Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

remembered himself as young recruit to the Vancouver P.D. a long, long time ago. He resisted giving the constable a sympathetic smile. This was a hard job, getting harder all the time. No room for sympathy: if you couldn’t cut it, get the hell out of the way.
    “I know who he is, sir. Uh, Mr. Winters.”
    “John will do, Molly.”
    “Right, sir. I mean John. Reginald Montgomery, owner of the Grizzly Resort. The proposed resort. It hasn’t been started yet. He hasn’t been in town long—couple of months maybe. Trying to get his development underway. Lots of people don’t care for him, or his plans.”
    Her hair was a pale blond, tied into a neat French braid that fell to the middle of her back. The color was probably natural, as her brows and lashes were the same shade. Her eyes were large, the color of the Kootenay River on a sunny day. She was only a few inches shorter than Winters, and her body looked fit and trim beneath the bulk of her uniform. She was pretty, too pretty to make an effective officer. Her voice was soft—it would have a problem carrying authority—and had the unfortunately tendency to crack under stress.
    Tomorrow he’d ask for a more suitable officer, local or not, to help on this investigation.
    “What do you make, Molly, of Mr. Montgomery’s present situation?” Winters did his best work with a sounding board. The board’s opinion didn’t matter, but he needed to hear his questions spoken out loud—only when they bounced back at him could he start to formulate answers.
    “He didn’t kill himself. If he’d jumped out of that window above, he wouldn’t have closed the window behind him, would he? And the drop’s too short to be sure of a successful conclusion.”
    “Go on.”
    “He wouldn’t have inflicted that degree of damage to his head had he slipped on a banana peel or something. Well, at least I don’t think so.”
    She was doing okay until she threw in that disclaimer. Never apologize for your conclusions.
    “Therefore…?”
    “Therefore, someone murdered him. There’s enough blood to indicate that he died on the spot. Someone bashed his head in right here.”
    “He couldn’t have fallen from the roof?”
    “The roof?”
    Winters looked up. The night was clear, no clouds. Stars filled the black sky, looking like the diamonds in the necklace he’d bought for Eliza. The one he’d scarcely had time to slip around her neck before heading back to work. Maybe it was time to toss the job in. For her sake if not his.
    “Oh,” Smith said. “The roof.”
    ***
    How could she have been so stupid? The roof was high enough that a fall from it could result in considerable damage to someone’s head. She’d been so proud of herself for determining that Montgomery hadn’t jumped from the second story, she hadn’t even considered the roof. She wasn’t cut out for this job. She should chuck it; go back and finish her degree in social work. Her advisor had told her she could return any time.
When you’ve recovered from this temporary insanity
, he’d really been saying.
    ”Do you know how we can get up there?” Winters said.
    “No.”
    “Then perhaps,” he snapped, “you should find out, Constable Smith.”
    Smith’s mother believed in spirit guides, what some other people might call angels. Smith did not. Until this moment.
    Constable Evans walked toward them, a man beside him, wringing his hands.
    “Terrible business. Terrible,” the man said. He was almost as round as he was tall, and completely bald. His accent was strong, from France, not Quebec. He looked nothing like an angel.
    “Mr. Levalle,” Smith said. “We need you to take us up to your roof.”

Chapter Four
    “I could have used you here, Andy,” Lucky Smith said. It was close to midnight and he’d only just come in. She took a deep breath, sniffing the air, trying not to appear to be doing so. There was no obvious smell of alcohol, or a woman, on her husband.
    “Problems at the store,” he said.
    What problems could a wilderness adventure store have after closing? Lucky didn’t bother to ask. She stuffed the plug of the kettle into the socket. “Tom Maas’ death has thrown everything into a fritz. We might have to reconvene the full committee and start the whole business all over again. I don’t trust the city council to do the right thing without Tom’s guidance.”
    “Guidance? You mean bullying. Strong arm tactics. Threats.”
    Lucky rooted through the tea jar. “I mean