A Cold White Sun: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Series) (12 page)

Chapter Fifteen

When Molly Smith got to the office—ten minutes late because she’d stayed at the store to hear her mother tell John Winters what she’d learned—she ran straight to the computers. She tossed an empty coffee cup into the overflowing trash can and logged on. The computer told her that the gym in the rec center was booked tonight from eight to ten for the indoor women’s soccer league.

“You’re late,” Staff Sergeant Al Peterson, her immediate boss, stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his barrel chest, scowl fierce.

“Sorry, Sarge. I was helping Sergeant Winters with his inquiries into the Lindsay murder.”

“Were you promoted to detective while I was on coffee break?”

“I found a witness, you see. I had to wait with her until the Sergeant arrived to get a statement.” That was stretching the truth somewhat. Lucky Smith wasn’t going to run away without the stern eye of Constable Smith on her.

Peterson wasn’t buying it. “That’s not your job, Smith. You’re a Constable Third Class. If you want to make Constable Second Class someday, I’d suggest you concentrate on doing the job you’ve been assigned. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t add that it seemed unfair she was being reprimanded for doing her job
too
well. Everyone knew Peterson had applied for a job and promotion to Inspector in Kelowna. Everyone knew he’d not been offered the position and was not happy about it.

“Glad to hear it. Tonight I want you on foot. It might be a Monday, but college kids on spring break are pouring into town. I want a regular count of patrons in the bars and an eye on everything. Let the bouncers know we’re out there. Let the drinkers and troublemakers know we’re out there. Dave arrived on time for his shift, so he got the truck. I’ll be around if you need me.”

Smith smiled, hoping it looked natural and professional. Her teeth ached.

Peterson left the room. Molly Smith shrugged back into her jacket, pulled her gloves out of her pocket, and headed for the night life of Trafalgar.

The restaurants were busy, the bars less so. That would change in a couple of hours. Street lamps illuminated gently falling snow.

She pulled her collar up and walked down the street. Not too cold, fortunately, barely below freezing, so she wouldn’t have to worry about staying warm.

In the doorway of Trafalgar Thai, Smith’s favorite restaurant, a couple leaned together for a kiss.

Adam had arranged his shifts so he could go to Toronto for a week to visit his family and had left this morning. He’d wanted her to come with him. She made excuses about work, although she could have tried to juggle her schedule if she wanted to. She’d never been to Toronto, probably should go one day. The skiing was, apparently, dreadful.

It frightened her, thinking about going all the way across the country to meet Adam’s family. That would mean there was something…permanent about their relationship. A commitment. The suggestion of the intention to possibly enter into a commitment. Different with her family. They were right here. Nothing more natural than for Molly’s boyfriend to come for dinner now and again.

A few months ago, she’d suspected Adam was about to propose. But he’d drawn back, maybe sensing the wariness in her.

Why couldn’t things stay the way they were? Everything was just fine, why did people always want more?

The kissing couple broke apart. Smith was surprised to see that they must be in their sixties. The man gave her a friendly smile, and the woman dipped her eyes shyly.

Of course, if things did stay the way they were, then Moonlight Legolas Smith would always be a constable third class.

The man took the woman’s arm in his and they began to walk away.

Smith had only taken a few steps when she heard a sharp cry and a thud. She whirled around. The man lay on the ground, the woman’s hands to her mouth.

“Are you okay, sir?” Smith hurried to his side. “Don’t try to get up yet. Take a breath.”

He groaned. All the color had drained from his face and his eyes were clenched shut. He tried to sit, but fell back with a cry. “My leg. Blast it all. My leg hurts like tarnation.” The offending limb was definitely at a bad angle.

Smith activated her radio, called for an ambulance, and then crouched on the sidewalk beside the man.

His companion dropped to her knees on his other side. She placed her arm under his head, trying to keep it off the icy sidewalk.

“I help?”

Mr. Chan, the owner of Trafalgar Thai, stood in his doorway.

“A pillow would be good,” Smith said.

A pile of red-and-gold cushions soon arrived and the injured man’s companion lifted his head and slipped one underneath. “Oh, Robert,” she said, “do you think it’s broken?”

“Sure feels like it,” he groaned through tight lips.

Smith upped her estimate of their ages by a decade.

They heard a siren coming down the hill. A small crowd gathered to do nothing much but stand and watch.

“We’re on our honeymoon,” the lady told Smith. “Robert wanted to go to the Caribbean for a beach holiday, but I insisted on a winter wonderland. I guess I was wrong.”

“No nooky for you tonight,” he said, sucking back pain.

Smith laughed. Mortified, she slapped her lips together. “Sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am,” the lady said, and Smith couldn’t hold back the second laugh.

The paramedics arrived and Smith got out of the way to let them do their jobs.

Seventy years old if a day, both of them, and on their honeymoon.

Sweet.

Broken leg. Not so sweet.

She walked on. She didn’t need to rush things with Adam. If she wasn’t ready to talk about settling down, moving into his place, getting married, then she wasn’t ready.

If she met a fun, good-looking guy who was attracted to her, who wanted to ski with her, what could be wrong with that? Nothing.

Nothing at all.

“Five-One.” Her radio interrupted her thoughts.

“Five-One, go ahead.”

“
Feuilles de Menthe
reports a drunk and disorderly patron refusing to pay.”

