At the Grand Glacier Hotel by Laurence Fearnley

Author:Laurence Fearnley [Fearnley, Laurence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781776953837
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2013-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I was sitting in James’s living area, trying to make sense of the recording as, upstairs, he played and then rewound the cassette tape. We must have listened to the short piece ten times and neither of us seemed any closer to figuring out what it was.

Part of the problem was that I couldn’t see the tape being played. It made no sense, but I thought that if I could watch the small cogs turn, and the needle on the level dial swing across the gauge, I might be able to identify the noise. But unless I struggled up the ladder, there was no way of doing that.

James’s face peered down. ‘What do you think?’ he asked again.

‘You’re the smart one, what do you think?’

‘Beats me.’

What sounded like laughter and background talking filled the last half. ‘It sounds like it could be a child’s voice,’ I offered. ‘Female. I can’t make out any words, though.’

‘Shall I play it again?’

‘Do you have to?’

‘Might as well.’

We’d been listening for an hour and any hope that the tape would be a simple or straightforward clue had flown. The recording was only twenty seconds long but the first ten seconds were as much a mystery now as when we’d first played it. A noise like a swoosh followed by a ‘tonk’ and then laughter, and the female voice.

At first, we’d both thought the sound could have been made by someone throwing a stone into a pond. But there was no splash. Then we wondered if the noise was the swoosh of a kite being pulled into the air. But that didn’t account for the ‘tonk’ at the end. Champagne being uncorked? We worked through an array of musical instruments — drums, a xylophone and various wind instruments — but nothing seemed to fit. I had a vague memory of a toy Hannah had been given. A long length of ribbed plastic tube that she whirled around her head, making a spooky ‘woo’ sound. I couldn’t really recall it in detail but I didn’t think it was the same as the noise coming out of the speakers.

‘Could it be a bird?’ I asked James. ‘Something with heavy wings flying nearby and then landing? A seagull landing on a picnic table?’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied James. ‘It’s a bit too noisy.’

‘What about a kea? It flies up from a rubbish tin … whoosh … circles … lands on a car bonnet … clonk … tourists laugh, take photos, talk?’

‘Maybe. But when did you last see a kea? And what are the chances of recording one? But maybe you’d hear it call in the distance.’

‘What if it was a pigeon flying into a window? You’re sitting, about to record a voice memo, when — whoosh, thunk — a pigeon hammers into the glass?’

‘And that makes you laugh?’

‘Well, no, obviously. But it might make someone who didn’t know any better laugh.’

‘Like the psycho at the next table?’

‘Yes, exactly. “Ha, ha, ha, do it again.”’

‘Right … Who are you again?’

‘I bet Ella would know the answer,’ I mumbled.

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