ICEHOTEL (36 page)

He brushed the suggestion aside. ‘If Marcellus thought Harry
had seen him, he would not have waited. He would have murdered him the same
night.’ He went to the notice board and studied the plan of the Icehotel. ‘But
perhaps we have been coming at this from the wrong direction. Perhaps what you
saw was something different. You say you re-entered the Icehotel by the front
door?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then maybe it was Marcellus you saw in your corridor and
not Harry. In the time it took you to reach your room, Marcellus could have run
through the Locker Room, taken Wilson’s key and rolled him onto the floor.’ He
beckoned. ‘Come, Miss Stewart.’

I walked round the table, swaying from the effects of the
brandy. Hallengren traced the path Marcellus would have taken from the Locker
Room. I saw immediately that, even if he’d been walking, he’d have reached his
father’s room well before I turned into the corridor.

That stiffening of the shoulders as I called goodnight. If
it was Marcellus, it would explain why he hadn’t turned round. But something
wasn’t right.

As if reading my thoughts, Hallengren said, ‘Are you
absolutely sure that you did not mistake the room?’

‘The man I saw came out of Harry’s room.’ I stared at the
map. ‘Anyway, why would Marcellus be coming out of room 15?’

‘Because he had just murdered his father.’

‘His father was in room 17,’ I said in exasperation.
‘Marcellus, or whoever, came out of room 15.’

His eyes fixed on mine. ‘The person you saw came out of room
15? Are you sure?’

‘That’s why I told you I thought it was Harry. Number 15 was
Harry’s room.’

He was staring blankly.

I ran my finger over the last three rooms in the corridor.
‘Look. Wilson Bibby in room 17, me in room 16, and Harry in room 15.’

‘What did Harry’s room look like?’ he said softly, his eyes
glued to the map.

‘It had a statue of Pan. Harry was afraid he wouldn’t be
able to sleep with it grinning at him. He said – ’ I stopped, remembering
Harry’s remark about the erection.

Hallengren muttered in Swedish. He snatched up a folder from
the desk, and leafed through it rapidly. His expression changed.

He thrust out a sheet of paper. ‘The receptionist gave me
this on the morning Wilson’s body was discovered. It was printed from the hotel
computer as I waited.’

It was a list of names and room numbers. I scanned it,
searching for my name and Harry’s.

There was an edge to his voice.
‘It
shows, without a shadow of a doubt, that Wilson Bibby was in room 15 and Harry
Auchinleck, in room 17.’

I stared as though seeing him for the first time. ‘That’s
wrong,’ I said slowly.

‘How were you told which room you were in?’ he said, after a
pause.

‘It was on Monday. Leo told us on the bus. And he posted a
list of names and room numbers on the notice board in the foyer.’

Hallengren grabbed the phone. A minute later, the duty
policeman entered. Hallengren spoke briefly, showing him the sheet, and the man
left, almost running.

‘I have sent for the receptionist who was on duty on Monday.
Perhaps now we will get to the bottom of this mystery.’ He poured, watching me.
‘I would drink this, Miss Stewart. You may be glad of it by the time we have
finished.’

Hallengren’s expression was
composed, almost sympathetic.

He marched to the whiteboard, and stood thoughtfully for a
minute. Then his pen moved quickly over the surface. My mind was in a whirl
but, after the quantity of brandy I’d drunk, I was in no condition to work
anything out. I sat down and settled back to wait.

A while later, there was a knock at the door, and the
policeman entered with the receptionist. I recognised the man with the round
glasses who’d been on the Excelsior desk all week. He was agitated, licking his
lips repeatedly. I felt sorry for him; Hallengren had a talent for making even
innocent people nervous.

‘Please sit down, Mr Karlsson,’ Hallengren said, motioning
to a chair.

The man placed a folder on the table, straightening it with
little taps of the hand.

‘Mr Karlsson,’ Hallengren said, keeping his tone friendly,
‘I need you to explain something that is puzzling me. How are rooms allocated
in the Excelsior and the Icehotel?’

The man looked bewildered, glancing from Hallengren to me
and back again. ‘There is no secret to it. Guests are allocated the same number
in both hotels. It makes it easy to remember.’

Hallengren smiled encouragingly. ‘And how are guests
notified of their number?’

