Reaching the far side of the east tower she felt the punch of the storm full-on. She gasped and braced herself. In the distance, a beam of light filtered through the branches of a small stand of trees. She ran her own flashlight beam across the frozen lawn, sliding forward carefully to avoid falling, leaning to counter the wind. Overhead, milky ice, thicker than a finger, encapsulated every tree limb. Her plastic rain hat whipped off and disappeared and she wanted to turn back, her earlier enthusiasm for the job no match for these conditions. The temperature was bitter and her fingers, ears, and nose hurt.
She reached her destination and a man wearing a bright blue police coat with reflective striping stood in the glow from the electric lantern by his feet. He secured a second flashlight under his arm. It darted across Agnes’s face, startling her.
“We’re all probably gonna die out here,” the policeman shouted over the wind. He pulled a long section of canvas taut and struck a hard blow on a metal stake. “Wanted to safeguard the area and the wind shifted.”
The line tightened and the fabric pulled up and into position, creating a semi-protected corner; instinctively Agnes stepped near. They huddled together, shielded from the sleet.
The officer introduced himself as from the gendarmerie at the top of the hill. André Petit, he said. Agnes angled her head up to look at him, thinking of course that was his name. He was at least a foot taller than her five feet four inches. Beneath his cap his eyes bulged out of their sockets, giving him a startled look. He edged closer to her, uncomfortably close.
“I’ve never been this cold or seen so much ice,” he said. “What are we supposed to call it? Global warming? More like a new ice age. Looks like pictures of Siberia.”
Petit stomped his feet to warm them and Agnes eyed his heavy boots. He was dressed for the cold and yet was clearly uncomfortable. She doubted she would last fifteen minutes before being frostbitten.
“We called your Chef de Brigade Bardy,” he said. “Standard instructions for anything at the chateau. Call Monsieur Bardy no matter what the trouble.” Petit gestured to the square of canvas covering a mound that reached to their knees. “Monsieur Vallotton found her out here. Thinks she fell and hit her head. She’s frozen to the ground. I sent him inside and covered her as best I could.” He stomped again. “You took your time getting here.”
“Bardy will be here soon,” Agnes said.
“They need me in the village. It’s going to be a long night getting everybody off the roads and indoors. I suspect power’s out up and down the lake and the cold will set in. Don’t know what will be worse, the old people living in the hills or the rich along the water. My boss is usually solid as a rock, but this is going to be bad and he’s set to retire next week. Scared of a last-minute blemish on his record. Figures more people may die. He’s counting on me.”
Agnes doubted Petit could make it up the hill but she didn’t waste her breath speaking. She moved her hands over her ears, then her nose, then back under her armpits to restore feeling in her fingertips. It wasn’t enough. She tried to remember the first signs of frostbite, certain she was well on her way.
Petit leaned near, favoring a leg. “What’s it like working for him? Monsieur Bardy? I’ve heard the rumors. He’s brilliant but he is a little crazy, isn’t he? I’m planning to apply for the cantonal police.” He spoke directly into her ear and Agnes wanted to swat him away like a flea. She couldn’t feel her legs anymore and her shoulders were shaking. She covered her ears with her hands, causing Petit to shift and look into her face, as if she could lip-read.
“How’d you get in with them? With Bardy.”
“Mathematics.” Her teeth started to chatter. “I was in financial crimes. I’m good with numbers.” Where was her boss? Realizing that any movement was better than freezing to death in place, she knelt. The ice burned her knees and she rocked onto her heels before pulling back the canvas. Cracking the thin layer of ice that had formed on it she hoped she looked experienced. One glance was enough to tell her that death didn’t need to be bloody to make the heart race.
The woman lay prone in front of a stone bench. The sleet had left its mark, coating her torso so that it blended with the surrounding ground, making the details hard to see. Her face was pressed against the earth and only half of her features were visible. Snow and ice had blown up against her, sealing both her flesh and her opened eye. Startled, Agnes dropped the canvas back in place knowing it would refreeze to the ground in a matter of seconds. She tried to make out the chateau in the distance, but there were no visible lights and suddenly she felt very alone and inexperienced.