Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(37)

Everyone is totally focused as they discuss the best approach.

They have been working for just over an hour. The meeting is due to end shortly, at nine thirty, as soon as it is light enough outside to facilitate the search. They have two helicopters with thermal-imaging cameras, plus a significant number of snowmobiles. It has been decided that Anton and Raffe will join the search while Daniel remains at the station.

The weather forecast is marginally on their side. It is still snowing, and the wind is strong up on ?reskutan, but it has died down enough to allow the helicopters to fly.

Daniel desperately hopes that they have chosen the right area. He has been up since six and has already drunk three cups of coffee. He got five hours’ sleep last night; Ida and Alice were fast asleep both when he arrived home and when he left.

“Did you manage to speak to the staff at Tv?r?stugan?”

Birgitta asks, after listening carefully to Daniel’s summary.

“Dead end,” Anton replies. “The place was closed over Lucia.”

It was the same with Lill?stugan, which doesn’t open for the season until December 26. They will talk to the staff at Buustamon later today, but they’ve already had a chat with the ma?tre d’, who hadn’t seen anything unusual.

They have just gone through the final details when Daniel sees a woman in civilian clothing enter the conference room in ?stersund. She interrupts discreetly by tapping Birgitta on the shoulder, and they conduct a whispered conversation.

Birgitta’s tense jawline doesn’t bode well. This is bad news, Daniel can feel it.

What’s going on?

Birgitta turns back to the camera. She sighs deeply, runs a hand over her forehead.

“Dispatch has just received an emergency call in your area,” she informs her colleagues in ?re. “A chairlift attendant has found a dead body on VM6. You need to get over there right away.”

Daniel stands up with such force that he knocks his chair over.

It has to be Amanda—who else could it be?

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37

It takes only a few minutes to drive from the police station on Kurortsv?gen to the chairlift on Kabinebanv?gen, and yet the trip seems to last an eternity. Daniel’s head is buzzing with questions as Anton drives as fast as he dares on the treacherous road surface.

Why would Amanda be found in such a strange place?

Could it be someone else? If so, who?

It was a boy who called it in, but he was so shaken that it was impossible to conduct a sensible conversation. He just kept repeating that there was a dead body on the lift.

The windshield wipers are laboring by the time they skid into the parking lot, followed by two squad cars. Daniel flings open the door and begins to run through the snow, up the hill toward the large red station alongside the VM6

chairlift.

He takes in the scene through a curtain of whirling snow.

The lift isn’t moving, but one of the chairs has stopped at the turning point. There is some kind of bundle on the ground below.

A young man is waiting for them with his arms wrapped around his body, as if he is losing control. In spite of the cold, he is wearing neither a hat nor gloves. His cheerful red jacket with its SkiStar emblem seems inappropriate under the circumstances.

He doesn’t react as they approach, looking up only when Daniel is standing right in front of him.

“Police,” Daniel informs him breathlessly. “Was it you who called about a dead body on the lift?”

The boy nods. He waves a hand toward the platform, but studiously avoids looking in that direction. “Over there.”

His hair is thick with snow, his lips blue with the cold.

“Go inside and get warm,” Daniel says.

The boy looks hesitant, then shambles off toward the door.

At that moment Anton catches up, followed by two uniformed officers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel sees a couple of skiers watching with curiosity. It won’t be long before half the village knows what has happened. The media will have a field day with this, as he knows from previous experience.

“Cordon off the area,” he shouts to his colleagues.

“Make sure no unauthorized individuals get too close.”

He ducks underneath the steel fence that surrounds the waiting area and walks over to the platform.

The sun has barely risen, the shadows are still long.

He can just make out a naked back. The body is facing the hill. It is hard to distinguish the contours, but he sees a slender waist, rounded hips. Then he registers the bra and panties. It takes a few seconds; the items of clothing are so pale that they blend in with the soft snowflakes beginning to cover the body.

He takes a few more steps so that he can see the face.

Amanda is lying there, her cheek resting on the ground.

Shit.

Even though he was prepared, it is still a shock to recognize her dead face in the snow. Until now he has seen her only in photographs, smiling or laughing into the camera, making faces, radiating energy. Everything in color.

Now he is looking at a monochrome version.

Amanda has become a frozen shell of a person, an ice doll who will never smile at her parents and her little brother and sister again.

Despite all their efforts, they didn’t manage to save her.

The sound of sirens shatters the silence. In the distance an officer is trying to shoo away nosy skiers. A young man takes out his phone to start filming, but receives a sharp reprimand.