Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

morning constitutional looked at her. A smartly dressed businesswoman walking a Pomeranian turned to stare. The Pomeranian barked and lunged toward Smith. Her gun slapped at her hip, her boots weighed her down. The uniform was hot, even in the mild morning sun.
    He turned onto the street at the crest of the hill and disappeared. She heard sirens behind her. The cruiser slowed down. Smith wrenched the door open and jumped in.
    Dawn Solway pressed her foot on the gas. “What’s up?”
    “Next left,” Smith gasped. A stitch dug into her side. “Guy on a bike. Move it.”
    They took the corner on two wheels. Nothing but morning dog walkers and people heading to work. The only cyclist was a toddler on a tricycle, colorful ribbons on the handlebars blowing in the breeze.
    Smith pounded the dashboard. “He has to be around here somewhere. That alley, turn down there.”
    Solway turned, but the alley was empty. She switched off the siren.
    “Back up, back up.”
    Solway backed up. At this end of town the roadway was a maze of twists and turns; roads went up the mountain, and down again. Or not. One-way streets turned into throughways, and major roads dwindled into nothing. There were streets that ended at sheer cliffs and others that changed name or direction without warning. And because the roads were so unpredictable, walking paths jutted off in all directions.
    “Where to?” Solway asked.
    “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Smith hit the dashboard again. “Keep driving.”
    “What’d he do?”
    “Stole a bike. Stole a goddamned bike while I stood there watching, thinking it was a nice bike. You laugh and I’ll have your guts for garters.”
    “I wasn’t laughing.”
    “Christ, I can’t believe the nerve of the guy. He didn’t even look around to see if anyone was watching, just snapped the chain and took off.”
    “Recognize anything about him?”
    “Too far away. Might not have even been a guy, now that I think about it. All baggy pants and oversized T-shirt.”
    They drove around, Smith shouting at Solway to stop at every pedestrian they passed, to ask if they’d seen someone on a red bike. No one had.
    “Could be anywhere by now,” Solway said. “Holed up in someone’s back yard, most likely. Watching us driving around in circles.”
    “Go back to the tourist info center. See if we can find the bike owner. This’ll make the Trafalgar City Police look good—hey, I saw someone steal your bike but couldn’t catch him.”
    “You tried, Molly, don’t sweat it. You were on foot, he was on a bike.”
    “I just can’t get over the gall. He must have known I was chasing him, or her, but he didn’t even look back when I yelled.”
    “Maybe he knew you’d recognize the face.”
    “That’s a thought. Which means someone local, or who’s been brought to our attention recently.”
    A man was standing outside the tourist info center, looking at the empty bike rack, incomprehension on his face.
    Smith’s cell phone rang as Solway pulled up beside him and got out of the car.
    “Are you missing something, sir?” Solway said.
    “Moonlight, where are you?” Lucky’s voice was tinged with panic.
    “Right near you, Mom. I can see the store from here. What’s wrong?”
    “Can you come by for a minute?”
    “Is Dad okay? Are you okay?”
    “I need you in your professional capacity, Moonlight.”
    “I’m coming.” Smith jumped out of the car. Solway was making soothing gestures to the wildly gesticulating bicyclist.
    “I have to go. Something’s wrong at my parents’.”
    “You,” the bicyclist shouted. He was older than she’d thought at first—probably into his forties. His hair was cut short, his face clean-shaven. Sleek black and red bike shirt and shorts on a well-toned frame. He threw his red helmet to the ground. “She said you saw it happen. Was it your coffee break or something? Wrong time of the month to make an arrest?”
    “Go, Smith,” Solway said, “I’ll help this gentleman make a statement.” She bent down and picked up the bike chain. “Cheap,” she said. “Easy to cut. I would’ve thought that you’d get better security for such a nice bike.”
    Smith left him sputtering his indignation, and sprinted down the street.
    No one was in the store. “Mom? Dad?”
    “In the back,” Andy Smith called.
    She went into the office. Her parents stood together, their arms wrapped around each other. Lucky’s red and grey head was tucked into her husband’s