John Wiltshire - [More Heat Than the Sun 07]

by Enduring Night [MLR MM] (epub)

  “What do you mean?”

  “The ghost? He thought it was their room. He gave her the key for that room, only you swapped.”

  “Oh my God. Lars climbed up through the heating vent to…scare her!”

  “Scared you.”

  “Bollocks. But you don’t think he murdered his own father?”

  “I don’t know. It seems unlikely. Maybe Nils got out for some reason and was merely unlucky. Which reminds me, go see if it’s still there.”

  “How long have we been here?” Ben gazed out of the driver’s window into the faint pool of red thrown out by the emergency lighting, then the front window and then climbed over to the other side and peered as far as he could see back toward the hotel. “It’s gone. Hey, look, your jacket.”

  Ben held Nikolas back with a pinch of his sweater for a moment. “What are we going to do when we get back? Accuse Lars? Try to prove it was him? I’m not sure we can.”

  “I think we have a more pressing problem—Nils was heading to the town for food and fuel.”

  “Shit. But surely someone will notice when no one turns up in the town?”

  Nikolas shrugged. “Our flight is not for another five days. Come. On. Let’s go before the bear returns for pudding.”

  Ben jabbed him playfully in the ribs. Nikolas poked him back, not so playfully and aimed at reminding Ben which one of them would make a more satisfactory second course.

  Neither commented on the state of the jacket. Nikolas shrugged it on and Ben knew he’d probably worn worse things in his life. They set off for the hotel, which wasn’t glowing amber from every room now. There was only a faint flicker of golden glow to follow. It was a hard traverse, despite being short. They were constantly aware of the very real threat from the bear, and the cold sapped their reserves of energy.

  Once or twice, Nikolas fell. He made nothing of it and scrambled back to his feet, but Ben couldn’t help but be concerned that after the second tumble Nikolas slowed, his breath becoming more laboured.

  They stumbled into the lobby to some consternation from the beleaguered group around the fire—Richard Cooper, who appeared to have been given the remaining alcohol and was sitting glassy-eyed and quiet, Claire, and her son, Lars.

  There was a great deal of confusion and talking over one another and Nikolas getting angry and slipping unnoticed into Russian which didn’t help anyone, before it was relayed that Nils was dead—and how he’d died.

  Naturally the man’s wife and son were distraught and furious. Ben felt guilty that he was about to make Claire even more livid with the accusations about her son. Neither had he missed the fact that there were two rifles lying across the arms of a spare chair. Possibly the hotel owners had seen the bear and had grabbed them for protection. It wasn’t the time for giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, however.

  He glanced at Nikolas and on his nod opened his mouth to speak when a shrill, ear-splitting scream came from the dark upper floor. It came again, louder and more insistent, and then once more, ending with an unintelligible cry. Unintelligible except for the very clear, “Murdered!” which carried exceptionally well in the darkness.

  Nikolas, who was hugging his arm tightly against his chest, his hand pushed into the front of his jacket, croaked, “Seriously? Again?” He turned and began to mount the stairs, slowly, pausing between steps.

  Ben wasn’t sure whether to be panicked, impressed, or just laugh. How many more dead bodies could you have on one romantic holiday? Once again, the thought that somehow Squeezy had organised this crossed his mind. If his friend ever did go into the murder-mystery business, it would resemble this. Possibly with more sex though. And swearing.

  They came to the landing and followed the sound of hysteria to one of the bedrooms and pushed open the door. George and Terry Mayberry were holding their daughter, whether restraining or comforting it was hard to tell.

  But Ben wasn’t really focused on the three who were alive. It was hard to miss the one who was not. Matt Burnside was lying half in, half out of the fireplace, his face blackened by soot, the scorched flesh oozing blood from a concave indent in his skull.

  “Jesus.” Ben knelt down by the corpse. How the hell did this fit in with Penny Cooper’s murder? Doubtless Nikolas would have already worked it out, although from his expression, as he watched the mother and son come into the room with a very wan Richard Cooper trailing behind, Nikolas’s usual sagacity appeared somewhat missing. He may have simply been eyeing up the rifles.

