I felt a sudden grip on my arm. Liz was staring at something behind me. I turned to look

We were nearing a café. “I could do with something hot, Liz,” I said. “My knee’s throbbing.” “Of course,” she replied quickly. I pulled open the door. The thick, warm air, scented with vanilla and cinnamon, wrapped itself round me like a blanket.

I steered Liz to a window. “That was some news about Denny doing a runner to avoid paying his bill,” I said, gazing out. “I thought journalists are on expenses.”

“Only if they’re with a paper, I think.”

“He worked for the Express, didn’t he?” “Really? I didn’t know.”

I dragged my gaze from the window. “Yes, you did. Mike told us.”

“Anyway, Denny Hinckley never talked to me,” she said, running a fingernail over the yellow tablecloth.

“You’re lucky. He talked to everyone else.” I sipped my chocolate. “I just don’t get it, though. Why would he do a bunk if the Express is paying his expenses? There must have been some other reason.”

“You’re not saying now that he killed Harry, are you?” There was a trace of irritation in her voice.

“Of course not. I find it strange he left so suddenly, that’s all.” Denny’s words came back to me:

“A journalist leaves before the case of a murdered millionaire is solved? It doesn’t wash.”

“Just leave it, Mags.”

Weariness

I studied her, seeing how much she’d changed this last week. There were dark smudges under her eyes, which no amount of expensive foundation could conceal, and her hair, released from its hood, reeked of cigarette smoke.

I guessed what she was thinking: Denny had left, and she was stuck here indefinitely, away from her children. I took her hand and squeezed it.

She let it lie in mine, not looking at me. When she spoke, it was with weariness in her voice. “Something’s wrong, Mags, isn’t it?”

“To do with Denny?”

“You’ve not been yourself since we stepped off the bus.”

For a second, I considered not telling her. But she had a right to know: her life might also be in danger. “We’re being followed,” I said. “He’s wearing a black snowsuit and a ski mask.”

On cue, a black-suited figure strolled past the window. A moment later, we saw another, moving more quickly. Then two figures in black snowsuits wandered along, deep in conversation.

Liz relaxed visibly. “Everyone seems to be wearing black, Mags.”

I felt foolish. “Maybe I imagined it.” I finished my chocolate. “Come on, let’s go.” We pulled up our ski masks and left.

But as we picked our way down the crowded street, I continued to search for the figure, hoping his actions would give him away.

“You’re driving me bananas,” Liz said suddenly. “I can see what you’re doing.” She stopped and scanned the street.

“There are people in black suits, there are people in red suits, blue suits and white suits. I’ve even seen a pink suit.”

“Okay, Liz,” I said sheepishly. “You’re right. I’ll stop.”

We wandered into the main square. Despite the cold, the whole of Kiruna seemed to have turned out, and a market was in full swing.

We trailed around, ignoring the sharp eyes and brittle smiles of the stall keepers. They were stamping their feet to keep warm, calling raucously to each other. The shoppers searched in packs, eyes roaming hungrily for gifts, jostling each other with an easy indifference.

Mournful

I stopped at a candle stall, attracted by the warm, waxy smell. The girl was lighting the candles with a taper and wiping her dripping nose on her sleeve. The expression in her moist eyes, mournful and hopeful as a spaniel’s, decided me.

I bent over the scented candles and inhaled deeply. More for her benefit than mine, I took my time making up my mind and settled on a miniature Christmas tree which smelt of pine needles.

The stall keeper opposite was winking at me, inviting me to buy the decorations hanging from the lintel. The wind had strengthened and a sudden gust swung them alarmingly. One fell to the ground, tinkling as it smashed.

The man frowned, muttering in Swedish, and kicked the glass away. Unable to clear the shards, he ground the remains under his boot. He saw me watching then, and shouted something guttural.

I felt a sudden grip on my arm. Liz was staring at something behind me. I turned to look.

He was tall and well-built, in a black ski mask and suit, leaning over a stall that sold tablecloths. He fingered the merchandise, deliberately not looking in our direction.

Liz’s voice was almost a whisper. “You were right, he’s been following us. He’s been stopping whenever we have so that he’s always a couple of stalls behind. And he’s been looking us over.”

I pulled her away. “For heaven’s sake, don’t let him see that we know.”

“I owe you an apology, Mags. I should have believed you.”

I was anxious to distance myself from him. “He won’t try anything in a crowd. It shouldn’t be difficult to lose him.”

“Oh no, we’re not losing him. We’re going to challenge him,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“You can’t be serious. If he knows we’re on to him, it’s a whole new situation.” I glanced at the figure.

“He could be someone unconnected with the Icehotel, who’s doing this for a joke.”

“A pervert, you mean?”

“They exist, Liz, even this far north. Let’s just leave it.”

Vicious

But Liz wouldn’t leave it. “Hey, you,” she shouted, walking towards the black-suited figure.

He looked up, dropped what he was holding and walked briskly away.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Hey, I’m talking to you.” She broke into a run.

The figure glanced over his shoulder, then took off like a rocket. I dashed after them, trying to keep up despite the pain in my knee.

For a brief moment, I thought he’d lose us but he slipped, knocked into a stall, and fell crashing to the ground. Liz reached him in seconds. He tried to haul himself up but she delivered a vicious kick to his groin.

“Right, who the hell are you?” she shouted. He howled, curling into a ball, and lay on his side, rocking. She struck out savagely at his ribs.

I dragged her off him. “Liz, for God’s sake, that’s enough.”

She broke free of my grip. “Why were you following us?” she shouted at the man.

More tomorrow.