Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(66)

“When I saw the news on TV about that poor girl, I started to wonder. I told my partner, and she said I ought to contact you.”

“I’m very pleased you did,” Daniel replies. “Any idea what make the snowmobile was?”

Tor frowns. “SkiStar mostly uses Lynx, although there are a few Ski-Doos. This was a different make—possibly Yamaha, but I can’t be sure. As I said, it was a very dark color, and it was moving pretty fast. I just got the feeling something wasn’t right. I can’t really explain why.”

Daniel is unexpectedly grateful that Tor has turned out to be a real Skellefte? guy, or at least someone who intuitively knows the difference between snowmobiles.

Personally, he wouldn’t be able to tell one from another.

“It might have been a Polaris,” Tor adds. “But that’s just a guess.”

Lynx is one of the leading snowmobile brands, as is Ski-Doo. Yamaha is a smaller manufacturer, but very popular.

There must be hundreds of these models in the area, but it’s still useful information.

Anton has another question. “You didn’t happen to see the registration number?”

Tor shakes his head. “Sorry. It was too far away.”

“But you’re sure it was heading toward VM6?”

“Yes. I could see the beam of the headlights moving through the darkness across the snow as it turned off for the valley. You couldn’t miss it.”

“Do you remember anything else?” Daniel asks. “Even the smallest detail could be important.”

Tor glances out of the window at the T-bar lifts moving up to the R?dkullen mountain station. The sight is almost hypnotic as the bars regularly slide forward, swing around, then disappear with a steady rhythm.

“Actually, there was one more thing. I’m almost sure the driver was pulling a sled. I thought I saw it by the rear lights when he turned down the slope; something seemed to be sliding along behind him.”

Daniel and Anton exchange a look.

“Thank you so much,” Daniel says. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”

It can’t possibly be a coincidence that a snowmobile was out so late in the vicinity of VM6, just hours before Amanda was found on the chairlift. And moving a dead body would be no problem with a sled.

Plus the snowmobile came from the west.

Ull?dalen lies to the west.

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69

Harald notices that Mira looks around carefully before leaving her car. She has pulled her hat all the way down and is wearing dark glasses, even though it’s December.

When she sits down beside him, Harald can no longer control himself. He pulls her close, kisses her with such passion that he doesn’t realize she’s resisting.

He comes to his senses only when she shouts “Stop!”

and pushes him away.

Harald’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I just had to . . .” He can’t explain himself; he has no idea what to say, so he simply opens his hands in a wordless gesture of apology.

Mira’s eyes are full of sympathy. She takes his hand, caresses the back with a featherlight touch. The warmth of her fingertips spreads through his body.

“I’m so sorry about Amanda,” Mira says, her voice breaking. “It’s terrible.”

Harald can’t talk about his dead daughter. All he wants right now is to touch Mira, feel her soft body against his.

Forget everything, if only for a few minutes. He tries to kiss her again, but she pulls away.

“Don’t do that.”

“Please, Mira . . .”

She edges a little closer to the door, and a shadow passes across her face. “It’s over between us. You know that.”

“I need you.” Harald can’t suppress a low groan. “I can’t do this on my own. I’m drowning.” He presses his fist to his mouth to avoid losing control completely.

“It’s over,” Mira says again.

How can she be like this after what’s happened? Harald is devastated, he needs her—surely she must understand that?

But Mira’s voice is flat and neutral when she continues: “What we did wasn’t fair on your family or mine. We agreed on that.”

She falls silent, looks down at her wedding ring and her engagement ring, with its sparkling solitaire diamond.

“Especially not now. You have to think about Lena and the twins—they’re going to need you more than ever.”

Harald is on the verge of tears. Lena was still asleep when he left the house. He has already realized that they are incapable of supporting each other through this. He takes Mira’s hand and squeezes it. He doesn’t want to beg, but he can’t stop himself when she’s sitting so close to him.

“Just one last time,” he pleads.

She snatches her hand away and puts on her gloves.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

Mira takes a pink lip gloss out of her purse, as if she wants to give him the chance to pull himself together.

“Don’t text me late on a Sunday night again,” she says.

Her tone is gentle, her message crystal clear.

Harald had forgotten that he’d sent her a text when the vodka rush took over. He is even more ashamed now.