  Ben rose to his feet.

  Claire took a shaky breath. “What—Did you see who…?”

  Mattie Mayberry turned in her father’s arms and pointed at Nikolas as if to say, “You explain. Tell them your theory.”

  They all got what she actually meant when her father said distinctly, “It was him. The Russian. He killed Matt.”

  Nikolas, pale, wearing a blood-soaked jacket and with a bleeding, swollen hand, seemed, for once in his life, at a loss for words.

  §§§

  Ben missed his opportunity to disarm the mother and son.

  There was that one fleeting moment before the old man’s words had registered and they brought the weapons up to point at them when he could have taken them.

  But instinctively, when he’d heard that accusation, he had gone to stand in front of Nikolas. He wasn’t sure which side he was protecting—Nikolas had a tendency to fly free at very inappropriate moments—but casting a quick glance at him, Ben knew Nikolas wasn’t going anywhere. He was pale and shaking. Ben looked down, frowning. A steady drip, drip of blackish red made him hiss. He took Nikolas’s arm and lowered him to the end of the bed as he raised the bleeding hand.

  “Step away from him.” The old man now had Claire’s rifle and he clearly felt very comfortable with it.

  “Fuck off.” Ben set his back to the room, deliberate provocation he knew, but suddenly all the fun they’d been having—even the bear had been kind of awesome, tales to tell the children—was gone on a relentless drip of blood. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Nikolas shrugged. “It was okay until I fell. I think that opened it up. I was going to tell you…Then…” He didn’t need to finish his thought. It was obvious.

  Ben twisted around. “Someone fetch a first aid kit.” No one moved. “Please.” Claire stared nervously at her son then left the room. Gingerly, Ben began to peel off the makeshift shirt bandage.

  Nikolas pushed him gently away. “No. Leave it on. Let it clot.”

  “I need to clean it out. It’ll be infected with God-knows what.”

  They were speaking in Danish, and Ben wasn’t even sure if he was saying what he meant to say. The faint smile around Nik’s bluish lips told him probably not.

  “I think we have worse things to worry about, no?”

  “I don’t understand what’s…”

  “Shut up, you two. Stop talking foreign like that.”

  Ben didn’t feel inclined to obey the boy with the rifle and continued his thought, “What’s happening? The only person he could have mistaken for you is me!” He made a quick assessment of the other possible suspects—Lars was slight. Nils perhaps—before he clearly couldn’t be a murder suspect, of course…

  Nikolas shook his head, as if reading Ben’s mind. “The timing is wrong. I saw Matt just before Nils left and he was ali—” He shut up suddenly and Ben turned again to find the end of the rifle almost in his face.

  It was a stupid move, because it was so tempting to take the gun off the boy, but the old man looked as if he would be more than happy for this to happen. Ben caught his eye. The rifle he held was steady, and Ben had the very distinct impression that squeezing the trigger was exactly what he wanted an excuse to do.

  Instead of teaching Lars an important lesson about combat, therefore, Ben made a show of relaxing, sitting at Nikolas’s feet, his hands raised a little. “Tell us why you think it was him. Alexander. What happened here?”

  “No think about it, son. Your cock-sucking fri
end there bashed my son-in-law’s brains in.” As this was patently untrue, Ben was at something of a loss how to proceed but was about to remonstrate anyway with this blatant lie when he felt Nikolas nudge him with his thigh. He glanced up to see a tiny headshake.

  Claire returned and handed Ben a poorly stocked box of first aid supplies. No antibiotics.

  It suddenly occurred to him that the person who had murdered Matt Burnside, who was still lying in the fireplace, was now in the room. They were all present. Someone clearly knew what had happened and was willing to pass this murder off onto an innocent man. Relatively innocent. Well, not innocent at all, but not guilty of this.

  Claire was staring at Nikolas’s hand. She was extremely pale and Ben couldn’t blame her. He didn’t think she’d actually taken in the fact that her husband was lying torn apart on the ice. He’d seen delayed shock like that in people before.

  “What should we do with him until we can contact the authorities? And…” She nodded toward the body.

