Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

that your mother, Mrs. Lucy Smith, who everyone calls Lucky, is one of the leading organizers of the Commemorative Peace Garden, Constable Smith.” Ashcroft had followed her out. He was standing close to her. Much too close. Perhaps she’d pull out her handcuffs and cuff him. That would shut the pompous bastard up. Instead she took a couple of steps backward. He followed her. She could smell his breath, all mint and mouthwash. “As someone charged with the maintenance of law and order you must be concerned about your mother and her group. How does that affect the performance of your job?”
    “It doesn’t affect it at all,” she said, aware that she shouldn’t be saying anything. “The Trafalgar City Police have no opinion on the garden.”
    “Some folks have suggested that the Trafalgar City Police has an interest, for some twisted reason, in town council approving the peace garden. With your mother agitating, causing trouble, does that put you in a conflict of interest, or are you representing her to the police department?”
    “Certainly not.” She had to get the hell out of here. People walking past recognized Ashcroft; they pointed at him and whispered among themselves.
    She turned and walked away.
    “Constable Smith, please,” Ashcroft called. His voice was low, soft, charming.
    She turned.
    He stood no more than a couple of feet away from her. He was her parents’ age at least, but still a good-looking man, tanned and fit, with a haircut that probably cost a hundred bucks or more in California.
    “Yes?”
    “Some might think that your mother and her friends are attempting to actively interfere with the U.S. political situation as it is today. Or is it simply that they can’t let go of memory of things long past?”
    Meredith had come out of the restaurant. She held her hands to her mouth, and her face was pale.
    “Fuck you, Ashcroft,” Smith said. “How dare you come to our town and try to tell us what to believe. And fuck you too, Meredith,” she yelled, “for all your let’s-remember-the-good-old-days.”
    “Please, Constable,” Ashcroft said. His smile was as friendly as those of the gargoyles adorning town hall. “Calm down. Is it true that your father was a draft dodger?”
    “He came to Canada because he didn’t believe in the Vietnam War, yes. But, as you said, that was a long time ago. Before I was born, in fact.”
    “How much support does your mother, Lucky Smith, have from the Trafalgar City Police?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. The police don’t take sides on matters such as this. Leave me alone.” She started to walk away.
    “Do you object to the actions of your mother, Constable Smith?”
    Smith turned again. Again Ashcroft was standing in her private space. Rage boiled up behind her forehead, and she fought to keep her eyes from filling up like a pothole in the road in a sudden rainstorm. “Will you leave my mother the fuck alone,” she yelled. A small crowd was gathering. A man spoke to Meredith, and she shook her head.
    “No need to get upset, Constable. I’m only asking you some simple questions.”
    “You don’t back off, buddy, I’ll arrest you for harassing a police officer.”
    “I’m not harassing you, Constable Smith,” he said, in a voice as smooth and sweet as honey. “I only want to know if having a communist, terrorist-supporting harridan for a mother is compromising your ability to serve and protect the people of this town.”
    She’d faced down drunks spoiling for a fight after the bars closed, irate motorists who figured that doing a hundred miles an hour on a winding mountain road was well within their rights, and an abusive husband who’d decided that as his wife was out of battering range, a female cop would make a suitable replacement. And she’d handled them all, calmly, as she’d been taught.
    She took a step forward, expecting Ashcroft to retreat. Instead he smirked. “Closer, Molly,” he whispered, staring into her eyes. “Come closer. Your mother’s a washed-up old hag trying to relive her glory days, and as for your father, they used to hang….”
    A black SUV careened across the street. Brakes protested as it came to a halt, facing the wrong way. A man jumped out, leaving the engine running. Ashcroft’s gaze broke and he stepped back. John Winters pushed his way between them. “What’s going on here?”
    Ashcroft gave Smith a long, lingering look, and then turned to Winters. “Sorry,” he said, “I don’t think