They got up quickly, “Thank you. An officer will show you out. Please…” he looked at her, trying to catch her gaze, “don’t leave the area.”
She nodded. Grange cast look in her direction, a serene-look passed over her face. He saw a woman well-pleased with herself.
Captain Gregory Archer had been behind the brusk voice. He led them down the hallway back out into the feverish office where officers typed on keyboards and detectives were deep in conversation, either with each other or on their phone. “The ex-boyfriend, Nikolai Vetrov, has finally returned to the ski lodge, quite distraught and he had locked himself in his room. We had to get the passkey from the manager. They are keeping him there, being babysat by officers.” Kunst, his notebook grasped on his chest, followed behind him while Grange headed toward his own desk to grab his car keys and his thick jacket that he had draped across the back of the chair still. “And, we found a pool of blood not far from the side of the lodge. And, I heard the best friend mention an argument. I have officers posted outside his door, he ain’t goin’ anywhere. Everything is with the forensics, so it’s a waiting game. Also, there was a note found in an inner pocket with a time written in stick numbers. You two get back over there, as quick as you can.”
“Ja,” he replied. He passed his desk and looked at the picture of his wife briefly, before joining Grange to head toward the parking lot beneath the building.
“What do you think about the ex-boyfriend?” Grange asked.
“I am trying not to judge yet, but eyes are on him.”
“Yes,” Grange said, casually leaning against the wall of the elevator until it opened with a ping of the garage level. “I know you Kunst, you always seem to know who’s guilty, what do you think?”
He turned in his direction as they headed toward Grange’s car at the end. “I am not sure.”
Grange looked at him, not believing what he was hearing, “You’re NOT sure. I don’t think I have ever heard you utter those words. And, what’s with the jaw twitch while we questioned Anya. You haven’t said anything about your contempt toward these people. What’s up with that?” He slid behind the wheel and Kunst threw his parka in the back seat from his own trunk before sitting in the passenger seat. Kunst didn’t answer, just cast a look and Grange took the hint. They drove in mostly silence, Kunst reading through his notes and sending texts. Grange knew he had friends everywhere. He’d figure this out one way or another.
“So, how many years till retirement, Kunst?”
“Three and a half years,” Kunst replied.
“I guess your wife is looking forward to it,” Grange checked the rear-view mirror for a moment and turned on the signal to make a right turn.
“She is,” he checked his phone and began typing, “we are making our plans.” Kunst sighed unexpectedly, his thoughts taking him far away. Grange refocused on driving through the roads, splashing through pools of water and blackened snow hit the undercarriage of the car.
The road up the mountain had been recently cleared. Walls of snow grew taller the farther up they drove. Side windows grew foggy and icy to the touch. Kunst watched the snow covered trees fly past. Grange turned a bit too quickly and slid as he rounded the corner. Kunst gave him a look of irritation. He slowed, driving gently into a parking spot of the ski lodge, close to the entrance. The hotel was to the right of the restaurant. Kunst and Grange both noted the officers sitting in a parked car, the windows up and the heater going. Kunst rolled his eyes. Grange sighed deeply. Around the corner, two detectives they recognized headed toward the front. Detective Wilson waved as Kunst and Grange walked toward them. Detective Jones stood nearby in a stoic silence. He had a history with Kunst and it showed. Grange understood completely and gave him a sympathetic look.
“We are keeping watch on him, Kunst, since we know you prefer to do it yourself,” Wilson said, his face flushed red. “Man, it’s cold out here. Follow us.” He turned toward the wooden entry door. The building had been fashioned after a European chalet, wood beams, brightly painted gingerbread details, and an old sleigh, worn and rusted from the elements, sat outside near to the path the two detectives had taken to meet Kunst and Grange. “They have a fire going and the suspect is waiting up on the third floor.”
A mass of people sat in the large room, just like the day the body had been found. Kunst saw the coach talking with two young women, Russian emblems on their outfits gave away who they were. “Have you questioned the team members?” Kunst followed Wilson and Jones into the small elevator. Kunst pointed in the direction of the coach. “Ask the coach about the time on the note found and where he was.”
