The Winter Over(47)

Anne, maybe feeling the weight of Cass’s gaze, turned her head. Caught staring, Cass blushed.

The other woman smiled a little uncertainly. “Are you okay?”

Cass limped over to the treadmill. “Sorry, I was just watching you run. You make it look so easy.”

Anne wiped a hand across her forehead and smiled self-consciously. “Thanks. That’s a real compliment, coming from you. I know you’re a runner yourself.”

“I was.”

“What do you mean?”

Cass gestured at her foot. “I twisted my ankle down in the garage back in February. I’m still worried about putting all my weight on it.”

“That’s why you were beating the hell out of the punching bag. I wondered why I haven’t seen you on a treadmill.”

Cass hesitated. “It’s funny how you can spot another runner, isn’t it? I saw you take three strides and knew you’d run all your life.”

“It’s true.” Anne nodded. Her pace hadn’t slowed one bit and her words came easily.

“There are people who run, but they’re not runners . Do you know what I mean?”

“The ones who do this?” Anne lifted her knees almost to her chest and flapped her arms like a bird. They both broke out laughing at the pantomime of the world’s worst form.

“There’s someone who does this,” Cass said, throwing her elbows out and swinging her hips wide to imitate the run of the mysterious figure she’d seen the day she’d towed the Alpine back to the garage. “But I can’t remember who.”

“Like a model on a runway, but with the arms going, too.”

“Exactly!”

“It looks familiar.” The smile died on Anne’s face. “Oh. Sheryl Larkin used to . . . used to run like that. She was never very good, but she tried awfully hard. Is that who you mean?”

Anne’s words came together like the missing parts of a clock, confirming what Cass had known but hadn’t been able to articulate. A roaring sound flooded her ears. She could see the image of the fleeing figure and over it she superimposed the few times she’d seen Sheryl in the gym.

“Cass? Are you okay?” Anne stopped her treadmill and stared at her, alarmed.

“I’m okay,” Cass heard herself say. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Cass realized she’d put out a hand and grabbed a nearby machine to steady herself. Anne looked like she was a second away from calling for a medic.

“No, I’m really okay. I just . . . you know, I was one of the ones who brought her in that night and I . . .” she babbled, trying to cover the confusion and anger her real thoughts had created. “I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection.”

Anne nodded. “It was a shock for everyone, but it must’ve been really bad for you.”

“It was. I . . . I think I’m going to go back to my berth and lie down for a while.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Anne said, her face sympathetic. “Try to put it out of your mind. Sheryl’s death was just a terrible, tragic accident and it won’t happen again.”

She said a few more things in an attempt to comfort, but Cass didn’t hear any of them as she stumbled out of the gym and down the hall. Images of Sheryl alive—laughing and eating in the galley, nodding to her at a meeting—mingled with those of the body on the sled, frozen and unresponsive, then morphed, in turn, into the shadowy figure sprinting down the ice tunnel. Cass felt sick.

It won’t happen again . . . because it never happened at all.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


“So what does it all mean? What should I do?”

There was a pause before the answer came across, crackling and hissing. “Are you really asking that of a child of Soviet-era dissenters who were sent to Siberia for asking too many questions?”

Lying on her side, cradling her parka’d head in the crook of her elbow, Cass smiled. It wasn’t all that funny, but any joke was welcome these days. “I’m asking you as a scientist and a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Well, yes,” Cass stammered.

“Oh. In that case, how could I resist?” Vox replied in a mocking tone. Cass couldn’t tell if the comment was sarcastic or self-deprecating. “But you should treat your friends better. You have missed our last two dates.”

“I’m sorry, Sasha,” she said, exasperated. He’d already chided her twice. “I don’t know about life at Orlova, but things are pretty crazy here. Even when you don’t think there’s a major conspiracy going on.”

“Call me Vox. I forgive you. But you owe me,” Vox said. “In any case, you have asked for my help with a problem. I will solve this for you, but let us treat this as an academic issue. First, what is your evidence?”

“I never saw her face or checked her body.”

“Next.”

“Our station doctor told me he had not been permitted to inspect the body.”

“Noted.”

“I saw a person fleeing the vehicle facility who had a very distinct running style. I couldn’t identify it at the time, but when I described it to someone else, they knew who it was immediately.”