Page 32

2019

Agatha and Luca stay perfectly still while Miika stands in the door frame. He seems calm, in control, which leaves Agatha more terrified than she’s ever felt. He knows she has that drawing book. He knows she’s figured out that if Kaya didn’t take the book like he said, then there’s only one reason he would have lied.

In the dark, she feels Luca’s fingers brush hers and then take her left hand in a grip.

The last fifteen years of pain and strife between the sisters is momentarily suspended. Agatha is grateful for Luca’s hand.

Agatha is about to announce herself, to tell Miika she has her gun trained on him and he needs to drop the rifle, but something stops her. She can’t be sure that, as soon as he hears her voice, Miika won’t know where it’s coming from and take aim.

She doesn’t know how quick he is. She also doesn’t know if she has it in her to put him down first. Agatha has never shot anybody.

She knows this man murdered his wife and that he’s capable of murdering her.

Agatha can’t die. The kids need her.

Because if Luca is getting help and Agatha dies, she fears the kids could end up back with Luca. And Luca never stays in control for long. That’s just the sad, tragic truth.

These are the thoughts rushing through Agatha’s mind as she weighs the risks of revealing herself to Miika.

She has to do something, but before she can decide, Miika leaves the shed.

Agatha and Luca look at each other in the semi-darkness, their eyes adjusting once more.

Do they stay where they are?

Do they make a run for it?

Agatha listens hard.

A few minutes pass.

Then she hears the snowmobile start up outside.

He’s leaving.

Oh, thank God.

Miika’s trying to escape. Or, he thinks they’ve fled into the forest.

Agatha waits until she can no longer hear the buzz of the snowmobile.

Then, still holding hands, the sisters make their way to the door.

Luca lets out a little gasp at something and slips. Agatha tightens her grip before Luca can crash to the floor. When she’s steady, both women look down at the thick, viscous liquid that almost brought Luca down. It’s just a dark patch, but Agatha knows it’s blood.

She follows Luca’s gaze and her chest tightens.

Something is staring at them from one of the butchering tables; glassy, wide-open eyes.

Agatha’s heart stops for a moment, until she realises it’s the head of a reindeer.

At the shed door, Agatha peeps out. The snowmobile is gone. Luca’s and Agatha’s cars are where they left them. They can try Luca’s car until they get it started.

They step outside on to the snow and start to run to the car.

Halfway, it catches Agatha’s eye.

There, in the trees, is Miika’s snowmobile.

Abandoned.

She can feel him before she sees him.

Agatha turns around.

Miika is standing behind them, his rifle trained on Agatha. He’s stepped out from behind the shed.

She still has her gun in her hand.

She raises it.

Patric is driving too fast. The road is empty and there’s plenty of daylight but they’re still at risk of crashing. Imagine if that’s what took him out, Alex muses. After all this. Before he’s even had a chance to tell anybody what he’s figured out.

‘Slow down,’ Alex says.

‘Agatha’s in danger,’ Patric says.

‘What do you mean?’ Alex says. ‘She has nothing to fear from Miika, surely?’

‘I don’t. . .’ Patric hesitates, then shakes his head. ‘Luca is on her tail. She turned up last night and she’s nowhere in town. Somebody saw her car this morning, heading out of town.’

‘Luca? Would she hurt her? I know what she did to the kids, but it was an accident, wasn’t it?’

‘Accident,’ Patrick scoffs. ‘Did she tell you about the time Luca stole the snowmobile and brought it out on to the lake?’

Alex nods as they go into a particularly hairy turn. His heart is in his mouth.

‘Agatha followed her out on the lake and tried to stop her,’ Patric says. ‘Luca took it all as a big joke, figured they could race like they used to when they were little girls. When Agatha wouldn’t play ball, Luca drove her snowmobile into Agatha’s. You’ve seen the power in those things. A crash like that, they were lucky the machines didn’t explode. If Agatha hadn’t been thrown clear, the thing could have sliced her leg off. As it was, she just had concussion. And Luca didn’t even show remorse. There’s something wrong with that girl. Always has been. It just wasn’t noticed because the parents were useless, and then when they died, everybody let her get away with stuff because she was a poor little orphan.’

