ICEHOTEL (33 page)

She broke free of my grip. ‘Why were you following us?’ she
shouted at the man.

When he didn’t reply, she reached down and tore off his
mask.

I stared at his face.

‘Do you speak English?’ she said roughly.

A crowd had gathered and was watching silently.

Sweat was running into the man’s eyes, and he was having
difficulty breathing. ‘A little.’ His accent was French.

‘You’ve been following us since we left the park,’ I said
quietly. I glanced at Liz, afraid she’d have another go at him.

‘I was not following you.’ He managed to get the words out.
‘When you ran at me, I thought – ’ He motioned to Liz’s face. ‘I thought you
were a man.’

She removed her ski mask and pulled down her hood, shaking
out her hair. He made an attempt at a smile but it was more of a grimace. ‘A
misunderstanding on both sides,’ he gasped.

He tried to haul himself up, but fell back, wincing. I
reached down and took his arm, signalling to Liz to do the same. She stepped
away. I threw her an angry look. What on earth was she playing at? The man was
obviously a tourist. One of the crowd came forward and supported him under the
shoulders, lifting him to his feet.

I hooked a hand under Liz’s elbow. ‘Let’s get out of here,
before we’re arrested for GBH.’

She was frowning at the Frenchman. ‘Have you been anywhere
near the Icehotel?’ she said rudely.

‘Madame, I am in Kiruna only for today.’ He was breathless
from the effort of standing upright. He inclined his head. ‘Please accept my
apology for anything I have done to offend you.’

He limped towards the road, the crowd parting to let him
pass.

I stared at Liz as though seeing her for the first time.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she said sullenly.

‘Unbelievable, Liz. You could have broken his ribs, to say
nothing of what you’ve done to his ability to procreate. That was totally
uncalled for.’

Her eyes blazed. ‘Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. You’ve
been bleating on about being followed by an axe murderer and, when I take
action, this is your response. Yes, of course, now I see he’s a tourist, but,
for all I know, he could have been the man who killed Harry.’

‘Hold on, Liz, press the Pause button.’ I tried to keep my voice
level. ‘
Okay
, but when you saw he wasn’t the murderer, you
could at least have apologised. I had no idea you can be so vicious. If you
wanted to immobilise him, why didn’t you use a judo hold, instead of whacking
at his ribs?’

Her anger dissolved. ‘I’m sorry,
Mags,
’
she breathed. ‘I’m so sorry. I really don’t know why I’m behaving like this. I
know it was awful. I’ve never done, I’ve . . .’ Her voice shook. ‘I just want
to get home to Annie and Lucy.’

I put my arms around her, and held her shaking body against
mine, unable to bear her tears. ‘It’s not your fault, Liz.’

I took her to the next stall that sold drinks, and bought
her a glass of hot spiced wine, making sure she drank it all.

She wiped her eyes. ‘Thanks,
Mags.
’
She drew up her ski mask, smiling bravely. ‘So, shall we go shopping?’

In a large department store, I watched her spend money on
things she didn’t want. My mind was still at the scene with the Frenchman, and her
uncharacteristic behaviour. But it would be a nervous reaction to the strain
she was under, the strain we were all under.

We were playing with the testers at the perfume counter.
‘Whoops, I’m going to be late,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘I need to get
to the coroner’s.’

‘Already? I’ll come with you.’

‘It’s miles away at the other end of town. You should get
back,
Mags
, you look absolutely frozen. Go and warm
yourself up with a sauna.’

I frowned at her. ‘You sure you don’t want me along?’

‘There’s no need to worry, I’m fine now, really I am.’ She
glanced at the bottle in my hand. ‘I’d buy that, if I were you. According to
the label, it’s supposed to drive men wild with desire. I’ll see you at
dinner,’ she said over her shoulder.

I sat in the bus, and soon forgot the black-clad Frenchman.
My thoughts turned to the reason for our trip into Kiruna. Would Harry’s body
be released? I closed my eyes, seeing his flaccid corpse, the Y-shaped scar
livid on his chest.

In the far distance, the Excelsior was a tiny red pillar box
in an expanse of white.

I was removing my ski mask in the
foyer, when Leo Tullis came running out of the lounge.

