Майкл Ридпат: The Partnership Track

I felt cold. I shook. I think I might even have staggered.

‘What is it, Peter?’ Manuela asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t do it without my voice cracking and the tears coming. I shut my mouth tightly and just shook my head, lowering my eyes to the snow, determined not to weep.

I felt the gentle pressure of Manuela’s gloved hand touching my arm.

As we reached the lodge, I saw Jason sprinkling some salt on a pathway around the side of the building. I left Manuela and approached him.

‘Hi Jason,’ I said. ‘How are you doing?’

Jason turned and straightened up. He was a couple of inches taller than me, in his early twenties with a wispy fair beard.

‘OK, I guess.’

He didn’t really look it.

‘Was it you who found the body?’

‘Sure was. I was checking the trail soon after you had gotten back from your run. There was this one spot, just past that rock, where the snow was real messed up. Something had gone on, I could tell, so I followed these marks into the woods. And there he was.’

‘Was he dead?’

Jason swallowed and then nodded. ‘He was dead. Eyes staring, you know. I mean, I felt for a pulse and everything, but he was dead.’

I realized that I had never seen a dead body. Not my mother. No car accidents.

‘It must be rough,’ I said. ‘Have they been asking you lots of questions?’

Jason nodded. ‘You?’ He looked at me with something close to suspicion.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They seem to think I might have killed Harald.’

Jason nodded and looked away, back to the lake. ‘I don’t know how you didn’t see it — you or that other guy.’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ I said. ‘In fact, when I was out there, there were no tracks at all.’

‘Yeah. It’s all messed up now, but at that time of the morning it was pristine.’

‘Any sign of anyone driving into the property?’

‘No,’ said Jason. ‘Nor walking. Nor any footprints around the side of the lodge. Just yours and the other guy’s.’

‘And Harald’s,’ I said.

‘And Harald’s.’

That didn’t look good.

‘Are you from around here?’ I asked.

‘Nope. Minnesota. I’m right out of college trying to get some hotel-management experience. I’m used to the snow, so I figured I’d give New England a try. Not sure that was a good call, now.’

‘Who owns this place?’ I asked. ‘Is it part of a chain?’

‘No. Guy called Matt Parkhouse. Made his money in, like, medical devices or something. I think he’s an old friend of your boss.’

That made sense.

‘See you around,’ I said, and headed back to the dining room.

‘All right, everybody, listen up.’ Bill clapped his hands. We were all sitting around the long table in the dining room. The others had been waiting for Manuela and me to return to the lodge. I had wanted to go back to my cabin and curl up in a ball on my bed, but I couldn’t. I had to sit with the others, who had now all been interviewed, and listen to Bill. I wasn’t in the mood. The big bear on the wall didn’t look too happy about it either.

‘Without a doubt, this is the worst day in our firm’s history,’ he began. ‘Harald was a great guy, he would have made a terrific partner, and we all miss him. We will all need time to mourn him in our own way.’

I glanced at Manuela for a reaction, but she was sitting calmly, arms folded, listening to Bill. How could she do it? I was aware I was fidgeting; I couldn’t help it. Bill’s gaze fell on me for a moment. I glared at him and then bit my thumbnail.

‘For now, we have something very serious to consider,’ he went on. ‘I have been speaking with Sergeant O’Leary, and he is of the strong opinion that whoever murdered Harald was staying here at Lake Lenatonka. As you know, it snowed last night, and there are no fresh tracks anywhere leading into the lake from outside. Now, it may be that the murderer could have been one of the staff at the lodge, and the police are questioning them thoroughly as we speak. But, and I hate to say this...’ He paused and looked regretfully at each of our faces. ‘... but it is most likely that Harald’s killer is one of us. Or rather, one of you.’

He waited for our reaction. There wasn’t one for several seconds, before Charlie spoke. ‘You can’t be serious,’ he said.

Bill shrugged. ‘I find it very hard to accept myself, but there is no other conclusion.’

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ I said.

‘Sergeant O’Leary thinks it does,’ Bill said. ‘But I have every confidence in the loyalty and integrity of our people. Of you. Before he takes you all off to the police station, I have persuaded him to allow you an hour to discuss it among yourselves. You’ve all worked together in the past; I’m sure you can figure out which one of you is responsible.’

I felt the frustration that had been simmering inside boil up. ‘This isn’t a game, Bill,’ I protested.

Bill turned towards me, his brown eyes hardening. ‘I’m very well aware of that, Peter.’

‘Then what’s she doing here?’ I had just spotted the professor, sitting in a chair in the corner, taking notes.

‘I asked Shelley to join us. She is a trained psychologist and she can be there for any of you who need to reach out to someone. This is a tough time for you. For all of us.’

‘This is bullshit!’ I protested. ‘I’m having no part of it.’

‘OK,’ said Bill. ‘I can’t force you to stay. But the police can force you to join them at the police station.’

‘Stay, Peter,’ said Manuela.

Her voice was neutral. It wasn’t a command and it wasn’t a plea. It was what I chose to make of it.

I turned to her. She was looking at me coolly, impassively.

It was advice.

Just as I had been the favourite for partner twenty-four hours before, I was now favourite for Harald’s murderer. She was right: it made sense to stay, if only to listen.

‘All right,’ I said.

‘Good,’ said Bill. ‘You have an hour.’

He was gone, followed by the professor.

We sat in silence, the five of us: Trent, Manuela, Cynthia, Charlie and me. It was an extraordinary situation, totally disorienting. Here we were, miles from anywhere, dealing with the surreal. In daylight, the dining hall’s big picture windows gave a view out on to the lake, sunshine glaring white off its flat snowy surface. There were no signs of human habitation — the police vehicles were just out of view. Framed by the window, the winter landscape looked like something out of a Christmas card, not the scene of a murder.

I fought successfully to control my anger. I could be in trouble here. I might well need a lawyer: it was frustrating that there wasn’t a Wi-Fi connection for me to Google one. It was also strange — Bill insisted his people were in contact with the outside world at all times. The lodge office must have some kind of Internet connection. Otherwise, what could I do? Just accept the local guy the New Hampshire police gave me? Or someone Labouchere got? Neither of those sounded like good options.

But I worked with lawyers all the time. Charlotte would help me — Charlotte Prior who worked for the New York firm we had used for the Vietnamese deal and a couple of others before. She was good in a crisis and I was pretty sure she liked me. It was unlikely that her firm would represent me, but she would at least know how to get me a good criminal lawyer for a case like this.

A murder case.

‘OK,’ said Cynthia eventually. ‘Let’s get to it.’ She glanced around the room. ‘Here, let me get the flip chart.’

‘This is all bollocks,’ I said. ‘None of us killed Harald.’