‘People can change,’ Alex says.

‘Not Luca. She always has to push it. She swore she’d stay away and here she is, back again. She thinks she’s Teflon, that girl. I’ll kill her before I let her harm Agatha and those kids.’

Alex falls silent. He feels sick, from the insane driving and the story.

‘Why do you need her, anyway?’ Patric asks.

Patric looks across to him and at that moment, the car swerves violently.

‘Christ,’ Alex cries and tries to press the imaginary brake pedal on his side of the car, but Patric manages to straighten the vehicle; he works the gearstick and takes his foot off the accelerator rather than using the brakes.

When they’re on a steady course again, Alex answers Patric’s question.

‘I think I know who killed my sister,’ he says.

‘I don’t want to shoot you, Miika,’ Agatha says.

Luca’s hand is holding hers so tight, it’s going to leave bruises. Agatha remembers that feeling. When their father died and their mother was wailing at the funeral, Luca had gripped Agatha’s hand. Sympathy, support, mortification at their mother’s antics. When she was in labour with Emilia, the same grip. When Luca had signed the adoption papers to hand over the children, she’d grabbed Agatha’s hand, but that time, Agatha had shaken it off.

This time, Agatha squeezes back, then releases. She needs both hands for what’s about to happen.

She eases off the safety catch on the gun she still has aimed at Miika’s head. She’s ready.

‘You went in my house,’ he says. ‘You took something that belongs to me. You got a warrant for going in there?’

‘No,’ Agatha says. ‘I don’t. Which means anything I took can’t be used as evidence. So, all you need is a good lawyer.’

Miika studies her. He knows the game is up, he’s not even considering trying to lie.

‘It’s been weighing on my mind all these years,’ he says. ‘I kept thinking, people will find out. Then, nobody did. I never meant to kill her, you know. I could have. When I found out what she’d done. And I certainly gave her a beating. But, in the end, she just tripped down the damn stairs. It wasn’t even intentional. She was gone, just like that. I might have given her a chance, given us a chance, if she’d chosen me. But I saw her with him. She was taking me for a fool. Planning her getaway with him, the two of them in her car, going over all their little deceptions. When I saw that, I just wanted to hurt her. But I didn’t murder her. Not intentionally, anyway.’

Agatha doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth. She doesn’t care. Kaya died. Instead of reporting her death, he reported her missing. Hid her body. And let her parents suffer that, for all these years.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he says. ‘I should have reported it, told you lot it was an accident. But I’d hit her, you see? So nobody would believe it.’

Agatha opens her mouth but Luca gets there before her.

‘I understand,’ she says. ‘Nobody ever believes me when I say I didn’t do something. Because, usually, I’ve done a whole lot of shit before that.’

Miika stares at Luca.

‘Sometimes I think, fuck it,’ she continues. ‘If they think the worst, I’ll do the worst. They already think I’m worth nothing, anyway.’

Agatha wishes Luca would shut up. And at the same time, she can see that her sister’s words are resonating with Miika.

‘We used to tell ghost stories about you, as kids,’ Luca says. ‘Miika, the wife-killer. And we all reckoned you were a serial killer. I was kinda glad the town had this villain. Took the heat off the shit I was doing.’

Luca snorts. Agatha winces. As usual, her sister has gone too far. Miika’s face fills with anger.

‘I didn’t touch those other women,’ he says. ‘That bit, that’s what nearly made me talk. But then I thought, if I admit now that Kaya is dead, who’ll believe me when I say I’m not responsible for the others?’

‘Nobody is saying you are,’ Agatha says, her tone measured. She glares at Luca, hoping she realises how badly Agatha needs her to stop talking. Luca shrugs. It’s her I’m only trying to help look.

‘But you withheld evidence,’ Agatha continues, directing her attention back to Miika. ‘So there will be a charge of some sort. If you cooperate, it will be taken into account. Where is Kaya’s body?’

