by steve higgs
I tilted my head to one side. ‘I thought you didn’t see the creature.’
The one cheek that was showing coloured slightly, but she regained control quickly. ‘I didn’t, but something tore my friend’s head off and left me with disfiguring injuries. It wasn’t a man that did that.’
I moved on. ‘Can you tell me what happened. How it was that you came to be where you were and the events after you regained consciousness.’
Priscille nodded her head as she launched into a well-practiced story; no doubt she had told it many times now. I made notes as she spoke, assuming that she would embellish some parts like everyone else does, but the story sounded exactly like the one I had heard this morning from the client and the police chief. The girls were both experienced skiers that regularly left the pistes as they sought fresh snow and adventurous routes. I learned that Priscille had met Marie Caron at a finishing school in Paris. Their families were of equal standing, but a few months ago and just weeks before graduating, Priscille’s father committed suicide and it was revealed that he had made several poor business decisions and squandered his fortune as he tried to gamble his way out of debt. Her mother had died some years before that which left Priscille destitute and without family. The poor woman told the story while staring into the fire with an emotionless face.
Her friend Marie had come to the rescue, providing a job and a place to live through her good friend Gils. If I chose to believe Priscille, Marie had tried to secure her a role at her father’s hotel first, only to be refused. She almost spat Hubert’s name when she said it. Gils though, had been accommodating. I made a mental note about the way she had looked at him when she said his name.
The two girls had taken a path through the woods which they knew would lead them to a narrow slope known only to locals. Its obscurity meant they could expect untouched powder after the recent fall of snow, but it was there in the woods that the Yeti had attacked. Priscille said that it hit her from behind and confirmed that she had not seen it for herself, but had awoken covered in blood to find another blood trail leading away from a boot that still contained Marie’s left foot. She struggled speaking at this point, Gils finding a tissue to offer her before I could.
‘Would you like me to come back?’ I asked.
She shook her head and sniffed before loudly blowing her nose. ‘There is not much more to tell, Monsieur Michaels. I couldn’t find Marie and I was so dizzy. I stumbled through the woods worried that the sun would set before I found anyone else. I would surely have frozen to death if I hadn’t made it back to the piste before it closed for the day.’ She talked a little about her injuries, crying a little as she complained about how difficult it had been to see her own exposed cheekbone and how lucky she was to still have both her eyes.
I could find nothing to say. I had seen facial injuries before: the person never truly heals.
It was Gils that came to my rescue, breaking the silence when he asked, ‘What will you do now, Mr Michaels?’
I took a moment to stare at my notes. So far, I hadn’t revealed anything that felt like a clue. Someone had attacked and killed one girl and injured another. There would be a reason behind that, just as there would be a reason why they thought pretending to be a Yeti was a good idea. The Yeti costume was most likely to throw blame on a mythical creature that would now vanish in the hope that the trail would go cold. They were waiting for an answer though, so I gave them one.
‘In my time as a paranormal investigator, I have yet to come across anything even remotely mysterious. This case will be the same, I’m afraid. The Yeti is a man in a costume. The footprints in the snow have been artificially made and there will be a reason for Marie’s murder.’ Gils and Priscille shared a look that could have meant anything. ‘I will find the reason behind her murder and catch the killer.’ I delivered the statement in a determined voice which caused their gazes to swing to me. ‘It’s what I do,’ I finished.
‘You believe this to be the work of a man and that Marie was murdered?’ asked Gils.
I nodded. ‘I do.’
‘Why would anyone want to hurt, Marie?’ asked Priscille.
‘That is precisely what I intend to find out,’ I replied as I quietly closed my notebook.
Priscille hadn’t finished though. ‘She was so sweet, such a lovely and generous girl. She was loved here. By everyone but her father that is.’
I just about managed to not react to her statement. I did ask her to clarify what she had said though. ‘Priscille, what do you mean by that?’
