‘And it lasted until the twenty-sixth, you say? That’s when the power came back on?’
‘Thereabouts, yes.’
‘So their visitor must have arrived by the twenty-third at the latest.’
‘Yes, either then or after Christmas.’
‘Hardly, since they were already dead by then. Their Christmas presents hadn’t been opened.’
‘Oh, yes, right. Now you mention it,’ he said, wrongfooted.
‘Could we drive back now?’ she asked.
‘Back? But your colleagues haven’t finished.’
‘They’ll be fine. We’ll pick them up later.’
‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked.
‘Just to the point our mysterious visitor could have reached in the days before Christmas. To where he’d have been forced to leave his car.’
‘OK, yes, sure, we can drive there. Though I didn’t notice any car by the road.’
‘We weren’t specifically looking, though.’
‘But surely it wouldn’t still be there? He’d have made his getaway.’
‘Maybe. But, who knows, there might be signs that a vehicle was parked there. Frozen ruts under the snow, for example.’
‘True,’ he said. ‘OK. I’ll just go and tell the boys where we’re going.’
They drove for a while without speaking. Jens had obviously learned his lesson and Hulda had nothing to say to him. Nevertheless, after a few minutes she began to find the silence burdensome. The moment her attention wandered, Dimma would be there, waiting. Hulda had failed her. She had realized too late. The knowledge was searing, agonizing. She could feel herself developing a splitting headache as her daughter’s name echoed louder and louder in her mind, until, unable to bear it any longer, she had to say something.
‘Have … have you lived here long?’
‘What, me? Never lived anywhere else. You get the hang of village life; it’s addictive, really. There’s always something to keep you occupied, you know – hobbies, and so on…’
From his tone, Hulda gathered that he was waiting for her to ask him more about his hobbies. She supposed it could do no harm to oblige him.
‘Oh, I see, like what, exactly?’
‘Well, music, obviously.’
‘Er, obviously?’
‘Yes, you know, my song.’
She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about but didn’t like to ask.
Seeing her puzzlement, he looked embarrassed. ‘Oh, sorry, I thought maybe you’d know it. Most people do, though I say so myself.’ He mentioned a popular hit from the early seventies, a song Hulda was certainly familiar with.
‘Was that you?’
‘Indeed it was – the sins of my youth, and all that. I was the original one-hit wonder. But people are still always asking me to sing it.’ He laughed. ‘On the unlikeliest occasions. And at most get-togethers, you know. I usually give in – belt it out and strum along on the guitar.’
Looking at the stout, middle-aged man beside her, Hulda had trouble picturing him as a pop star. To her extreme annoyance, the chorus was now stuck in her head.
‘I’ve got a sort of deal going with the restaurant in the village too. Well, restaurant’s putting it a bit strong, it’s more of a glorified petrol-station café really, where people go if they want a burger and chips, that sort of thing. If there’s a good crowd in, I sometimes sing for the diners and, in return, I get a free meal – singing for my supper, you know!’ He chuckled. ‘No doubt you’ll pop in there yourself when you get a moment.’
Silence descended again after the confessions of the one-time pop star. Hulda contemplated the inhospitable landscape. The sky was threatening more snow. However picturesque the mountains and valley looked in their winter costume, she would never have dreamt of living out here. It might be a good area for hiking in summer, though.
It occurred to her that she hadn’t been hiking in a long time. Perhaps that’s what she needed: to head into the mountains and heal her wounded spirits in the great outdoors instead of being cooped up at home or working herself into the ground. There was no chance of that now, though. She needed to solve this case first, preferably with distinction.
Recalling a remark the inspector had made earlier, Hulda said: ‘You mentioned that no one had been able to get hold of them on the phone, which was why you decided to come up here yourself to check on them. Was their phone working, did you happen to notice?’
‘No, it was dead when I tried to ring them, as if there was something wrong with the phone or the line. But I forgot to check if there was a dialling tone while I was at the house.’
‘Could you look into it later?’
‘Of course, will do.’
‘This is where the road usually gets blocked.’ The inspector pulled up and they both got out of the car.
Hulda turned in a slow circle, taking in their surroundings.
‘There, look,’ she said after a moment, pointing off to one side. ‘There’s a vehicle of some kind. Looks like a big four-wheel drive.’ The car was parked some way from the road.
‘Yes, damn it, you’re right. I didn’t notice it before. The driver’s taken a strange route, but … well, now you mention it … maybe…’
‘Maybe what?’ Hulda asked impatiently.
‘Maybe it’s understandable. I’ve often driven this way in winter. The road usually gets closed by heavy drifting at this point and they don’t bother to plough any further. But a stranger to the area might make the mistake of thinking they could get round the blockage if they took a detour to the left. You can drive off the road here, if you’ve got the right sort of vehicle, because the ground is usually swept fairly bare by the wind. But it’s deceptive. Our man would soon have got into trouble, I can swear to that. He’d have been stuck fast before he knew it.’
They both set off at a smart pace over the firm snow-crust towards the car. It was white, which had made it all the harder to see against the snowy backdrop, and Hulda couldn’t