Miika says nothing.

‘I’m asking because, if there’s a body, a post-mortem will help to confirm how she died,’ Agatha says. ‘Even now, after all this time.’

Miika’s eyes dart to the side, down the mountain. The lake, Agatha thinks. Her heart sinks. They’ll never recover Kaya’s body. Vicky Evans was an anomaly. They dived whole sections of the lake at the time of Kaya’s disappearance. And Mary’s. It’s far too large a volume of water to dredge or ever fully cover. The lake only gives up what it wants, when it wants.

‘Yep,’ Miika says. ‘No body. I’ll never be able to prove the truth.’

Agatha is about to say something when she hears the sound of an approaching car engine.

‘You called for back-up,’ Miika says, angrily. ‘You think you need a gang of you to bring me in?’

‘She didn’t!’ Luca says. ‘She’s on your side.’

‘Nobody’s on my side.’

‘Miika,’ Agatha says. ‘You have a weapon pointed at me. It doesn’t look good. You need to put that down.’

‘I only brought this because I didn’t know what you’d do,’ he says.

‘Miika, we can sort this. . .’ Agatha trails off. The car has come into view. She quickly looks away from Miika to see whose vehicle it is. It’s Patric’s.

She turns back to Miika. His face is twisted with fury.

The car rolls to a stop and now Agatha sees that Patric and Alex are in the front seats, their mouths hanging open at the scene they’ve stumbled across.

She’s about to shout at them to stay in the car when she sees that Miika is no longer pointing his rifle at her. He’s aiming now at the car windscreen.

Without even thinking, Agatha cries out.

Miika turns, momentarily distracted.

So his rifle is pointed at her when it goes off.

In that instant, Agatha hears Luca’s howl of outrage.

There’s a split second, between Agatha hearing the rifle’s shot and Luca’s scream, when she knows she’s going to die.

Even in that moment, the mother in her worries for the kids, but the police chief in her knows at least Alex Evans’ parents won’t have to endure a second death. Patric will have his revolver. He’ll shoot Miika before Miika has time to fire again.

Agatha doesn’t die.

Luca, her twin, the sister who shared a womb with her, pushes Agatha out of the way as the bullet is fired. Luca, who always thought she could do anything and get away with it.

The bullet hits Luca in the back and she falls to the ground.

Agatha is dimly aware, as she drops to her knees beside her sister, of Miika letting the weapon fall from his hands in shock, of a car door opening, of another gun being fired.

When she looks up, Miika too is lying on the snow, blood seeping from his body.

Patric is holding his gun aloft; his hands are shaking. He takes off his hat, wipes the sweat from his forehead with it.

Alex, stunned, looks from Agatha to Luca, to Miika and back to Agatha.

He rushes over as Agatha holds her dying sister in her arms.

Agatha pulls down the zip on Luca’s jacket. The bullet hit Luca in the centre of her back and passed through. She and Alex both place their hands on Luca’s chest as the blood pulses out. It’s not enough. Luca’s eyes are already closed. There’s too much blood. It spills over Agatha’s and Alex’s hands like water, making their fingers slide and intertwine as they try in vain to keep Luca’s life inside her.

She’s gone, even if her body doesn’t quite know it yet.

Patric runs across to Miika. Agatha can see Miika is trying to say something.

Patric still has the gun and is standing a foot away. Now, it’s aimed at Miika’s head.

Agatha, her heart wrenching and in shock, still knows what she has to do.

Her sister is gone.

Now, she has work to do.

‘Hold her,’ she implores of Alex– her voice sounds like it’s coming from somebody else.

‘You stay with her, I’ll. . .’ Alex says, helplessly.

‘Please, just hold her,’ Agatha repeats.

Alex takes Luca’s head in his arms and cradles her as Agatha stands. The front of her coat is covered in Luca’s blood. Her hands are slippy on her weapon. But still she walks towards Patric.

‘Put your gun down,’ she says.

Patric doesn’t even look at her.

‘I’ve got this, Agatha. Take care of your sister.’

