‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ I said.

‘Just crossing t’s and dotting i’s. I’ll be in the guesthouse if you need me, but hopefully there’ll be some detectives here soon. Depending on snow and traffic.’ He glanced up at the mottled sky doubtfully and clicked the lock closed.

‘Murder?’ Andy complained as we walked down the hill. While the mob had dispersed, there were still scattered people dotted across the resort who had watched us put the body in the shed. I was glad the shed had no windows, otherwise there would have been some icy foreheads. ‘He was clearly outside overnight, froze to death. You’re not even a doctor anymore and you’re getting involved, telling that cop it was a murder?’

I hadn’t known Sofia was no longer a surgeon. I wondered if it had something to do with Katherine whispering in Andy’s ear when she raised her hand at Officer Crawford’s request. I wondered if it had something to do with her needing fifty thousand dollars. I glanced at Sofia. If Andy had meant it as an insult, it had bounced right off her. Her expression didn’t change. Gave nothing away.

‘Blood?’ I thought aloud, trying to figure it out for myself. ‘Officer Crawford got blood on his sleeves from carrying the body. If the guy died from exposure overnight, why would he be bleeding? You’re saying he was attacked?’

‘His face is blackened from frostbite,’ Andy argued. ‘What the hell did you tell that cop?’

If our family had a motto, it would be: non fueris locutus est scriptor vigilum Cunningham. Which is Latin for: Cunninghams don’t speak to cops. I don’t speak Latin; I’m not ashamed to admit I googled that. Andy was offended by Sofia’s cooperation on Katherine’s behalf. ‘On behalf of’ was a typical position for Andy to take. His middle name should have been ‘Proxy’.

‘The blood’s from an injury on his neck. And you were carrying his feet – you didn’t get a good-enough look. That’s not frostbite on his face,’ Sofia said. ‘It’s ash.’

‘Ash? Like charcoal?’ I said. ‘Out here?’

‘It’s clogged in his windpipes, caked on his tongue. If we cracked him open, we’d find it in his lungs, I’m sure. It doesn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for the fact that he doesn’t have a single burn mark on him, and he’s in a snowfield that has no signs of being melted, I’d say the cause of death was obvious.’

‘Enlighten us.’ Andy was clearly unconvinced.

‘He died in a fire.’

CHAPTER 8