by E. R. Torre
“Guess so. You saw me fall?”
“Missed it, I’m afraid. I did see you taking the number three turn a little too quickly. I headed out to make sure everything was fine. When I got there, you were already down."
“Going too fast.”
“It is a very tight turn.”
"Is that where,” I muttered. “Is that where John Robinson...?"
Nick Jones gave me a hard look.
"Thought...thought I saw him..."
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
"...crazy..."
“Yeah, that’s where he had his accident,” Nick said. “Soon enough, everyone who’s a fan comes to see the place where he died.”
“I’m not a fan. Only found out about him a couple of days ago.”
“Yet you knew that’s where he died, didn’t you?” There was a low burn in Nick’s voice.
“I knew he died on the mountain,” I admitted. “I had no idea where or how.”
Nick turned away from me and walked to the window. He looked out.
“This is a beautiful place,” he said. “It doesn’t deserve to be known only as the spot where John Robinson died."
“You can’t change what happened.”
“No.”
Nick scratched his head.
"He died on that turn,” Nick said. “Only he didn't fall to the ground like you did. He stayed up. That was the worst mistake he could have made. He ran into a tree. Impaled himself. It was horrible."
"You saw?"
Nick nodded.
"I was interning back then. It was my first season on the patrol. Some initiation. John Robinson spent a lot of time on the slopes. One day, he didn't show up for an important business meeting back in town and his partners got worried. They gave us a call and asked us to check if he was up here. We sent out a patrol. There were three of us. We found him."
Nick shook his head.
"A small avalanche fell in the general area at about the same time. Our best guess is that the falling snow scared him into running flat out down the hill. It was early morning, visibility wasn’t all that good. By the time he reached the curve, he was going too fast. He probably didn’t see the tree until it was too late."
The words hung in the air as visions of John Robinson’s bloody and torn corpse flooded my mind.
“You look pale,” Nick said.
“Give me a second,” I replied. The gory visions slowly subsided. "I’ve taken enough of your time. I should get going."
"OK," Nick replied. He handed me a small white paper. "The doctor left you a prescription for pain killers, in case that scrape bothers you. Otherwise, he just wants you to change the wrapping at least three times each day. I wouldn’t recommend you try the slope again. Not until you get more experience."
“It’s that obvious?”
“To a skier?” Nick said. The ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He looked like a fucking movie star. “Oh yeah.”
I again thanked him and picked up my gear, including the broken ski, and stepped out of the infirmary. As expected, we were inside the concession building. Nick followed close behind. He stopped at the door and produced a bulky set of keys which he used to lock up the Infirmary Room.
Before me were a small food court and a dozen or so tables surrounded by a phalanx of chairs. The smell of hot chocolate and coffee was joined with the smell of hamburgers, hot dogs, and pizza. The ceiling was low and covered with wood paneling. In an effort to liven the place up, ski paraphernalia, including old skis, poles, and boots, were nailed to the walls.
I made my way to one of the small, unoccupied tables and set my equipment down. I sat on one of the three metal chairs surrounding the table and figured there were worse things to do than sit back and catch my breath.
Behind the dull green concession booth sat a petite teenage girl. She talked to two other teenage friends who stood on the other side of the counter. They giggled and pointed at the window. I followed their gaze and saw Nick standing just outside the door, surveying the scene. The act of simply standing there was more than enough to excite the girls.
“Real fucking movie star,” I said and chuckled before turning away.
Next to the concession stand and its gossiping teenagers was a small book rack. It was filled with tourist maps, books, and postcards. I considered picking up a postcard or two and sending them off to Jennifer. As I thought about doing so, the teens’ voices became considerably louder. I again followed their gaze and it inevitably lead back to Nick. He was still outside, only now he had company.
He was with Judith Robinson.
Her cheeks were flushed and she looked radiant. It was clear from their body language it was clear they were old, and very good, friends.
I rose and walked to the concession stand. All the while, I kept Nick and Judith visible at the corner of my eye. The teens at the concession stand were just as interested in them as I was, which was pretty damn embarrassing.
"Could I have some hot chocolate, please?" I said when I reached the counter.
The teen inside the concession stand poured my drink. While she was did this, her two friends continued to gaze at Nick. They looked away from him momentarily, and whispered silly nothings to each other and giggled at their pubescent wit. I tried to catch what they were saying and, as I did, I realized I didn’t need that hot chocolate. I needed a life.
Come on, who was I kidding?
Judith was gorgeous and now that she was with Nick, I felt envy. I lingered at the counter, drink in hand, and listened some more to the teens. I pretended not to pay attention, but the longer I stayed there, the creepier I looked.
What little was left of my decency convinced me it was time to return to my table. I did so, all the while continuing to take peeks at Nick and Judith. It was irritating how well they knew each other. But I had my chance, and I blew it.
Nothing you could have done about that.
