Jane didn’t reply immediately. I watched the passage of emotions on her face

Ilooked at him. “Listen, Denny, if you’re after a scoop, forget Wilson Bibby and the Icehotel. There’s another story you could pursue.” “Another?” He’d put his notebook away and was holding his mobile above his head, turning in a tight circle. “Have you heard of the Stockholm hotel murders?” He stopped dead. “Hotel murders?” His eyes glittered. “Tell me more, lovely girl.”

“I don’t know the details, but the barman does. And so do the staff. There was nothing in the British papers, as far as I can remember, so maybe you can make a splash.”

“Stockholm, eh? But what’s this got to do with Wilson Bibby?” A slow grin spread across his face. “You think he was murdered, then?”

“Of course not. It’s got nothing to do with him, he died of a heart attack. All I’m saying is you might get more mileage from the Stockholm hotel murders.

I carried on. “There was a death in Stockholm last week. Maybe coincidence. Maybe not.”

I was about to add that Harry could tell him things when I remembered that Denny was likely to get short shrift in that department.

He seemed undecided. He was gazing at the Icehotel. I could see he couldn’t let it go.

It had taken hold of him the way it took hold of everyone, reaching with its icy hands, caressing softly.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” I said, watching him. He didn’t reply. His eyes were glazed, the expression, vacant.

I left him standing by the brazier.

Painful

“Maggie! Wait for me!”

It was Jane. She was wearing a red snowsuit and fur hat, Russian-style, with flaps over the ears. Corkscrews of hair were stuck to her forehead.

She was stomping over the ice towards me, breathing hard.

I looked at her feet. “Why are you wearing plastic tennis rackets?”

“These were all that was left. The wooden snowshoes have gone.” She stooped, supporting herself by gripping my shoulder, and eased them off. I tapped the hard mesh. “It looks painful.”

“At least I can say I’ve given them a go.” She glanced at the forest. “You going for a walk?”

I hesitated, seeing my chance for solitude spinning out of sight. I could have put her off, but the last time I’d seen her, she was rocking in terror listening to the barman tell his tales of murder. I took her arm. “Let’s find the trail,” I said, guiding her towards the forest.

The path was narrow but well-trodden, and lined with pine trees. They were heavy with snow, their branches bending inwards and meeting those of the trees opposite.

The slanting light filtering through the leaves threw splashes of brilliance on to the ground. Amid such whiteness, the tree trunks looked black, the ribbed bark with its dusting of snow like filigree lace.

“Have you seen who’s here?” Jane said, after we’d walked a little way. When I didn’t reply, she added in a voice beating with excitement: “Aaron Vandenberg.”

“Yes, I met him earlier. I suppose it’s hardly surprising, the family lawyer descending.”

“He’s not just the family lawyer. Doesn’t the name Vandenberg ring a bell?”

I shook my head.

“Have you heard of Marcia Vandenberg?”

“Of course,” I said, suddenly remembering. “The heiress who died from the overdose. Was she his wife?”

“Aaron and Marcia were brother and sister.” “And she was Marcellus Bibby’s girlfriend?” I said, astonished.

“Not only that.” Jane lowered her voice, hardly necessary considering where we were. “The police suspected him of involvement in her death.”

Relationship

I threw her a sidelong glance. “So what do you think? Was Marcellus involved?”

“I know next to nothing about their relationship.” She tugged her ear flaps down. “Only what was in the tabloids.”

Yes, the Bibbys seemed always to be in the papers. And there was going to be a damn sight more about them after this week was out.

I stole a look at her. “How are you coping with what’s going on here, Jane? Wilson Bibby’s accident, I mean.”

She didn’t reply immediately. I watched the passage of emotions on her face. “Well enough,” she said.

“You’re not just being brave?” I said gently. “You don’t think Wilson was the victim of the Stockholm hotel killer?”

“Leo said it was a heart attack.”

“Tell me about yourself, Jane,” I said, wanting to change the subject. “What do you do?”

“I’m a dentist’s receptionist.” She flashed her onethousand-watt smile. “It’s not as grand as it sounds. You know what it’s like. You start out with these dreams and you end up doing something totally different.”

I smiled. “Real life gets in the way. So what were your dreams?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a journalist. I thought that coming here would give me inspiration for a travel article. I mean, how many people come to the Icehotel?”

A whole lot more would be coming now, I thought cynically. “And have you started writing it yet?”

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Maybe you need an angle. What about Wilson? He’s attracting as much attention now he’s dead as he did when he was alive, if those reporters are anything to go by.”

“That’s the problem. They’re the ones making the splash. They’ll be describing this place, as well as what happened here. By the time we go home, it’ll be too late.”

“But you’ve an advantage they don’t have. You’ve been holidaying with Wilson. You’ve had insight into the person, not the millionaire businessman.

“People will be more interested in that than in anything Denny Hinckley writes. His articles will be tomorrow’s chip paper.”

Bitterness

There was bitterness in her voice. “Denny has a good reputation.”

“He wasn’t the one on that snowmobile trip. It was you and Wilson. Now, that would make a great article. You could write about. –”

I stopped, remembering my conversation with Leo. The revelation about the loosened brakes wasn’t something I intended to share with Jane; I’d been stupid even to mention it.

I wondered whether Leo had seen Hallengren yet, and what Hallengren intended to do with the information.

She was watching me. “Is something worrying you, Maggie?”

“It’s just that I find this place a bit, well, spooky is the wrong word. But you know what I mean.” “The forest?”

I hesitated. “The Icehotel.”

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.