She tutted at herself as if she hadn’t meant to reveal so much, then sighed but started talking anyway, ‘Hubert Caron is a pig. He thought he could control every element of his daughter’s life. Where she went to school, who her friends were, who she could fall in love with. If you are looking for a killer, you should look at your client first.’
It was quite the bold statement. ‘Who was she in love with?’ I asked. It felt like something that could be pertinent to know.
Priscille pursed her lips. ‘I am not willing to tell you that, Monsieur Michaels.’
I considered pressing her for an answer but it didn’t feel like the right time to do so and I wondered if her reluctance to answer, and Hubert’s interference, were because Marie had been in love with Priscille.
I didn’t voice my thought though. There seemed no advantage in discussing the subject at this juncture. I rose to my feet and shook her hand lightly again. Gils stood also, so he could show me out.
I had one question for Gils before I went. ‘Gils, my client...’
‘Hubert Caron,’ he supplied.
‘Yes, Monsieur Caron…’
‘May our prayers be with his family at this terrible time,’ he interrupted again.
I pressed on. ‘He expressed a rivalry between his hotel and yours and suggested a policy of dirty tricks had been perpetrated against his hotel. How deep does the… dislike go?’ I asked.
If the question surprised Gils, he showed no sign. ‘My father and Monsieur Caron have been enemies for years but I believe that the petty crimes Hubert accuses my father of started because of an accident. I must ask: is it your task here to prove that my father is responsible for Marie Caron’s death?’
‘Not at all. I was hired to catch the Yeti. There won’t be one of course, just a man in a suit fitted with oversize feet. I am going up the mountain now to see the attack site.’
‘You’re going out there to look for the Yeti?’ Priscille asked, her voice filled with incredulity.
I nodded. ‘The police chief is taking me. I doubt I can solve this thing from my hotel room.’
Gils said, ‘Good luck, Mr Michaels,’ as he escorted to me to the door, his long arm out to guide me. I was going anyway, my dogs reluctantly trotting along behind as I tugged them away from the warm fireplace.
There was something odd about Priscille and Gils. Maybe they were sleeping together and it was nothing more than that. I filed it away for later and went back out into the cold.
A Call to Amanda. Wednesday, November 30th 1143hrs
Despite telling myself that this wasn’t meant to be a holiday, I was loving the resort and couldn’t wait to solve the case so I could have a few days skiing. The trip up the mountain to the site of the attack was planned for as soon as I was available and the other chaps had returned from their morning ski. It was nearing lunchtime so the obvious plan was to head out after that, take the Ski-Doos because it gave us easy manoeuvrability and see what there was to see. There might be nothing, but I wouldn’t find out by staying in the nice warm hotel.
As I neared my room, the door of the room next to mine opened and a man came out, shutting the door behind him.
I said, ‘Bonjour,’ as we passed each other since it was the polite thing to do.
He replied but it was clear from his accent that he was not French. I couldn’t say where he did come from though, maybe a Russian state I thought, but hard to tell with one accent affecting a language I was
n’t all that familiar with. It carried no importance, so I forgot it immediately as I went through my own door and started thinking about calling Amanda.
I checked my watch: 1143hrs. It was an hour earlier in the UK but she would either be at the office or involved in the case she had been trying to sew up. Big Ben was probably getting a little sleep so I would rouse him in time for lunch and give Amanda a call now.
She answered almost before it had rung. ‘Hi, Tempest, how’s the snow?’ she asked.
I couldn’t help smiling at the sound of her voice. ‘Hey, babe. The snow is cold. The dogs don’t like it. How’s the case going?’
‘Actually, I just closed it. I’m all wrapped up at this end, so… is the offer of a date in France still on?’
My pulse instantly tapped out a fast staccato at the thought of having her staying in the fabulous hotel with me. Suddenly feeling warm and ignoring the voice coming from my pants, I said, ‘Absolutely, Amanda. How soon can you get here?’
‘There’s a flight to Chambéry at tea time. If I’m quick I can make it.’
