ICEHOTEL (37 page)

So the large bloody snowsuit abandoned in the Chapel was
Marcellus’s. He would have slipped back into the Excelsior in his own clothes,
and mingled with the crowd.

‘And this connection that Marcellus made about Harry’s being
the witness?’ I said angrily. ‘That didn’t make him an immediate suspect in
Harry’s murder? You’ve realised it only now? Why didn’t you arrest him straight
after Harry was killed?’

Hallengren spoke calmly. ‘We interviewed everyone in
connection with Harry’s murder, Marcellus included. We questioned him for
hours. He told us that, after he had left the manager’s office, he went to
Kiruna. We tried to break him, but he stuck to his statement.’

I glared at him. ‘And you believed it?’

‘There was no evidence either to refute or corroborate his
story.’

Of course Hallengren couldn’t make an arrest without hard
evidence. My anger subsided. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you, Inspector.’ I pressed
my fingertips into my eyes. ‘Let me get this straight, then. Even knowing about
the room swap, you’ve still no real evidence that it was Marcellus who came out
of that room, and not Harry.’

‘I know it was Marcellus. He had just killed his father.’
He
reached for the brandy. ‘Anyway, neither you nor
Harry fit the profile of a murderer.’

I gasped. ‘You suspected us?’

He looked surprised. ‘At the outset, everyone is a suspect.
Your evidence put you and Harry close to the scene of the crime at the time of
Bibby’s death. I would be a fool not to consider you suspects.’

And Hallengren was no fool. ‘So when did you decide we
weren’t?’ I said.

‘With Harry, it was when he was killed. But we discounted
him early on. Harry was no killer.’

‘And me?’ I said, after a pause.

‘You ceased to be a suspect when you fell into the river.
You nearly died, Miss Stewart. No-one would endanger their life like that just
to throw the police off the scent.’

‘That was yesterday. What about earlier in the week?’

He smiled. ‘We could not find a motive for you to kill
Wilson Bibby.’

‘Did you think I could have killed Harry?’ I said warily.

‘You might have had time before you met Miss Hallam.
However’ – his eyes travelled slowly down my body – ‘I doubt you have the
strength. Whoever killed Harry was strong. We could tell that from the wounds
on his body.’

I pictured the scene in the
Chapel: Harry, ra
ising his arms, trying desperately to ward off his
attacker. And Marcellus, bringing the ice-axe down, again and again and again .
. .

Hallengren’s voice broke into my thoughts. ‘After you told
me about the axeman in the Icehotel,
I had Engqvist
tail you. He followed you and Miss Hallam to Kiruna.’

‘That was Engqvist?’ I said, astonished.

His voice was hard. ‘You saw him?’

‘I saw someone I thought was following me,’ I said quickly,
not wanting to get the man into trouble, ‘but it turned out to be another
tourist.’

‘Engqvist should have been well camouflaged,’ he said dryly.
‘He lost you in the evening in the crowd going to the Ice Theatre. When he
realised, he called me straightaway. We had to find you quickly. We still had
not arrested Marcellus and you might be his next victim. We questioned Karlsson
who remembered that you had gone to the church.’

I looked up at him. ‘So how did Marcellus find out where I
was?’

‘That we will never know, Miss Stewart. All we have managed
to learn of his movements that day is that he had an appointment at the
coroner’s office. He must have slipped back to the Excelsior unseen. Perhaps he
saw you leave the hotel and followed you.’

I felt a chill in the room. ‘The church tower would have
been ideal. Like falling through the ice. An accident.’

‘Marcellus must have left just before we reached the
Excelsior. I sent Engqvist to comb the hotel, in case he was there, while I
hurried to the church. The rest you know.’ He leant forward and looked into my
face, his eyes blazing. ‘But there is something
I
don’t know.’

The anger in his voice took me by surprise.

‘What in the name of God were you doing up that tower?’ he
said. ‘I specifically warned you against being alone at any time. Were you out
of your mind?’

‘I wanted to see the aurora,’ I said miserably.

‘The aurora? When there was a killer on the loose?’

I chewed my thumb. ‘I thought the killer was behind bars.’

He ran a hand over his head, staring at the ceiling.

‘So what happens next?’ I said in a small voice.

He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Aaron Vandenberg will stand
trial for conspiracy to kidnap. The evidence is clear cut.’

