Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

asking.
    “I’ve known John Winters for a lotta years,” Gavin said, apropos of nothing. “I was with the Vancouver P.D. when I started my career, before switching to the more noble calling that is the Mounties.”
    The group of the curious had grown since their arrival. A Jack Russell made a lunge for a German shepherd about ten times its weight and, believing that discretion is the better part of valor, the shepherd retreated behind his owner’s legs. These days everyone and their dog had an interest in police forensics.
    “Lots of rumors floating around about John Winters,” Gavin said. “Some of which aren’t true.”
    “By which you mean that some of them are.”
    “Good cop, John. Always was, still is. He worked the Downtown Eastside. You know where that is?”
    Where Graham died
. “Yes.”
    “Tough beat.”
    She said nothing.
    “But not as tough as Grey Point.”
    “Grey Point? In Vancouver? That’s pretty much the opposite end of the social scale to the Eastside. Can’t imagine much happening there.”
    “Which, I suspect, was the problem. I don’t know the whole story, but John screwed up. Enough that he was about to end his career all by himself because his confidence in his own judgment had been shaken. I only know this because, as I said, we’re old friends, and he called me when he heard there was an opening in the Trafalgar Police and he wanted to know what I thought of them.”
    He picked his cup off the ground. “Drat, that was the last of my brew.”
    “I can go and buy you one.”
    “Nope. No one makes it strong enough around here.” Smith shivered at the idea as he put the cap back on the thermos and tucked it into his backpack.
    “So, what was the problem?”
    “He’s waving at you, Smith. Better get going.”
    “Why did you tell me that story, if you’re not going to finish it? This isn’t the Downtown Eastside, or Grey Point either.”
    Gavin waved at Winters, letting him know Smith was coming. “I wouldn’t have said nothing, if McNally hadn’t shot off his fat mouth. I don’t want you looking for problems where there aren’t any, that’s all. Partners have to trust each other. In my mind that the first rule of policing.”
    Partners
, Smith thought, crossing the lawn toward their vehicle. Were she and Winters partners? She’d kinda thought they were boss and lackey. When she got a chance, she’d get on the Internet, see if she could find out more about this incident her “partner” had been involved in.
    “Plenty of nothing,” Winters said, once they were in the car. “No one saw anything. In Vancouver that’d be code for not wanting to get involved, but here, considering it was the early hours when the fire started, and everyone except new mothers was tucked up in bed like good citizens, I’ll buy it. Did you get a picture of that lighter? I’ll tell the people asking about the gas purchase to mention the lighter as well.”
    “No need.” They pulled into traffic, the spectators watching, the Jack Russell barking as if it would attack their car, if not for that inconvenient leash.
    “What do you mean, no need? Are you conducting this investigation, Molly?”
    “No, of course not. I just meant that I can tell you where the lighter was purchased.”
    “Are you going to?”
    “My parents’ store. It had the store logo on it.”
    “I hope you’re going to tell me that they produce one lighter a year and award it to a special individual.”
    “They give them out to pretty much anyone who wants one.”
    “I was afraid of that. Okay, next stop, your parents’ store. Let’s at least ask if they remember anyone getting a lighter in the last couple of days.”
    While Winters went into the store, again, Smith waited in the car. At his request, she called Rosemary Fitzgerald’s number, and got voice mail. She left a message, again asking Rosemary to call the Trafalgar City Police. While the Fitzgerald phone rang, Smith accessed the car’s computer and entered a report of their visit to the arson site, with details of the blue shirt fabric and the lighter. She also filed a report on Charlie Bassing, mentioning that he’d been insulting and potentially threatening to police officers.
    She called Christa next. The phone rang, and once again she was put through to voice mail. Her parents had told her that there was a time when phones simply rang until someone answered or the caller hung up. She only half believed them.
    Shoppers and tourists