  Her son replied unsteadily, “We can put Mr Burnside in one of the sheds to…preserve him. But obviously we can’t put—”

  “No obvious about it, son. We’re gonna lock him up. That’s exactly what we’re gonna do. He’s murdered two people. You got a real secure place?”

  Nikolas asked, as if suddenly his interest had been piqued whereas up to this point he’d been slightly bored by the whole proceedings, “Two? You think I killed Penny Cooper as well?”

  “Sure do. Saw you and your fancy bum boy coming outta the shed together.”

  Nikolas laughed. He toed Ben and said in Danish, “That’s you, by the way, my…” He huffed, and added more to himself than Ben, “I don’t know the word in Danish for…” and then muttered softly in English, “Fancy.” This failure in his own, native language seemed to send him back into a deep reverie.

  The old man repeated his question about a secure place to Claire.

  Ben was about to point out to anyone who was interested that to touch Nikolas and put him anywhere they’d have to go through him, when he felt once more a slight press of warning to his shoulder.

  Bemused, but willing to go along with whatever Nikolas had in mind, Ben allowed them both to be taken temporarily to one of the unoccupied bedrooms and locked in, until more secure accommodation could be found.

  How he resisted looking toward one of the grills was a mystery. But determinedly staring in the other direction, he caught Lars’s eye. Lars gave him a tiny nod as he backed out of the room.

  Apparently, Ben wasn’t the only one to whom a very easy method of escape appeared to have occurred.

  As soon as they were alone, Ben went to Nikolas, who had lain down on the bed. He began to undo the blood-soaked jacket, but it was very cold, so despite now having numerous blankets, he didn’t want to take off the layers Nikolas had already warmed up.

  “Okay, what’s the plan?”

  Nikolas opened his eyes. He looked confused. “Plan? What plan?”

  Ben frowned, mirroring the bewilderment. “Your plan? Why you let yourself be…locked up?”

  “Huh. I…” Nikolas closed his eyes again, and to Ben’s astonishment, he realised that Nikolas had fallen asleep mid-sentence.

  He stroked the rumpled blond hair for a moment then hissed when he felt how hot Nikolas was. Putting the cool back of his hand to Nikolas’s forehead, he swore softly, wishing, not for the first time in twelve years, that he’d not listened to words of wisdom from Nikolas Mikkelsen.

  Nikolas woke up very abruptly when Ben began to tend to his hand.

  It was badly lacerated. A long gouge ran from mid-forearm across the wrist and ended by the ball of the thumb. This is where the worst damage had occurred, as if the bear’s claw had become hooked up in the fragile web of human skin and torn it loose. It was visceral and dirty and ragged. Ben didn’t say anything. Nikolas didn’t need the obvious pointed out. He went to the bathroom and brought back a stack of towels, which he laid alongside the first aid box. “Okay. You ready?”

  “Why do all my injuries occur on my right side, Benjamin? Have you ever wondered that?”

  Ben knew what Nikolas was attempting to do so he joined in the distraction. “No. Never. Tell me your interesting theory.”

  “It’s because it was never meant to be. It was split off and became someone else. That’s where…he…was joined to me.”

  “Bollocks. It’s because you’re left-handed. Just shut up.”

  “Take a picture of it before you bandage it.”

  “Why?”

  “For Miles. He’ll want to see it, especially that bit where my thumb is hanging loose.”

  “For God’s sake!” Ben dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. “So, are you going to tell me why Lars killed Matt Burnside?”

  “Well…he didn’t. Are you in the same murder-mystery game as—”

  “I’ve told you it’s not a—”

  “The old man killed him. George Mayberry. It’s obvious.”

  Ben considered this. “Why?”

  “Why is it obvious, or why did he kill him?”

  “Both I guess.”

  “I’m fairly sure that wasn’t a nose job she paid for and why else would he say it was me? Only the real killer would be so certain.”

  Ben chuckled and repeated in a sly murmur, “Real killer?”

  Nikolas frowned, which was particularly noticeable, as he’d been stoically lacking in expression as Ben bandaged him up. “That’s English. That’s correct. Are all my languages failing me?”

