‘It’s non-refundable,’ Katherine added, between sips of orange juice. Then she shot a look at Sofia, as if she was most likely to object. ‘We’re staying.’

‘And what would even be the point of leaving?’ Marcelo finished his thought. ‘We’re probably more aware of the dangers now.’

Andy and I both glanced over at Sofia. Me, out of curiosity, to see if she’d respond; Andy, in more of a challenge. Her fork scraped her plate, but she didn’t look up.

‘Michael’s not going to want to turn up and see the place crawling with cops, asking questions about some dead guy,’ Lucy said.

‘They won’t have any cause to ask him questions,’ Marcelo said. ‘He was two hundred kilometres away last night.’

‘I just don’t think it’s good to remind him of—’

‘Michael can decide for himself. When he gets here.’ Audrey’s firm voice cut through. She had a mother’s touch for putting an end to arguments. We were staying. All of us. It was non-negotiable.

‘What if it’s the Black Tongue?’ Sofia finally spoke. Andy blew croissant flakes over the table with a surprised snort. ‘You know the most common cause of death in a fire is not burning, it’s suffocation. The fire pulls too much oxygen from the air.’

‘Not over breakfast, love,’ said Marcelo.

‘Bit dramatic,’ choked Andy, thumping his chest to work the pastry through.

‘What’s a Black Tongue?’ Lucy and I asked in unison.

‘Bit light on current affairs, are you?’ Andy said, making a Psycho-esque stabbing motion in the air.

‘I’m serious,’ Sofia said. ‘Andy, like I told you outside, there’s something strange about the—’

‘Don’t pull me into this,’ said Andy.

‘Ern?’

‘I believe you, but I didn’t get a very good look.’

‘I wouldn’t rely on Ernest – he’s got a bit of form for backstabbing.’

‘Lucy, honestly.’ Sofia was begging now. ‘Listen. From what I’ve read, I think it fits—’

‘Little Miss Wants to be a Hero has a diagnosis, does she? We’re supposed to trust you?’ Katherine’s tone was so vicious, it caught me by surprise. The way she lingered on the word ‘trust’. ‘You saw the body for what, a minute, maybe two?’

‘I carried the damn thing down a mountain. Trust me. Something’s not right. Officer Crawford’s going to want to hope his buddies get here soon, because I don’t think he realises what he might have stumbled into.’

There are usually two types of cops in these books: Only Hopes and Last Resorts. At this stage, Darius Crawford’s only hope was to be a Last Resort. I wasn’t prepared to count on him any more than I would a bombmaker’s fingers. Sofia had clearly made the same assessment.