‘Leah?’ I say, first gently and then louder. There is no answer. I’m in a dark entranceway and I fumble around for a light switch, but realize there isn’t one. The cabin doesn’t appear to have electricity – there are no visible wires or switches anywhere. I grab my torch, shining it around, trying to get my bearings. There are three doors leading from this tiny space. I try the first one. It’s a large, empty bathroom, its timber walls painted a beautiful deep shade of aqua blue. A round gilded mirror hangs above a stone sink, and under the window stands an antique brass bathtub, big enough for two. I shine the beam from the torch into it as though Leah might be lying at the bottom.

I try the second door but it’s a deep airing cupboard used to store linen and towels, as well as a thick down winter duvet. The third door leads into the cabin’s main room and I quickly scan the space, but it’s empty. Still, I call her name while shining the beam into all the nooks and crannies. I stand in the middle of the room for a long moment, deciding what to do. She’s not here, that much is obvious. Maybe she’s gone outside for some reason, a walk around the lake perhaps, though with heavy snow forecast I’d imagine she’d want to stay close to the cabin. Perhaps I’ll wait for her for an hour or so; I can still make it back to the car before it’s fully dark. There is also the possibility that she has been picked up by someone, and could be anywhere by now. Or, Anton really has hurt her and has had several days to cover up his crime.

I swallow hard and glance around the room for any sign of what could have happened to Leah. The cabin is made up of one large, open-plan room, with a built-in sleeping alcove in the far corner by the hearth. There is a cozy timbered kitchen nook held up by low, original beams painted a dusky gray. I take in Leah’s space, the space she loves. It’s as if the cabin is a physical incarnation of my soul, she once said, and with this in mind, it seems inevitable that this is Leah’s space. Unfussy and sweet, unconventionally beautiful and a little cluttered, like its owner. There are books everywhere, crammed onto shelves, piled on the floor, stacked on windowsills and a couple splayed face-down on the coffee table.