Freidman had approached the drug squad and offered to turn informant in exchange for protection. In a show of good faith, he’d tipped them off that a murder was imminent in the Snowy Mountains. But it was Freidman who’d turned up dead.

‘The way I see it, Sterling,’ Ryder went on, ‘you’re in Khancoban to make connections and build relationships with the locals and regular visitors. You’re a woman spending a season in the snow, improving your snowboarding on your days off, like thousands of others.’

‘I understand. I’m just worried that half the ski season is over and I haven’t learned anything useful.’

‘I’m not saying there won’t come a time when asking to buy drugs is a reasonable course of action, but now is not the time. In my experience, it’s usually the little things that crack the case open, not something big like you see in a TV drama. A guy talking himself up in the pub, and you overhear him and think ah ha! Or the same thing could happen when one of us is listening to an intercepted phone call. When you hear it, you’ll recognise it for what it is.’

‘Thanks, Sarge. What you’re saying makes sense.’

The chairlift began to move again.

‘How are you, otherwise?’ Ryder asked the same question every time, concerned for the young detective’s mental health. It took nerve to pretend you were someone else while remaining strong and focused. For reasons unknown to Ryder, Sterling had been hungry to take this assignment, fully aware she would be separated from her family, friends and co-workers for months. It was up to her to prove she had the mettle for it.

‘My head’s fine, Sarge.’

‘If you need to be pulled out—’

‘No worries there.’

They were drawing closer to the station. Whoops of laughter rang out from the slope below as the chair in front moved over the safety net.

‘Stay safe,’ he said, dragging up his neck warmer.

When Ryder’s skis hit the snow, he stood up, Sterling half a second ahead of him. Once clear of the unloading area, he watched her head to a safe place where she could sit down and buckle in her loose boot. He skied past, cruising along the top of the track while looking for an easy entry into the run. Ryder’s girlfriend, Vanessa, was a ski-patrol officer at Thredbo, but despite her intensive tuition, he was an average skier at best. He looked for a groomed run to take him all the way down the mountain, recounting Vanessa’s instructions in his head. Somewhere behind him, Sterling would be taking her time adjusting the bindings on her snowboard before heading in a different direction.