A small group huddled by it: Sofia, Andy, Crawford, Juliette and a man I didn’t know, whom I allowed to momentarily lift my hopes – perhaps he was a detective. But, as I joined the group, I saw he was zipped into a sleek plastic raincoat with SuperShred Resort embroidered on the breast. Everything he wore had a logo on it – from his blue and gold holographic Oakleys, to his Skullcandy bandana tied over his chin (skull and crossbones over his mouth), to his puffy plastic pants with Quiksilver emblazoned all the way down one leg. He looked like a well-stickered beer fridge. I pegged him as a snowboarder: the only part of his face showing, his nose, looked often broken. As I got closer, I saw the SuperShred insignia was similarly printed on the flank of the bus-tank. He must have been from over the ridge, the resort in the adjoining valley.

I nudged my way between Andy and Sofia. Sofia was shivering intensely, winter pale. I could tell she wasn’t focusing on what was going on, rather counting down the seconds until she could go back inside. I expected at least one raised eyebrow at Erin and I arriving together, Erin in the same clothes as yesterday, but nobody seemed to have the energy for schoolyard gossip. Everyone was too focused on Marcelo, returning with us, to pay us any mind.

‘Are we leaving?’ I asked. The vehicle could only be designed to travel through thick snow, and it wasn’t here for joyrides.

‘Well?’ Juliette spoke over the top of me, to Marcelo.

‘Chalet’s empty. Her car’s still there.’

‘Shit.’

‘I can take you up the ridge.’ The Walking Billboard’s voice was no exception to his outfit, his accent sponsored by Monster Energy Drink. If he hadn’t been talking about a missing woman, I’m sure he would have used ‘dog’ and ‘bro’ as punctuation. There was a slight Canadian lilt, which I took to mean he was one of the snow-chasers who spent six months in the Northern Hemisphere and six months in the south. ‘But we’re not going to find someone in this unless we run over them.’

‘What’s happening?’ I tried again.

‘Lucy’s gone.’ Marcelo finally addressed me, albeit with the distracted air of someone who’s just been asked ‘What did I miss?’ during a film. ‘No one’s seen her since last night.’

It made sense. Marcelo had sprung me looting his car because he was already there, checking to see if Lucy had driven out overnight. I assumed that’s why Katherine and Audrey weren’t with the group: they’d split off to search the house.

The Walking Billboard swivelled his head across our group. ‘Excuse me for asking, but what the fuck happened to you lot? Jules, I should take you all back to Jindabyne right now.’