by Vicki Delany
Lynne thought for a few minutes. “I can’t be sure, Mr. Lopez. We get so many people in here, they’re all a blur, but not a lot of women on their own. Maybe. Yeah, maybe, I saw her. She sat in the window booth, I think. Okay, it’s coming back. She had a lot of beer. I think she had two before the pad Thai was even served, and then a couple more. She took her time over her meal and was here for a while. Can’t be sure it was Monday though.”
“Pad Thai,” Mr. Chen said with a smile. “Good.”
“Very good,” Lopez, who got a take-out lunch from the restaurant at least twice a week, agreed.
“Were you working Saturday and Sunday also?” he asked Lynne.
“No. I was in Kelowna with the swim team on the weekend.”
“Can you estimate the time she was here?”
Lynne thought. “It’s coming back. I light the candles on the tables soon as it starts getting dark out. She had her face buried in her beer and glared at me when I leaned across her. So eight, eight-thirty, would be about right. I’m pretty sure it’s the woman you’re describing, I noticed all the rings.”
He thanked them for their time, and Mr. Chen escorted him to the door. “Killing,” he said over a handshake, “bad.”
Bad, Lopez thought. Very bad, indeed. Diane Burton had told them she’d eaten at the Trafalgar Thai Monday night after eight. Which would have been at the same time her boss was in his hotel room, ordering Champagne for Eliza Winters and being murdered. Burton had paid in cash, and didn’t keep the receipt. She got a per diem from Rudy when they traveled, she’d explained, so didn’t need to account for her meals.
He walked up the hill, back to the station, to get a ride home. Still time to take Amanda out for a drink and some father-daughter time. Lynne’s identification of Diane hadn’t been positive, but it was close, and she wasn’t sure it was Monday night. Again, close enough. She hadn’t been working on the weekend, so couldn’t have seen the photographer’s assistant then. Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, they knew where Diane Barton had been. So Monday it was, as she’d said. And darn close to the time her boss was being killed.
***
Meredith looked up from her computer at a shout from Joe Gessling’s corner. His father, the previous editor of the paper, believed in keeping an eye on everything, and he’d ripped down all the internal walls long ago. Joe, wanting to appear too important to have a desk out on the floor like everyone else, had arranged the bookcases around his desk in an attempt to give himself some privacy.
He came out, not looking happy. “Are you crazy?” Everyone in the office turned to stare.
He marched toward Meredith’s desk. She’d filed her story on the fight outside the Grill and was preparing to head out again. She hoped to resume her interrupted conversation with Josie Steiner. No doubt Steiner would be more than happy to spread muck on Diane Barton. Not noticing that she was spreading it on herself as well.
“You’ve gone too far this time, Meredith,” Gessling said.
She batted her eyes. “Gee, Joe. What do you mean?”
The staff weren’t even pretending not to listen.
“I went out on a limb with that story of yours about Mrs. Winters because your source seemed good. Although I’m damned glad I didn’t let you say Winters had been fired. Now this piece, it’s downright inflammatory.”
“I told it like it was, Joe, that’s what good reporters do.” She made a point of opening her desk drawer and taking out her purse. “Night, all,” she said, standing up.
“This isn’t a news story, Meredith. It’s a personal vendetta against Constable Smith.”
“Okay,” Meredith said, knowing she had to give some ground. “Drop the picture. I think it adds a touch of human interest to the story, but if you’re afraid of offending the Chief Constable…”
Gessling’s eyes began to bulge. “I’m not afraid of offending anyone. I’m pulling this whole story. It’s not news.”
“Not news! Are you nuts? Two women close to a man murdered in our town get into a street brawl and you think that’s not news? You wouldn’t know news if it rose up and bit you on the ass.”
The arts editor laughed out loud and the receptionist smothered a giggle. Gessling shot them a furious glare and they quickly returned their attention to their computers.
“The Chamber of Commerce meets tomorrow morning, and in the afternoon Mrs. Atkins is giving a talk at the library about her new book. I want a full story on each of those events.”
“You are kidding, right? You want me to drop the story of the year for a businessmen’s snooze-fest and the launch party for a self-published book about an old broad’s years teaching in local schools?”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s precisely what I want. Not another word about the Steiner people until the police have made an arrest and certainly not any inflammatory pictures of one of their officers.”
She was aware that although the staff might be staring at their computer screens, no one was hitting a single key. She looked at Gessling. He was a weedy little guy, all Adam’s apple and knobby elbows, but for the first time she saw some fire behind his eyes.
“No,” she said. “I will not give up on this story.”
“Then you’re fired,” he said. He walked back to his desk behind the bookcases.
