Yes, Harry had heard. But something made me say: “I might have been mistaken”

Iwondered when Engqvist would stop grinning. “I went to bed alone,” I said. “Did you stay in your room until morning?” I ran my hands down the front of my jeans. “I left the Icehotel later in the night.” Hallengren studied me. “Can you remember what time that was?” “It was one o”clock.” I smiled nervously. “I looked at my watch.”

“Why did you leave the Icehotel?” he said softly. “To watch the aurora. The notice said there would be a display. I was disappointed there was nothing earlier, so I decided to try again. I didn’t sleep well, so I –”

He interrupted me. “You did not sleep well? Are you a light sleeper?”

“Not particularly.”

He and Engqvist exchanged glances. Engqvist muttered something I couldn’t catch and Hallengren replied in Swedish.

“Miss Stewart,” Hallengren said, “you are the last person we are interviewing. Everyone said they slept exceptionally well. Some even said they could hardly stand on their feet after the snowmobile excursion. Were you on that excursion?”

Directness

The directness of the question threw me off guard. I hesitated. “Yes, I was.” I looked at Engqvist. When I turned my head back, I caught Hallengren staring at my hair.

“What time did you return to the Icehotel?” He was writing again. I tried to sound flippant. “No idea.” He waited in silence.

“I can’t have been watching long. How long can you stay out before freezing to death?” I regretted my words instantly. “Probably about three quarters of an hour,” I said, running a hand over my face.

“Did you see anyone while you were out?” His expression was unchanged; there was no indication of what he was thinking. They must teach that at Detective School.

“No one. No, wait, I did see someone. It was as I was coming in through the main door. I saw Marcellus Bibby going into the locker room.”

I had their attention now. They sat up straight, gabbling to one another in Swedish. Hallengren leant forward, searching my face. “The son? Are you sure?”

“The light in the locker room was on. His hood was down and I saw his face. And his dark ponytail.”

Hallengren sat back, studying me. “Did he see you?”

“He turned and looked at me – that’s how I saw his face – but I was standing in the dark with my hood up. He may not have recognised me. But – ” The breath caught in my throat as I remembered how he’d tried to conceal himself.

“Yes?”

“He was acting strangely. He turned in my direction and then pulled his hood up over his head.”

“So that you could not see his face?”

“I assumed that was the intention. It was too late by then, of course.”

“He may not have known that.”

“But why would he do it?”

“Some people are naturally suspicious and do not want anyone knowing their movements, especially after dark.” He paused. “Even if they are doing nothing wrong.”

“I suppose.”

“And then, Miss Stewart, did you go straight to bed?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “Alone.” A faint smile touched his lips. “You saw no one else?”

“Only Harry.”

Mistaken

He consulted his notepad, leafing back several pages. “Professor Harry Auchinleck?” He pronounced it Ow-hin-lek.

“He was leaving his room as I reached my corridor.” “Did you speak to him?”

“I called goodnight. Not too loudly as I didn’t want to wake the place. But loudly enough so he’d hear.” “Did he reply?”

“No.”

“Are you sure he heard?”

That stiffening of the shoulders. Yes, Harry had heard. But something made me say: “I might have been mistaken.”

Engqvist was running a hand through his hair from the back of the neck upwards. He was no longer smiling. Hallengren studied his notes.

“Miss Stewart, Professor Auchinleck tells a different story.

“According to his statement, he” – he read from his notes – “went out like a light and didn’t surface till morning. The screaming woke me.”

“But that can’t be true,” I said quickly. “I saw him leave his room.”

“You are sure it was Professor Auchinleck?” Hallengren said, watching me.

“I’ve just said so. He was wearing the same blue snowsuit and the bobble hat, pulled down over the ears the way Harry does it. And he was walking exactly like Harry.”

“Where do you think he was going?” Hallengren said, after a pause.

“Given the amount he’d had to drink, probably the loo. The lavatory,” I added, seeing their faces. I could tell they didn’t believe me. “Look, it’s just possible he’s forgotten.”

But Harry had the memory of an elephant. And he wasn’t hungover this morning, so he couldn’t have been so drunk he’d forgotten getting up in the night. Why had he simply not told the police the truth?

Hallengren consulted his notes. “Your room is next to Mr Wilson Bibby’s.”

As this was a statement, not a question, I said nothing. He waited silently. I nodded.

“Did you hear anything from his room? People talking?”

“It was as silent as the proverbial grave.” I closed my eyes briefly. Why in heaven’s name was I making these crass remarks?

Hallengren raised an eyebrow. “How well did you know Wilson Bibby?”

“I met him for the first time on Monday.”

Strange

“And when did you see him last?” He was writing again.

“At the reception in the Ice Bar.”

“Ah, yes.” He glanced up. “Purple Kiss. Did you enjoy it?”

“It was too sweet.”

He sat back, studying me. “Miss Stewart, how do you think Mr Bibby came to be outside his sleeping bag? Do you not think it strange he was not wearing a coat and boots?”

“I haven’t a clue. His heart may have given out and he collapsed before he had a chance to get dressed.” I shrugged. “It’s your job to find out, not mine.” Hallengren smiled for the first time. The effect was stunning. “We will find out, Miss Stewart,” he said slowly.

“The Swedish police are nothing if not efficient. The body is already at our laboratories.” “A post-mortem?”

“When there is an unexpected death, there is always a post-mortem. It is the same in your country, I believe.”

More tomorrow.

Icehotel, available on Amazon Kindle, is Hania Allen’s debut novel. Her second book, The Polish Detective (Constable, £8.99), is the first in her new series featuring DS Dania Gorska and is set in Dundee.