Killer

Soon they would talk – reveal too much about themselves and how they felt about each other. Then they would begin to spread out on the floe, wanting to keep clear of each other; but being on their own would be worse than the strains of company and, still nursing their grievances, they would drift back warily, unwillingly, like starving wolves gathering round a fire. And this period would be the most dangerous . . . He had seen it before, the ill-chosen words, the explosion of violence.

The sound of the lumberjack’s axe unsteadily wielded added itself to the others in the background of his thoughts. Someone was preparing the fire.

“Is it going yet?” Kate, in the middle distance.

“Not yet.” Doctor Warren, close at hand.

The wind made the unsteady roaring sound it makes when fanning flames.

“There.” Kate’s voice, suddenly close at hand. “Powdered eggs, water for coffee, ham.”

“Do the coffee first. I’m freezing.”

“You should have taken off your anorak and trousers when you got into your sleeping bag. I told you.”

Silence: the doctor was not used to being told off. Job smiled.

The pots and pans clinked gently against each other. The conversation dried.

Then, “Tell me about Colin Ross,” said the woman.

“Tell you what about him?”

“All about him.”

“I don’t know all about him.”

“Oh Daddy! Tell me what you do know. When did you meet him?”

“I can’t remember when I met him first. I’ve known him for years.”

“For years? How many?”

“I told you: I can’t remember. Oh all right. I met him seven years ago in the South Shetlands near the Antarctic.”

“What – ”

“Just be quiet and let me tell you! My God, where’s your patience, woman? Where was I? Ah yes, the South Shetland Islands. I was doing some research there and Ross was in charge of the camp. And he was the best I ever met.”

I hope Simon doesn’t hear that, thought Job.

“He had a massive reputation even then. He had worked for the Royal Society, the Royal Geographical Society, all of them . . .”

“But what did he do?”

“Basically, I suppose, he’s an organiser. In those days he was what Simon is now. He set up camps and ran them for us scientists. Helped us a lot, too.”

“Helped you?”

Pause. “You remember you told me only one man had come within five marks of our results at Oxford in more than ten years?”

“Yes.”

“Ross was the man who came that close.”

“You mean – my God, I had no idea! But then . . .”

“What is he doing as organiser instead of researcher? Look at him. Can you really see him sitting around with a microscope?”

“No. Under no circumstances.”

“Well, what apparently happened was that he went on a project to some godforsaken spot, and the leader of their expedition was hurt. Ross was the youngest and by far the least experienced, and yet he took over the whole expedition and brought them all safely through. I say that’s what apparently happened, because I could never get him to tell me. He doesn’t talk about his past at all. Insists on keeping everyone at arm’s length. I suppose that’s what makes him so good at command decisions: he’s never confused by personal feelings. Cold, you know? Strange man. Now I much prefer Simon: not nearly as efficient, not half the man he thinks he is, not a tenth the cold-weather man Ross was, but much more human. Likes a joke; loves a drink; that sort of thing: human.”

“You say ‘was’.”

“What?”

“ ‘Quick isn’t the cold-weather man Ross was.’ ”

“Oh yes, I see. No. This is the first time Ross has been out in five years. I don’t know what he’s like now. Seems to have gone downhill quite a lot.”

“Why?”

Pause.

“Is it something to do with his arm, and his wife, and . . . ?”

“Well yes, I suppose it is.”

“Simon told me about the expedition to the South Pole. Is that when he lost his arm?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“I think I will.”

“He won’t tell you.”

“I’ll risk it. Is that all?”

“No. There was an enquiry of course, when Ross got out of hospital, and it turned pretty nasty, from what I hear. Some of the missing men’s stuff was found on Ross, and he was actually accused of taking their food in order to survive himself. But Jeremiah made a deathbed testimony which was made public. Saved Ross’s reputation.”

“Saved him? You think he was guilty?”

“Well, I don’t know. Ross refused to say anything, you see. He’s never said anything about it to anyone, as far as I know.”

“So everybody thinks he’s guilty.”

“Many people wonder, yes.”

“Then what’s he doing with such an important job?”

“I told you, darling; he’s a genius. What he doesn’t know about surviving in the snow, he can easily guess. He’s a very valuable commodity, especially in these days when so much of worth seems to be hidden under snow and ice.”

“And yet you don’t trust him fully to take charge here?”

“Well, he’s been out of the snow for five years. And he hasn’t made much of a push. Anyway, it shouldn’t be too long now before we’re picked up. They talked to the people at Barrow before we crashed. And Simon knows what he’s doing . . .”

The conversation outside veered away from Ross as Quick joined the breakfast party.