Good. They would do the interview again and this time she would make no mistakes. She’d make sure she told the shitty American rat bag that she’d got a great big yes on the celebrity ski from Del Parkinson no less! That’s right, you slimy nobody. A real TV star coming to Silver. His agent knew all about the murders and said that Del wasn’t scared, that he’d love to come and help the town get its balls back. Pasqual was delirious with victory. And she’d mention it this time. All it took was to lose your nerves and concentrate real hard on what you were going to say. In fact she concentrated so hard on remembering to mention it that she didn’t notice the strange effect using a strawberry filter had on a news camera. It stopped the little red light from going on, and the tape inside the camera didn’t go round at all.

There was a tap at the door. Becker poked his head round.

‘You busy, Craig?’

Craig was not busy. Craig was fretting, avoiding his next meeting which was with the warden of some far away national park about poachers he suspected were coming from Silver. Craig was waiting for Hawk to get picked up and hauled into work so he could ask him something. Meanwhile, what did Edmonton’s finest want?

‘No, come in.’

The squat man in his fifties let his body follow his head into the room, and shut the door behind him. ‘How’s it going?’

Craig looked blankly at him. Be nice. Remember. ‘Good. You?’

‘Nice and slow but sure. The motto of all good policemen. You know it well enough.’

No, he didn’t. It was the motto of an old guy who had authority, experience and could see a big pension coming up on the inside lane. The motto of a man who did the job and didn’t take risks. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘I think we have a suspect, Craig, and I’m thinking of bringing him in.’

That made McGee sit up. ‘Take a seat.’

Becker waved a hand, still standing by the door. ‘No time. This won’t take long. I just had to run this past you.’

In other words, what you think is not important. I’m merely required by RCMP etiquette to let you know who I’ll be locking up behind your bars. Craig gnashed his back teeth and the muscle in his jaw protruded through his cheeks as he did so. ‘Go on.’

‘I guess we both know, you and I, that this is probably the work of an Indian.’

‘No. I don’t know that.’

A half-smile from Becker.

‘Sure. We don’t know for certain. But you get my drift.’

Craig did not reply. That unsettled the man in his office. He dropped the buddy act.

‘Wilber Stonerider. A drunk and a nuisance. You’ve had him in here plenty.’