Constables Daniel Hawk and Jeff Bell had set up their posts at the table nearest the till, their notebooks and a photocopied list of names open in front of them as they worked their way through the employees of Silver Ski Company. Those waiting their turn to be questioned had arranged themselves into groups declaring the rigid class system that exists in ski resorts. The patrollers sat near the darkened window, apart from the horde, their unclipped boots on the floor as they sat with their steaming, socked feet on the table. They tried to look like they knew exactly what was going on. Patrollers always did that. Tell a patroller something he didn’t know and he’d move his gum around a cheek a little and say, ‘Yeah. We heard.’

Anything at all.

‘Hey Baz! Giant soldier ants from Africa have taken over the world.’

‘Yeah. We heard.’

Patrollers figured it was part of the image to be the centre of things. They sat and tried to look like they were in control again, but for once the uniforms on the two Mounties’ backs were trumping their white crosses.

Standing round the closed serving-hatch were a cluster of manual groomers, the ones who drove the trail bashers, shovelled the snow, fixed the fences and drove the lifts. They didn’t care about image. They wanted home. So did the catering staff, the office staff, the bus drivers and the shop people. But it was going to be a while.

‘So, Karen Howe.’

Daniel ran a finger down a list of names in the staff rota.

‘Your job is …?’

Karen looked nervously at Hawk, who was flicking open a new page in his book with his free hand, not looking at her.

‘Manual groomer.’

Her voice was higher than it should have been.

He looked up. ‘Hey. Don’t worry. This is just routine.’

He smiled a big white smile. She smiled back.

‘Sorry. I get nervous speaking to policemen. Always think I’ve done something. You know? When you haven’t? Like when you’re stopped for a ticket you think they’ll shoot you?’

‘Sure. Get that way myself when I go through customs at airports.’

‘You do? Wow. A cop feeling guilty.’ She giggled. Not unpleasantly. Hawk turned his eyes back to his notebook.

‘Where were you between the hours of 11.30 a.m. and 3.30 p.m. today, Karen?’

She swallowed, moving forward in the plastic seat that didn’t move with her. ‘Uh, I was here mostly, on the quad. Then I went over to Beaver to relieve the groomer on the chair.’

Hawk looked up. ‘Uh huh? How so?’

‘Oh he got ill or somethin’. I did the chair till it closed at three forty-five.’

‘And who was it that you relieved?’

‘Sam Hunt.’