Майкл Ридпат: The Partnership Track

It was virgin snow — not a footprint in sight. The silence of the lake, the rhythm of my own panting and footfall, the crisp air biting my lungs and invigorating my bloodstream, and the slow splash of pink and grey light that was washing over the mountains to the west lifted me up and made my heart sing. My mother had gone, possibly my wife had also. The coming day might bring success or failure. But right at that moment, the world was beautiful and so was my place in it.

About a third of the way around the lake, the path narrowed over the extremity of a rocky headland that jutted out into the ice-covered water. It was slippery and I almost fell; and so I slowed down. Then came an open stretch out of the protection of the trees where the snow was deeper, and I was doing little more than trudging. It was hard work, I was warming up and my breath was puffing in clouds around me like a steam train.

Once more I was in a rhythm, and, as I had known it would, my mind turned unbidden to the case, attacking it from a new angle.

The case was a trap.

The smart thing to do was not to bid for the Peruvian oilfield at all: it would cause more public-relations headaches than it was worth. I grinned to myself: it was typical of the kind of test Bill Labouchere would set. Well, I would show him that I could step back and see the bigger picture.

As my strategy was slotting itself into place in my brain, I saw a tall figure coming towards me, running counter-clockwise around the lake. At first I assumed it was Harald. I knew he liked early-morning runs, and indeed we had run together every morning when working on a deal in Aberdeen. I was glad I hadn’t bumped into him this time, though: I preferred to run alone, to think alone. Maybe I could go cross-country skiing with him later on, once the case was finished.

But the figure was broader than Harald, less lopey. As we drew nearer to each other I realized it was Trent. He was powering through the snow. I slowed to greet him, but he raced on, giving me little more than a nod and a curl of his lip as he sped past.

There was no doubt that he was fitter and stronger than me. And, competitive fool that I am, it pissed me off.

I made it back to the lodge, passing Jason, the guy who had been at the front desk earlier, who was now all wrapped up ready to go outside.

‘How’s the trail?’ he asked me.

‘OK most of the way,’ I said. ‘Pretty deep in some places, where it’s outside the shelter of the trees.’

‘I’ll take a look,’ he said, stepping out into the cold.

As I went out of the back entrance of the lodge to my room, I noticed that Harald’s light was off, but Manuela’s was on in the cabin next to mine. I would have put them the other way around: I knew Harald liked to rise early and Manuela seemed like a late-night worker, but maybe that was just a Nordic versus Latin stereotype.

I remembered Trent’s comment of the night before. Maybe they were both in the same cabin? There was a thought.

I resisted the temptation to peer into Manuela’s room through the window, and jumped into my own shower, before going back to the case.

My brain was buzzing with PR strategies with which to ambush my American competitors when they bid for the Peruvian oilfield. But I knew I would have to demonstrate that I had the numbers at my fingertips, even if they were irrelevant to my plans.

A little after eight, I heard a siren. A police siren, or perhaps an ambulance or fire engine. What had happened? I couldn’t hear a fire alarm. Maybe someone was injured or ill. A heart attack perhaps? Bill? He was the only one of us over sixty, the candidates for partnership were half his age and Professor Behbehani was not much older than forty.

Maybe it was one of the hotel staff?

I forced myself to stop speculating and wrenched my brain back to the case. I can work well under pressure, even when I am tired, and when I eventually left my cabin at ten to nine, I was feeling pretty confident. According to the schedule, we were supposed to have breakfast together at nine and then spend half an hour with our negotiating partners discussing strategy. I was confident I could get Harald to go along with my plan not to bid for the oilfield, although he’d be disappointed because knowing him he would have done an exhaustive analysis of the reserves. We would just have to figure out a way of demonstrating all that work in the negotiations.

I passed Cynthia coming out of the lodge. She looked upset. My first thought was that Bill had laid into her again. My second thought was that it had something to do with the sirens earlier. Maybe someone was seriously ill?

‘What’s up, Cynthia? Has something happened?’

Cynthia’s eyes were wide with shock. Fear. ‘It’s Harald. He’s dead. Oh, Peter, someone has killed him!’

‘What! You mean murdered him?’

‘I think so. They found him by the lake a couple of hours ago. The police are here. It’s horrible, Peter!’

She looked as if she was about to cry. I didn’t know Cynthia that well, but she needed comforting. I opened my arms and she fell into them, burying her head into my shoulder for a few seconds.

Then she broke away. ‘I’m just going back to my room,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

I went through to the lobby. I could see a group of people were huddled outside, including Bill, Professor Behbehani and a guy in his forties wearing a suit under his coat, who was presumably the manager.

I was wearing my own winter coat, a red ski jacket, and I went outside to join them. The sky was blue and the lake and forest were sparkling in the low winter sunshine. A large police car, an SUV, was parked haphazardly at the entrance to the parking lot, the red and blue lights on its roof flashing silently. One policeman was standing by some tape blocking the trail around the lake I had followed that morning. I noticed another police vehicle parked, lights flashing, just before the rocky promontory I had nearly slipped on earlier.

Bill was deep in conversation with the man I took to be the manager, so I joined Charlie. ‘Do you know what happened?’

‘One of the lodge staff found Harald’s body just beyond that rock there. He had been shot.’

‘Shot! Do they know who did it? Have they arrested anyone yet?’

‘I think they’re still trying to figure out what’s gone on. These are just the local cops.’ And indeed the nearest car had Wilburtown Police emblazoned on it. ‘Here comes someone now.’

An unmarked car was speeding down the track towards the lodge, lights flashing from its radiator grille. It drew to a halt and a man and a woman got out. The man was heavyset, about forty, with tired eyes and a thick moustache. His colleague had short blonde hair and a purposeful manner; anyone who had ever watched any TV could tell they were detectives.

The moustachioed one seemed to be in charge. One of the uniformed policemen, a sergeant, hurried over to him, followed by the hotel manager. I watched with Charlie. I noticed Jason, the guy I had met in the lobby that morning, standing by himself, nervously smoking a cigarette. The sergeant and the two detectives approached him and he began talking to them. The woman was writing things down in her notebook.

‘He must have discovered the body,’ I said. ‘I spoke to him earlier.’

‘So, I guess they are going to cancel the exercise, then?’ Charlie said.

‘Obviously.’

‘Which is a shame, because I was going to whip your ass.’ Charlie was grinning at me. I didn’t bother to reply. What a jerk.

Trent joined us, and Charlie filled him in on the little we knew. I looked about, and saw Cynthia had returned. And Manuela, standing a few yards away from everyone else.

God, if Trent had been right in what I thought he had been suggesting this was going to be particularly tough on her. She looked OK, watching the scene calmly.