Emeric Humbert zipped and buttoned the bright yellow ski-patrol outfit, pleased with its white cross insignia on the front and back of the thick down jacket.
He smiled at himself in the mirror of the wall locker as he put on the woolen cap and positioned the goggles on his forehead. He was confident that he could do the job. It was a shame that it would be over so soon. Five days at the most, and probably only a couple. It would be up to LeCourt, and to the weather.
There were two reasons why Emeric Humbert was nicknamed 'Iceman.'
The first was his skill on the slopes. Every winter since his 18th birthday, now thirteen years in the past, he had taught snowboarding at Serre Chevalier in the southern French Alps, a good place for beginners. He himself had learned to ski there.
He had lost his virginity in its employee lodge at age 15, to a waitress in the hotel restaurant, who a week later committed suicide. She had had a little help from Emeric, just a push when they were alone on a closed trail. There had been a small avalanche earlier that day. It was a dangerous place to be but Emeric persuaded Colette, the waitress, to go with him to see the den of a vixen with six kits nursing, by the cliff. This was the second reason he was given the nickname.
It had been given to him by his first underworld employer, a Napolitano member who knew of his background and used him for strongarm work, persuading certain people to behave themselves in the expected manner. When the fourth persuasion became an enforcement with deadly results, 'Iceman' stuck.
He was not particularly well known, but within the circles which employed his services it was always 'Iceman.' The exception was Francois Benz, who called him 'Hum' as often as Humbert. Benz was as close to being a father figure to him as his coldly detached personality permitted. He liked Benz. He seldom thought of killing him.
And so that afternoon when Drake LeCourt rode the snowmobile up to the private cabin where Emeric was staying, a mile north of the Sonnenhut Inn, and Drake told him about Francois' body found murdered in Zurich, the Iceman grew angry. He felt no sorrow, just anger that someone had taken Francois Benz away from him, leaving him with no one even remotely like a father to him.
"A revenge killing?" he asked in a voice that matched his features: rough, coarse, dark, in a tone as flat as his nose.
They were standing on the roofed porch of the two-room cabin, in the shadows of conifers. Drake shrugged. "I was wondering if you had any idea why he was bumped. Knife wounds, in the stomach and neck. He wasn't robbed, so it must've been a revenge job, yes."
"He did not confide in me that much," Emeric said evasively. "Did you come up here to tell me about Benz?"
"Partly," Drake said, unwrapping a stick of peppermint gum. "Tertia has a bodyguard with her. I don't know anything about him. Weizel gave me the news about Benz, from whom I was hoping to learn something about the bodyguard. Don't you think it's suspicious that Benz is killed on the day after Tertia arrives in Switzerland? We know she left New York for Berne two days ago. It's got me worried. Maybe the bodyguard is an investigator she's hired."
"You want me to kill him?"
"God yes! But it has to look like he did a bunk and left Tertia high and dry. It can't look like foul play, or Tertia's skiing accident will be seen as having a connection to his disappearance. You see? Get rid of him. But make it look like he packed his bags and split, without telling anyone. The police might think that Tertia was murdered by him. That would be okay. I could live with that."
Emeric laughed in his mirthless manner, his mismatched eyes full of contempt. "I should think you would love the police to accuse the missing bodyguard of her death. Her two sisters dead under questionable circumstances, and you with a transparent motive. If the police suspect the bodyguard, they might try to pin the other two deaths on him. But that doesnt put you in the clear. The police might think that you hired him to get romantic with Tertia, as a means of killing her. And him missing, they'll think you killed him to keep his mouth shut. I will do what you pay me to do, but I think you're a fool."
Drake thought better of showing his anger. He faked a laugh and said, "I welcome suspicions. They are what great reputations are built on. Now, you need to get familiar with the ski trail that Tertia is certain to tackle. You have your volunteer ski-patrol certificate? Yes? Good. There are plenty of volunteers on the slopes. You'll just be another face. Tell me what you think of the stand of pine on the trail, once you've had a good look at it. I'm off for the Inn. I think it likely that Tertia and her bodyguard will be registering before the dinner hour. Me, I have to get my disguise on. That should be fun."
Emeric grunted. "It is all fun," he remarked, frowning.
When Tertia Fontenay returned from her shopping, carrying five bags full of clothes and accessories, the apartment was deserted except for a stray cat that had somehow managed to creep in, comfortably curled up on the sofa, and Sanguineus, who was reading a book in an armchair by a gauze-curtained window.
"Did you kill them?" she asked airily, going into the master bedroom. "I'm taking a shower before we leave. Should we pack a supper to take along? I get hungry on long drives and we probably shouldn't stop unless we need gas."
She turned from the bed, where she had deposited her bags, and saw Sanguineus standing in the bedroom doorway, his hands in his jeans pockets.
"Madelaine went to her hotel," he said. "Fredrico picked up his flame at the primary school, for a matinee movie and dinner. We'll be gone before he gets back."
"What did you grown-ups talk about precisely?" Tertia was taking off her blouse as though she was addressing the cat.
"Shop talk," Sanguineus said. "It is probable that Drake will have a hitman covering him. I'll have to snuff the man, if I can get what I need to know from Drake's supplier, an old watchmaker, in Gipfelhaus."
"You mean torture the information out of him?" She unzipped her pants and began to sway out of them, sitting on the edge of the bed to draw them off, tossing them on the floor. The cat came walking in from between Sanguineus's feet.
"Whatever it takes," he said coolly. "But the watchmaker may tip off Drake, unless I prevent him from telling anybody anything ever again. But I don't particularly want to do that."
"Then take me with you to see him," Tertia said, in her underthings, her hand on the bathroom door knob, "I'll do it, if you'd rather not."
She went in and closed the door.
Sanguineus stood there staring at the bathroom door. He heard the shower-curtain rings scraping on the crossbar, the rush of water from the faucet, then the sputter of the shower head.
He went over to the bed and looked through the purchases. They appeared innocent enough.
Sanguineus seldom worked with the client. When he did, he didn't like it. He never trusted them. He did not trust Tertia. He realized that with Drake dead, it was Tertia who stood to inherit the LeCourt fortune.
It had crossed his mind that it might have been Tertia who killed her two sisters, or one of them, and that she and Drake were in this together. This idea had not impressed Rolgo, even when Sanguineus explained that Tertia and Drake might be planning to doublecross each other, each unaware of the other's intention.
"Of course it is possible," Rolgo had conceded, taking up the last sandwich and tearing it in half. "Tertia has hired Red Rum to protect and assist her, just as LeCourt has hired the Iceman to protect and assist him, and so, yes," he continued, handing half the sandwich to Madelaine, "you might possibly be right in suspecting the two of them of collusion in the deaths of Prima and Secunda. But in what way does this change things? It does not overstep or violate the contract."
Sanguineus had to admit that it did not really change anything. That Tertia would attempt to kill her bodyguard once her brother was dead seemed a foolhardy scheme, for it had been made clear to her, as to all clients, that to deliberately harm the operative was punishable by death, and a very painful death to boot. She would recall the death of Benz, who had fatally harmed a Red Rum operative and paid the price for it.
Sanguineus opened the bathroom door and walked into the cloud of steam.
He saw Tertia looking in his direction, her figure a spotted dripping shadow on the clear plastic curtain.
"Join me!" she laughed, pulling back the curtain to expose a shoulder, the curve of a hip, a short streak of soggy auburn hair, and one amber eye surveying him.
He took hold of her hand that clutched the curtain. He pulled it toward him.
She stepped out of the tub, a miscreant water nymph morphing into a tomboy who bit his chin and said, "I'll fight you this time. I won't make it easy for you."
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