The Dead Mountaineer's Inn (16 page)

“I think, Peter, that pretty soon I'm going to have to give this inn another name.”

“How so?” I said. “And what name are you thinking of?”

“I don't know yet,” the manager said. “But it's bothering me a little. In a few days, this valley of mine will be swarming
with reporters; I've got to get all my ducks in order before that happens. Naturally, everything depends on what conclusions the official investigation draws, but then the press will have to listen to the proprietor's thoughts on what happened …”

“Does the proprietor already have thoughts on what happened?” I said, surprised.

“Well, maybe it's not quite accurate to call them thoughts … In any case, I have experienced certain feelings that you yourself, in my opinion, haven't arrived at yet. But you will, Peter. I have no doubt events will present themselves in the same way to you as you dig deeper into the case. You and I are just built differently. I'm a mechanic, self-taught, which means that I tend to have feelings instead of conclusions. And you—you're a police inspector. Feelings for you arise as a result of your conclusions, when the conclusions you draw are unsatisfying. When they discourage you. That's how I see it, Peter … So now, ask your questions.”

At that point—because I was very tired and very discouraged—I did something I hadn't expected to do. I told him about Hinkus. He listened, nodding his bald head.

“Yes,” he said, when I had finished. “You see, even Hinkus …”

Having made this mysterious remark he told me, thoroughly and without any undue emphasis, what he'd done after the card game was over. However, he didn't know much—for example, he'd last seen Olaf around the same time I had. At nine thirty he had gone downstairs with the Moseses, fed Lel, put him out for his walk, told Kaisa off for her tardiness … at which point I showed up. The idea to sit by the fireplace with some hot port came up. He gave Kaisa her orders and made his way to the dining room to turn off the music and lights.

“Of course, I could have then made my way up to Olaf and wrung his neck, though I'm not totally sure Olaf would have
let me do that. But I didn't even try it; I just went downstairs and turned off the light in the lobby. So far as I can remember, everything was as it should be. All the doors on the top floor were closed, it was quiet. I went back to the pantry, poured the port, and at exactly that minute the avalanche occurred. I brought you the port, thinking to myself, ‘I should go call Mur.' I already had the feeling that something bad had happened. After I'd called, I joined you again by the fireplace, from which point on we were together the whole time.”

I watched him through half-closed eyelids. He was a very strong man, no doubt about it. Strong enough, probably, to twist Olaf's neck, especially if Olaf had been poisoned ahead of time. After all, as the owner of the inn, he really could have poisoned any of us. Not only that, but he could have had a spare key to Olaf's room. A third key—any of this was possible. But one thing he couldn't have done: he couldn't have left the room through the door and then locked it from the inside. He couldn't have jumped out the window without either leaving marks on the windowsill or the ledge or a trace—a very deep and clear trace—beneath the window … So far as I could figure it, no one could have done all that. Which meant that there had to be a secret passage leading from Olaf's room to the room currently occupied by the one-armed man … though at that point the crime became highly intricate, which means that it would have had to be planned a long time in advance, in detail, and with absolutely no comprehensible goal … Well, hell, I had heard him turn off the music, and walk down the stairs and reprimand Lel. A minute later there was the avalanche, and then …

“If you'll indulge my curiosity for a moment,” the owner said. “Why did you go with Simone to see Mrs. Moses?”

“No reason really,” I said. “The great physicist had drunk too much and was imagining god knows what …”

“You won't tell me what it was exactly?”

“It's all nonsense!” I said angrily, trying to catch the tail of the curious idea that had floated into my head a few seconds earlier. “You've clogged my brain with your garbage, Alek … Well, all right, I'll remember it later … But anyway, back to Hinkus. Try to remember who left the dining room between eight thirty and nine.”

“I can try, of course,” the manager said casually. “But after all, it was you yourself who drew my attention to the fact that Hinkus was insanely frightened by whomever—or should I say
whatever
—had tied him up.”