Meredith lifted her head high and picked up her purse. “I will be back tomorrow for my things,” she said, as she headed out the door.
A wave of conversation followed her.
***
John Winters pulled up in front of a cheap motel on the outskirts of town, the smell of Chinese food drifting out from a Styrofoam container resting on the seat beside him. This time of year the parking lot was mostly empty. The Vacancy sign was on, the ‘V’ burned out.
He should have gone someplace where no one would know him, but that would put him too far out of town. He still had to work, and even though he wasn’t supposed to have any involvement with the Steiner case, he intended to be close by if something broke. He rubbed his head, picked up his food, and got the small bag containing the few toiletries he’d bought earlier out of the back seat.
The man behind the desk looked up when the door opened. He was reading a magazine and stuffed it quickly out of sight, but not before Winters caught a glimpse of pale flesh and breasts like balloons. He shot to his feet, eyes narrowed in apprehension. Winters suppressed a sigh. He’d arrested the man a few months ago for flashing a couple of schoolgirls. The girls, rather than fainting or screaming like panicked maidens, had laughed and pointed and used their cell phones to first take a picture of the offence and then to call 911. The pervert was well known to the police and quite recognizable in the pictures.
“Do you have a room for a couple of nights?” Winters asked, placing his supper on the counter.
The man, emitting the sour smell of teeth unbrushed and clothes unwashed, grinned. “We’re almost full up,” he said, drawing the words out, “but I guess I can find one of our finest rooms just for you, Sergeant.”
Winters filled out the form, took his room key, and turned around to see a newspaper box with the front page of the Gazette prominently displayed.
Chapter Sixteen
“Earth to Moonlight.”
She cradled her cup of coffee. “Don’t call me that.”
“It’s cute.”
“So is a litter of mongrel puppies, but they don’t make good cops either.”
“You’re more than a cop, you know.”
“No, I’m not. I’m a constable third class and I’m a woman, so if I ever want to be more than a constable third class, I’ve got to be all the job, all the time.”
He shot her a look. “You’re wrong, Molly.”
“What would you know about it?”
“Lighten up, will you. I thought it would be nice to have breakfast together before going to visit your dad. I don’t know what’s eating you, but keep up with this mood, I can tell you Andy would prefer you don’t bother.”
Sh
e rubbed the back of her neck and her face twisted.
“Sore?”
“Yeah, I must have slept crooked.”
“You need someone to watch your back when you sleep.”
Molly Smith cracked a smile at that. Her neck hurt, but she’d been pleased to look in the bathroom mirror this morning and see that the cut on her face was almost invisible. The waiter arrived and put plates piled high with food in front of them. “More coffee?”
Adam pointed to his cup. “Please.”
“Moon?”
The smile disappeared. “No.”
“You’ll always be Moonlight to people in this town,” he said, reaching for the jam. “Don’t fight it.”
She took a breath and thought about telling Adam her thoughts about getting other jobs, moving away. But this wasn’t the time, or the place.
“I don’t have to like it,” she said. She placed her hand in the middle of the table. He took it, and they looked at each other. His dark brown eyes were warm with love, and the bruise on his jaw was fading. All around them the clatter of the busy restaurant carried on. The woman at the next table complained that she’d said no onions, someone shouted for more coffee, the glass in the front window rattled as a group of laughing boys on the street tapped to get their friends’ attention.
“Excuse me?”
Smith looked up. A man with a belly like a nine-months pregnant woman was trying to get by. She sucked her own stomach in and pulled her chair closer to the table. The man squeezed past.
“I am sorry, Adam,” she said, picking up her fork. “I’m worried about my dad, and my mom, who’s taking this so hard. Things at work aren’t exactly a laugh-a-minute what with…” Conscious of the crowded restaurant, she lowered her voice. “You know.”
He leaned back to allow the waiter to fill his cup, and when he looked at her again, she was chewing on scrambled egg hash. He sighed and cut a slice of bacon. She almost told him about Charlie Bassing, watching her yesterday at that fight between the women, but something held her back.
He talked about a course next week. Some further training for Norman at the RCMP dog service center in Alberta. “I was going to suggest you come,” he said, “get away for a couple of days, maybe stop in Banff for a night on the way back, but not with your dad’s op still up in the air.”
After that they chatted about nothing much at all, and by the time breakfast was finished, her mood had lightened considerably. “I’m sorry I was so snappy,” she said once they were on the street. “I shouldn’t be taking things out on you.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said.
She smiled. “No, it’s not.” She stood on tip toes and kissed him on the mouth. He laughed and put an arm around her and pulled her close.