‘Won’t that get you here really late?’ I asked. Chambéry wasn’t exactly around the corner.
‘I have to get a train into Tignes and then transfer to a coach and then get the cable car up the mountain, but there is a single-ticket service because they want people to get to the ski resorts in the area. It should get me there by ten o’clock.’ I cringed as she said the time. Amanda steadfastly refused to use a twenty-four-hour clock just because it annoyed me. It was our first cute couple thing, although I would never call it that openly.
I couldn’t hide my excitement though. ‘That sounds wonderful,’ I murmured in a husky voice as I thought about the possibilities her joining me here presented. Then I caught myself, and asked, ‘Do you want me to book you a room?’
At the other end of the line, she returned a snigger. ‘No, Tempest. We are both adults, I think we can share a room.’ My heart was really hammering in my chest now. ‘Besides,’ she purred in a sultry voice, ‘I know I can rely on you to be a complete gentleman.’
I almost choked and the sound it made was audible because Amanda burst out laughing. She was teasing me. ‘I’m sorry, Tempest. You are such an easy mark. Look, I’ll be there in a few hours and I expect to be pampered when I arrive so go make preparations.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ I replied.
‘Good boy. Heck, I need to go pack. I’ll text you on route.’
Bull nudged my foot for a pick up. I was sitting on the edge of the bed and it was too high for him to climb on to. I lifted him and then his brother so they could settle down for an afternoon of sleep while I was out. ‘Enjoy the bed, chaps. I don’t think you will get to be back in here much this week.’ With that enticing thought reverberating inside my head I pulled the footstool from the dressing table across to the bed to make a step so they could get off and back on if they needed a drink. Then, with half an hour to kill, I read through my notes, sent a message to Jane back at the office telling her to have a couple of easy days while Amanda and I were both away, and wondered to myself what it might be that was motivating the daft, fake Yeti attacks.
It was 1230hrs soon enough, my phone beeping with a text from Big Ben asking if I was ready for lunch before I could text him the same question. We met outside in the corridor, the dogs staying in my room and looking quite content to do so.
‘Good sleep?’ I asked.
‘I was alone, so… no. I tell you, Tempest, hanging out with you is having a very negative impact on my sex life. I should have been rolling in women by now. Tonight, you get to be wingman as I predate this resort and select some fine ladies to accompany me back to my hotel room.’
‘Ah, yes, about that. Amanda is on her way here. I expect to be otherwise engaged tonight.’
‘Really? This is turning into couples central. What the heck happened. A few weeks ago, only Hilary had a woman to drag him down. Now you are all at it.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that. Good luck with the women tonight though.’
‘Hah! Not that I need your help, but you owe me, and I am sure you can find a couple of hours to come out and see the magnificence.’
‘Of the resort at night?’ I asked confused at his sentence.
‘Of Big Ben in full pants-wetting, throw your knickers in the air brilliance. I need a healthy dose of boobies. Like I said, you get to be my wingman. You can hold my pint while I impress them and you can act as a scale model so they can see what a normal man looks like in comparison to my magnificence.’
‘Riiiight,’ I drawled.
Listening to Big Ben’s fluent rubbish had taken us all the way downstairs to the restaurant and bar area again. There were patrons in the restaurant ordering food and a few people at the bar already drinking despite the early hour, no doubt excusing themselves because they were on holiday.
We looked around for Jagjit and the others. ‘They must still be on the snow,’ Big Ben observed. ‘They can find us, I’m hungry.’ He slapped me on the shoulder and left me behind as he flagged down a waitress to organise a table for six.
