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. “Nikolai has shown up at the lodge, quite distraught, demanding to talk to the detective in charge. He had locked himself in his room, but we got in using 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 . “And, they found a small pool of blood not far from the side of the lodge. There were speck of blood beneath the ski lift as well. We took pictures and swabbed everything. It will head to the lab asap. For now, I have officers posted outside the door waiting for you to get back there. So for now, he ain’t goin’ anywhere. Now it’s a waiting game with forensics. I am trying to get the lab to rush, considering the competition happening, but you know how they are,” he gave a knowing look at Kunst who nodded in agreement. “Oh, and by the way, 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 flicked a look at the picture of his wife before joining Grange. They both took the elevator down to the parking garage beneath the building.
“What do you think about the ex-boyfriend?” Grange asked. “She didn’t say if they argued or not. Her mood was rather…both forthcoming and lying at the same time. It was strange.”
“I agree. Maybe he can enlighten us on their present relationship and when he saw her last. I am trying not to judge yet, but eyes are on him. Others alluded to him during questions, if you remember. His name always seemed to crop up in some way, both negative and positive.”
“Yes, I remember that too,” 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.” His voice lowered as he spoke.
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 strode up to his car right next to Kunst’s. Kunst grabbed his parka from the trunk and placed it in his passenger seat, prepared for the cold. Kunst didn’t answer, just cast a look and Grange took the hint.
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, following, grimaced as he swerved. He slowed his pace, 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.
“So, how many years till retirement, Kunst?” Wilson asked as they walked together toward the entry way. Kunst shivered beneath his parka.
“Three and a half months,” Kunst replied.
“I guess your wife is looking forward to it,” Grange opened the door for Kunst and let him pass through first. The other followed close behind.
“She is,” he checked his phone and began typing, “we are making our plans.” Kunst sighed unexpectedly, his thoughts taking him far away.
“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.”
“Relax — they have a fire going and the suspect is waiting up on the third floor,” Jones chimed in. “He’s been agitated and upset over Ekaterina’s death. He’s been wailing her name for a while.”
The large lobby was just like the day the body had been found. People milled around, some in groups in animated conversations, and some warming themselves by the first. Kunst saw the coach talking with two young women different national emblems on their hoodies. Kunst followed Wilson and Jones into the small elevator. Kunst pointed in the direction of the coach. “Grange, go ask the coach about the time on the note found and where he was, then ask the other team mates. I will speak with Nikolai with Jones and Wilson.”
Grange gave him a hearty salute and the elevator doors closed.
“We have interviewed the staff members as well, before you ask.”
“Danke. I’m anxious to read your notes.”
“We will add it to what we have in the conference room,” Jones replied, looking up at the bright lights above, level three chimed.
Kunst nodded and pursed his lips tight. The door opened as he sent a text to his wife. “After I question Nikolai we can organize everything and there are more questions I have.”
“Absolutely, just tell us who you want to question first and we will haul them up to you,” Jones said.
“Haul them up — interesting — just invite,” 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.
“Just a joke,” Wilson said with a smile.
“Thank you, Officer Simpson, this is Chief Detective Kunst,” Wilson said. 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 had been wailing and sobbing for a while. Now he’s quiet. I think he may have fallen asleep,” the officer said.
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.