  “No, it’s just…you know, this whole thing is so…”

  “Unbelievable?”

  “Exactly. I mean, why us? Two murders and—”

  “I didn’t murder her!”

  Ben was incredibly glad that he’d been bending to help Nikolas, because his start of alarm at that hissed declaration right by his head in the darkness went unseen. Nikolas jumped though. And swore. Which Ben stored away to tell everyone later. When they were home. In sunlight.

  They both cast quick glances at the door then crouched next to the wall alongside the bed, as the voice said again, “I swear I didn’t mean to kill her.” Lars was inside the vent. He switched on a torch, and it lit his face from below, an eerie, unfortunate tableau, despite his reassuring words.

  The boy passed them a screwdriver through the grill. Ben took it and began to work on the screws holding the faceplate in place. Nikolas went to listen at the door, and within a minute Lars had joined them in the room. He nodded his thanks and sat on the bed. “The old man’s taken the key. And they’ve got both guns now.”

  “What do you want?” Ben pulled up a chair so he didn’t have to sit on the bed, but when he saw how pale Nikolas was, he made him sit in it and perched on the arm.

  Lars picked at a callous on his hand and suddenly began to cry, which he tried to hide by fumbling the torch off. “I’m sorry.”

  Ben didn’t feel like being overly sympathetic at this display. “Jesus. Just tell us what happened.”

  The boy sniffed and raised his face, seeming to regain control, then he shook his head. “It’s all going wrong. They’ve put their life savings into this place, but it’s too expensive to run and no one comes. I was trying to think of how we could get more people here, and then that British boy got killed, and suddenly all these tourists were signing up for the bear tours over there! Didn’t help us none! So I—”

  “We know what you did. It probably got your father—”

  “Nik.” Ben quickly interjected in Danish, “Don’t point it out to him. He most likely knows, yeah?”

  Nikolas grunted in annoyance, indicating to his hand. He then muttered in the same language, “And tell that to Nils.”

  Lars, flicking the torch on and off, not seemingly aware he was doing it, continued, “Anyway, Doctor Cooper was in the shed with the Hagglund. On the roof…examining the…I told her why I’d done it. For fuck’s sake! Do you really think we can run husky trips
? Ice fishing? Where are the dogs? It’s all gone! Why did they build it here? It’s all so…but she was really okay about it. She understood, and she was so nice. But then she said about the rabies and—”

  “Chto?” Sitting so close as they were, Ben actually felt the jolt go through Nikolas, so he translated, “What did you say?”

  “Dr Cooper—she reckoned the bear has rabies. It’s what she was—a virologist. She was kinda impressed with what I’d done to lure it in, and she wanted my help to catch it—with the vehicle and the seal meat…Did Papa…?” He began to cry softly again, but Ben wasn’t really interested now. He was staring at Nikolas.

  Nikolas hesitated then confessed uncertainly, “I do not know anything about rabies.” It was possibly the most terrifying thing Ben had ever heard him say. Nikolas never admitted to not knowing about anything. It was simply one of his fronts. He needed his fictions. But here, like this, he suddenly seemed incredibly…vulnerable. Nikolas swallowed and added, “How long does it take to…?”

  Ben wasn’t sure how Nikolas intended to finish that question, but he interrupted with some determination, “This is crap. Polar bears do not get rabies. They just don’t.” He turned to the sniffing boy. “Why did she think that?”

  “She was part of the scientific survey that did that serologic study here in the 90s? My dad helped them catch and chemically immobilise…Anyway, it was her focus of study—the transmitting of the virus from the arctic fox to the bear population. It’s endemic in the foxes, of course.”

  Ben put his hand on Nikolas’s shoulder. “No. She was wrong. You murdered her and you’re making this up.”

  “No! I swear! She fell! Off the roof. She slipped off the damn vehicle and hurt her arm. We thought it was broken. I tried to help her. I got her jacket off and it was horrible…shattered! Her elbow, and I think she just…died. Of the shock or the pain. She grabbed her chest and she just keeled over!”

  Ben stood up, and pointed at the boy. “You fucking came into our room, thinking it was hers and tried to—”