Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

tea. Anyone want some? Sergeant Winters?” She looked like hell. The circles under her eyes were dark and deep, the eyes themselves filled with the ghost of tears. She didn’t look any older than when he’d interviewed her this afternoon, but her air of good humor and enjoyment of verbal combat was gone.
    “Another time, perhaps.”
    “I for one am going to bed,” Andy said. “So should you, Molly.” He left the room.
    Smith’s cheeks were pink, and her eyes threw thunderbolts at her father’s retreating back.
    “Night, Molly, Lucky,” Keller said. “John, I left my car behind. You’ll have to take me home.”
    Smith walked them to the door and stood watching as they climbed into the car. Before Winters switched on his lights, she was briefly lit from behind, standing in the doorway like a museum exhibit.
Homo constableus
in her natural environment. He backed out of the driveway.
    “That program was bad, John, very bad.”
    “I agree.”
    “It’ll bring every troublemaker within a thousand miles to town.” Keller pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket. Winters considered telling him that no smoking was allowed, but decided against it. He and Keller went back a long way. But the man was still the Chief Constable. A lighter spat out a thin flame of red and yellow.
    “I can’t see the connection between the show, the arson at the park, and Montgomery’s murder,” Winters said, as much to himself as to his boss. “Montgomery was openly opposed to the garden. The program was clearly on his side, and so, I’ll assume for now, was our arsonist. If someone killed Montgomery because of his opposition to the park, I’d expect them to make a statement about it.” The road back to Trafalgar was winding and treacherous. A cliff rose up on the right, and a sharp drop to the river was on his left. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of brilliant eyes reflecting his headlights. A scattering of house lights twinkled across the river.
    “I’m thinking of calling in IHIT.”
    Winters let out a breath. “I don’t think that’s necessary, not yet.”
    The Integrated Homicide Investigation Team was an RCMP unit out of Surrey, prepared to help local forces throughout the Lower Mainland and the B.C. interior with murder cases.
    “In the past, I’d have called them right away. But you were a homicide detective in Vancouver for a long time, John, so I figured you could handle it. Tell me why you don’t need them now.”
    The undercarriage of the car clattered as they crossed the bridge into town. There was no other traffic. “Scene of the crime evidence isn’t telling us much. In fact, it isn’t telling us anything. The wife and her lover would be the obvious suspects, but she, contrary to what you saw on TV earlier, is so bored by her husband’s death, that I can’t imagine her getting fired up enough to have caused it. And her lover—he’s either the world’s greatest actor, or he’s innocent. Or a complete psycho—I’ve sent some feelers out to ask if he’s been brought to the attention of the police before, but so far nothing. The business partner is another possible suspect. His alibi is rock solid, but the killing might have been contracted. I won’t commit to that line until I’ve found out a bit more about their company, M&C Developments. If there’s particularly hefty partnership insurance involved, I’ll be notified. It could be a random thing—a druggie coming across a well-dressed man in a dark alley. But you know better than I do, that’s never happened in Trafalgar.”
    “There’s always a first time.”
    The Chief Constable’s home was new, a sprawling bungalow, situated high on the hillside. Far below, yellow lights outlined the bridge and danced on the black waters of the river.
    “So what are we left with?”
    “Lucky told me that a couple of radical environmental types are in town, aiming to put a stop to the Grizzly Resort. Some of those environmental activists can be ruthless.”
    Keller puffed on his cigar. “I’ll tell the Yellow Stripes that we have the matter well in hand.” Winters grinned at his boss’ use of the not-always-polite nickname for the RCMP, derived from the color of the stripe on their uniform pants. Keller pulled the unused ashtray open and ground out the half-finished cigar. “Karen’ll have my hide if I bring that into the house. Look into the resort, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth. The situation seems to be all tangled up with