‘Maggie? Thank goodness we’ve found you.’ He ran a trembling
hand through his hair. ‘They’ve got them. Marcellus and Aaron. Marcellus is
already at the station. Aaron is being arrested now.’ He looked past me. ‘There
he is,’ he murmured.

Aaron, his wrists handcuffed, was being frogmarched down the
corridor by two policemen. Hallengren was with them.

Hallengren ignored the crowd gathering in the foyer and
pushed his way to the door. As Aaron passed me, his eyes fixed on mine. He
hesitated, opening his mouth to speak, but the officers pulled him away. The
front door closed behind them. A minute later, I heard the whine of a car
engine.

‘They’re being charged with murder,’ Leo said, his voice
sounding strange. ‘They hatched a plan in Stockholm to kill Wilson. I don’t
have the details.’ He nodded at the receptionist. ‘Mr Karlsson had a few words
with one of the officers. They’re being charged with the murder of Harry, too.’

‘Oh Harry,’ I whispered, closing my eyes.

‘We’ll get the press release in the morning. But it’s
official.’ He clasped my fingers and squeezed hard. ‘It’s over, Maggie.’

‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel,’ I said weakly.

‘Well, I feel like a drink, a stiff one. Join me?’

‘So why did they murder Harry?’ I said, my mind a whirl.

‘We’ll get the details soon enough.’ He sounded greatly
relieved. ‘Mr Karlsson said they’re not looking for anyone else. We can rest
easy. The killers are under lock and key.’ Seeing my tears, he put an arm
around my shoulders. ‘Come on, Maggie, chin up.’

I let him lead me away. I
wondered why I was crying. Harry’s killers had been caught.

There was time for a drink before
the play. We pushed our way into the lounge, and took the last free table.
Everyone was in high spirits, especially the reporters.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Mike was saying.

‘That Marcellus and Aaron are guilty?’ I said.

‘That it took your ace detective this long to bring them
in.’

‘What do you mean, this long?’ I said, resenting the
implication.

Mike said nothing, but a smile flickered on his lips.

‘Can we talk about something else?’ I said into my glass.

He turned to Liz. ‘So how are the twins? You were ages at
the computer.’

Liz was pale. ‘Lucy’s not feeling terribly well. She’s been
throwing up all day. Siobhan thinks it’s something she ate. I’m sure it’s not
really serious, but I’ve given her the manager’s number just in case. My phone
gets no reception here, I’m afraid.’

‘We should make our flight tomorrow,’ he said reassuringly.
‘Leo sounded hopeful we’ll be getting our passports back.’

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she said with feeling.

He raised his glass. ‘Well then, here’s to the Bard.’

‘Listen, how about a last peek at the aurora?’ I said, looking
from one to the other.

‘Are you serious?’ His voice became hard. ‘You’re not going
on that river, Maggie.’

‘No, not the river. The light from the Ice Theatre will wash
everything out.’

He lowered his glass. ‘Where, then?’

‘The only place far enough away from illumination is the
church. The bell-tower. The view will be to die for.’ I looked pointedly at
Liz. ‘So, who’s coming?’

She laughed. ‘I give in, Mags. You win. You’ve been drooling
over this aurora all week. I absolutely have to see what the fuss is all about.
You can count me in.’

Mike was looking at me strangely. ‘You can count me out.’

Liz leant into him. ‘Oh, come on, Mike. Please.’

‘I’m going to see Macbeth.’

‘You mean the Scottish play?’ I said, teasing. ‘Now you’ve
brought us bad luck.’

‘There’ll be time for both, you know,’ Liz said pleadingly.
‘We’ll only stay out half an hour. Then we’ll go straight to the theatre. If we
leave now, we won’t miss much.’

‘It’s not that.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m no good up towers. I get
vertigo.’

It was a strange remark from someone who’d been
ice-climbing. But I let it go.

He looked into his beer. ‘You girls have fun. But mind
yourself climbing.’

I glanced at my watch. It was 8.50pm.

‘We’ll need hot showers first, Mags,’ Liz said, getting to
her feet. ‘It’ll be perishing up there. I’ll meet you in the foyer, shall I?’
She sounded excited.

I pushed back my chair, gulping my drink.

Mike laid a hand on my arm. ‘It’s not the height, Maggie.’
He seemed anxious I hear him out. ‘It’s the tower, the enclosed space.’

