Hallengren waited in silence. “He showed me his diary,” I said, my voice level. “What of it?”

Hallengren turned the pages of his notebook. “My questions are not about what happened in the Icehotel,” he said. “They are about your conversations with Wilson Bibby.” He looked up. “You sat next to him on the plane to Kiruna.” “That’s right,” I said slowly, wondering how he would know. We hadn’t been allocated seats so he wouldn’t know from the plane’s manifest.

He must have guessed what I was thinking. “One of the passengers told me you and Mr Bibby sat together.”

“What do you want to know, Inspector? What we talked about?”

“Can you remember?”

“Why is it so important?” I said, in exasperation. “It may not be important. Shall we just say it is part of a line of enquiry?”

“What sort of a line?”

“When there is an unexpected death, we establish the circumstances leading up to it. So can you remember what you talked about?” he said patiently.

“The usual stuff you talk about to strangers on a plane.” He raised an eyebrow. “Specifically?”

“Wilson gave me his family history. That more or less took up the entire flight.”

The corners of Hallengren’s mouth twitched. So he did have a sense of humour.

Social chat

“He opened up to you remarkably quickly, Miss Stewart. Do you not find that strange?”

“Americans are always quick to talk about their Scottish roots, Inspector.”

“What else did he tell you about himself?”

“It was just social chat.” I paused. “He told me that Marcellus acts as his bodyguard.” Hallengren looked surprised. “He told you that?” “I can’t remember what led to it. He mentioned being stalked.” I looked at my nails. “I was rather rude to him. He’d snubbed Harry in Stockholm and I told him so in words of one syllable. Once I get started, I find it difficult to stop.”

Hallengren nodded, a half-smile on his face. “Inspector, what exactly is this about? If you gave me some hint of what you’re after, I might be able to help you.”

“Did Wilson Bibby tell you anything about his business affairs?”

“To a complete stranger? Why on earth would he?” I said, in amazement. “Hold on, are you talking about this schools’ exchange thing?” “Possibly.”

“He told me nothing. I learned about it from Marcellus after we arrived here.”

“So Wilson said nothing about what he was doing in Stockholm last week?”

“Only that he’d be returning to continue whatever it was. Come to think of it, he told me that later.” “I understand he showed you his diary.”

“Your spies are well-informed, Inspector. Whoever this passenger is, he’s observant.”

Hallengren waited in silence. “He showed me his diary,” I said, my voice level. “What of it?”

“What exactly did he show you, Miss Stewart? Think carefully.”

“The cover, in his family’s tartan, which he was very proud of. And he showed me the pages.”

Hallengren leant forward. “Did you see pages with writing? Or carbons?”

“I just saw the pages at the back, for December they must have been. They were blank.”

“You definitely did not see the date on the last page which had writing on it?”

Steady

“I’ve just said I haven’t.” I studied his face, but he was giving nothing away. “Look, Inspector, I don’t understand this line of questioning. If you’re so interested in Wilson’s diary, why don’t you look through it yourself? It’ll still be in his locker.”

His eyes were without expression. He rose suddenly. “Thank you, Miss Stewart, that will be all for the time being. If you do remember anything about the diary, anything that you have not told me, please get in touch immediately.”

He held the door open.

I stepped into the corridor. And then I had it. “You’re asking me these questions because you haven’t got the diary, have you, Inspector?”

His gaze was steady. “Thank you for your time, Miss Stewart.” He closed the door softly.

I leant against the wall, my mind buzzing. Wilson’s diary was missing. What did that mean? He’d mislaid it? Hardly. Given what he’d said on the plane, he never let it out of his sight.

He may even have kept it with him in the Icehotel. The only explanation was that it had been stolen. So what could have been in his diary that had made someone want to steal it?

But, more to the point, why would a detective be so interested in the diary of a man who’d died of a heart attack?

I ran into Harry on the stairs. “Lunchtime, dear girl. Man cannot live by champers alone.”

“You haven’t been hitting the Bollinger already?” I said, in mock disapproval.

“Far too early.” He winked. “But I must confess to having had a small hock and seltzer by way of aperitif.”

I took his arm. “Tell me what you’ve been up to this morning, Harry.”

“I went for a long walk with Liz and Mike.” How quickly Mike had become a part of our group. “I didn’t see you on the river,” I said.

“We went in the opposite direction. There are several cross-country ski paths behind the Excelsior.” “Don’t tell me you went skiing.” “Surprised?” he said, in a playful tone. “It was great fun. And good exercise, especially for the waistline.” He patted his stomach.

“I must keep it up when we return to Edinburgh. Liz tells me there’s that kind of skiing somewhere in Perthshire.”

“How is she today?”

“Much better. But I do wish she’d lay off the cigarettes. Smoking will ruin her complexion. She and Mike are waiting for us in the restaurant.” Harry dropped his voice.

Abandoned

“We’re going for the early sitting in an attempt to avoid the jackals. I think they’re still in Kiruna.”

“By jackals, I take it you’re referring to the gentlemen of the press.”

“If they’re gentlemen, I’m a Dutchman,” he said, pulling open the dining-room door.

Liz and Mike were at the long central table, leaning into one another, talking quietly. Marcellus had abandoned his window seat and was sitting a few seats away from them. Aaron Vandenberg was absent.

Perhaps it was his turn at the coroner’s office. That’s what lawyers were for, I thought with satisfaction, and Marcellus would be needing a break.

It was the first time I’d seen Marcellus since the police interviews. He looked tired and ill at ease, shoulders sagging, head bent over his plate.

His mouth was fixed in an expression of hopelessness. I went to speak to him, but he rose as if from a deep sleep and left the room.

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.