Ski restaurant lines cracked Sam up. Were people really that dumb that they didn’t know to unclip their ski boots? They clattered along like robots, stiff-legged and walking like Boris Karloff in Frankenstein, spilling everything they had on their tray before they got anywhere near the till. There was an elderly woman in front of him now doing just that, walking from the yoghurt display to the coffee vending machine with a laden tray, holding it like the lives of millions depended on her not spilling a Coke. He gave in.

‘Here, let me. I got soft boots on.’

She beamed up at him, her red face crushing into a smile. ‘Weeel thank yooo!’

He put his own Coke on the tray, carried it across and laid it safely on the runner under the machine. She clumped eagerly behind him like a cow in splints.

‘Try loosening your clips. Here let me.’ Sam bent down and unclipped her tight rear-entry boots, as she held his shoulder for balance. ‘There. Try that.’

She shuffled forward and smiled. ‘Gee! Much better. Thank yooo!’

‘No problem.’ He grabbed his Coke and went to the till. Neil was behind it.

‘Going down on old ladies now, Sam? Katie know?’

‘Hey stop it. My sides might split.’

Neil laughed and rang up the Coke. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Could be better.’

‘The cops grill you too?’

‘Sure.’

‘Gruesome as fuck, man, but it’s kinda exciting. Wonder if they’ll get the mother.’

‘Wonder.’

Neil leaned across the counter, twisting in his seat, and inserting a cocktail stick in between his neat white teeth.

‘You know how Mike found the mess? Said there were no footprints in the snow. Can you get that?’

Sam stared at him. ‘How would Mike notice something like that … like why is he looking in the snow?’

Neil leant back with his arms out. ‘Jeez. Come on, Sam. First thing Patrol check is the footprints round a casualty. You should know that. In case the injured party had a companion that wandered off, got into trouble, needs help, da dum, da dum, da dum.’

Sam gripped his Coke. ‘And there were none?’

‘Zilcho. Just the kid’s ski tracks, and some deer prints.’

Sam’s lips were parted, and he felt his heart knocking. ‘Deer prints?’

‘Prints from a deer. Deer prints. Four-legged fuck with hooves. You probably got one in the family. D-E-E-R prints.’

Neil cupped a hand over his mouth. ‘Hello! Houston! Can you hear me!’

Sam snapped out of it. ‘Yeah, yeah. Right. So Mike told you this?’

‘Nah. He’s all to pieces. He told Baz. Baz told me.’

‘Right.’

‘Hey Sam. It’s a riot talking to you, man. Not!’