.’

A gleam came into his eye. ‘I bet he won. He always does.’

I was surprised; it hadn’t taken me long to uncover Wilson’s
strategy. ‘Always?’

‘Every time. You could make book on it.’

I was inclined to throw back a caustic remark, but it would
be bad form to criticise a dead man’s chess-playing skills. And Wilson had been
the man’s friend.

‘How is Marcellus coping?’ I said. ‘We’ve hardly seen him
since Wilson’s accident. I have to confess I’m a bit worried about him.’

He drew his brows together. ‘He’s in that hick town, at the
coroner’s office.’

It wasn’t an answer, but I let it go. A lawyer wasn’t going
to discuss his client’s feelings with a stranger.

‘I take it you were with Wilson in Stockholm,’ I said.

He seemed preoccupied. ‘Stockholm? Yes, Stockholm,’ he said
slowly, turning his restless eyes on me. ‘I flew up this morning.’

‘Well, I’m off for a walk. If you’re staying here’ – I
motioned to the Excelsior – ‘then perhaps I’ll see you later.’

I made to go, but he put out an arm, barring my way. I was
surprised at the gesture.

‘You say you’ve been speaking to Marcellus?’ There was a
hint of menace in his voice.

I stepped back. ‘That’s right.’

‘May I ask about what?’

I was tempted to tell him to mind his own business. ‘Small
talk, mainly. He told me about his work with the Bibby Foundation. And Wilson’s
schools’ programme.’

He relaxed visibly.

‘Why are you so concerned about my conversation with
Marcellus, Mr Vandenberg?’

His composure had returned. ‘I’m not concerned.’ He spoke
lazily. ‘If I sounded concerned, it was for Marcellus’s wellbeing. He’s had a
nasty shock. He was close to his father.’

‘Have you known Marcellus long?’

‘Long enough.’ He dismissed me with a look of indifference.
‘Enjoy your walk.’

Interesting. Aaron Vandenberg might be concerned for
Marcellus’s welfare, but he was more concerned about the nature of his
conversations. What secrets did he think Marcellus was going to spill?
Marcellus was an experienced businessman, someone who’d know when to keep his
counsel. But something was rattling the family lawyer . . .

I trudged down the path between
the ice statues, leaving him standing, a statue himself.

I took the path by the Chapel and
made for the bank. The sun was climbing into the sky, and the distant river was
a dark scar on a white face, ice crusting the edges like a scab.

As I stepped off the path, Denny Hinckley materialised from
behind the trees. He parked himself beside the brazier and warmed his hands as
though he’d been there for hours.

‘Well, hello there,’ he said, in mock surprise.

I was in no mood for politeness. ‘Not again, Mr Hinckley.’ I
took in the thick white snowsuit, the hood up, fur framing his face. ‘Are you
in camouflage so you can lie in wait for people?’

‘Look, Maggie, I know we’ve got off on the wrong foot – ’

‘It’s Maggie now? You seem to be taking a lot for granted.’

‘Give me a break, love. I was trying to put you at your
ease.’ He produced a packet of cigarettes and shook one loose. ‘All I’m after
is some detail of the room. Wilson Bibby’s. Then, scout’s honour, I’ll leave
you alone.’