Grange gave him a hearty salute and the elevator doors closed.
“We have interviewed the teammates and got their alibis. We just need to corroborate them.”
“Sounds like you have quite a bit of work ahead of you two then. I’m anxious to read your notes. Has everything been set up here now?”
“Yes, in one of the hotel rooms on the first floor.”
Kunst nodded and pursed his lips tight. The door opened as he sent a text to his wife. “After I question Nikolai we can get everything we know up on the white board. We do have one ready for us?”
“Absolutely, everything is ready and they have a room for you and Grange just in case.”
“I will not be staying here,” Kunst replied with a snort, maintaining a close distance behind Wilson and Jones taking up the rear, a bit farther down. At the end of the hallway, the officer in uniform stood outside the door of a suite.
“Thank you, Officer Simpson, this is Chief Detective Kunst,” Wilson said and the officer nodded and moved away from the door to let them pass unobstructed. The hallways were narrow, a wall of glass to one side looking out over the snow laden forest.
“He’s been rather quiet,” the officer said, “no trouble at all after that big scene he made at first.”
As they opened the door, Kunst knew at once something was wrong. The disarray was expected, but behind the sofa a foot stuck out, not expected. They ran toward it. The lifeless body of Nikolai was still warm to the touch, the edges of his mouth foamed and ran down the side of his face onto the thick carpet. He was laying on his back, his arms twisted, the remains of the glass splashed on the fabric of the sofa. Wilson checked his pulse. Finding nothing, he made a call to dispatch and to another officer downstairs to make sure no one left the building. They had a second murder.
“I wonder what he knew,” Jones said, breaking his silence finally.
“Guess we will never know,” Kunst looked down at the body. He picked up the glass after putting on a glove he retrieved from his pocket. He held it up, the few drops of liquid still held some sparkle with the pale sunlight streaming from the window. “Does anyone have an evidence bag?”
It wasn’t long before more officers and Grange filled the hallway. It didn’t take much. Grange pushed his way through. “The ambulance pulled up outside, we need to clear this room,” he shouted.
Kunst started a survey of the surroundings. The chairs were overturned, clothes everywhere. He opened the closet, one suitcase laid on the luggage rack, empty and unzipped. He pulled it out and a skier’s glove fell to the ground. It looked small for the man laying on the ground. He picked it up and on the inside there were the letters E and a cyrillic letter B for Belova.
“I need to ask the officer that was posted outside a few questions,” Kunst said.
“I am still here, sir,” he had been standing just inside the door watching the scene unfold.
“Did anyone come see him while you were outside?”
“No,” he replied. He twisted his fingers together in front of him, “but, I hadn’t been there the entire time. I relieved the other officer.”
“No one visited him while I was standing guard either,” the voice said just outside the door.
Kunst had placed the glove inside another evidence bag and handed it to Grange.
He stood in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips. “We need to keep everyone here for now. Have the rooms been searched?”
“We just finished and found nothing,” Jones said.
“What about the blood you found outside? Has it been determined to be the crime scene for our first victim?” He went through the room, moving clothing to the side, and headed into the bathroom.
“There is enough blood and there were drops that lead to divots in the snow that may have been tracks for a snow mobile, but with the recent snow, it is hard to say,” Wilson stood with his hands in his pockets.
“We have a lot of nothing,” Grange said.
“Perhaps,” Kunst’s voice echoed in the bathroom out into the room. “Perhaps.”
Outside the window, the sun had completely disappeared and a gentle snow began to fall. The night wouldn’t be as quiet as he had hoped. He took a deep breath, wishing the next three and a half years would pass without notice, but that would be a dream, not the nightmare he had to live as the bodies were now multiplying. He looked out and watched the snow begin to add to the already created heaps on the evergreen limbs.
“I would like to organize all the witness statements and the evidence and my thoughts. I can’t think in this chaos.” He let out a stream of air that fogged the window.
“This way, sir,” Grange said, leading the way this time.