I sat down and cradled the hot chocolate. After a while, I turned away from Judith and stared at the other tables. To my surprise, in a dark corner of the concession room sat my next door neighbor from the Inn. He read through over his ever present papers while his equally ever present black briefcase sat at his feet. Had he been there all along?
I downed the rest of the chocolate, my attention split between my neighbor and Nick and Judith. As time passed, I focused more and more on my neighbor. At first he was lost in his various papers. But his attention shifted. He too was watching Nick and Judith.
He was as interested in them as I was.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I remained in the concession area for a good half hour, long after Nick and Judith, as well as my next door neighbor, were gone. My neighbor didn't carry any ski equipment, so when he left I figured he returned to Viktor. Nick and Judith, on the other hand, were headed for the slopes.
I thought about renting another set of skis and following them, but doing so was silly to the point of being absurd. Even if I was in any condition to ski, I had better things to do than stalk Judith and Nick. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I hadn’t completely lost my mind.
As I left the concession area, I mentally replayed my date with Judith. I thought about where it went wrong and kicked myself for not realizing the subject of her Grandfather’s death would be a touchy one.
If only I knew the proper things to say.
In the end, all I could do was laugh. I’ve had my share of disastrous dates. What’s another?
The walk back to the SUV proved slow and painful. I left the destroyed rental skis, their over inflated value so helpfully charged to my credit card, in a dumpster beside the entry to the concession area. I was certain that over time that dumpster had seen its share of discarded equipment, leaving the Viktor Mountain Ski Rentals were all the richer.
I opened the rear hatch of my truck and flung my goggles and gloves into it. When I closed it up, I spotted my neighbor’s Nova parked in the corner of the lot.
Even from t
his distance, I could see him inside his car, fiddling with his papers. After a while he put them down and pulled up a pair of binoculars. He stared up at Viktor's mountain.
Curiosity got the better of me. I approached my neighbor’s car and closed in on it without him noticing.
"Hey there," I said.
My neighbor dropped his binoculars.
“Right back at you,” he said. If he was surprised at my presence, he didn’t show it.
“What are you doing?”
“In part, waiting for you,” he said. He exited his car and leaned against it. "Could you help me with something?" He pointed up at the mountain. "Which of these slopes are considered the 'professional' trail?"
"They’ve got a real nice set of brochures in the concession stand. I’m sure any one of them can tell you what you’re looking for far better than I can."
"True,” my neighbor said. “But you were up there. I saw you. You were also with Judith Robinson."
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
"You've been spying on me?"
He shriveled up, as if expecting to be hit. When the hit didn’t come, he straightened up. He tried, but failed, to regain his composure.
"You're looking into John Robinson's death, aren't you?" he asked, his voice meek to the point of being a faint whisper.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I replied. But even as I said this, a tiny light went off in my mind. Why did I come to Viktor in the first place? Why was I still here, if not because of John Robinson?
"You've done everything I would have,” my neighbor continued. “You've gotten in touch with Judith, you passed right by the spot where Robinson died."
It was at that moment I realized who exactly my neighbor was: One of those people that Judith Robinson and Mrs. Borg mistook me for and despised. One of those people determined to prove that a movie star’s skiing accident was murder. The entire town hated him.
Us?
"You must have some theory?" he said. I was quiet for so long that he felt the need to fill in the silence.
Did I have a theory?
No, of course not. I was new here. I was new to it all. Yet, could it be true? Could Judith and Mrs. Borg see something in me I was not even aware of? Could they have known my purpose in Viktor better than I did? Was I led here to find out what happened, what really happened to John Robinson?
Was it possible that a skiing accident was actually a murder?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We sat in the Clement Restaurant, just behind the table Judith and I ate on the previous evening. My company this time was considerably less inviting. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner and the place looked like it was about to shut down for good. The waitress who attended to us had a hard time looking all that excited about our presence.
My neighbor sat directly opposite me. His name was Karl Walker and his hobbies were, as far as I could tell, being a movie buff and an amateur detective. His real job was a systems analyst for the Pacific branch of Octi Tech. He made good money, or so he claimed, yet remained, again according to him, a man of modest means.
"Try the New York strip," I said. It was what I ate the day before. "It’s expensive, but good."
He nodded, his tiny eyes were still on the menu.
"It’s a little early," he replied before slapping the menu on the counter. "What the hell. Sounds good. Don't worry about the bill. It's on me."
"Can't argue with that," I said. I took a sip of water.
Karl pushed the menu to the side and pulled a bright green cell phone from his pant pocket. He stared into its screen and frowned.
“This place is an electronic black hole.”
“How so?”
“Have you seen anyone here carry cell phones? No? That’s because no one has any. Maybe it’s the mountains surrounding the place but there’s no signal here.” Karl put away his phone. “I’ve been all over town, checking to see if there’s any place I can get even the slightest signal, you know, to see if I’ve got any messages. No way. But it gets better. Have you seen any cyber café’s?”
I shook my head.
