Icy Clutches

'Um, if it's all the same, I think I'll let Gideon explain it to you.'

Gideon went to an adjustable table lamp at the far end of the counter. He held the fragment six inches from the bulb, and his face six inches from the fragment, tilting it so that the light slanted across the surface to highlight the texture. After another two minutes he straightened slowly up and came over to them with the fragment.

'I was not impervious. I was simply focusing my powers of concentration.” He tapped the bone. “Got something funny here, folks.'

'Oh my,” Julie murmured and downed the rest of her toddy.

'What do you mean, funny?” Owen asked. “What's going on? I mean, I know I'm just the chief park ranger here, but couldn't somebody tell me what's happening?'

Gideon told him. “Whoever this was, he was murdered.'

'Murdered!” Owen stared at him. “But these people were killed in the avalanche. They—” He looked from Gideon to Julie and back again. “Weren't they?'

'I don't think so. Buried by it, maybe. Killed, no. Not this guy.'

Owen looked down at the fragment in Gideon's hand, lips pursed. “That's a bullet hole? Is that what you're saying?'

Gideon shook his head. “Too big. And if it was a bullet hole it'd be round and beveled, with the inside table of the bone sheared away. That's if it had been an entrance wound. If it was an exit wound...well, never mind. The fact is, this didn't come from a high-velocity projectile going either way. See here around the edges, how the bone has been crushed inward, not just blown away? See how the sides of the hole are conical, not straight? See this crack radiating—'

'Well, what then?” Owen said impatiently. “Look, why does it have to be murder? Why couldn't it be from a falling rock or something? The guy was in an avalanche!'

'You're wasting your time, Owen,” Julie told him pleasantly. “Believe me.'

'Somebody hit him in the head with something heavy,” Gideon said. “If this is the same guy whose mandible they found yesterday, he was cracked in the jaw first—hard. He fell, and then he was hit in the head—even harder.'

'Wait a minute, Gideon,” Julie said. “Just hold on there, Credibility is being strained here. How can you talk about sequence? How can you possibly say that he was hit in the jaw first?'

'Jaw?” Owen was muttering. 'Jaw?'

'I can't tell from looking at the bone,” Gideon said. “It's a matter of deduction, of reasonable inference.'

'Oh-oh,” Julie said to Owen. “Watch out now. Hang on to your wallet.'

'Nothing tricky,” Gideon said. He put his forefinger through the hole. It went in all the way to the knuckle without touching the edges. “I just can't see much point in cracking him in the jaw after someone put a hole like this in his head, can you?'

She made a face. “Ugh, I see what you mean. Yes, I think you're right. As he usually is,” she said to Owen. “It's very annoying.'

'The hole is just anterior to the mastoid angle of the parietal...about here,” Gideon said, touching a point about an inch behind his own right ear.

'Wait a minute, isn't that pretty low for getting hit over the head?” Owen asked. “And pretty far back?'

'Not if you were hit from behind or—more likely—had collapsed onto your face after somebody'd just broken your jaw.'

'What jaw, dammit? That jawbone we found yesterday—somebody broke it?'

'I'm afraid so. I wasn't positive, but it's looking more likely now.'

Owen expelled his breath and watched while Gideon replaced the fragment on the table. “Christ,” he said, staring at it, “that's awful. What would make a hole like that?'

'Something heavy,” Gideon said. “And pointed.'

'Well, yeah, I guess so.” He looked suddenly at Gideon. “Christ, you don't think...'

'I sure do, Owen. Where'd you put it?'

Owen pulled the broken ice ax from a shelf under the counter and offered it to Gideon.

'No, you hold it,” Gideon said. “Point-up. Prop it on the counter so it doesn't move.'

Owen grasped it firmly in both hands, where the splintered handle joined the head, and pressed the adze- shaped end against the counter top. The pick-like part was held upright and unmoving.

Gideon turned the skull fragment so that the convex exterior side was down and lowered it steadily onto the point. The dull metal spike slid smoothly through the hole, millimeter by millimeter. When the bone was finally seated against it, the fit was snug and perfect, like a peg in a pegboard.

Gideon let go of the fragment, which clung to the spike without even a wobble. Five inches of curving, pitted steel jutted evilly through the hole—and into the braincase, had there still been a braincase. The sight was riveting.

'How horrible,” Julie said softly and looked away, out the small window over the counter.

As they often were at moments like this, Gideon's feelings were mixed. On the one hand, he was pleased with himself. With nothing but highly ambiguous evidence to go on yesterday, he'd tentatively reached some manifestly unlikely conclusions about that mandible. His instincts, his experience, had told him something was very wrong. And now, apparently, it turned out that he'd been correct. And he'd quickly recognized this hole in the parietal for what it was too. Simple enough to do on a skeleton found in someone's basement; not so obvious in bones that had been