He reached the table. Another second and the axe would smash through my skull

Ilooked at Hallengren. “Who were these people who were murdered in Stockholm?” I asked. “We looked for a link, but there was little to go on. The only thing they had in common is that they were businessmen or financiers. “The hotels catered for businessmen, so it may not be significant. We established that two of them knew each other but, again, that is unsurprising.” The furrows on his forehead deepened. “When Wilson Bibby was murdered, we thought the killer had struck again. Bibby’s programme with schools has been widely publicised. There cannot be many people who do not know he was in Sweden last week.”

“Why would anyone want to kill a bunch of businessmen? And in such terrible ways?”

“We asked ourselves the same question.”

“And what about Harry? He wasn’t a businessman.” “Which is why I am less inclined to believe that the hotel killer has come to the Icehotel.”

“But he is still killing again,” I said softly. “In Stockholm.”

“The American whose neck was broken?” Hallengren nodded. “We think so.”

He turned his body round and looked directly at me. “Miss Stewart, there is something you need to understand.” His voice was hard. “Whether the Stockholm hotel killer has come to the Icehotel is not the point. There is a murderer on the loose here.

Guidelines

“I will be issuing guidelines to Mr Tullis today. You should all be careful about what you say and to whom you say it. And you, Miss Stewart, should not be alone at any time. Will you promise me that?”

“You think the killer is coming after me,” I said, my voice wavering.

“Or he may have another victim in mind and sees your – how shall I put it? – amateur investigations as an impediment.”

“But this has nothing to do with me. I never met Wilson before this week. How could the killer be after me?” I caught my breath. “I refuse to believe it.”

Hallengren gripped my shoulders. “Believe it, or do not believe it, but promise me you will be careful.” His face was so close I could see the purple flecks in his irises.

“Very well,” I said faintly. “I promise.”

He released me and got to his feet. He dropped coins on to the counter, nodding to the barman who’d been watching with curiosity. Then, without a backward glance, he left the room.

I curled into the sofa and clutched at the cushions, burying my face in their softness. Then I threw them aside and set up the chess board, reconstructing one of my favourite games, the 1918 match between José Capablanca and Frank Marshall. I drank my sweet coffee, moving the pieces automatically.

Hallengren’s words played in my mind like a broken record: The killer would have been close by. A sound made me look up. He was in the doorway, watching me. I took in every detail, the huge bulk, the black hooded snowsuit. And the ice axe in his hand. An ice axe, which he was holding firmly by the shaft.

He took a step towards me. I scanned the room, searching helplessly for the barman. Snatches of laughter drifted in from the kitchen. He came closer. I tried to lever myself up, thinking I might make a run for it, but my limbs refused to move.

He reached the table. Another second, and the axe would smash through my skull. In that moment, the spectre of Harry’s mutilated body rose before me and I nearly passed out with fear.

“Maggie?” The Irish accent was unmistakable. In a single flowing movement, he raised his hand and pulled off the mask. “You should see yourself, you’ve gone a whiter shade of pale.”

The barman breezed in and busied himself washing glasses.

Dreadful

Liz arrived. “So this is where you are, Mags,” she said, frowning. “You’ve no idea how relieved I am. Leo told us at breakfast what had happened to you. It must have been absolutely dreadful.” She reached across and squeezed my fingers. “Your hands are like ice.”

I let her blow on my fingers, pressing myself into the sofa, unable to take my gaze off Mike.

“We wanted to come straightaway,” she was saying, “but Hallengren gave strict instructions not to let you be disturbed. I saw the policeman outside your room.” She glanced at the table, and an expression of annoyance crossed her face. “And here you are playing chess as though nothing’s happened.”

Mike stepped smartly out of his suit. “For the love o’ God, Maggie, what were you doing out there on the ice? We thought you’d gone to bed.”

I was about to tell them about Denny, the figure with the ice axe, the whole bloody lot. But something stopped me. They were waiting for an answer.

“I went to watch the aurora.” I tried to sound convincing. “I got too close to the edge and stepped into the water. Stupid of me. Fortunately, there were people there.”

They exchanged glances but didn’t press me, and I wondered what else they’d heard. “Have you seen Hallengren?” Liz said.

“Just now.”

“And what did he say about going for little walks on the ice at night?” she said sternly. I chewed my thumb. “He let me have it. Both barrels.”

“You and your auroras, Mags. You were damned lucky, you know. If you’d been alone . . .”

I glanced at Mike. He was twirling the ski mask on the end of his finger.

We were in the restaurant, finishing lunch. “Would you girls like to do something this afternoon?” said Mike. “The excursions have been cancelled again.”

Before I could reply, Leo Tullis arrived with Jane. “How are you doing, Maggie?” he said anxiously. I smiled, wanting to reassure him. “Nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t cure.”

Flush

There was a slight flush on Jane’s cheeks. “I’ve been feeling bad all morning. If I hadn’t rung you and told you about the aurora, you’d never have fallen into the water.”

“For heaven’s sake,” I said playfully, “it’s not your fault. I’m a big girl, now. I make my own decisions.” I felt like adding: And my own mistakes.

She seemed grateful for my answer. “So are you going to the play?”

“Macbeth?”

Her expression changed to one of shock. “The Scottish play, Maggie. You should never call it by its name.”

“I rather think I’ve had all the bad luck I’m going to get,” I said, forcing a laugh.

She looked unconvinced. I could see she wanted to leave. She glanced questioningly at Leo, who nodded.

They were moving away when Leo said: “I meant to ask. Have any of you seen Denny Hinckley?” “The reporter?” said Mike, not looking up.

“I lent him my brochure on the Icehotel and I’d like to have it back.”

“You’re out of luck,” I said. “I understand he’s left.” “What do you mean?” Leo said sharply.

“He’s gone AWOL. And he didn’t settle his bill.”

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.