ICEHOTEL (38 page)

‘Hasn’t it occurred to you we might both be dead?’

She looked into the cup. ‘You really can’t make me feel any
worse than I do now.’

‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t meant to come out that way.’ I
hesitated. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask. How is Lucy?’

She sipped slowly, grimacing, and moved the cup away. ‘It
was a false alarm. Too much ice cream. That’s Lucy.’

Mike shifted in his sleep and the snoring stopped.

But Liz couldn’t leave it. ‘What I still can’t get over,
Mags, is that you returned to the Icehotel that night. We thought you’d gone to
see the aurora.’ She cradled her cup, deep in thought. ‘You’ve been keeping a
lot from us, you know.’

I said nothing. She was right. I hadn’t taken her into my
confidence. Or Mike.

‘You do realise you could have died,’ she went on.

I leant back. None of it mattered now. ‘It’s over, Liz.’

‘Yes, you can give that brain of yours a rest,’ she said
gently. ‘It’s time to move on.’

I remembered Hallengren’s words about grief turning to
guilt. ‘Harry’s dead, Liz, that’s not something I can forget.’

‘Nor I.’ She looked straight ahead. ‘But he would want us to
get on with our lives, wouldn’t he?’

We hit turbulence. My cup flew off the table and onto Mike’s
lap.

He sat up. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph.’

‘Good sleep, Mike?’ I said into his ear.

His fingers flew to his temples. ‘For the love o’ God, will
you turn down the volume?’ He stared in dismay at the wetness spreading across
his crotch. ‘What in the name of – ?’

‘You missed the show,’ said Liz. She raised her voice so the
whole plane could hear. ‘While you were snoring, Mags was telling us about her
night of passion with that sexy Swedish detective.’

The Ellises, sitting in front of Liz, turned in my
direction. Robyn glared. Jim, sitting so Robyn couldn’t see his face, smirked
and gave a slow wink.

The captain’s voice crackled through, announcing our descent
into Stockholm. I fastened my seatbelt, thinking of the last time we’d been
there. Had it really only been a week?

Liz was right: it was time to move on, Harry would want us
to get on with our lives. So why, then, did I have a feeling in my waters that
there was unfinished business?

‘And that’s the whole story,’ I
said, chewing my thumbnail. ‘We came back.’

It was a long time before Dr Langley spoke. ‘What happened
on your return?’

‘We buried Harry.’

‘How did that feel?’

‘We laid him to rest in St Monans, next to his ancestors.
The cemetery was packed.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

What could I tell her? It had felt less like a funeral than
a comedy.

We’d stood at the graveside listening to the minister, the
rain gusting and lashing at us as it’s supposed to do at funerals. The wind
snatched up Liz’s hat and nearly took it away. As she grabbed it, her umbrella
turned inside out. Mike caught my eye, trying not to laugh. Then I saw the
young man, one of Harry’s boyfriends, standing so close to the grave I thought
he’d fall in. He was crying openly, not caring who saw him, lips parted, nose
running into his mouth. The minister spoke quietly to him, a hand on his arm,
but the young man gazed at him, uncomprehending. People were moving away when
something happened which only I witnessed: the minister, believing no-one was
watching, turned away surreptitiously and pulled a half bottle from his
cassock. He took a good long swallow, then belched softly and wiped his mouth
on his sleeve. Despite my grief, I had to smile. Harry would have approved.

‘Was it a comfort having Liz and Mike there?’ Dr Langley
said.

‘I suppose so.’

‘You know, Maggie, I no longer attend funerals, I can’t cope
with the finality.’ She made an arch with her fingers. ‘Harry’s was nine months
ago. What is your last memory of it?’

I was back at the Boatman’s Inn, its dark spaces too cramped
for the crowd of people paying their respects. The Dean of Harry’s faculty, a
waspish woman with permed grey hair, was speaking warmly of Harry’s
contribution to teaching and to his chosen field of research.

‘My last memory?’ I said. ‘Seeing his students, thinking how
gratified Harry would have been to know they were there.’

But that was a lie. My last memory was the drive from the
inn, past the Auld Kirk. I’d glanced out of the window and caught a last
glimpse of the gravediggers. They were finishing their cigarettes, throwing
their shovels into the back of a van. Behind them was a neat mound of wet black
earth, gleaming like coal on the grass.