‘Luca is dead,’ Agatha says, her voice cold. ‘Put the gun down.’

Miika is trying to draw breath. She looks at him quickly; she can see he’s dying. The rifle is far from his hand, he’s no threat.

He’s mouthing something to Agatha.

She thinks it’s sorry .

He didn’t mean to kill Luca.

He closes his eyes. He’s gone, Agatha realises. The man who could answer everybody’s questions is gone.

Patric looks at Agatha.

‘It’s okay—’ he starts to say, then he realises her gun is pointed at him.

‘I know,’ Agatha says. ‘I know, Patric. I saw Kaya’s drawings. She drew her lover.’

Patric’s features go blank, then they rearrange in fear, in pain.

‘It was you,’ Agatha says. ‘You were having the affair with Kaya. Miika knew. He saw the drawing of you and he killed her. You must have known he’d done it. You had to have known.’

Patric lowers his gun.

‘I didn’t,’ he says. ‘She was meant to leave. I thought she’d left.’

Agatha wants to grab at the life raft. She wants to believe that of all the things Patric did wrong, covering up for murder wasn’t one of them. But she can tell, just looking at him, that he’s lying.

That, in his heart, he knew what had happened. And he knows she knows.

‘It was a stupid mistake,’ he says, quietly. ‘I know how weak that sounds. Kaya knew I wouldn’t leave my wife. I couldn’t, Agatha. My life would have been ruined. Kaya was so much younger. People would have said things. I begged her, I pleaded with her to see it from my side. I offered to give her as much help as I could. She was determined to do it her way. I wouldn’t have just lost my wife; I’d have lost my job. I’d have lost my reputation, everything. And when she was gone, even when I thought something might have happened to her, I didn’t know what good it would do for it all to come out. I couldn’t help her, then. She wasn’t here any more.’

‘He blackmailed you,’ Agatha says, the realisation sinking in. ‘When he told you he knew you were sleeping with Kaya, you would have known then that he killed her. He gave you a choice. Tell, and he’d reveal everything about you. Or help him keep it quiet and both your secrets would be safe.’

Patric hangs his head.

Agatha brushes away the tears that are falling freely from her eyes.

‘I always thought I could tell when people were lying. You taught me how, Patric. You said, they change their story, Agatha. Listen to the details. But you kept to your story, didn’t you? You pretended you had nothing to do with Kaya. All these years. . .’

‘I can’t bear for you to know this,’ Patric says, his voice desperate. ‘You’ve been like a daughter to me, Agatha. I never wanted to disappoint you.’

‘But you have!’ Agatha cries. ‘She was only twenty-two, Patric. How could you? How could you leave her family in the dark for all these years? You were the chief of police. You took an oath.’

Patric hangs his head.

‘I have never forgiven myself,’ he says. ‘I made a terrible, terrible mistake. My wife. . . she couldn’t conceive. Her mother was dying. It was a horrible time. She wouldn’t let me touch her. I wasn’t the first man to have an affair with a pretty young woman. But how much was I supposed to sacrifice? I know now what a selfish bastard I was. I didn’t at the time. I wasn’t much older than you are now. As the years went on, though, I realised, but I had to let it go. I couldn’t give Kaya justice.’

‘But you kept quiet, even when those other women disappeared. You never thought he might be responsible for them? Even if he wasn’t, the whole town thought he was. People might have ignored Mary’s real killer, because they assumed it was Miika. Vicky’s, even. Alex and I have been on a wild goose chase thinking it was Miika and if it was, we’ll never know now!’

‘I knew he wasn’t responsible for them,’ Patric groans. ‘For God’s sake, Agatha, he killed his wife for having an affair. He wasn’t some predator hunting women across the country. And you found Hilda, didn’t you? She’s safe.’

‘Stop!’ Agatha sobs. ‘Don’t even try to defend yourself. You were wrong. How could you do this to those women?’ Then, softer: ‘How could you do it to me? I. . . I loved you like a father.’

Patric nods. Agatha can see the defeat in his eyes.

