Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

that Christa hadn’t taken a turn for the worse during the night, Smith called Winters to let him know she’d be back to work.
    He sounded neither pleased nor disappointed. Just told her to call after she’d visited Christa and he’d pick her up.
    Smith and Duncan leapt to their feet as the doctor came into the waiting room.
    “I’m sorry, Officer, but I don’t think that Ms. Thompson is up to being questioned at this time.”
    “I’m not here for that,” Smith said. “I’m her friend—her best friend. My mom’s sorta like her foster mother.”
    “Then you can go in. She’s awake, although on heavy medication. You have five minutes at the most.”
    Smith hesitated at the door to Christa’s room. She took a deep breath, trying to gather enough strength to pass some on. Duncan took her hand, and she didn’t pull away. He pushed open the door.
    Christa had a double room, but the other bed was empty. A huge bunch of flowers, peach roses and white baby’s breath, was on the windowsill, enjoying the cheerful sunshine streaming through the windows.
    Christa looked bad, but no worse than Smith expected. The hair on the right side of her head had been shaved off and a white bandage was stuck to her scalp. Her face was a painter’s palette, and her breathing was rough.
    Christa’s left eye flickered at the sight of Smith and Duncan holding hands. The right was so swollen it was unlikely she could see much of anything. Smith pulled her hand away and forced out a smile. “Hey, sweetie,” she said. “You need a makeover.”
    Duncan held out the flowers. Christa’s arms were tucked under the snowy white sheets and she made no move to accept them.
    “Why don’t you grab a water glass out of the bathroom,” Smith said.
    She leaned over the bed and kissed Christa on the cheek. Her friend’s smile was like Sylvester’s when he approached a strange dog in the park. The left incisor was broken. Rage boiled up inside Smith’s chest. Rage so hot and fierce that she knew that if Charlie Bassing walked into this room right now, she’d beat him to a pulp. She wanted to shout questions, ask Christa how this had happened, if she knew where Charlie’d gone. To get confirmation that it was, in fact, Charlie who’d assaulted her. But she wasn’t here to interrogate the victim. She was here to visit her friend.
    After five minutes of one-sided chatter—greetings from the Smith family, news that Lucky would stop by later, admiration of the flowers, a funny story from Duncan about the group he’d taken camping yesterday—and their time was up. A chubby-cheeked nurse told them to leave.
    Smith reached under the sheet for Christa’s hand. Her friend’s grip was as insubstantial as fairy dust. “We’ll get him, Chrissie. Fucking Charlie Bassing. I’ll see him locked up and….”
    “Officer, I said visitation is over,” the nurse said.
    Duncan took Smith’s arm. “Let’s go, Molly. See you later, Christa. Get strong, eh?”
    Once they were back in the corridor, Smith leaned against a wall. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
    “You wanna go for a coffee or something?” Duncan asked.
    She pulled her cell phone out and headed for the exit. “Thanks, but I can’t. My boss said to call when I’m done here, and he’ll come get me.”
    “Why don’t I drive you? I’m going to the store. I’ve a parents and tots trip at noon.”
    “Great, thanks.” She put the phone away.
    Duncan walked her to a black Ford F-150. Expensive wheels for a guy who worked as a kayaking guide. Extravagant for a guy who called himself an environmentalist.
    “My dad owns a Ford dealership in Victoria,” he said with a shrug. “It was a gift when I graduated.” He unlocked the doors with a flick of the remote. “Jump in.”
    Smith jumped.
    ***
    “You saw
Fifth Column
?” Winters said as Smith walked into the sergeants’ office.
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “Trouble in River City.”
    “Huh?”
    “Before your time. The deputy mayor’s been on the phone to the chief. Demanding a solution to the Montgomery murder. Half the good citizens, and a sizeable portion of the not-so-good-ones, are also demanding that we do something. I’d suggest that we get in my car, drive for, say, ten minutes, and then arrest the first person we pass on the right. How’s that sound to you?”
    He was joking.
Wasn’t he?
    Molly Smith hadn’t slept much last night, between worrying about Christa, thoughts of Charlie Fucking Bassing’s