Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

I’ve had the pleasure.”
    Smith was shaking all over. This close. She’d been this close to assaulting a journalist.
    Winters pulled his wallet out and flashed his badge. “Sergeant John Winters, Trafalgar City Police. If you’re looking for an official statement from our office, the station is around that corner. Otherwise, please be on your way. You’re creating a disturbance.”
    “I might pop by later, thanks,” Ashcroft said. He looked at Smith. His eyes were as cold as the water in Meredith’s ice bucket. “We’ll talk again later, Molly. Count on it.”
    “Anything else we can help you with?” Winters said.
    “Winters, I’ll remember that name.”
    They watched Ashcroft saunter away.
    Meredith’s face was white and she tossed Smith a look somewhere between pain and regret and embarrassment before running after Ashcroft. A fat woman stepped out from the group of spectators and handed Ashcroft a pen and scrap of paper, which he signed with a flourish. He looked around, but no other fans approached him. The crowd began to disperse, a few people muttering. Ashcroft waved, and a man stepped out from an alley. He carried a camera on his shoulder; it was pointing at Smith and Winters.
    “Oh, God. They were filming it.”
    “Get in the car.”
    “I’m okay. I can walk.”
    “Get in the car, Constable Smith, or that cameraman will get a good shot of you being forced into it.”
    She ran around the SUV and wrenched open the passenger door. Winters hit the gas and pulled away with a speed that should have had her giving him a ticket.
    He didn’t take her to the station, as she expected; instead, he drove toward the river. He pulled into the parking lot beside the city hall park. “Get out.”
    “I’m on duty.”
    “Not for another half an hour. Get out.”
    “I don’t want to.”
    “Get out of the car, Constable.”
    She opened the door and stepped out. The sun was warm on her face. As if she were watching a movie, she saw herself pulling out her truncheon and knocking Ashcroft to the ground. She stood over him and kicked him in the ribs. Maybe a kick to the head as well. And it would all have been captured on camera.
    Winters walked into the park. Smith followed, because she could think of nothing else to do. The public beach was about two hundred yards away. Parents sat in fold-up chairs and watched children playing in the sand or paddling in the water. Two boys chased a squealing girl, splashing water on her, while their father yelled at them to behave. They paid him no attention and he went back to his book. The benches at this end of the park were empty. Winters sat down and watched the families enjoying the beach.
    Smith joined him. Her misery shrouded her like a
burka
. Except that she didn’t even have eye holes to see out of.
    They sat in silence.
    A mother called her children out of the water to come and eat. They ran toward her, screaming with pleasure.
    “What happened there?” he said at last.
    “I’d rather not talk about it.” It was bad enough just watching the scene play over and over in her head, never mind having to tell him about it.
    “I’m not asking, Smith. I’m ordering you. What happened there?”
    She swallowed bile. “I was set up. Meredith Morgenstern from the
Gazette
invited me to lunch. I knew her in school.”
    “Yes, you told me, go on.”
    “It was a trap. That Ashcroft asshole arrived, all false charm. I walked out. I don’t think Meredith paid the bill.”
    “If not, they’ll find her. Go on.”
    The tears that had been building up behind her eyes ever since her best friend had told her to leave the hospital began to flow like the river at break-up. She sat on the park bench, hot salty tears running down her face. She made no move to wipe them away. “I screwed up, okay. I screwed up big time. Christ, I can handle the tough guys, but that smarmy bastard.” Her chest closed up, and her shoulders shook, and regardless of how hard she might try not to let it happen, she sobbed. Winters made no attempt to comfort her; he didn’t put his arm around her shoulders, mutter platitudes or even offer her a tissue. And she knew that her career was finished.
    “Lots of smarmy bastards in the world, Molly,” he said at last. “And I’m sure you’ve met some of them. Why’d this one get your goat?”
    She dug in her pocket for a tissue and blew her nose. “My mom. He said things about my mom. And my dad. My parents are good people. Really good