‘You were always going to be a much better cop than me,’ he says. ‘Didn’t I tell you? You were my second chance. Please, remember the good things I did, too. Remember I loved you, and those kids. I’d have done anything for you.’

He smiles at her. That old, familiar Patric smile.

Agatha’s face fills with confusion.

Then Patric puts his gun in his mouth and fires.

Agatha falls to her knees in shock.

Within seconds, Alex has his arms around her.

They sit there, three bodies on the ground around them, the white snow dyed red as far as their eyes can see.

Alex and Agatha are sitting in the back of one of the police cars.

Agatha is staring straight ahead. Alex is still holding her hand but he’s not sure she can even feel it. She looks like she’s in some sort of awake-coma, so Alex is shocked when she turns to him and speaks.

‘Why did you come looking for me?’ she says, like it’s just dawned on her.

Alex swallows. Is now the best time for this?

He shakes his head.

‘Nothing,’ he says.

‘It couldn’t have been nothing. You tracked me up here.’

Agatha is still covered in her sister’s blood. Patric’s, too. She’d tried, pointlessly, to resuscitate him. Whether to save him or kill him again, Alex isn’t sure.

Alex is covered in their blood, too.

He wants to tell her why he was looking for her. But he can’t see beyond that blood.

Then, another inner voice.

He came to Lapland to find out who killed his sister, not to help solve who killed some woman twenty years ago.

‘Just take a few minutes,’ he says. ‘We can talk when we’re back down in the station.’

He doesn’t even know if Agatha will still be in charge of Vicky’s investigation. Maybe the quiet one, Jonas, will take over.

Alex swallows. I’m sorry, Vicky, he says in his head. I’m sorry. Just give me a few more hours. One more day.

This is control, he thinks. I’ve done it. I can hold myself together. Even in the absolute worst of scenarios, I will not lose it. I won’t make this about me.

Agatha stares out the window. Alex follows her gaze.

They’re putting one of the bodies into the back of an ambulance.

It’s Luca.

Alex never even spoke to her. This woman who played such a huge role in Agatha’s life.

‘She was my sister,’ Agatha says.

‘I know,’ Alex says.

‘I hated her. But I loved her. I understand now. I thought we’d get a chance at redemption. One day.’

Alex swallows.

Agatha turns to him. He looks away. He can’t meet her eye.

‘Alex,’ she says. ‘Tell me. What is it? Just say.’

‘I think I know who killed Vicky,’ he whispers.

Agatha tenses.

‘Who?’ she says.

‘Agatha, what you just went through—’

‘I am the chief of police, Alex. And I want to arrest the person who murdered Vicky. Tell me what you know.’

Alex takes out his phone and pulls up the photograph. Then he begins to speak.

Agatha has showered and changed. She still doesn’t feel normal but she feels a little less abnormal.

The kids don’t know yet. Agatha rang Becki, in case she heard something on the grapevine. When Agatha finishes this interview, she’ll go up there and she’ll break it to them that Luca is dead.

Agatha doesn’t think they’ll be surprised. Luca was never going to be a person who aged. But nobody could have predicted her dying like this. The fact that she gave her life for Agatha’s– that means something. It means something very, very important.

And Agatha isn’t sure if that makes it harder or easier.

Would she have felt better if Luca had died with Agatha hating her, instead of forgiving her? Agatha doesn’t know. She does know that, if Luca had lived, they most likely would have gone through more drama and chaos. Luca didn’t have it in her to stay on the straight and narrow. No matter what she said.

Agatha wants to believe it’s better this way. For all of them.

She can’t think about Patric. Not yet.

For now, Agatha needs to put it all out of her mind and think only of Alex.

And getting justice for Vicky.

Niamh Doyle sits in front of Agatha in the interview room.

Agatha had wondered if Niamh had lied to give Harry an alibi. Alex has told her he’d wondered that too. She’d seen, even in the initial interviews, how much Niamh thought of Harry and how little Harry thought of Niamh.

But, what Alex has discovered. . .