‘And the murders?’

‘Unless we can persuade Vandenberg to admit to murder, or to
being an accomplice to murder, the case will remain open. There is not the
evidence to bring anyone to trial. Vandenberg’s likely course of action will be
to pin the blame on his dead friend, Marcellus.’

‘So that’s it?’ I let out a breath. ‘That’s the end?’

He smiled. ‘Most people imagine that murder cases are solved
beyond shadow of a doubt, but that rarely happens. Real murder cases are not
like those in films or murder mystery novels. There is always doubt unless you
get a confession. And even then, people confess to murders they do not commit.
So, perhaps it was the hotel killer from the Maximilian. Or Harry who killed
Wilson. Or someone else.’ He finished the brandy. ‘Apart from greed, Miss
Stewart, revenge is the strongest motive for murder. But there was no-one with
revenge as a possible motive. What will appear in my report is that, on the
balance of probabilities, the killer of Wilson Bibby and Harry Auchinleck was
Marcellus Bibby, with Aaron Vandenberg as accomplice.’ He was studying me with
an expression of mild irony. ‘But, even if we had the evidence, we cannot
prosecute the dead.’

‘I suppose not.’

He grew serious, turning the glass in his hand. ‘You have
had some terrible experiences, Miss Stewart, the sort of experiences no-one
should have in a lifetime, let alone the space of a week.’

I looked away.

He cupped my chin, turning my head to face him. ‘I see the
mark of the survivor in your eyes. You will go through bad times in the next
few months, but they will not last forever. You will come out on the other
side, stronger than you are now.’

I gazed into the deep blue of his irises, feeling the warmth
of his hand against my skin.

He released me slowly. ‘Now that my investigations are over,
I will have your passports with Mr Tullis first thing tomorrow.’

‘Well Liz, for one, will be eternally grateful.’

‘Miss Hallam?’

‘She’s had a particularly bad time of it.’ I smiled
ruefully. ‘The idea behind this holiday was that she’d have some kind of
respite from her children. Go back refreshed, that sort of thing.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I hope it will not deter her from
visiting Sweden again.’

I thought of Liz, chain-smoking, her hands trembling. She
might visit Sweden again, but she wouldn’t be coming to Lapland.

He was smiling. ‘And what about you?’

‘I never did try cross-country skiing,’ I said, avoiding the
question. ‘And now, I’ve run out of time.’

‘You are definitely leaving tomorrow?’ he said quietly.

‘Our flight’s at midday.’

I thought I saw disappointment in his eyes, but it was
probably wishful thinking on my part.

‘Well, Miss Stewart, I must arrange to have you taken back
to your hotel.’

He stood up briskly. I staggered to my feet.

‘Tomorrow I fly to Malmö,’ he said. ‘A case in Lund requires
my attention. We will not meet again.’ He held out his hand, smiling. ‘Goodbye,
Miss Stewart.’

‘Maggie,’ I said, slipping my hand into his. ‘My name is
Maggie.’

There was an expression in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.
‘Maggie,’ he said softly. He slid an arm around my waist and drew me towards
him.

Liz’s eyes were wide. ‘No, really?
You slept with him?’

It was lunchtime and we were flying home. The tiny plane,
still climbing, banked suddenly towards Kiruna. I craned my head and peered out
of the window, catching a last glimpse of the Icehotel.

We’d said our goodbyes at the airport. Robyn and Jim were
flying with us. Jane was travelling on a later plane, intending to stay in
Stockholm to do some research for her article. We exchanged contact details,
and I made her promise to send me the final draft of her travel feature. Jonas
and Erik were with her, Erik holding her bag. I lifted my eyes to Jonas’s and
smiled nervously. He smiled back, an expression of understanding in his eyes
.

Leo was the last to say goodbye. ‘Keep in touch, Maggie.’ He
ruffled his hair. ‘Let me know how you’re doing.’

‘You too. Another group coming today?’

‘The last of the season. Life goes on.’ He grinned. ‘And so
do tours to the Icehotel.’

And now we were flying south, on a great circle to
Stockholm. Mike was in the window seat, snoring like a warthog, sleeping off
the after-effects of a post-theatre drinking bout with the Danes.

