For the barest instant, I saw reflected in his eyes the same fear he must have seen in mine

Icehotel: Episode 59

Fear caught at my throat. Here, then, was a possible motive for the attempt on my life. Hallengren must have seen the shock on my face, but he continued. “He might have assumed you would uncover his identity eventually, so he would be seeking the next opportunity to kill you.” My stomach clenched. “Why are you telling me this?” “Because, Miss Stewart,” he said, emphasising the words, “he may still be looking for an opportunity to kill you. You need to be aware of that.”

“Maybe it wasn’t like that,” I said faintly. “Maybe the killer followed me to the Icehotel, thinking I was someone else. You can’t tell who people are in these snowsuits.”

Hallengren said nothing. “Wasn’t there any evidence in the chapel? He left his snowsuit behind. Was anyone nearby not wearing one?”

“There were dozens of guests in the Excelsior without snowsuits. And many people, Swedes in particular, go outside for short periods without one. I am not wearing a snowsuit today, as you can see.”

My mind was racing. “Perhaps the killer didn’t follow me to the Icehotel last night. Perhaps he was already there .” Hall en gr en smiled apologetically .“And what would the killer be doing in the Icehotel?”

Concerned

“Covering his tracks?” But I knew I was clutching at straws. “There were no tracks to cover, Miss Stewart. Fingerprints cannot be lifted from compressed snow, footprints from snow-boots are all the same and, anyway, the ground in the Icehotel and chapel is always well trampled. Our forensic team found nothing we could use for DNA-testing.”

“Maybe Denny saw him too,” I said eagerly. “Mr Hinckley?” Hallengren raised an eyebrow. “The reporter?”

“I’m sure he was the man I followed to the Icehotel.” “I had worked that out for myself, Miss Stewart,” he said wryly. “Unfortunately, Mr Hinckley seems to have left.”

“Already?”

“Early this morning, we think. The maid found his room empty and all his personal effects gone. The manager is concerned. It appears that Mr Hinckley left without paying his bill.”

“Typical,” I said, smiling. “Now that he’s got his photographs, he’s hightailed it back to Stockholm.”

“He will not get far. There are only a limited number of ways he can travel.”

“You’re not going to arrest him, surely?” “Because he deliberately disturbed a crime scene?” Hallengren’s lips twitched. “That is indeed an arrestable offence.” He paused, letting the message sink in. “But, no, we won’t arrest him. However, I would like to speak with him about his escapade in the Icehotel. As you say, he may have seen your assailant.”

I hesitated. “And Wilson’s diary? Any leads there?” “The police in Stockholm were most helpful in supplying the carbons from the missing pages. There was nothing unusual or unexpected. A list of business appointments with Swedish officials.”

“I don’t understand.” I set down my mug. “Why would anyone want a list of business appointments destroyed?” “I have no idea, Miss Stewart.”

“And the final page?”

“We were not able to obtain a copy. I am now convinced that is the only page the thief wanted to destroy.”

Yes, a thief in a hurry would have grabbed the last few pages without bothering to read them.

Identity

“And the incident with the snowmobiles?” I said. “Is that connected to the murders?”

“Mr Tullis was not able to tell us anything other than the identity of the people on the path. Given that two of them are dead, it is possible that was the killer’s first attempt.”

If it was, then he botched it. But he surely wouldn’t expect to kill two birds with one stone. So which was the intended victim? Harry? Or Wilson?

“Miss Stewart, if it was indeed a murder attempt, then whoever loosened those brakes must have known he might kill the wrong person. It tells us something about him that he went ahead anyway.”

A note of impatience crept into his voice. “But I have my doubts that it was intentional. The brakes can easily come loose on that model of snowmobile if it is not serviced regularly. I have one like it myself.”

I gazed at him. “Inspector, do you have any clue at all as to what’s going on?”

“There is one possibility we are seriously considering.” He looked at me curiously. “How much do you know about the Stockholm hotel killings?”

“Next to nothing.”

“It was in spring last year. I was brought in on the case, as were half the police in Sweden.” He played with the sugar, sifting it slowly. “The guests were murdered in one of Stockholm’s top hotels, in what appeared to be random killings. Later that year the same happened in another hotel.

“Both were forced to close down because business became so bad. The profile of the killer was that of a psychopath. He was never caught.”

“How does one recognise a psychopath?” I said uneasily.

“If it were only that simple. Psychopaths are surprisingly difficult to recognise. They can be charming, manipulative, experienced liars with a greatly inflated opinion of themselves. You may not be able to distinguish them from people you meet every day. I certainly cannot.”

“Half the people I know are like that.”

“And, of course, they are highly dangerous. They have no conscience.”

I took the sugar spoon from his hand. “So what happened in these hotels?”

“At first, we thought there might be two killers. The killings in the second hotel were a – how do you say it? – a cat copy of the first.”

“Copycat.”

“Copycat. But we eventually concluded it was the same person.”

“And you think he’s come here?” I said slowly.

“In the Maximilian, the first murder was a drowning in a bath. Then two people were poisoned. The fourth was a woman who was hacked to death with a meat cleaver. But the last murder was something I have never ...”

Malicious

His expression changed and, for the barest instant, I saw reflected in his eyes, the same fear he must have seen in mine. I sank back into the sofa, my heart clenching.

“As I said, Miss Stewart, the killer was never caught. The trail went cold. The case remains open.”

The Maximilian.

“Inspector,” I said, sitting up, “one of the Danish guests here, Jonas Madsen, told me he used to stay regularly at the Maximilian on business. So . . .” I tailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“We are, of course, conducting investigations.” Hallengren smiled patiently. “You will understand why I cannot discuss the details with you.”

I examined my hands, feeling foolish. I was glad now that I hadn’t told him about seeing Jonas at the Ice Theatre. Liz was right, it wasn’t proof of anything. And I was coming to the conclusion that I might have been wrong and the figure watching me, whoever he was, had had no malicious intentions. 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.