Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

ramifications. Winters had largely dismissed the CC’s initial evaluation as an attempt to cover his ass and had decided to concentrate on Dr. Louis Tyler. The man was screwing the wife of the deceased; he’d lied to the police about the time he got home the night of the murder, and he had, according to his wife, a good hour unaccounted for. The very hour at which the murder was taking place. But perhaps there was something to the political situation, after all. M&C Developments wasn’t some faceless international corporation, with unlimited backing, for whom the death of an executive would be a minor speed bump on the road to riches. The death of Reginald Montgomery might well derail the entire project.
    Would someone kill a man to save a bunch of Grizzly bears?
    This was British Columbia. Of course they would.
    Winters eyed the list of numbers pinned to his wall, grabbed the phone, and punched the buttons. “Molly, get in here.”
    ***
    How humiliating. Someone had been murdered last night, and before she could write up her notes on the investigation she had to fill out a report on the theft of her own bike. Denton had laughed as if it were the funniest thing he’d heard in ages. It could have happened to anyone—actually it did seem to happen to just about anyone these days—but she’d look like an incompetent fool who couldn’t even look after her own property at the police station, of all places. And if the press got wind of it, the Trafalgar City Police would be made to look mighty incompetent as well. The Chief Constable wouldn’t be best pleased at that. Not to mention that it might be the nudge Winters needed to get rid of her.
    The Ride of the Valkyries
announced that her cell phone was ringing. “Molly Smith.”
    “Hey, Mol.”
    “Christa.” Something else she’d forgotten. Her promise to help Christa.
    “I was expecting to hear from you, Mol.”
    “I am so sorry. It’s this case I’m working on. Montgomery. Did you read about it in the paper?”
    “Yeah. I guess you’re busy, eh? Never mind, it was a stupid idea.”
    “No, it wasn’t. Charlie won’t leave you alone unless you do something about it. I’m here now. In the station. Are you at home?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’ll be waiting at the front desk. And we’ll put a stop to Charlie Bloody Bassing and his nonsense right now. Okay?”
    “I’m working on my essay. I have to get it finished.”
    “You need to do this now, Christa. How’s the essay going? Not well, I’d guess, right?”
    “I keep thinking about Charlie.”
    “Move it, Chris. Now’s the time. I’m waiting.”
    Christa gave a weak laugh. “You are so tough, Molly. You make me feel tough. I’ll be right there.”
    As Smith pressed the button to disconnect the call, the phone on her desk rang. She didn’t even have time to say her name before Winters barked into her ear.
    ***
    It was mid-afternoon, but Christa was still in her pajamas. All she wanted to do was work on her essay. All she wanted to do in her life was to finish her degree.
    She’d loved to learn but had hated school. And so she’d dropped out and headed for Vancouver the day she turned sixteen. After a few years of drifting between one McJob and another, she heard about distance education and correspondence courses. She knew that she could study, if she didn’t have to sit behind a desk, or walk the corridors with leering boys and jeering girls. She came back to Trafalgar, leaned on her father to pay her tuition and rent and supply her with a good computer. Now she was on the verge of getting her B.A. After that, Christa was determined to go for a master’s, and maybe a Ph.D. She’d find a way to make education appealing to all the lost girls like she’d been.
    She ran down the stairs two at a time. The first floor brats were yelling that they didn’t want grilled cheese. Their mother screamed something back about starving children in India who’d be thrilled to be offered grilled cheese. They were quick enough to threaten Christa with eviction if she so much as stepped on a loose floorboard, but didn’t seem to notice that the tone of their own family would wake the dead. She threw open the door to the street.
    “Hi, Chrissie. I was just passing by.”
    “Go away, Charlie.”
    She pushed past him and walked down the road, trying to keep her stride long and determined. Forceful, the way Molly walked.
    He fell into step beside her.
    She stopped walking. “Go away, Charlie. I do not