‘I had no idea how terrible it was,’ Dr Langley was saying.

‘The funeral?’

‘What happened at the Icehotel.’ Her voice softened. ‘You’ve
told me little about what life was like on your return.’

‘There’s not a lot to tell. We went back to work, Liz and I
to Bayne’s, and Mike to his IT company. We see less of him now because he’s
always in Stockholm, Mane Drew’s computers keep falling over. It’s really Liz
who’s kept up with him.’ I took a long breath. ‘She’s been my rock. It was
awful going back to work. I couldn’t have done it without her.’

‘How did your colleagues react?’

I shrugged. ‘There’d been all this media coverage about
Wilson, and then Harry. Liz’s and my names weren’t in the papers, but everyone
knew where we’d been, and they put two and two together. We told them nothing,
but it was weeks before they stopped pestering us.’ I looked at my hands. ‘That
was the problem, the Icehotel was constantly being pushed into my face. I
couldn’t go to a meeting without hearing the whispers as I came into the room.
Or as I left it.’

‘And your line manager?’

‘To begin with, Andrew was very understanding.’ I picked at
my nails. ‘A month after the funeral, he called me in. He was holding a report
I’d prepared. He said the figures weren’t correct and I’d have to redo them. It
was the second time since I came back that he’d pulled me up over my work.’ I
lifted my eyes. ‘I’d never made mistakes before.’

‘But he knew what had happened to you?’ she said, frowning.

‘I had to tell him. He was pretty stunned. He asked me
whether I was seeing anyone, and I said, no, I’m between boyfriends. He said, I
meant a doctor or a counsellor. I became angry. I told him I could deal with it
myself, it was grief, nothing more, I just needed time.’ I gave a lop-sided
smile. ‘I think he was embarrassed by the whole thing.’

‘And how have Liz and Mike coped?’

‘Liz gets tearful whenever we talk about Harry. She’s lucky,
though, she has a life with her children. She told me recently it keeps her
from brooding.’ I smiled thinly. ‘I suspect it’s bravado. She’s changed,
although she won’t admit it. She smokes openly, now, more than I do, even
though she’s always singing me an aria about the evils of tobacco.’

‘And Mike?’ Dr Langley said softly.

‘He’s managed the best,’ I said with resentment. ‘Do you
think it’s a man thing?’

‘Do you?’

I threw her a baleful look. ‘I think it’s a Mike thing.’

‘Why do you say it that way? He seemed to care about Harry.’

I ran my hands through my hair. ‘I don’t know what it is
about Mike. I can’t understand the way he behaves towards me.’

‘Give me an example.’

‘A few weeks ago I went to his flat for lunch. Liz and the
twins were at her parents, so it was just me. Mike was cooking Thai chicken and
coconut rice, one of Harry’s favourites. The kitchen smelt of lemon grass. I’d
had the dream the night before. I’d never told anyone about it except Liz, but
I described it to him. He just gazed at me, as though I were reading the
telephone directory.’ I picked at my lip. ‘He took my hands and leant in close,
and I thought, hello, where’s this leading. Then he suddenly sat back and
demanded to know how much I’d had to drink.’

‘Had you been drinking?’ she said quietly.

‘I had a couple of glasses before lunch. Anyway, he dragged
me to the bathroom. He stood me in front of the mirror and asked me what I
saw.’ I paused. ‘
His Irish accent’s always more
pronounced when he’s angry.’

‘And what did you see, Maggie?’

‘I saw what you’re seeing now,’ I said brutally.

After a silence, she said, ‘What’s his bathroom like? I’m
assuming this wasn’t the first time you’d seen it.’

‘I’d been to his flat before.’ I picked at my cuticles.
‘Large mirror, white tiles. Incredibly clean.’

‘And the bath?’

I lifted my eyes to hers. ‘Sunken, like a swimming pool.’

‘And are Liz and Mike an item now?’

‘It’s an on-off thing. I thought Mike just wanted to get
into her knickers, but I was wrong. He seemed to want a meaningful relationship
– God, how I hate that phrase. But now, he’s blowing hot and cold, and it’s Liz
who’s hoping it’ll become serious.’

Dr Langley placed her hands together, choosing her words
carefully. ‘This session is about getting behind the truth, Maggie. We both
know you’ve been bottling something up, something you either can’t admit to
yourself, or won’t admit to me.’

