Acts of Malice by Perri O'Shaughnessy Page B

inches taller than Alex had been, heavier, one eighty or so. Under the parka he wore a lightweight long-sleeved white sweater, thin enough to see the outline of the well-developed chest muscles underneath.
    ‘‘We’re opening every lift on the mountain,’’ he told her. ‘‘The place is jam-packed. I had a hard time getting away. And then, of course, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this.’’
    Standing across the desk from her his face looked resentful and alienated. He obviously was having a hard time.
    ‘‘Have you heard any news about Heidi?’’ he asked.
    She shook her head. She motioned to the chair, but he ignored her. ‘‘Still not a call, not even a rumor on my end,’’ he said. As he had during their first meeting, he looked past her, to the mountain. ‘‘A big snow year’s coming,’’ he murmured.
    ‘‘You must really watch the weather.’’
    ‘‘Like everyone in the resort business. It’s essential to our operation.’’
    ‘‘How long have you worked at Paradise?’’ Nina wanted to know, but she also wanted to divert him from the session to come.
    ‘‘Our family’s owned the resort since 1935. We were the pioneers, before Heavenly or Squaw. I’ve worked there since I graduated. I love Paradise and I’ve never thought about working anywhere else. I studied geology and meteorology in college, and then for years, I groomed the mountains at Paradise every morning. I worked with the Ski Patrol on avalanche control, checking the snow depth, setting off explosives.’’
    ‘‘Explosives?’’
    ‘‘To clear drifts and shaky terrain. To keep the slopes safe.’’
    ‘‘Funny. I never thought about that. I guess the snow really piles up around here,’’ said Nina.
    ‘‘That’s how I got to know Heidi. She was doing the same thing. And then Alex came back from Colorado and he was around too.’’
    When he began talking about Heidi, his expression hardened. ‘‘Somebody at Paradise must know where she is. She’s worked there since she was in her teens. It’s her whole life. You haven’t heard anything at all?’’ He was trying to suppress his anger but his voice was acrimonious.
    ‘‘Take it easy, Jim.’’
    ‘‘It’s damn hard.’’
    ‘‘I can imagine.’’
    ‘‘The problem is, people have somehow gotten the idea I’m going to be arrested. That makes them nervous about talking to me, know what I mean? It’s self-protection. They don’t want to get involved. I’m guessing, but that’s how it seems to me.’’
    ‘‘You may be right about that.’’
    He was working himself up. ‘‘I can’t sleep at night. I can hardly drag through the days. I can’t stand the way everyone looks at me. What the hell am I supposed to have done? Why do I have to talk to the District Attorney?’’
    The autopsy report was right there in front of her. Like Heidi’s Post-it, it seemed to burn with an inner fire.
    Documents did sometimes come alive. They didn’t always say what they meant. Language could only get so close to the truth; this paper, with all its scientific pretensions, was still written in symbols, rife with allusions, intimations, contexts. For as long as she was involved with Jim, she would have a hostile relationship with it.
    She wished she could soften the blow, but it was time for him to understand his position.
    ‘‘They want to talk with you because of this,’’ she said, pointing at it. ‘‘It’s the autopsy report. Listen carefully, Jim. The coroner filed an amendment concluding that Alex’s death was a homicide.’’
    His face drained of color. ‘‘So they do suspect me,’’ he said so softly, he almost whispered. ‘‘I didn’t really believe it. They think . . . My own brother . . . You’re saying they might really arrest me. . . .’’
    When she tried to hand the report to him, his face clouded over and his eyes narrowed. ‘‘No!’’ he said, pushing it back to her, ‘‘I can’t read it. I don’t want to know