I was surprised at this admission of weakness. ‘We all have
our phobias, Mike,’ I said, smiling. ‘I’m no good underwater, but you already
know that.’

He seemed grateful for my flippant remark.

‘Macbeth’s about to start,’ I said. ‘I mean, the Scottish
play.’

I took a shower, running the water as hot as I could bear
until my skin glowed red. It was now nearly 9.30pm. If we hurried, we’d be at
the church by ten.

The receptionist with the glasses was deep in another Mills
and Boon. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps. ‘Are you wanting to see
the play? It began half an hour ago, I’m afraid.’

‘We’re going to the church.’

‘The church?’ He looked puzzled.

‘To watch the aurora from the tower.’

His eyes grew wide behind the lenses. ‘I can’t remember the
last time anyone climbed up there,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s a long walk. Are you
sure you want to go?’

‘It’ll be our last chance. We’re flying home tomorrow. Could
you lend me a torch?’ I added, remembering the darkness in the tower.

He opened a cupboard and removed a heavy rubber torch. After
checking it was working, he handed it to me without a word. I nodded my thanks.

‘Ah, here is your friend, Miss Stewart.’

Liz was marching down the corridor, drawing on her gloves.
‘Ready?’ she smiled.

As we were leaving, the manager appeared, waving a hand in
the direction of his office. ‘Miss Hallam, there is a phone call for you,’ he
said.

She stopped at the door. ‘It must be Lucy.’

‘I’ll wait here, Liz. Or should I come with you?’

‘No, no, it’s fine.’ She hesitated. ‘Look, Mags, do go on
and I’ll catch you up. I really don’t think it’s serious. Children are always
being sick. Awful, but there you are.’ She saw the look of doubt on my face.
‘Go on, go on, or you’ll miss it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ll be along as soon as I can. Or I’ll meet you up there.’
She disappeared with the manager.

I hesitated for only a second,
then turned away, conscious of the receptionist’s accusing stare.

The damp
air was filled with the scent of woodsmoke.
I studied the sky. It was
cloudless, and there was no moon. The night gods were smiling on me.

I slithered down the path between the statues and took the
road to the church. Ice was forming and I had to watch where I trod. Despite
taking care, I lost my footing several times and slipped, crashing painfully onto
my side.

Eventually, the streetlights thinned out and, at the edge of
the cluster of houses, I switched on the torch. The yellow cone of light pushed
back the darkness, illuminating the road ahead. I swung round, moving the torch
in a wide arc, catching the snow-covered trees in the beam. I thought I saw an
answering flash from the forest, but it must have been a reflection. I trudged
on, the only sound, my feet crackling on the ice.

I took the bend in the road. In the distance, the church
with its tower looked eerie in the light of the torch. The ground here was
almost free of ice, as the surrounding forest gave a measure of shelter.

I was nearing the church door when something made me stop.
It wasn’t a sound, more a feeling that someone, or something, was close by. It
couldn’t be Liz, I’d have heard her behind me. And she’d have seen the torch
and called out. I ran the beam over the entrance, even moving it up the walls,
but there was nothing.

I pulled the wrought-iron ring, bracing myself for the loud creak,
but the door swung open silently.

The familiar cloying smell of wax
filled the church.
I played the beam over the floor, listening to the
muffled sound of my footsteps as I walked up the nave. Would Liz think to bring
a torch? Probably not.

The door to the tower stood half open. Yet I was sure I had
seen it closed when I entered the church. I pushed against it, tensing as the
rush of cold air chilled my face. There was no point leaving it open: I’d soon
be out on the platform.

The candles in the wall were lit. Their tiny flames flared
in the draught, throwing faint shadows onto the floor. From the bottom of the
steps, I shone the torch into the tower. The trapdoor was just visible, the
size of a postage stamp.

I began the climb up, one hand on the rail, the other
gripping the torch. As I shifted my weight, the wood creaked alarmingly.
I
can’t remember the last time anyone climbed up there
. After misjudging the
first few steps, I found my rhythm. The ascent seemed never ending; I trudged
up spiral after spiral but, each time I peered, the trapdoor looked no larger.

I was transferring the torch from one hand to the other when
I lost my footing. I dropped the torch and seized both rails, slithering about
on the step, trying frantically to regain my balance. From far below came a
dull thump, followed by the sound of breaking glass. The tower was plunged into
darkness.