I was hungry too, and quite content that our friends would appear soon enough and wouldn’t mind that we had eaten without them. Looking around the hotel, there was no sense that a woman had been attacked and brutally killed by what people were reporting to be a monstrous beast. The guests were mostly dressed in ski clothing, the outer layers stripped off in deference to the warmth indoors. Would panic set in if the beast was seen again? Would it even make another appearance if the only reason for its existence was to kill Marie Caron? That the murderer had taken the costume and destroyed it or planned to never put it back on felt like a very real possibility. As I joined Big Ben at the table where he was now chatting up two young and quite lovely waitresses, I wondered if this case might prove to be tougher than I had first imagined.
The Mountain. Wednesday, November 30th 1413hrs
Hurtling up the mountain on the gas-powered Ski-Doos was great fun. They flew over the snow as we sort of followed the police chief while also racing each other at the same time. If we had known where we were going, it would have been an all-out battle to get there. As it was, like boys, we kept picking the next spot to get to first. The machine was not one I had ever ridden before, but the controls were familiar, resembling those of a motorbike with a twist-grip throttle and handlebar brakes.
It was cold out, which might seem like an obvious statement, but the sun was beating down on us and would have been warm if the air had been still. Our passage through it at break-neck speed was creating the chill.
When we set off, Francois had warned of a storm approaching the region. It might veer away yet, but warnings were in place for heavy snow and high winds which this far up the mountain might be dangerous. Unfortunately for the police chief, whose intention had been to convince us to postpone I think, he instead provided an excuse for driving the Ski-Doos as fast as we could.
My lips were going numb from the cold, but I wasn’t about to slow down as I was winning this particular heat. Ahead of me, the ski-lift support that Big Ben had picked out as the next target was getting close. I couldn’t get the throttle to open any further and had lost every race so far because the other machines all went faster than mine, even the chief’s probably though he had declined to join in the fun. This time I had gotten a head start by unashamedly cheating. Despite that, the chaps were now catching me. Hilary’s machine was closest, bearing down on my right-hand side. He had made it to the marker first more than half the time and I wondered if he was just better at controlling his machine, if his machine was actually the fastest one or if, because he was the lightest, his machine was able to skip across the surface a little easier.
Whatever the case, I swerved to block his path, forcing him to alter his course and go around several trees he might otherwise have hit. The manoeuvre defeated Hilary but slowed my machine by just enough that Jagjit overhauled me to pip me at the post. It was all in good humour th
ough.
The route had taken us up the piste that led back down to the hotels and the resort of Harvati. Skiers were whipping by to our right as we stuck to the left-hand edge of the trees that bordered the slope. We were stopped now at a junction where several slopes met as we waited for the Chief to catch up to us. He rumbled along a minute later, halting his machine perpendicular to ours.
‘We turn off the piste just up there,’ he pointed. ‘It’s not far now and we will have to go single file through the woods.’
I replied with, ‘Roger,’ a habit I probably needed to shake. He led off with the rest of us following in a snaking line of Ski-Doos. True to his word, we shortly took a left turn through the trees but continued on slowly for what felt like another twenty minutes before I spied yellow barrier tape through the trees.
The attack site wouldn’t be found by accident, it was on no one’s route to anywhere. The police chief brought his machine to a stop, killed the engine and got off, stretching his body in place as if it had stiffened during the ride. The rest of us pulled up along the same trail but spread out wherever we came to a halt.
‘It’s just through here,’ said Francois as he ducked under the barrier tape.
I didn’t move, turning instead to face the guys, ‘Chaps, that’s an actual murder scene ahead. If you want to stay here and guard the Ski-Doos…’
‘Sure,’ said Hilary, ‘I have no desire to see buckets of blood in the snow. It’ll give me nightmares for weeks.’
Jagjit grimaced. ‘Yeah, that sounds unappealing. I’ll stay here too.’
Big Ben had already ducked the tape and was following the chief as he wound between the trees. I hurried to catch up, my feet sinking in the deep snow and branches catching my clothing. I reached them just as Francois stopped.
‘This is it,’ he said, indicating the general area with his hand. ‘We found the foot over by that tree and the blood trail and footprints went off through the trees to the east until it reached the cliff edge about seventy metres from here.’
