‘I’m sorry if you’re offended. I’m also sure you’d rather be offended than be a widow through wrong diagnoses.’

That hit home. Sure, she could live with offence. She could never live without Sam. She nodded, and Harris continued.

‘It’s just that, as I’m sure you know, the Kinchuinicks use a great variety of drugs in their religion and ceremonies, most of which are hallucinogenic and extremely dangerous. You know also that their purpose is to bring about the kind of blackouts your husband is experiencing in order to allow communion with the spirits.’

‘You’re teaching your Grandma to spit tobacco here, doctor. I write about this stuff at the museum. Remember?’

‘So we can rule drug abuse out.’

‘Yes.’

‘His behaviour hasn’t been erratic, secretive or out of character?’

She touched her nose lightly.

‘No.’

Harris studied her for a second then tapped the table top with a finger. ‘Okay. I’ll call you with the appointment when I hook up with Calgary. Everything else okay with the family?’

‘Yeah. We just want Sam better.’

‘Sure.’

He stood and showed her out of the door. Sam was in the outer room, both boots on, his hands clasped between his legs as he waited innocently for the conspirators. Katie took his wide brown hand, and unlike the way they came in, they left together like lovers. She was a weakling to doubt him. There would be an explanation for Billy’s behaviour. An explanation for Sam’s blackouts. An explanation for the police watching him like wolves smelling an elk. As they left the surgery down snowy steps, and saw the plain-clothes RCs in the brown car start their engine, she hoped the explanations would start coming soon.

It was still dark when Craig woke. He lay there in the blackness letting the sharp pain of being alone that always hit him first thing subside into a dull ache. It was hard to get up this morning. He knew what was waiting for him. Nothing. Becker and his team would be milling around, making statements to the press and trying to find reasons to arrest Sam Hunt. Meanwhile, he would be expected to get on with the important business of making sure ski-theft was stamped out in Silver.

Craig McGee was not Eddie Murphy. He wasn’t going to take a couple of days’ leave and solve the crime with a zany Indian side-kick and a blonde love-interest. He was a quiet, methodical policeman and he wanted to solve this systematically and officially. He wanted to answer the riddles, but most of all, he wanted the killing to stop.