Wilson Bibby never let that diary out of his sight, so he would have taken care with the locker key

Ilooked at Hallengren. “Did Marcellus tell you he needs those pages found?” I asked. “You understand that I cannot divulge the nature of my conversations with other people.” The cop smiled. “However, thanks to your information, we can now trace those pages.” Then Marcellus couldn’t have told Hallengren he could get them from the Minister. So he hadn’t been entirely helpful. But it was the last page that seemed important. Yet something told me that Hallengren would never find it.

I pictured the scene: Aaron coolly blowing cigarette smoke into Hallengren’s face, denying all knowledge of the pages, laughing to himself because the last one was in an offshore bank vault.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Inspector.” “You know I cannot do that.”

“Then I’ll tell you.”

“Go on,” he said softly.

“Wilson Bibby never let that diary out of his sight, so he would have taken care with the locker key. You’ve turned the Icehotel upside down, but you haven’t found it. Ergo, someone must have stolen it. Someone who wanted those pages removed.”

Hallengren leant back and folded his arms across his chest.

Huge risk

“Someone removed the key from Wilson’s wrist,” I went on, “opened the locker and tore out the pages. They replaced the diary and secured the locker. But, they didn’t reattach the key to Wilson’s wrist.” “And why would that be, Miss Stewart?”

It was difficult to think under Hallengren’s gaze. “He’d be taking a huge risk removing it in the first place – Wilson could have woken, after all – so he might not think it worth the risk to return it.”

Hallengren said nothing, but a smile had formed on his lips.

“He wouldn’t dare keep it. He’d walk on to the ice and throw it into the water, or bury it in a drift.” “Why did he not just leave it in the lock?” “Because, in the morning, Wilson would see it in the lock and remember he hadn’t left it there. He’d raise merry hell and call the police.” I shrugged. “Actually, whether the thief left the key in the lock, or disposed of it, either way Wilson would notice it was no longer on his wrist. He’d check the locker and find the diary pages missing. Unless –”

The smile had vanished.

“Unless whoever removed the pages knew he was already dead,” I said slowly.

Hallengren raised an eyebrow. “Then why did he not replace the key round Wilson’s wrist? He was dead, after all. By not doing so, the thief forced us to scrutinise the locker’s contents. If he had replaced the key, Marcellus may not have discovered the missing pages for some time, possibly not until he returned to the States. That delay may have given the thief an advantage.”

I thought rapidly. “It can only be because he couldn’t return it. He was prevented from getting back to Wilson’s room. Someone may have talked to him in the Locker Room. Or –” My breath came out in a rush. “His timing was out. He might have opened the locker shortly before Karin and Marita arrived. By the time he returned to Wilson’s room, a crowd had gathered outside. He was too late.”

From Hallengren’s demeanour, I suspected he agreed with me. “If someone had wanted to remove pages from Wilson’s diary, Miss Stewart, the Icehotel afforded an ideal opportunity. The rooms have no doors. Anyone can creep in under cover of darkness and steal.”

“But why not take the whole diary? Why just tear out pages?”

Destroyed

“I can think of a number of reasons. Disposing of a complete diary, especially one as thick as Wilson’s, would be time-consuming. A few pages, on the other hand, can be flushed down a lavatory. My guess is that those pages were destroyed well before Wilson’s body was discovered.” Hallengren rubbed his chin. “Whoever stole the key would be familiar with the contents of the diary.”

Yet who would know what was in it? Some of Wilson’s business associates, definitely. But who else? “Inspector, who do you think did it? And why?” He lifted his arms and let them drop. “Who knew that Wilson would be coming to the Icehotel?” “Oh, everyone. Half the guests, anyway.” “Everyone? Everyone was remarkably quick to tell me they had never heard of him.”

Brilliant. More interviews. That was going to make me Miss Popularity. His expression hardened. “Can you tell me who these people are?”

I hesitated. He picked up a pen. “I am waiting, Miss Stewart.”

“Mike Molloy knew.” After a pause, I said quietly, “And Harry.”

“And Miss Hallam?”

“She didn’t even know who Wilson was, let alone that he’d be coming here.” I cleared my throat. “And, of course, the reporters will have known.”

“Will they?” Hallengren said softly. “I doubt that.” He put the pen down. “Miss Stewart, apart from the missing locker key, did anything else in the room strike you as odd?”

“Something did, but I can’t think what.” A look crossed his face, a look that said he’d seen it too and knew what it signified. But he wasn’t going to tell me.

“Well, Miss Stewart,” he said finally, “I do not need to remind you that what has passed between us must stay within these four walls.” He frowned. “You have not told your friends about overhearing the conversation?”

“I’ve come straight from the church. I’ve told no one.”

“Please keep it that way.” He smiled. “If you stumble across anything that might be useful, by all means come to see me. But do not go seeking it out. However tempting, please do not play detective. We are well paid to do that.”

I glared at him, my resentment rising at his patronising manner. And after all the information I’d given him. He took me to the reception and exchanged words in Swedish with the young man.

“I have arranged for a car to take you to the Excelsior, Miss Stewart,” he said. We looked at one another briefly. Then he walked away.

Important

The first stars were appearing in the sky as we drove out of Kiruna. I sat back in the car and thought through my conversation with Hallengren.

He’d not said it in so many words, but he was thinking the same as I – Wilson’s key had been removed after his death. But why, and by whom?

What was so important about those pages, especially the last one, that would make someone remove a key from the wrist of a dead man in order to steal them? Who knew that Wilson would be coming to the Icehotel?

Obviously Aaron and Marcellus. Both had the opportunity to take the key. Aaron had been in Kiruna the night Wilson died, but he could have hired a car. Yet whatever the two of them were involved in in Stockholm, it didn’t seem to have anything to do with the diary: Marcellus had raised the subject almost as an afterthought.

Then there was Mike.

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.