‘When they check in, we give them their key.’ He lifted a
finger, as though to command our attention. ‘For tours we vary the procedure.
Rather than have them queue at reception, we leave the key in their door and
post a list on the notice board.’

‘In the foyer?’

He swallowed. ‘Yes.’

‘What happens to that list?’

‘It’s taken down the following day and kept till the end of
the week. Then I give it to the tour guide as a record of who stayed in which
room. Some tours issue commemorative certificates.’

‘You still have the list?’

‘I was asked to bring it,’ he said defensively. He drew a
sheet from his folder and handed it to Hallengren.

Hallengren scanned it, his face expressionless. ‘Mr
Karlsson, when we were called to the Excelsior after the discovery of Wilson
Bibby’s body, the manager gave me a list of names and room numbers of the
Icehotel’s occupants.’ He held out the computer printout from his own file. ‘As
you can see, it does not quite match the list you posted in the foyer.’

Karlsson took the sheet and stared at it, his hands
trembling. There was a faint sheen on his forehead.

‘I can’t see –,’ he began.

‘Rooms 15 and 17, Mr Karlsson,’ Hallengren said patiently.

There was a stir of recognition in the man’s eyes. ‘I
remember now,’ he said, relief in his voice. ‘Originally, we assigned room 17
to Mr Bibby – Mr Wilson Bibby – and room 15 to Professor Auchinleck. But later
that day – ’

‘Which day?’ Hallengren interrupted.

‘Monday, Inspector, the day the tour party arrived.’

Hallengren nodded to him to proceed.

‘On Monday afternoon, Mr Wilson Bibby asked to have his room
changed. He explained he was a light sleeper. His room at the Excelsior was
above the lounge and he was afraid the noise would keep him awake. So I put him
in the room round the corridor, room 15, which is the quietest.’ He paused,
blinking rapidly. ‘Room 15 was Professor Auchinleck’s. I saw the Professor
later that afternoon and asked if he objected to a room change. He seemed
willing to oblige, he didn’t even ask who the guest was. He said he was a sound
sleeper, and didn’t mind which room he had. I explained then, as I’d explained
to Mr Bibby, that this meant the rooms in the Icehotel would also be swapped.
So Professor Auchinleck would be in room 17 in both hotels, and Mr Bibby, in
room 15.’

The pieces were falling into place. I glanced at Hallengren
but his attention was on Karlsson.

Karlsson took our silence as a signal to continue. ‘I
instructed my staff to move the luggage. Fortunately, neither guest had
unpacked. And then I logged the change on the computer.’

‘Which is why it showed on the printout,’ said Hallengren.

‘Exactly,’ he beamed. He removed his glasses and polished
them with a handkerchief.

‘So how do you explain the discrepancy between the printout
and the list in the foyer, Mr Karlsson?’

The smile vanished. He stared at Hallengren. ‘The list?’ he
stammered.

‘It seems that you did not make the same change on the
notice board.’

He looked from Hallengren to me, then back to Hallengren, a
stricken expression on his face. ‘I must confess I did not. But there was no
need, because both Professor Auchinleck and Mr Bibby knew where they would be
sleeping.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘They will get the wrong certificates from
Mr Tullis, of course – ’

I looked away. The only certificates they were getting now
were from the coroner.

Hallengren took the sheets. ‘I will have to retain these for
my records.’

‘Of course. I understand.’ Sweat was trickling into the
man’s eyes. ‘May I go now?’

‘Thank you, Mr Karlsson. You have been most helpful.’

He picked up the folder and almost ran from the room.

Hallengren looked amused. ‘So, Miss Stewart, we have been at
cross purposes. Is that the correct phrase – cross purposes?’

‘It’s the correct phrase,’ I replied automatically. My mind
was in turmoil. The rooms had been swapped. So, what did it mean?

He picked up the bottle. ‘Let us examine the facts. Shortly
after you saw Marcellus Bibby outside the Locker Room, you saw a man come out
of room 15. Correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are certain it was room 15? Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you assumed it was Harry, thinking it was his room.’

‘Yes.’

‘You called out to him but he did not reply.’

‘But I know he heard,’ I said emphatically. ‘He paused, then
carried on walking. And he didn’t turn round.’

‘Why did you think it was Harry, apart from believing that
he came out of Harry’s room?’

‘He was a big man, Harry’s build, and he wore a blue
snowsuit. Harry always wore blue. And he had on the same woollen hat.’