“Got it.” She set off at a light jog in the direction of the restaurant next door to her own apartment.

***

Mark Hamilton did not appear to be at home. The phone rang; the answering machine picked up on the fourth ring.

Winters didn’t leave a message. He didn’t have another number to try.

Hamilton was unmarried. He had been born in Canada in 1967. He’d moved to Trafalgar last July. No warrant was currently out for his arrest, and he did not own a prohibited or restricted firearm. Legally, anyway.

Ray Lopez continued to dig. Winters would keep trying to locate Hamilton. He also wanted to go to Victoria to talk to this Elizabeth Moorehouse about her relationship with Gord Lindsay. He leaned back in his chair and debated whether he should confront the man first, or hear what the woman had to say. Victoria was a quick trip. An hour’s flight to Vancouver, a fifteen minute hop over the Salish Sea to the Island. Barely enough time to settle into his seat and open a book. He checked the weather forecast for the next couple of days.

Clouds and freezing rain alternating with snow.

The nearest airport was in the town of Castlegar. Which they called Cancel-gar because it was so badly situated, in a bowl of a valley surrounded by mountains, for winter flights. He called up the airport weather. The screen showed a row of yellow planes, meaning possible weather delay.

That might be a problem. Book a flight, go to the airport, waste possibly half a day sitting around and hoping the plane from Vancouver would get in and back out again. If it didn’t, come home to try again the next day.

He could ask an officer from Victoria to visit the woman, but this wasn’t something he wanted to delegate.

His phone rang.

“Winters.”

Paul Keller, the Chief Constable. “I’d like an update on the Lindsay case, John. Do you have time to drop over and fill me in?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve got a couple of beers in the fridge.”

“Won’t say no to that.” Winters would check the flight prospects in the morning. Weather in these mountains could change as fast as a man could blink.

He called Eliza with an update on his arrival. “I’ve got to drop around and fill Paul in. He’ll want to have a beer, chat for a while, but I’ll try to get away as soon as I can.”

“Poor man,” Eliza said. “He’s lonely. Perhaps we should invite him out to dinner one night.”

“When this case wraps up, we’ll do that. I might be going to Victoria tomorrow. Just a quick hop and back, with luck in one day, but the weather can be a problem.”

He talked as he headed out the door. He’d take his own car, so he wouldn’t have to return to the station after seeing Paul. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful. I’ve been worrying about Margo, though. She’s been acting very strangely lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just odd. Nothing important, I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Love you,” he said, flicking the button on the key to unlock his car. It flashed its headlights in greeting.

“Bye,” Eliza said softly.

Paul Keller’s new condo looked exactly like what it was: the home of a middle-aged man left adrift by a sudden, unexpected divorce. Winters recognized bits and pieces of furniture from the house Keller had shared with his wife, Karen. A collection of photographs of their children, moving through time, decorated a table, but otherwise the living room was cold and sterile. No paintings on the walls, no small carvings on display, not even a carpet to add a splash of color to the gleaming hardwood floor. The room was painted real estate-friendly neutral. In the kitchen, other than a kettle, a toaster, and one mug turned upside down on a folded tea towel, the countertops were bare.

Keller greeted his head detective and went to the fridge to get a couple of beers before leading the way into his den.

That room, at least, was all Paul Keller’s. His large wooden desk, the comfortable leather chairs, the rows of photographs on the wall marking the progress of his career. The Ikea bookshelves lined with volumes on policing, criminal psychology, politics, and history.

The scent of tobacco, hovering over everything. An ashtray sat on the desk, full of gray ash and ground-out cigarette butts.

Winters made himself comfortable in a well-used arm chair, the leather as soft and creamy as butter. Keller sat behind his desk and swirled the chair around so he faced into the room rather than out. Seated at his desk, he’d have a great view of the river and the hills on the opposite side. The headlights of cars shone in the distance, a thin line of light breaking the deep darkness of the winter woods.

“Looks like you’re settling in well,” Winters said.

“It’s great. I can walk to work from here. I told the guys not to send a car for me anymore. I can use the exercise. There’s a gym in the common area, a pool and a tennis court come summer. No driveway to shovel, no lawn to cut. Just great,” he said, unable to hide the wistfulness in his voice. “I miss the fire, night like this.”

Winters eyed the bare wall. The Chief’s old house boasted an enormous open fireplace. “Can’t have everything.”

“No. Tell me what’s happening with the Lindsay case. Did you get help from IHIT?”

“They sent me two warm bodies. I’ve got them helping Ray on the phones. They’re going through Cathy Lindsay’s cell phone, calling everyone in her address book and arranging an interview. We’re trying to get in contact with the people she worked with. A good number of them are out of town, but in some cases we’ve got interviews set up for when they get back.”

“Teachers,” Keller said. “Not only a week in March, but all summer off and two weeks’ vacation at Christmas.”

“And a pretty tough job the rest of the time.”

“No tougher than ours.”

“Sometimes it seems as if they’re almost the same.”

Keller laughed and lifted his brown bottle. “I’ll drink to that. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“I went around to Lucky Smith’s for her birthday dinner the other night. Molly was there, Adam Tocek too. Molly sure hates it when her mom calls her Moonlight, but Lucky refuses to change. She considers it a personal insult that her kids don’t like the names she and Andy chose. Samwise, for God’s sake. Surprised the boy turned out to be half normal.”