Agatha already knows Niamh is going to break. She’s not a criminal mastermind. She’s just somebody who got extremely lucky in one sense: she didn’t appear to have a motive and she allegedly had an alibi. But in every other sense, she’s been unlucky and it’s because she’s not a natural killer. She acted on instinct; there was no planning.

If there’d been planning, Vicky’s body would never have surfaced from the lake.

And if she’d been less stupid afterwards, if she hadn’t inserted herself in the investigation by reporting Vicky missing– something she’d obviously thought was a clever way to rule herself out– if she’d stayed away from Vicky’s things, if she’d stayed away from Alex. . .

Agatha points at the bracelet in the evidence bag on the table between them.

‘You told Alex Evans that Vicky gave you this bracelet for your birthday,’ Agatha says. ‘This bracelet, that we found on your person this evening.’

‘Yes,’ Niamh says, nodding.

She hasn’t asked for a lawyer yet. She still thinks she can get out of this. Yet another stupid move. Lassi was right. Rich people know how important it is to have a lawyer. When you’re innocent, but also when you’re guilty.

Especially when you’re guilty.

‘When was your birthday?’ Agatha asks.

‘Last June.’

Agatha nods at Jonas, who nods back.

He takes the blown-up photograph from the file.

‘This is a photograph provided to us by Bryce Adams,’ Agatha says. ‘It was taken the last night Vicky was seen alive, in her room. You see what she’s wearing on her arm in that photograph?’

Niamh looks at the picture. She flinches.

The bracelet is clear as day on Vicky’s arm. It’s not conclusive, but Agatha reacted the same way to it as Alex did.

‘We have statements from other people in the Lodge who saw Vicky wearing that bracelet over the weeks before she died. Alex was under the impression she didn’t like it and never wore it. He was wrong. And if you’d spent more time with Vicky in those last few weeks, you might have realised that she’d taken to wearing it regularly.’

Niamh stares down at the table.

‘I have a signed statement from Harry Lavrov saying you spent the night with him, the night Vicky is alleged to have gone missing,’ Agatha says. ‘But his statement also says that you left early that morning. Harry has confirmed you were due to take tourists on an ice-climbing expedition.’

Niamh says nothing.

‘Vicky was scheduled to clear ice-skating tracks that morning so she was also due out early,’ Agatha continues. ‘Furthermore, Harry has clarified for me that the night you spent together was initiated by you. He claims he was very drunk, that he got inebriated after he saw Vicky take Bryce back to her cabin. He says he wasn’t interested in you but you had blatantly been interested in him for quite some time. He also says– I’ll just read you his words here. . .’

Agatha takes Harry’s statement from the file.

‘Niamh would have known I had feelings for Vicky Evans but she never mentioned it. After I’d taken some alcohol, I asked Niamh if she thought Vicky would ever consider me or if she was too good for me. Niamh seemed hurt by this. I regret this conversation . ’

Agatha looks up at Niamh.

‘He goes on to say that after sleeping with you, he also told you he regretted it. You know what I think happened, Niamh?’

Niamh is still silent but Agatha can see she’s trembling.

‘I think you went looking for Vicky that morning. I think you were still upset at Harry’s rejection. Maybe you knew it wasn’t rational to be upset with Vicky. You were friends; perhaps you even knew she wasn’t interested in Harry. But you were feeling hurt and dejected and you couldn’t take it out on him. So you took it out on her. You fought with her. I don’t know if you meant to hit her with the ice pick. And I doubt you meant her to go into the lake.’

Niamh says nothing, but now she’s crying and Agatha knows her theory is correct.

‘The problem is what you did after that,’ Agatha says. ‘You left her there. You got rid of her belongings. I will prove all this, you do understand? We have the bracelet, we have Harry’s statement, and right now police officers are combing your cabin. What else will they find there? Are you absolutely positive they won’t find traces of Vicky’s blood on anything you were wearing? You know, even the hottest washes don’t get rid of all DNA evidence, Niamh. I’m just saying, when I do prove it all, what’s going to make it look bad for you is how you covered it up. That amount of scheming– it’s going to seriously undermine any chance you have of pleading manslaughter. Unless you cooperate. If you cooperate there’s a sliver of hope for you. The prosecutor might just see what I see. A young woman who made a terrible mistake and thought hiding it was the only option. A young woman whose heart was broken– and we all know what that feels like, right?’