He studied my face. ‘If it had been Harry, would he have
spoken to you?’

‘Of course,’ I said sadly. ‘Harry wasn’t someone who ignored
people. He’d probably have suggested we go for a drink. It puzzled me at the
time, but I said nothing to him, specially after your request I keep quiet.’

‘It would explain why your story and his were inconsistent.’
He paced the room. ‘Harry was in room 17, fast asleep as he claimed. And if the
man you saw was Marcellus, who had just pushed his father onto the floor, of
course he would not turn round when he heard you call Harry’s name.’

I thought back to the day Wilson’s corpse had been
discovered. ‘In the morning, there was such a crowd outside the room that I
couldn’t see the number plaque. When I saw Wilson’s body, I just assumed it was
room 17.’

He looked intently into my eyes. ‘Could you have seen the
statue of Pan from where you were?’

I shook my head.

‘Marcellus would have known about the room swap, Miss
Stewart. His father would have told him. But Harry did not tell you or your
friends. Why was that?’

‘It wouldn’t have been important.’ I played with my glass.
‘Harry was always travelling and living in hotels.’

‘After Bibby’s death, his rooms in both the Excelsior and
the Icehotel were sealed.’ He scrutinised the Excelsior’s floor plans, pinned
up next to the Icehotel’s.
‘Room 15 in the Excelsior
is round the corner from your room so you could not have seen the tapes. And
you would not have heard much from room 17, whether occupied or not, because it
is across the corridor. There would be nothing in the Excelsior to make you
suspect there had been a swap.’

The brandy was doing its work. ‘So Marcellus kills Wilson,
and knows I see someone leave his father’s room,’ I said, my words slightly
slurred. ‘He hears me call Harry’s name so he knows he hasn’t been identified.
So’ – I paused – ‘why kill Harry?’

‘Why would he
want
to kill Harry?’ He studied the
whiteboard, frowning. ‘The answer has nothing to do with the discrepancy
between your story and Harry’s. That has now been explained. No, it has to do
with the discrepancy between your story and Marcellus’s.’ He looked directly at
me. ‘Miss Stewart, after we discovered Wilson Bibby’s death was not accidental,
I sent Engqvist to re-interview you, Harry, and Marcellus. We had to explain
the differences in your various accounts.’

‘When was this?’

‘Friday
afternoon – t
he
afternoon that Harry was murdered
.’

‘But I wasn’t interviewed,’ I said slowly.

‘No-one could find you. For that matter, no-one could find
Harry. But Marcellus was interviewed.’ He searched through the folders on his
desk, and opened a buff-coloured file. ‘We interviewed Marcellus at 3.00pm in
the hotel manager’s office, an hour and a half before Harry was murdered. He
did not change his story. He persisted in his claim that he did not leave the
Excelsior the night that his father was killed.’ He glanced up. ‘Unfortunately,
the hotel manager came into the office as Marcellus was leaving. Before
Engqvist could stop him, he announced that he had been unable to find Professor
Auchinleck. Marcellus would have heard him.’

‘So he assumed Harry was also going to be questioned?’ I
said, my mind racing.

‘Yes, but listen carefully. When we questioned Marcellus, we
interrogated him hard about timing and his precise movements. And, for the
first time, we told him that there was a witness who was prepared to make a
statement putting him outside the Locker Room at the time of his father’s
death.’ He lifted a hand to ward off my protest. ‘Do not be alarmed – Engqvist
was careful not to say who. It was a tactic that might have forced a
confession. It did not. If it had, we would have arrested him there and then.
But my point
is this: if Marcellus thought that Harry
was also about to be questioned, he may have jumped to the conclusion that
Harry was the witness.’

‘He thought Harry had been called in to make the statement?’

‘To make it, and to sign it. But, even if he had any doubts,
he could not take the risk. He had to find Harry and kill him before he was
questioned.’

I stared at Hallengren, finally understanding. ‘It should
have been me that was killed. I was the one who saw Marcellus.’

‘You must not think like that, Miss Stewart,’ he said
firmly. ‘The fault was ours.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘There was a crowd in the
foyer that afternoon. Harry must have slipped past the receptionist. Marcellus
fetched an ice-axe, saw Harry enter the Chapel, followed him and killed him. It
explains the great risk he took in doing this in broad daylight. He had no
choice. He had to move quickly.’