I stared at him.

“What are you getting at?”

“What are
you
getting at?” he asked. “If I were in your place, I'd be thinking about this quite seriously.”

“Are you joking?” I said irritably. “I don't have time right now for mysticism, science fiction or any of your other philosophical fancies. What I think is that Hinkus is …” I tapped the side of my temple. “It seems inconceivable to me that someone could have been hiding in the inn without us knowing about it.”

“All right, all right,” the manager said graciously. “We won't argue about it. So: who left the dining room between nine thirty and ten? First of all, Kaisa. She was going in and out. Second, Olaf. He was also going in and out. Third, Du Barnstoker's child … But no. The child disappeared later, together with Olaf …”

“When was that?” I asked quickly.

“Naturally, that's the part I can't remember, though I do recall that we were playing cards and kept playing for some time after they'd left.”

“Very interesting,” I said. “But we'll get to that later. Who else was there?”

“Indeed, yes, only Mrs. Moses is left … Hmm …” He scratched his nails deeply against his cheek. “No,” he said decisively. “I don't remember. As the owner I generally keep track of my guests and therefore, as you see, have quite a good memory about certain things. But you know, I had a pretty lucky stretch there. It didn't last long, maybe two or three hands, but as for what happened during that run …” The manager's hands shot up. “I do remember that Mrs. Moses danced with the child, and I remember that afterwards she sat down with us and even played. But whether she left or not … No, I didn't see. Unfortunately.”

“Thanks anyway,” I said distractedly. I was already thinking about something else. “So the child left with Olaf, and they didn't come back, right?”

“Right.”

“And that was before nine thirty, when you got up from the card game?”

“Precisely.”

“Thank you,” I said, and stood up. “I'll go now—just one more question. Did you see Hinkus after dinner?”

“After dinner? No.”

“Oh right, you were playing cards … How about before dinner?”

“Before dinner I saw him a couple of times. I saw him that morning, at breakfast, then in the yard, when everyone was playing and frolicking around … Then he sent a telegram to Mur from my office … After that … right! After that he asked me how to get up on the roof, he said he wanted to get some sun … That's about it, I think. No, I saw him once more during the day, in the pantry, when he was occupied with a bottle of brandy. Other than that I didn't see him during the day.”

I thought I'd caught my escaping thought.

“Listen, Alek, I completely forgot,” I said. “How did Olaf sign himself in?”

“Should I bring you the book,” the manager asked. “Or just tell you?”

“Tell me.”

“Olaf Andvarafors, civil servant, on vacation for ten days, alone.”

No, that wasn't it.

“Thanks, Alek,” I said and sat down again. “Now keep doing what you were doing, I'll just sit here and think.”

I put my head in my hands and started to think. What did I have? Not a lot, not a damn lot. I knew that Olaf had left the dining room between nine and nine thirty, and had not returned. I'd discovered that Olaf's companion had been none other than the kid. Which meant, so far as I could see, that the kid was the last person who had seen Olaf alive. If I didn't count the killer, of course. And assuming that everyone I'd interrogated was telling the truth. That meant that Olaf had been killed somewhere between nine and soon after midnight. That was quite a gap. On the other hand, Simone had said that at five minutes to ten he could hear some kind of movement in Olaf's room, and at around ten minutes to eleven Du Barnstoker's knock had gone unanswered. But that still doesn't mean anything, Olaf could have left at that point. I pulled at my hair in frustration. Olaf could have been killed somewhere other than his room … No, no, it was too early to draw conclusions. There was still Brun's involvement in Olaf's case to deal with, and Mrs. Moses's involvement in Hinkus's case … But then what could she tell me? That I went up on the roof, darling, and then I saw Hinkus … But why did she go up on the roof? Alone, without her husband, with her décolletage … Right. Question: who do I start with? Since Olaf was dead, not Hinkus, and since Mrs. Moses had probably
already heard about the murder from her spouse, let's start with the kid. People say some interesting things when they've just woken up. Besides, I thought as I stood up, I might be able to determine what gender it is.

