The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

required. He had no idea of the calibre, but the five-round magazine looked wide and thick.

“How long has Doctor Engelmann been here?”

She swung her leg over the snowmobile, looked at him as she straddled the seat. “A year or so,” she replied. “Why?”

“And his credentials?”

“All good, I imagine. Nothing to do with the police service.”

“Then who decides?”

“The medical centre is a private practice but subsidised through government grants. So those entitled, and that’s all Finnish citizens, get free healthcare. The fact it’s a private practice is because living this far north has got to be a choice. Private contractors have lucrative benefits. And many of the Sami hold a protected status. They do not earn the levels of income that the Finnish do, so the practices must be equipped with good facilities and amenities, like surgery and x-rays. And then there is tourism. These people are not entitled to free healthcare. There are many visitors up here for the skiing, and although not world class, the snow is guaranteed. And of course, there are the Santa visitors…” she smiled like it was a secret only the people of Lapland really knew.

“And Engelmann’s tenure?” King asked. “How did that come about?”

“Doctor Jokela was killed in a traffic accident. He slid off the road and hit a tree. Very sad…”

“So, Engelmann was appointed?”

“I imagine he bought the practice,” she replied. “I don’t know the details, but that would be his way in.

King nodded. His face was near-frozen, and he pulled his beanie down as far as it would go and pulled the fake fur-lined hood over the top. Lena handed him a pair of goggles and he put them on over his hood once he got onto his machine. Lena started her snowmobile and it throbbed into life, then settled into a surprisingly quiet tick-over.

She adjusted her scarf and hood, shouted above the sound of King starting his engine. “Why? Don’t you trust him?”

King shrugged. He said nothing, simply nodded for her to lead the way.

Lena drove steadily out of the parking lot and used the edge of the road for approximately two hundred metres before turning off and heading through a well-used snow path through a belt of forest. King found the throttle responsive, increased it a little to close the gap. Lena slowed and disappeared in front of him. King could see why after a few more seconds, as he caught sight of her heading down a sixty-foot cliff at an angle of forty-five degrees. He slowed, followed in blind faith and found himself gripping on with his knees as if he were on horseback. Lena shot forwards at tremendous speed, and when King levelled out he pressed the throttle and both hands came away from the handlebars and he almost sprawled backwards. He struggled to sit up, then finally got his hands back on the grips when he had slowed enough. He had never experienced acceleration like it, short of freefall parachute jumps. He took a better grip, opened-up the throttle and held on for dear life as the snowmobile shot past sixty miles-per-hour in around two seconds. He hung on all the way up the rev-range but dared not take his eyes off the ground ahead of him to check his speed. The traction was so complete that he felt the machine flexing underneath him. He had ridden a few motorbikes in the past. Several trail bikes and a sports bike with a full race fairing and 1000cc’s of tuned engine, but that didn’t even begin to feel close to the acceleration of the snowmobile. He knew the snowmobile would top out at around one-hundred miles-per-hour, simple physics would control that, but getting there was the most extreme way he had ever travelled. He caught Lena up, slowed to what he figured was around seventy and settled into her machine’s tracks like she had told him.

The ride was flat, and the snow was hard and frozen. King could already feel icy air through some seams of clothing. His goggles had steamed up and he was using all sorts of angles tilting his head to see through the mist. His arms were aching already, and he found the thumb position awkward. It would not be long before his thumb cramped altogether.

Lena held up her fist and King eased off the throttle. He pulled alongside and selected the neutral button on the handlebar. The engines on tick-over were a welcomed break to his ears.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“Fast?”

“You could say that.”

“I thought I’d give your thumb a rest,” she said, flexing her fingers. “I’m used to it, use one of these most days, but each winter, it takes a while to get used to.”

King squeezed his hand into fists about ten times. “I can see that,” he said.

“Clear your goggles,” she said.

King removed them and wiped them with his gloves. He could feel the fog had already frozen. He scratched at the ice inside the lens. “I’ve never been somewhere as cold as this,” he conceded.

“I love it,” she said. “The air, the clear skies, the feeling of shedding your heavy clothes in a warm room… It’s glorious.”

King replaced his goggles and tidied up his beanie and hood. The area of skin on his cheeks which was uncovered felt numb. “City girl?”

She nodded. “Helsinki,” she said. “Career suicide, I suppose. I’ll never be the detective I wanted to be, but I’m happy doing what I do. The community is fun, too.”

“A bad break-up, a fresh start?” King asked.

She stared at him, her eyes hostile within her goggles. “Yes,” she said. “How did you guess that?”

“It seems the sort of place people run away to,” he paused. “I contemplated living in places like this, once.”

“After a bad break-up?”

“My wife died,” he said.

“And you’re still alone?”

“No.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Serious?”

“Yes,”