I opened the Sky Lodge homepage on the second monitor and clicked on the snow cam. It was almost a complete whiteout, but Juliette and Gavin returned, so I returned my attention to the room spreadsheets. Looking through the names of the guests was as fruitless as I’d expected. They were all generic names that blurred together and, even if there was something to jump out, the odds of me simply scrolling past it were high. I searched, on a whim, for Williams and Humphreys, Holton and Clarke. Nothing. My only real thought was that were too many people named Dylan. Snowboarders. Eventually I swapped to the Room Check tab. There was a column for room numbers, a column for the number of beds booked, and a column titled ‘Accounted For’ filled with a corresponding Y/N, seemingly in an attempt to verify who was present and identify any potentially missing person. I scanned the columns. They were all Y, everyone ticked off.

Juliette busied herself looking at the map of the mountain on the corkboard, but I could tell she was impatient, anxious to leave. Lucy was still missing, after all. ‘Anything?’ she said eventually, deciding I’d had enough time. She leaned over my shoulder. ‘I had a friend in one of those schemes.’ I realised she was looking at Lucy’s Instagram account on the other monitor; I’d left it showing the screenshot of her bank account. ‘It’s all fake. They encourage people to photoshop these and post them so they look like they’re making money. Even if the money’s real, it never shows you how much they spend to get it. It’s almost all their own coin, just coming back to them at a loss.’

Erin had said that Michael shared Lucy’s financial problems with her, that it was part of what had brought them closer. Then again, he’d summoned $267,000 from somewhere. Maybe they were both keeping their debts secret from each other.

I had one final scroll through the room list, hoping I’d land on something that would set off a spark. Dylans abounded. I reminded myself again that this was the party resort, the opposite to Sky Lodge. It was futile hunting for anyone associated with an historic crime from thirty-five years ago: no one over forty would dare set foot in this resort. It would be like taking a retirement cruise to Cancun.

Except . . .

‘Gavin.’ Now I was hurriedly scrolling through the room spreadsheet. ‘You said there was an older couple here?’

‘Yeah. They’ve holed up in their room. I think they booked the wrong resort, because, honestly, we get all sorts, but they’re not really our clientele. We’ve been doing them room service, which we don’t usually do, because I feel a bit bad, you know?’

‘And I’ll bet they tip,’ said Juliette.

‘Like I said, not really our clientele.’