Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

possible she hadn’t heard about the Montgomery murder. “I’ll explain in a minute,” he said. “Take your time, just look around. You were probably pretty angry when you realized someone stole your bike.”
    “Damn straight,” she said. “Perhaps I didn’t go right back inside. I might have stood here and stewed for a few minutes.” A car drove down Elm Street, windows rolled down, hip hop music cranked up. From the houses behind the alley someone called “Buster,” and the dog at the store lifted its head. It took one last sniff of the garbage before trotting away.
    “There were two men down that way, on the other side of the street. I often see the staff from the restaurant out in the alley at this time of night, having a smoke or getting some fresh air.”
    “Two men? Did you notice anything about them?”
    “They were arguing.”
    He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “How do you mean?”
    “They weren’t exactly yelling, but their voices were raised, sharp, you know?”
    “Could you hear what they were saying?”
    “Sorry, no. Just the tone of voice? I’m guessing that something happened there that night, am I right?”
    “In a minute, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”
    “Call me Rosemary.”
    “Can you describe them at all?”
    “The light was poor, like it is now. So they were in shadow. And I was only thinking about my bike.” She closed her eyes. Winters said nothing.
    “One was large, fat, big pot belly. The other taller and much thinner. I think. Well, I don’t want to guess.”
    “Go ahead and tell me what you think, Rosemary. Your impressions are important.”
    “I thought that the fat one was older, and the thin one younger. He had that sort of wiry body that young guys have. You only see that on middle-aged men if they run marathons or something.”
    Instinctively Winters sucked in his gut. No one would ever call him wiry.
    She opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t notice them all that much. I was upset about my bike.”
    “You’ve been a big help, Rosemary, thank you.”
    “Now can you tell me what all this is about? And while you’re at it, I’ll put the coffee on, and I have a couple of double chocolate cookies left.”
    “It’s a deal. But first I have to make a call.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket. Rosemary ground beans and ran water into the coffee maker; Winters could almost see her ears flapping as he talked into the phone.
    “Call Ron Gavin of the Mounties.” He recalled bike treads in a patch of concrete against the back of the bakery. And that Alphonse said he didn’t own a bike, nor did any of his staff ride one to work. Was it possible that Rosemary’s bike thief had gone that way, and perhaps seen Montgomery and his killer? “I need a full ident team behind 343 Front Street in Trafalgar ASAP. Tell him I want them to see what they can find in the way of bicycle prints. It’s been a long time, but at least there hasn’t been any rain. Let me know when they’ll be here.” He hung up.
    “Cookie?” Rosemary said, holding out a plate piled high.

Chapter Twenty-four
    Molly Smith didn’t have to be on duty until three in the afternoon for the start of a twelve-hour shift. But on Monday she was up early, restless and troubled.
    She and Sylvester trudged through the bush along the banks of the Upper Kootenay River. Sylvester chased noises in the undergrowth and Smith kicked at leaves and small, helpless plants. Off the case. Sent back to the beat. Without a resolution to the case anywhere in sight. Her chance to make an impression, to show them that she could cut it, gone. Finished. Back to the beat with the likes of Dave Evans. It was another hot day, but the woods were cool. The bush ended about twenty yards short of the river, opening into sandy flats. The mosquitoes were bad, and she waved her arms in the air around her head and neck like a human windmill. Sylvester leapt into the river, and Smith smiled as she watched him lapping at the water while swimming, his pink tongue working hard. Watching a happy dog could always make her troubles fade, for a little while.
    When she got home last night, she’d found her father rooting around inside the fridge.
    “You’re still here,” she’d said.
    Andy straightened up and turned. He was holding a bottle of beer. “Where else would I be?”
    “Last I heard, you were leaving Mom, abandoning me, and heading off to an ashram in Tibet.”
    “Adult children should be living