Agatha’s heart is broken right now. But she has to keep going.

She doesn’t know if she can prove what Niamh did.

She needs Niamh to confess.

And she’s going to prod her until she does.

She can see Niamh absorbing all this. Her eyes keep travelling down to the photo and the bracelet on Vicky’s arm.

She looks up at Agatha.

Ultimately, Niamh is twenty-four years old and Agatha can see that her instinct is right. Niamh is not evil. She’s terrified.

‘It wasn’t my idea,’ she says, her voice barely a whisper.

‘I’m sorry?’ Agatha says, sitting forward.

‘It was an accident. We fought, like you said, and I hit her. I was so angry at Vicky. She could have had anybody and I wanted Harry. When I told her what he’d said to me, she said she was sorry. But, it was the way she said it. I knew then– the whole time she’d known he was in love with her and she’d let me chase after him like a bloody eejit. I was so angry at her. We were best friends. That’s what I thought. I was never jealous of her; we never fought. I didn’t even get angry at her when I found out what she was doing with. . . well, it doesn’t matter. She was Vicky. I loved her. But all that time, she pitied me. I lashed out. It should have been my hand. I only intended to hit her with my hand. But I had the ice axe. There was so much blood. Even though she was alive–I knew what I’d done. I knew I’d killed her.’

A shocked silence follows the admission.

Agatha waits, then releases the breath she’s been holding.

‘Go back,’ she says. ‘What do you mean, you didn’t get angry with her when you knew what she was doing with – you broke off there. What were you going to say?’

‘Nothing.’

Agatha stares at Niamh.

‘Did you know Vicky was blackmailing Lassi Niemenen?’

Niamh looks up, shocked.

‘I. . .’

‘There’s no point in not telling me the truth,’ Agatha says. ‘We already suspect that’s what was going on and we’re in the process of compiling evidence.’

Niamh blinks.

‘He tried to sleep with her and she knocked him back. He was going to fire her. But then, something changed. I didn’t know what. I just know she stormed out of here one day and said she was going to have it out with him in his council office, that she was going to humiliate him in front of his fellow councillors. Then, suddenly, she was strutting around all happy. She didn’t tell me what he’d said when she confronted him. I knew then that she had something on him, but I didn’t know what.’

Agatha nods. It’s further proof of what she’s already suspected.

‘That morning, the morning you killed her,’ Agatha says. ‘Let’s go back there. What happened afterwards? Why did you clean out her room?’

‘I wasn’t going to. But I was panicking and he saw it and he told me what to do. He said if I got rid of her stuff and I reported her missing, then nobody would know and nobody would think it was me.’

‘Who did?’ Agatha says. ‘Who’s he?’

‘Lassi, obviously,’ Niamh says, blankly. As though Agatha should have known they’d never stopped talking about him. ‘He saw me, out on the lake. He was out for an early ski and he caught me coming back and said he’d seen the whole thing– me hitting Vicky and her going in the lake. He said Vicky was a bitch and. . . he said he’d help me if I helped him. He. . . he made me have sex with him. To keep my secret, I had to sleep with him.’

Niamh’s face looks like she’s just tasted curdled milk.

Agatha’s stomach churns, too. She knew it. She knew Lassi Niemenen was hiding more. That he’d been involved, somehow.

‘I loved Harry,’ Niamh whispers. ‘And I loved Vicky, too. I didn’t mean to kill her. I only took the bracelet because I always loved it on her. It was to remind me we’d been friends. It. . . it smelled of her perfume.’

‘What did you do when the ice broke?’ Agatha asks. ‘Did you try to help her?’

Niamh is staring at the table.

‘I didn’t even see her go into the water,’ she says. ‘I was walking away. And then I heard a splash and turned around and she was gone. There was nothing I could do.’