I had to knock long and loud on the door to the kid's room. Then bare feet shuffled to the door and an angry husky voice demanded to know what the hell I wanted.

“Open the door, Brun, it's me, Glebsky,” I said.

A short silence followed this. Then a frightened voice asked.

“Are you, crazy? It's three in the morning!”

I raised my voice. “I told you to open up!”

“What's this about?”

I said the first thing I thought of. “Your uncle doesn't feel well.”

“Is this a joke? Wait a second, let me get some pants on …”

The slapping bare feet retreated. I waited. Then a key turned in the lock, the door opened, and the kid stepped over the threshold.

“Not so fast,” I said, grabbing it by the shoulder. “Back in the room, if you please …”

The kid was obviously not fully awake yet and for that reason didn't put up much of a fight. It willingly went back into the room and sat on the rumpled bed. I sat in the armchair across from it. The kid looked at me for a few seconds through its huge black glasses. Suddenly its plump pink lips began to tremble.

“Is it bad?” it asked in a whisper. “Don't keep quiet, tell me something!”

It was no small surprise for me to discover that this wild creature apparently loved its uncle and was frightened that something might have happened to him. I took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Your uncle's fine. We've got other things to talk about.”

“But you said …”

“I didn't say anything, you were dreaming. So tell me quickly, don't hesitate: when did you and Olaf go your separate ways? Come on, quick!”

“Olaf? What do you mean? What do you want from me?”

“When and where was the last time you saw Olaf?”

The kid shook its head.

“I don't understand any of this. Why are you talking about Olaf? What happened to my uncle?”

“Your uncle's sleeping. He's alive and well. When was the last time you saw Olaf?”

“Why do you keep asking me about that?” the kid said, outraged. Gradually, it came to its senses. “And why did you burst in on me in the middle of the night?”

“I'm asking you …”

“Screw your questions! Shove off, or I'll call my uncle! Damned cop!”

“You were dancing with Olaf, and then you left? Where did you go? Why?”

“What's it to you? Jealous about your bride?”

“Quit the nonsense, you pathetic little waif!” I barked. “Olaf has been killed! I know that you were the last one to see him alive! When was it? Where? Quick! Well?”

I must have looked scary. The kid drew back and put its hands out, palms forward, as if to protect itself.

“No!” it whispered. “What are you saying? What …”

“Answer me,” I said quietly. “You left the dining room with him and went … where?”

“N-nowhere … We just went out into the corridor …”

“And then?”

The kid was quiet. I couldn't see its eyes, which was unusual and unsettling.

“And then?” I repeated.

“Call my uncle,” the kid said firmly. “I want my uncle here.”

“Your uncle won't be able to help you,” I said. “Only one thing can help you: the truth. Tell the truth.”

The kid didn't say anything. It sat there, huddled up on the bed beneath a large handwritten sign that read “Let's get violent!” and was quiet. Tears began flowing down its cheeks from under the sunglasses.

“Tears won't help either,” I said coldly. “Tell the truth. If you lie and try to twist things around,” I put my hand in my pocket, “I'll put you in handcuffs and send you to Mur. There you'll be interrogated by complete strangers. We're talking about murder here—do you understand?”

“I understand …” the kid whispered, so softly I could barely hear it. “I'll tell you …”

“Good choice,” I said approvingly. “So, you and Olaf went into the hallway. Then what?”

“We went into the hallway …” the kid repeated mechanically. “And then … and then … I can't really remember, I have a lousy memory … He said something, and I … He said something and left, and I … that …”

“This isn't working,” I said, shaking my head. “Let's try again.”

The kid sniffled, wiped its nose and put its hand under the pillow. It pulled out a handkerchief.

“Well?” I said.

“It's all … it's all so embarrassing,” the kid whispered. “And horrible. And Olaf is dead.”