McKenzie leaned up close to peer at Mara's neck wound.

"See what I mean?" Westerby asked.

"Hmm. Have you got something I can… you know…" she motioned with her hands and when he didn't answer she grunted at him, "give me something I can poke around with."

"Yeah, I thought you might want to do that." He handed her a long, skinny stick. "Kabab skewer. It's the best I could find in the kitchen. Unopened package so I guess it's sterile."

She took it, lifting an eyebrow and pursing her lips and then gently applying the stick to the wound. The young trooper nearby whom Westerby hadn't seen before took to inspecting the ceiling.

Another Trooper cleared his throat. "Uh, M.E's not going to like what you're doing, Ma'am."

McKenzie paused and then went on with her inspection. "Remeriz, the M.E. hasn't liked what I do ever since I followed the midwife's advice and pushed harder."

The Trooper stifled a snort, "just want to go on record, Ma'am."

"Got it, Trooper Remeriz objects, duly noted. Sergeant's daughter will see the records. Flashlight."

Remeriz, with the precision of long practiced activity, slapped a small flashlight into her hand surgical nurse style. She flicked it on and the bright LED bulbs changed the wound from a dried blood slash to an obscene ragged hole. She snapped the light off and stood up.

At a few hand waves Remerize zipped the body bag closed as they all filed out of the refrigerator.

"Westerby, outside."

He followed her from the café into the courtyard putting them at an equal distance from the café, the wing housing his quarters and the wing housing the families, all of whom were staring out their windows at the police.

She deliberately positioned the two of them so the family couldn't see their facial expressions. Her voice was soft and conspiratorial. "What did you do with the piece of glass that killed her?"

"Sorry, 'Cile. I couldn't find it." He answered.

She pulled her head back giving herself a double chin. "You didn't pull it out?"

"If I didn't know you have to ask that stupid a question I'd be insulted."

"Here's another one. Did it fall out when you were dragging her back here?"

"If it was there in the first place, and kinda loose, I would have pulled it out, wrapped it up and put a ribbon on it for you."

She went back to having one chin but didn't stop frowning. "Any possibility it wasn't a chunk of glass?"

"Don't see how. Or what."

"Piece of wood? Branch? Nah, the wound's not dirty enough for those." Her nose was starting to run in the cold and he handed her a tissue.

"It's not shaped right for a knife wound." He said. "Depending on the knife at least one edge has to be narrow. It's got to be a piece of glass."

"When you radioed that her throat was slit I was thinking, you know, like, an ear-to-ear slice but that's … that's a big ass puncture wound. But not deep."

"Deep enough."

"For sure." She sighed and squinted up at the sky. It was gray and the clouds were rolling by while small flakes of powder snow began to chase each other down to the ground.

"No way we're going down the mountain now. We'll stay the night and head back first thing in the morning. "

"I figured you would. I put some rooms together for you and the guys. You can use my quarters to conference in, so the families can't eavesdrop."

"That'll work fine. I want you and Davis… wait a minute," she stepped away from him and yelled at the Troopers. "Davis! Gear up. You're going with Angus to the scene."

She turned back to the glare on his face. "What? Oh, for..." She turned back again, "And Davis, follow Westerby's lead. If he tells you to take a piss, do it."

Davis waved at her and a faint laugh and a, "Yes, Ma'am," floated back to them.

She turned to him. "Better?" She didn't wait for him to answer, barreling ahead with instructions. "He's one of the best tracker's around, even better than my son. Take him there, photo the heck out of the place, try and find the glass and anything else you think might…" she stopped and a smile touched her eyes, "Sorry, you know what to do."

He nodded and touched her arm. "A word to the wise? When you talk to the families? Hugh Rogers, he's been drinking."

"Chronic?"

"Mmmm," he shrugged, "definitely this side of frequent. I didn't notice anything before, but they're all on vacation, right? But this morning, well, he started. Also, he's the only one who has anything nice to say about the dead girl."

"Really? You think he and she…" she left the sentence finish itself with the implication.

"Nah. They're a tight knit group, but I think he's the one loose thread. Maybe he identified with her."

She thought about it. "Well now, isn't that more than a little interesting? Thanks."

"Oh, and this. They're going to try and implicate me."

She snorted, "isn't that a given?"

She walked away shouting at the men. "The rest of you with me. This is how it's going down. First call your families and tell them you're going to miss Christmas Eve."

Westerby smiled to himself. God, he was going to miss that old broad when she retired.