The Snow Tiger. Desmond Bagley
you describe a cup crystal, Dr McGill?’
‘It’s a conical shape with a hollow in the blunt end – the cup.’
‘And how large is a cup crystal?’
‘A well-developed crystal may run to half an inch long, but you can take a quarter-inch as average.’ McGill paused, and when Rolandson remained silent, he said, ‘Graph Two shows the penetrometer readings – that is the resistance of the snow to stress.’
Rolandson studied it. ‘This is the resistance in kilograms plotted against depth?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘There’s a discontinuity half way down on all five samples.’
‘Yes, sir; that’s a layer of surface hoar.’
Harrison interrupted. ‘If it is not on the surface how can it be described as surface hoar?’
‘It was on the surface. When the surface of the snow is colder than the air above it then there is more sublimation of water vapour – something like the condensation on the outside of a glass of cold beer.’ (In the Press gallery Dan Edwards sighed in anguish and licked his lips.) ‘In this case I should imagine it happened on a clear and cloudless night when there would be a lot of outgoing radiation. Then the hoar, or frost, would form on the surface producing flat plates of thin ice.’
Again Harrison brought up the objection. ‘But this discontinuity, as Professor Rolandson calls it, is not on the surface.’
‘No,’ agreed McGill. ‘Normally, when the sun hits it in the morning it disappears. In this case, I imagine that clouds came over before sunrise and it began to snow again quite heavily. The layer of hoar was covered and preserved.’
‘With what significance?’ queried Rolandson.
‘Several things could happen. The layer is quite hard, as you can see from the penetrometer readings. It is also quite smooth and could form a sliding surface for the snow above it.’ McGill extended two fingers. ‘Secondly, a layer of hoar is formed of flat plates of ice fused together – that is, it is relatively impermeable to air. This means that the most likely place for cup crystals to form would be just under the hoar layer.’
‘You emphasize cup crystals. In what way are they dangerous?’
‘They are dangerous because of their rounded shape and because there is very little bonding between one crystal and another.’ McGill tugged at his ear. ‘As a very rough analogy I would suggest that it would be very difficult for a man to walk on a floor loosely packed with billiard balls. It’s that kind of instability.’
‘Was there any evidence of cup crystals forming at this time?’
‘They had begun to form in sample one, the highest up the slope. I had reason to believe that the process would continue which would result in a marked decline in stability.’
‘Go on, Dr McGill.’
McGill put up a third finger. ‘Three, the weather forecast at the time indicated more snow – more weight – on that slope.’ He dropped his hand. ‘All things considered I came to the conclusion that the snow cover on the western slope of the valley of Hukahoronui was relatively unstable and thus formed a potential avalanche hazard. I so informed the mine management.’
‘You mean Mr Ballard?’ asked Harrison.
‘Present at the meeting were Mr Ballard; Mr Dobbs, the mine manager; Mr Cameron, the mine engineer; Mr Quentin, the union representative.’
‘And you were present during the whole of that meeting?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then I think we can take your evidence as best evidence of what occurred at the meeting, subject to later appraisal. However, the time has come to adjourn for today. We will gather here at ten in the morning when you, Dr McGill, will again be a witness. The hearing is adjourned.’
The participants of the hearing flooded on to the pavement of Armagh Street and began to disperse. Dan Edwards, heading rapidly beerwards, stopped when Dalwood said, ‘Who is the tall redhead talking to Ballard? The girl with the dog.’
Edwards craned his neck. ‘Good God! Now what the hell goes on there?’
‘Who is she?’
‘Liz Peterson, the sister of Charlie and Eric.’
Dalwood watched Ballard pat the Alsatian and smile at the girl warmly. ‘They seem on good terms.’
‘Yes – bloody funny, isn’t it? Charlie has got his knife so deep into Ballard that he’s in blood up to his armpit. I wonder if he knows Liz is fraternizing with the enemy?’
‘We’ll soon know,’ said Dalwood. ‘Here come Charlie and Eric now.’
The two men came out of the building, unsmiling and exchanging monosyllables. Charlie looked up and his face became thunderous. He snapped something at his brother and quickened his pace, elbowing his way through the crowd on the pavement. At that moment a car drew up and Ballard got into it and when Charlie reached his sister Ballard had gone. Charlie spoke to his sister and an argument seemed to develop.
Edwards watched the by-play, and said, ‘If he didn’t know he does now. What’s more, he doesn’t like it.’
‘And the dog doesn’t like Charlie. Look at it.’
The Alsatian’s upper lip was curled back in a snarl and Liz Peterson shortened her grip on the lead and spoke sharply to it.
Edwards sighed. ‘Let’s get that beer. The first one will hiss going down.’
Mike McGill was driving the car. He slanted an eye at Ballard and then returned his attention to the road. ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘Your evidence was good. Very concise.’
‘Rolandson helped; he fed me some good lines. He makes a good straight man to my comedian. You didn’t do too well, though.’
‘I’m doing all right.’
‘Wake up, Ian! That son of a bitch, Rickman, is going to deliver you bound and gagged if you don’t stop him.’
‘Save it, Mike,’ said Ballard shortly. ‘I’m too bloody tired.’
McGill bit his lip and lapsed into silence. After ten minutes he swung off the road and parked in the forecourt of their hotel. ‘You’ll feel better after a cold beer,’ he said. ‘It was goddam hot in that courthouse. Okay?’
‘All right,’ said Ballard listlessly.
They went into the hotel bar and McGill ordered two beers and took them to a discreet table. ‘Here’s mud in your eye.’ He drank and gasped with pleasure. ‘God, how I needed that!’ He replenished his glass. ‘That courthouse is sure some place. Who designed it – Edward the Confessor?’
‘It’s not a courthouse – it’s a sort of provincial House of Parliament. Or it was.’
McGill grinned. ‘The bit I like about it are those pious texts set in the stained glass windows. I wonder who thought those up?’ In the same even tone he said, ‘What did Liz Peterson want?’
‘Just to wish me well.’
‘Did she?’ said McGill sardonically. ‘If she really meant it she’d operate on that brother of hers with a sharp knife.’ He watched the condensation form on the outside of his glass. ‘Come to think of it, a blunt knife might be better. The Peterson lawyer was really sniping at you this morning.’
‘I know.’ Ballard took another draught. It seemed to do him good. ‘It doesn’t