‘Come on, then,’ Liz was saying across the aisle. ‘This
isn’t the time to daydream. Tell me about Hallengren.’

I kept my voice low, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘We
spent the night at his apartment. He drove me back to the hotel this morning.’

‘Well? Oh, don’t keep me in suspense, Mags. What was he
like? I’ve been fantasising about him all week.’

‘What can I say? It was the best sex I’ve ever had.’

It was true. Thomas Hallengren
had been spectacular in bed . . .

He’d driven me to an apartment block
on the other side of Kiruna. Neither of us spoke as we took the lift to the top
floor.

The front door to his apartment opened directly onto a
spacious open-plan room. The light was still on. Cream-coloured leather
armchairs were arranged in front of a low glass-topped table which was covered
in newspapers and skiing magazines. At the far end of the room, half a dozen
chairs stood untidily round a dining table, the remains of a meal abandoned on
the striped tablecloth.

I was on edge, conscious I’d drunk
too much brandy.
Hallengren watched me in silence. He took my hand and
led me into the bedroom, switching on the light and immediately pressing a
button which dimmed it. At first, I could distinguish only the double bed
against the wall, then dark shapes resolved themselves into a wardrobe, chest
of drawers, and a blanket box.

I felt a gentle touch on my arm. Hallengren unzipped my
snowsuit and sat me on the bed. He slipped off my boots, while I shook my arms
out of the suit, struggling awkwardly to free myself. He sat back on his heels
and smiled up at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly. In that instant, my
nervousness evaporated. I leant forward and, clutching at his snowsuit, pulled
him towards me. We kissed insistently, hungry for the taste and smell of each
other.

He disentangled himself and stripped off quickly. We removed
the rest of my clothes, doing it in the wrong order and getting in each other’s
way. He ran his hands lightly down my arms, and lifted my fingers to his mouth.
Then, somehow, we were in bed, entangled in the sheets, grabbing at one
another. His mouth slid from my neck to my breasts and slowly down my belly. I
tensed, arching my back as I felt his tongue between my legs. He brought me to
near-climax and away again so many times that I thought I was going to faint.
Finally, he positioned his body over mine and entered me, waiting until he’d
brought me to a shuddering orgasm before reaching his own. As the throbbing
lessened, I lay back, panting and sweating like a marathon runner.

We made love more times that night than I would have thought
possible. Towards the end, he was rougher, pinning my wrists, thrusting
quickly, watching my reactions, timing his movements so that when we climaxed
it was nearly simultaneously. He cried out and collapsed onto me, rolling away
with a groan. Smiling sleepily, he reached over to trace the outline of my
mouth. Then he dragged the damp sheets over our bodies and we slept, exhausted,
his face buried in my hair.

In the early morning, he drove me to the hotel. The wind had
dropped. A feeble sun was rising, its rays filtering through the trees, stippling
yesterday’s snow.

He stopped the car in front of the Excelsior. ‘Will we see
you here again, Miss Stewart?’ he murmured. He drew back my hood and pushed his
fingers through my hair.

I turned away, unable to meet
his eyes. We both knew the answer.

Liz’s words dragged me back to the
present.

‘You can call me old-fashioned, Mags, but I thought it
wasn’t the done thing for police to sleep with their suspects,’ she said,
resentment in her voice.

‘I didn’t sleep with him till afterwards,’ I said
petulantly. ‘And I wasn’t a suspect.’

‘Oh, don’t give me that. He could lose his job, you know,
plying you with drink like that.’

‘He didn’t ply me.’ I shifted in the seat. ‘You can be so
holier-than-though sometimes, Liz.’

‘And, after he got you drunk, he seduced you. But then, I
suppose, you did say you only wanted one-night stands from now on.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ I said, remembering the touch of his
hand on my cheek.

‘You know, I still can’t get over what you just told me
about Marcellus and Aaron. It really is all rather amazing.’ She grew
thoughtful. ‘You were right about Marcellus being the killer, though.’

‘You think that gives me any satisfaction?’ I said bitterly.

‘I suspected something had happened when Leo returned our
passports. There wasn’t a lot he could tell us. I expect it’ll be in today’s
papers.’

The stewardess had brought coffee.

‘And that hell you went through in the tower, Mags. After
everything else. If I hadn’t been called away, it would never have happened.
You’ve no idea how that makes me feel.’