“There aren’t any of those here, either. Even Viktor’s one and only library doesn’t have a computer. You know how I know? Because I checked. The electronic revolution passed Viktor by.”
I shrugged. I didn’t give any of that much thought. Unlike Karl, I enjoyed being away from all things electronic, even as a topic of conversation. Especially as a topic of conversation.
"In the parking lot you asked me if I had a theory about John Robinson’s death. What's yours?"
Karl smiled. His face wrinkled in odd ways, as though the skin on his face wasn’t used to such an alien act.
"I've got a few ideas. I'm waiting to see if they come together.”
“Uh huh.”
“It'll be one hell of a story."
"It’ll make you famous,” I added sarcastically.
"I doubt that," he replied. If he was aware of my tone of voice, he didn't show it.
I leaned back in the chair and felt my insides unwind. I was way too tense, probably because of the fall and because of Nick and Judith and…
Yeah, I needed to calm down. I took a few deep breaths and said:
"Who are your suspects?"
“The usual ones.”
“Clever. That means nothing to me. Remember, I’m new to this.”
"Wow, so you really don't know?" The smile on Karl’s face deflated, not unlike a sickly balloon. "Man, I could spend hours on this. I don’t want to bore you with all the details.”
“Then stick with the most important ones.”
Karl nodded.
“Fair enough. You want suspects? I’ll give you suspects. No offense, but first on the list would be Judith Robinson."
“Come on.”
"Look, she's an attractive girl and all, but she is the one that had the most to gain from her Grandfather’s death."
"She was selling tickets to a movie screening. How well off could she be?"
"Very. I’ll assume you didn’t ask her, but not only does she own that particular theater, she also owns nearly thirty percent of the developed property –and God knows how much of the undeveloped property- around Viktor. Her grandfather was a very smart businessman, and all the money and property he accumulated by the time of his death goes to her. She gets full control of this fortune when she turns twenty five, which will happen in a couple of months’ time."
"Twenty five? Why?"
"She was a wild child, Mr. Towne. John Robinson figured it was a phase she'd outgrow, but just to be sure, he included that provision in his will. Wouldn't want her to take a torch to all that hard earned cash."
"Exactly how much?"
"Some estimate the value as high as forty million."
I whistled in spite of myself.
"Would you kill your Grandfather for that amount of money?" Karl asked. He laughed. "Tempting, isn't it?"
“Yeah, but why kill the Grandfather when she’s, what, nineteen? Twenty?”
“Maybe she was so wild that Robinson had second thoughts about leaving her anything at all. He could have contemplated changing the will and cutting her off entirely. That would make a hell of a motive.”
“Was this about to happen?”
Karl shrugged.
“You’re speculating.”
“Indeed I am,” Karl admitted. “Although in my defense let me say that the friction between the two was well known. John Robinson had also changed his will at least four times during her lifetime and the odds are he would have likely changed it again, had he not gone on that morning run.”
"All right, who else?"
"Lewis Sinclair."
"The actor? I saw him at the screening of Collision Course."
"He's a local. His acting career went south right after that movie. But he made good behind the scenes. Rumor has it he tried to convince Robinson to buy into his film work. This was years before the advent of
video. Lewis was hoping to get in on that action, perhaps own some of the films he was in, and a few others he wasn’t. Robinson eventually made those investments, only without Lewis."
“Why?”
“Who knows? Maybe Sinclair simply didn’t have the cash to join in on the investment, and Robinson –or the banks- were unwilling to lend it to him. Regardless, Robinson made a mint out of that investment, while Sinclair didn’t make a penny.”
"How long ago was that?"
"Maybe twenty, thirty years ago.”
“That’s an awful long time.”
“It is at that, but you never know how long someone can hold a grudge."
"Who else?"
"The sheriff of this fine town, a man named Burton Chandler. But the evidence for his involvement isn’t as strong, so I tend to discount him."
"Why?"
"Because most of what I’ve heard about Robinson and he is gossip. Supposedly, they were pretty close at one time but had a falling out over local politics. Things got so bad between them that by the time Chandler was up for re-election, John Robinson actively campaigned for another candidate. Many feel Robinson’s candidate would have won the election if Robinson hadn’t died just a couple of months before the votes were cast.”
“Good timing.”
“Speaking of which, there’s one other thing. After Robinson’s death, Sheriff Chandler was awfully quick in ruling it an accident."
“He alone made that determination?”
Karl let out a laugh.
“I’m sure the coroner and the other crime scene investigators had a little bit of input.”
“Doesn’t sound like he’s a strong candidate.”
“It is what it is.”
“Who else you have?”
“Those are the primary candidates.”
“Three suspects?”
I leaned back in my chair and shook my head.
“That’s it?”
Karl offered a knowing wink.
“They’re the ones you’re willing to discuss.”
“I’ve spent an awful long time doing an awful lot of work on this subject. I’ll release my full report when I’m absolutely certain. Besides, why muddy the reputation of others?”
