‘Thanks, fellas,’ he said. Sofia rolled her eyes, reminding the cop that she too had lumbered a corpse down the mountain. He stumbled over his next words but didn’t correct himself, just ploughed on. ‘Normally I wouldn’t move the body, but with the front coming in, I don’t want to have to dig him out later.’

The cop was a few inches taller than me, which may have been his thick boots, and a few kilos heavier, which may have been his thick coat, but I’d have to ignore his full cheeks. He didn’t have a gun on his hip. I don’t know why I noticed that, I just did. He had dark green eyes, and crystals of ice had settled on his eyelashes. It was clear the morning had rattled him, because his gaze darted around the shed before settling on the body, which seemed to suspend his thought process entirely.

‘I’m Ernie,’ I said, to try to snap him out of it. ‘Ernest Cunningham. This is Andrew Millot. You’ve met Sofia. Also Cunningham, hyphen, Garcia.’

‘Garcia, hyphen, Cunningham,’ Sofia corrected with a smile.

‘Let’s get, hyphen, the fuck out of here,’ Andy said, who had spent the whole time immobilised, like the cop, staring at the body. ‘This is giving me the creeps.’

‘Oh.’ The cop returned his attention to us. ‘Darius. Officer Crawford, I guess, but Darius is okay. Formalities are for sea level.’ He extended a hand in greeting. I pointed at the inside of his wrist, where the cuff had a dark stain on it. There was a similar mark on his other wrist too; a stain from carrying the body.

‘You’ve got blood on your coat, Officer Crawford,’ I said, declining the shake. Cunninghams don’t believe in a first-name basis for law enforcement.

Crawford went pale. He looked down at his wrists and breathed deeply.

‘You all right?’ I asked.

‘I, um, I haven’t dealt with a lot of these.’

‘Dead bodies?’

‘Murders,’ Sofia cut in.

‘Well, perhaps, but let’s keep that quiet for now.’ Crawford gave a feeble grin. He’d seemed gormless out in the snow, but up close he looked worse. Seeing the blood had apparently not only made him queasy, it also made him realise he was in over his head.

Andy mouthed the word ‘murder?’ back at Sofia. Even in mime, I could hear the incredulous pitch of his voice. She nodded solemnly.

‘I guess I should ask if you know the guy. Do you recognise him?’ Crawford continued.

‘Is this an interview?’ I asked. I’d spent too many hours sitting behind two-way mirrors to be answering questions without knowing who was asking and what for. ‘Why don’t you question whoever found the body?’