Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

adjusted the back support. A bit of color was returning to her face. “They’ll do what they can.”
    “We’ll close the store for the rest of the day,” Andy said.
    “We’ll do nothing of the sort. I won’t be chased out of our business by a poisoned-pen writer.” She took a deep drink of her tea. “Duncan, unlock the door.”
    Winters said, “You’ll let us know if anything even the slightest out of the ordinary happens?”
    “Yes.” She began rummaging through the mountain of paper on her desk.
    Duncan preceded the police to unlock the door. “Do you have a moment, Mol?” he asked, flipping the sign to Open.
    “My car’s right outside,” Winters said. The bell jangled as he left.
    “If you know something about this letter, Duncan, you need to tell Seargant Winters, not just me.”
    “It’s not about that. I’ve been wanting to ask you a question for a long time, Mol.”
    She looked outside. The lights of Winters’ SUV flashed as he flicked his remote. “So ask.”
    “I’m going to Vancouver on Tuesday. I’ve got tickets for the Pearl Jam concert. Do you wanna come with me?”
    It took Smith a good few seconds to understand what he was saying. “You want me to go to a concert with you?”
    “It’s been sold out for months. Get outa town, see Pearl Jam, eh? Sound good?”
    “Duncan, I’m here, right now, as an investigating officer. I can’t make a date with you.” Winters was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. She wouldn’t put it past him to drive away without her. “I have to go.”
    Duncan’s face tightened and the lines between his eyebrows came together. “It’ll be fun, Molly. You can stop being a cop for a while.”
    “I don’t want to stop being a cop.”
    “You’re acting as if I’ve insulted you. And I don’t want you to stop being a cop, anyway. Tell me you’ll think about it.”
    “I can’t think about anything but this case. And now my family’s been threatened.” He was pretty cute, Duncan. Usually easygoing, cheerful. But right now he just looked angry. Some guys just couldn’t take rejection. “BC-DC’s playing at the Regal on Saturday. If, and it’s a big if, I’m free, I’d like to go. If I do, do you want to come?”
    “Pearl Jam’s the real deal, Molly.”
    “Pearl Jam isn’t going to happen.”
    Winters leaned on the horn.
    “I have to go,” she said. “See you, Dunc.”
    “Okay. Saturday then.”
    She ran into the street and jumped into Winters’ vehicle, instantly forgetting Duncan Weaver and the BC-DC concert.
    “It’s most likely an empty threat, you know that, don’t you?”
    “Oh yeah. Fuckin’ coward’s threatened my mom, my dad, their livelihood. And I’ve got to pretend it doesn’t really matter.”
    “I’m not asking you to pretend anything.” Winters pulled into the parking lot at the police station. He switched the car off, but didn’t move to get out. “But I have to ask you if you can be a professional about this. And give me the help I need.”
    “No one’s ever challenged my professionalism before, John.”
    “So I’ve been told.”
    “But no one’s ever threatened my mom before!” The red and white maple leaf flag above the police station snapped in the warm breeze.
    “Anyone dropped a poisoned-pen letter addressed to Eliza, my wife, through my mail box, I’d be out for blood too, Molly.”
    The leather headrest felt cool against the back of her head. Smith closed her eyes and remembered that she hadn’t had much sleep last night. “You think this had something to do with that goddamned CNC TV program. What’s it called, Filthy Column?”
    “
Fifth Column.
Strange name for a program that follows the governing party’s line so closely. Anyone threatened your family before?”
    Smith’s eyes flew open. “Of course not. You think I’d keep that a secret?”
    “Just asking, Molly. Just asking. I’m just a dumb cop, but even I have to wonder. An incendiary TV program mentions both the Commemorative Peace Garden and your mother. Remind me, did the show say anything about your parents’ business?”
    “There was a shot of the sign and the front windows. It might as well have been captioned, ‘Aim your rocks here.’ Bastards.”
    “And within hours of the program airing we have arson at the project site and a threatening letter to one of the sponsors. Coincidence? Unlikely. Let’s get this letter to forensics, perhaps they’ll find something. You’d be surprised at how