Icy Clutches

'Well, sure, it was the professor.'

'By the professor, you mean Tremaine?'

'Well, sure.'

'Who else?'

'Just the professor.'

'You said ‘voices,” John said.

Pratt took the pipe out of his mouth and blew smoke to one side. “Figure of speech. All I heard was the professor say hello. Must have said it to someone.'

Minor frowned. “You heard him say hello? The word ‘hello'?'

'You got it. I was just going to the toilet, you know, before I went to bed, and I heard his voice through the wall. Made me jump because I thought someone was talking to me.'

'And nothing after the hello? No further sounds?” Pratt shrugged. “That's when I flushed the toilet.'

'What kind of hello?” John asked. “Loud, quiet, scared, friendly...'

'Just plain hello.” Pratt sucked twice at the pipe while he sought further detail. “Pretty quiet, with kind of like a question mark at the end. You know, like, ‘Hello, is somebody there?’ Only all I heard him say was hello, because that's when I—'

'Flushed the toilet,” John supplied.

'You got it.'

'Did you hear anything before the hello?” John asked. “Any other sounds?'

'No...well, yes, I heard his shower. Is that what you mean by sounds?'

John thought this over. “You were able to hear a quiet hello over the sound of the shower? Maybe it wasn't so quiet.'

Pratt shook his head with relative vigor. “No, I'm telling this wrong. I was lying on the bed and I heard the professor's shower go off. The pipes make this noise-clunk-clunk—and that sort of woke me up out of a doze, and I figured it was time to call it a day. So “I went into the bathroom to take a pee and that's when I heard it: ‘Hello?'

'How long after the shower went off?'

'Maybe four, five minutes. Long enough to brush my teeth, wash my face, and take a pee.'

'About what time was this?'

'Oh, maybe ten o'clock.'

Ten o'clock, the probable time of death. “Is there anything else you remember?” John asked. “Sounds of a scuffle? Maybe a door closing?'

Pratt smiled. “Nope. Tell you the truth, I didn't know I remembered this much till you fellas started asking.'

And that, despite further prodding by Minor, was all he had to say on the subject.

'So tell me, Mr. Pratt,” John asked, “why are you here?'

'Mm?” Pratt looked at him with renewed interest, his arms crossed, one hand holding the pipe to his mouth. “'Fraid I don't follow what you're after.'

John didn't know what he was after; only that Pratt was there in place of his sister, who had originally been invited by Javelin Press. And he just didn't seem the type to willingly spend a week sitting around indoors talking about a manuscript. Especially while the salmon were still running strong (which they were, according to Minor's thoroughgoing research). Javelin was picking up expenses, but that didn't make up for a week's lost income. And private fishermen didn't get paid-vacation time.

'As I understand it,” John said, “the publishing company asked your sister, but you offered to come in her place. Why?'

'Didn't offer. Eunice asked me to.'

'And why was that?'

'Well,” Pratt said with a sigh, “Eunice isn't what she was. Just didn't think she was up to talking about Jimmy getting killed and all, so she asked me to come instead. So I did.'

'You gave up a week's fishing to be here?'

'Yup.'

'Why? What did you hope to accomplish?'

With the bit of his pipe Pratt slowly scratched his temple. “Danged if I know.'

That seemed to end that, at least for the time being. “And what about your brother? What was he doing here?'

'My brother? I don't follow—'

'In 1960. Why was he on the expedition?'

'Oh. Something to do with his schoolwork, wasn't it?'