I shifted in my seat. I’d gone this far, there was no point
not going the rest of the way. ‘Marcellus didn’t kill Harry,’ I said
emphatically.

I’d expected a look of surprise, but what I saw was
understanding. For the first time, I dared hope that salvation might be
possible.

‘And you want to find out who did,’ she said.

I took a deep breath. ‘I owe it to Harry.’

‘Let me get this straight. It’s because you want to see
justice done for Harry?’

‘For the others too.’

‘You think you have a responsibility towards all the dead?’

I said nothing.

‘So tell me why you’re sure Marcellus wasn’t the killer,’
she said. ‘It seems a cut-and-dried case.’

I looked at her helplessly. ‘I just don’t see him as a
killer. Yes, I know he was planning to kidnap his father, but I saw the two of
them together.’

‘Very well then, what about Marcellus killing Harry?’

‘If Marcellus didn’t kill Wilson, then it follows he didn’t
kill Harry.’ I frowned. ‘And I keep thinking of the way Harry was murdered.
Marcellus was built like a Sherman tank. He would have slipped up behind him
and snapped his neck like a twig.’

She fingered her letter opener. ‘Can you remember when you
came to this conclusion?’

‘Don’t laugh, but it was when I was watching television. I
saw a film about a group of commandos. One of them had the height and build of
Marcellus, he looked just like him from the back. He crept up behind an enemy
soldier and broke his neck. He was fast, and he was silent. He slipped back
into the shadows before the soldier even hit the ground. The others had their
backs turned and didn’t know anything had happened till they heard him fall.’ I
stared at the ceiling. ‘It was the strangest thing. The minute I saw it, I
realised I’d known all along it couldn’t have been Marcellus. It was as if I’d
woken from a deep sleep.’

‘And you began to have the dream at about that time.’ It was
a statement.

I looked at her in surprise.

‘Remember what I said earlier, Maggie? The thing that’s
lurking under the water, yet never revealing itself, is something you want to
discover.’ She spoke slowly, emphasising her words. ‘I now know what your dream
signifies. What you want to discover is the identity of the killer.’

‘So why don’t I see a body in the bath?’

She smiled gently. ‘You don’t yet know who the killer is.’

‘And the smell of river water?’ I said, looking at the
floor.

‘You fell into the river and nearly drowned. Your sleeping
mind is associating a personally traumatic experience with the deaths at the
Icehotel.’

My eyes came up to meet hers. ‘So where do we go from here?’

She rose and opened the window, letting in the faint early
evening sounds: the traffic, someone shouting, selling the paper. She settled
herself behind the desk. ‘I’d like you to tell me what you think happened, Maggie.
It doesn’t matter how far-fetched or illogical it sounds.’

‘I don’t know if I can,’ I said in a small voice.

‘You’ve been thinking about it these past few months, all
I’m asking you to do is to think out loud. Remember that I’m less interested in
catching a killer, and more interested in helping you. What you say will stay
within these four walls.’ She paused. ‘Tell me who you think killed Wilson and
Harry.’

After a long silence, I whispered, ‘I don’t need to tell
you. You know who it is.’

‘The white tiles and the sunken bath. You saw those in his
bathroom. They’re always in the dream. It’s Mike you’re expecting to see in the
bath, Maggie,’ she added quietly.

I put my hands under my knees, not wanting her to see them
shaking.

‘Your subconscious is telling you it’s Mike. But does the
conscious you really think he’s the killer?’ When I said nothing, she
continued, ‘From what you say, Mike hadn’t disguised his hatred of Wilson
Bibby. But could he have done it? Did he have the opportunity?’

I
gazed at her without blinking
. ‘He
could have spiked Wilson’s food or drink that evening. Then pushed him out of
bed later.’

‘Would he have known about the room swap?’

‘Harry could have told him, or he could have overheard
Harry’s conversation with the receptionist.’

‘And the snowmobiles?’ she said, placing her hands together.

‘He’d been standing next to them when they fell. He had the
opportunity to loosen the brakes.’ I ticked off the facts on my fingers. ‘Mike
had been back from the husky trip well in time to murder Harry. The suit in the
Chapel was extra-large, Mike’s size. It was Mike who suspected that Harry had
whispered his killer’s name to me. And it was Mike, not Jonas, who sat watching
me at the rehearsal.’ I glared at her triumphantly.

‘Could he have followed you to the Icehotel that night?’