Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

second attempt when she was at University had the same result.
    If she’d liked pot, would she have become a cop? She’d never know.
    “Find a spot to pull over,” Winters said.
    She eyed a parking space just ahead and began to slow down.
    “Preferably not in sight of Happy Tobaccy. I’d rather they not come over to ask if we’re staking the place out.”
    She turned the corner. “Who was on the phone?”
    “Peterson. I sent the Toronto police out searching for Rosemary Fitzgerald. They found her first try—her son, James Fitzgerald, was in Toronto General last night.”
    “That’s good.” Smith pulled into a church parking lot. Luxurious beds of pink and white petunias lined the walkway leading to the wide wooden doors. Moisture glistened off green leaves.
    “Not entirely. James had a bad case of heartburn. Because he’d had a heart attack less than a year ago, everyone panicked. He was discharged at six thirty this morning. Toronto time. Whereupon, as you might expect, the family left the hospital.”
    “Oops.”
    “They were long gone by the time the Toronto cops tracked her down. They called the son at home and were told that Rosemary headed straight to the airport.” He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket, referred to it, and punched in another series of numbers. Smith could hear the tinny sound of voice mail answering.
    Winters snapped his phone shut. “What the hell is the point of having a cell phone, of having voice mail, if you don’t pay any damn attention to it?”
    “You think Rosemary’s important to this case?”
    “Not at all. But it bugs the hell out of me that I can’t talk to the damned woman. That I can’t, as they say in the English crime novels, eliminate her from my enquiries.”
    “If she’s heading home, she should be here by the end of the day.”
    “Unless she decides to take a last-minute vacation in Hawaii. Back to the station, Molly. This case is going nowhere.”
    ***
    Christa was sitting up in bed reading
People
magazine when Molly Smith arrived, balancing flowers, a fantasy paperback, two coffees, and a bag of croissants, warm from Alphonse’s oven.
    Smith dumped everything on the tiny bedside table. “I thought you’d be ready for something yummy.” She gave her friend a cheerful smile. But it was hard. Christa’s face was various shades of blue, black, and yellow. Her lip was cut and her right eye swollen almost shut. “How ya doin’, sweet thing?”
    Christa closed her eyes and lay back against the pile of white pillows. “I hurt.”
    “I thought you might like something to eat.” Smith gestured to the bag. The scent of warm baking was almost strong enough to override the usual hospital smells, disinfectant and body fluids.
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “I’ll leave them for you to eat later. Coffee?”
    “No.”
    “Even if I help you with the cup?”
    “Fuck off, Molly. I said I don’t want coffee.”
    Smith felt as if she’d been slapped. She dropped into the visitor’s chair. “Did someone from the police come and interview you?”
    “Yeah. A cute young cop.”
    “Nice.”
    “A cute young female cop.”
    “I should have told them to send Dave Evans.”
    Smith struggled not to ask the obvious questions.
Was it Charlie who did this to you; did he say anything; did he give you any clue as to where he was going; do you know where he might be now?
She was here to visit her friend, not interrogate her. Dawn Solway would have done that.
    “Has your dad been in?”
    “Yeah, he stopped by.”
    “My mom?”
    “Not yet.”
    “She got tied up.” Smith told Christa about the incident at the store. Christa nodded in all the right places, but didn’t seem too interested. The drugs, Smith guessed.
    She sat in the hard visitor’s chair, overwhelmed with anger. At Charlie, of course, but also at herself. For failing Christa. “I bought you a book. I thought you’d want something to read.”
    “Thanks.” Christa’s eyes closed.
    “I’ll let you get some sleep.”
    “I’m afraid to sleep. What if I’m asleep when he gets here?”
    “Who?” Smith asked. Although she knew.
    “Charlie, of course.”
    “He’s long gone. Run away with his tail between his legs like the coward he is. The hospital’s been told to be on the lookout for him, and to call us right away if he shows up.”
    “And by the time you get here, I’ll be dead.”
    “Jesus, Christa. Don’t talk like that.”
    Her eyes remained closed. She took a shallow