The Frozen Dead Read Free Page A

question of physical risk. No, it was something else. A leap into the unknown …
    She took out her mobile and dialled. She didn’t know whether there would be a mast in the area to relay her call, but after three rings a familiar voice replied.
    â€˜Spitzner here.’
    Her sense of relief was instantaneous. His warm, firm, calm voice had always been able to soothe her and banish her doubts. It was Pierre Spitzner – her mentor in the department – who had first got her interested in forensic psychology. An intensive SOCRATES course on children’s rights had brought her closer to this discreet, charming man, devoted husband and father of seven children. The famous psychologist had taken her under his wing in the Faculty of Psychology and Educational Sciences; he had enabled the chrysalis to become a butterfly – even if such an image would undoubtedly have seemed far too conventional to Spitzner’s demanding mind.
    â€˜It’s Diane. Am I disturbing you?’
    â€˜Of course not. How is it going?’
    â€˜I’m not there yet … I’m on the road … I can see the Institute from here.’
    â€˜Is something wrong?’
    Good old Pierre. Even over the telephone he could tell from the slightest shift in her voice.
    â€˜No, everything’s fine. It’s just that … their aim was to isolate these guys from the outside world. They’ve stuck them in the most sinister, remote place they could find. This valley gives me goosebumps…’
    She was immediately sorry she’d said that. She was behaving like an adolescent left to her own resources for the first time – or a frustrated student in love with her supervisor and doing everything she could to attract his attention. She told herself he must be wondering how she’d manage to cope if the mere sight of the buildings was causing her to panic.
    â€˜Come on,’ he said. ‘You’ve already seen your fair share of paranoids and schizophrenics and sex offenders, right? Tell yourself that it won’t be any different there.’
    â€˜They weren’t all murderers. In fact, only one of them was.’
    His image sprang to mind: a thin face, irises the colour of honey staring at her with a predator’s greed. Kurtz was a genuine sociopath. The only one she had ever met. Cold, manipulative, unstable. Not a trace of remorse. He had raped and killed three mothers; the youngest was forty-six and the eldest seventy-five. That was his thing, mature women. Not to mention the ropes, ties, gags, slipknots … Every time she struggled not to think about him, he would settle into her consciousness, with his ambiguous smile and wildcat gaze. This reminded her of the sign Spitzner had nailed to the door of his office: ‘Don’t think of an elephant.’
    â€˜It’s a bit late in the game to be doubting yourself, don’t you think, Diane?’
    His words made her blush.
    â€˜You’ll be up to it, I’m sure. You have the dream profile for the job. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but you’ll manage, I know you will.’
    â€˜You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m being ridiculous.’
    â€˜Not at all. Anyone in your shoes would react the same way. I know the reputation that place has. Don’t let that get to you. Focus on your work. And when you come back to us, you will be the greatest specialist on psychopathic disorders in all the cantons. I have to let you go now, Diane. The dean’s expecting me, to talk about finances. You know what he’s like: I’m going to need all my wits about me. Good luck. Keep me posted.’
    Dial tone. He’d hung up.
    The silence, interrupted only by the sound of the stream, draped itself over her like a wet canvas. The plop of a big clump of snow falling from a branch made her jump. She put her mobile into the pocket of her down jacket, folded the map and climbed back into