He pushed the button on his phone. ‘Holly, I’m going out for an hour or two. Tell Sergeant Morris to hold the fort.’

It crackled back. ‘He’s out here already. There’s some messages. Do you need them now?’

Craig smiled. His wife used to say Holly was like something out of Twin Peaks. Even if he wanted to dispute it, his secretary gave him cause every day to give in and agree.

‘Well that’s for you to say. You know what they are.’

‘I guess they can wait.’

He released the button and grabbed his storm jacket from the peg.

Outside the privacy of his room, in the open-plan office, the place was buzzing. All eighteen constables were on duty, leave cancelled, and what looked like most of them were milling round the operations board like they were waiting for something to happen on its own. It seemed like colour marker pens were more fun than getting out there and doing some police work.

Craig searched for Morris. He saw him sitting on the edge of a desk talking into a phone like he was a Hollywood theatrical agent, holding the phone beneath his chin and gesticulating to whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the other end with both hands. Not today, thought Craig. Today he couldn’t find the energy to play boss with this herd. Constable Daniel Hawk was at his desk studying the photos of Joe’s truck. Craig flicked him on the shoulder as he passed.

‘Going up to the pass to look round the site again. You want to get me up there in your Ford, constable?’

Daniel got up without speaking, put on his hat and followed his superior officer out into the car park.

The snow was getting silly now. Ploughs were doing their best, with the skiing traffic crawling behind them like ducklings after their mother, but it looked as if the snow would win by dark. Silver was going to be blocked off again. At least by road. A long discordant hoot from the distance sounded like the freight train on its way down the mountain was laughing at the cars. The tracks were clear now after the explosion, and those mile-long iron snakes of coal kept rolling through like nothing had happened. Daniel drove slowly and silently, accepting his place humbly in the line of cars.

Craig glanced across at him. ‘So how many colours have we managed to get on the wipe-clean?’

Daniel smiled. ‘We’re working on ten. But there’s still a debate about whether the truck driver should be pink or green.’

‘I wasn’t being funny, Hawk. I was expressing displeasure.’

‘I know, sir.’

Craig looked out the window, paused a while. ‘How are the guys coping with it? The fact it was Joe, I mean.’