Oh-ho! No more Craig or Staff Sergeant. Craig rubbed the side of his nose and looked down. He wanted to be nice. Remember? ‘You think an old drunk like Stonerider could have gotten onto that pass in a blizzard, murdered Joe, then pushed his truck over the Wolf’s Tooth gorge on his own? Then you think he somehow found his way onto the ski hill without anyone seeing him, snuck into a bunch of trees and took out a fit young Californian kid with what looks like a blade the size of a sword, and escaped without leaving any footprints? Jeez, Becker. Some talented fruit all right.’

Becker stared back at the impertinence. He took a conspiratorial line, sounding vaguely excited, as though imparting thrilling information that he shouldn’t give away. ‘We think he may, just may, have been in cahoots with Hunt.’

Craig did the unforgivable. He leaned back in his chair and laughed out loud. He laughed like a fairground clown, his sides shaking and his eyes crinkled in mirth. Then he threw his arms out wide and faced Becker with the laugh still on his lips. ‘For why? What the fuck do you think they’re up to?’

Becker stood up. He was very calm and very quiet. ‘I’m sorry for disturbing your busy schedule, Staff Sergeant. It was my duty to tell you we would be arresting a man and bringing him here to your detachment. It is not my duty to discuss the details with you.’

Craig stopped laughing. He hadn’t done a very good job of being nice. He regretted it, and wondered if it could be fixed.

The two men sized each other up, contemplating how they could proceed when the difficulty was wrenched from them. The door burst open.

It was Constable Bell. Craig knew in his guts what he was going to hear. He stayed very still, waiting and breathing.

Behind Jeff Bell, through the wide open door that he didn’t knock on, the office was churning like a tidal race. He could see one of Becker’s men holding Holly, who was crying. He could see three police constables standing in that inert way you stand when you don’t know what to do next. He could see arms flailing and heads being hit with the palms of hands. And he could see worse things in Bell’s contorting face as it formed the words Craig was praying he wouldn’t hear.

‘It’s Dan. He’s got Dan.’

35

Eden had once said that if you doubted we were all part of the same thing you had to ask yourself why every natural scrap of the earth looks like an old familiar face. Sam hadn’t understood as a boy. He did as a man. A rock patched with lichen, a cloud blowing across a peak, a stem of buckbrush bouncing in the rain; they all possessed a face of sorts.