“I have to go into work this evening,” she said, breaking away. He took her hand and they began to walk toward his truck. “Winters wants me asking more questions about the B&Es. He’s got a real bee in his bonnet about it.”
“Keeps his mind busy, I’d guess,” Adam said. “Do you think his wife did it?”
“I don’t know her, but really, I can’t imagine Sergeant Winters being married to a homicidal manic, can you?”
“No.”
It was early, but the sun was already warm. There was nothing quite as wonderful as spring sunshine after a long, hard winter. It bathed the town in a joyful yellow glow, had people merrily tossing off heavy winter clothes, dried up the mud, made everyone happy. Outside the craft co-op, someone had planted a tub of cheerful purple and yellow pansies. Their faces were turned to the sun, in exactly the same way as those of the people walking past. Smith had chosen to wear beige capris and sports sandals today. Jumping the season, but it felt great to be out of coats and boots.
She thought for a few moments, and chose her words with care. “That Madison, I’m worried about him. He’s looking for something to point to Mrs. Winters’ guilt. Or, perhaps even better…” she needed to tell Adam that Madison had hinted that she, Molly Smith, was inappropriately involved with the Sergeant. The idea was ridiculous, but she’d better warn Adam in case whispers started.
“Officer Smith, I’m glad I ran into you.” It was Diane Barton.
Smith let go of Adam’s hand. She wasn’t about to be friendly with Barton. First thing this morning, she ran down the street to buy a paper. Nothing about the fight outside the Sunshine Grill, she’d been pleased to see.
“If you have something to say, Ms. Barton, please go to the station and make a report.”
“No need,” Barton said. “I’d like to apologize. That was so unlike me yesterday. I’ve never been in a fight in my life.”
Adam moved away, giving the women some space.
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
“No.” Smith kept walking. She could feel the comforting bulk of Adam behind her, keeping pace.
“Okay, but I want to explain.” Barton walked slowly, limping slightly, probably from the kick to the side Steiner had given her. Instinctively, out of politeness, Smith slowed to match the woman’s pace. Two deep scratches ran in parallel lines down Barton’s right cheek, beginning close to the eye.
Smith could see Adam’s truck in the next block. The light turned red and she stopped. “One minute.”
“Thanks,” Barton gave her a smile, probably trying to look friendly, but it didn’t reach her eyes where traces of yesterday’s dark anger still lingered. “It’s nice of you to give me some of your time. Is that your boyfriend?” She smiled at Adam and gave him a wiggle of her fingers in a wave. Sunlight bounced off the silver rings on every digit. Adam didn’t return the wave, nor the smile. “Nice catch. He’s a cutie. I’m really sorry about what happened. I didn’t want you to be involved, you know, it was her, that insufferable bitch.” Barton’s voice began to rise as the smile died.
“Your minute is almost up.”
She almost visibly took control of herself. “Sorry. I’m, I mean I was, Rudy’s assistant. I’m a good photographer myself, a lot better than him, truth be told. As well as helping Rudy by scouting locations and carrying his equipment and all that, I’ve been taking shots myself. Some of them are good, really good, and I think I can sell them, maybe start getting noticed. I printed them out and showed them to Rudy Monday night. He wasn’t at all interested in helping me with my career, he never gave a second’s thought to anyone but himself, but he had a good eye and he knew what was marketable.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Barton, but if you know something about the death of Mr. Steiner you should be talking to the detectives, not to me.”
“I don’t know anything about that. I want my photos back. I left them in his room on Monday night. He said he had some ideas. They were scooped up with all his stuff by the police. And given to her. She’s going to say he took them, and sell them. His pictures will be worth a lot more money now he’s dead. And they’ll be worth even more if they’re good—and they are good because I took them. His stuff was pure crap.”
Knowing she shouldn’t be involved, Smith couldn’t help asking, “Surely you use a digital camera? Print another copy.”
The light changed and she crossed the street. Barton limped along behind.
“It’ll be my word against hers. She has money and serious connections. She gets those pictures published and even if I take her to court and win it’ll be too late to do anything with them.”
Smith couldn’t imagine Josie Steiner having connections to anything but the latest gossip blog. “Take my advice. Stay out of her way. You’re not helping your case being up on charges.”
“Easier said than done,” Barton said. “They owe me money, my pay, my expenses.”
“Get a lawyer.”
“How am I going to pay for a lawyer?” Her voice began to rise. “Tell me that. I don’t…”
“Good-bye, Ms. Barton.”
Barton’s glasses were streaked and the cut on her face was red and angry. She looked as if she were going to continue arguing; instead she said,
“Thanks for nothing,” and walked away, her steps hard and determined, but still leaning to one side.
Smith grimaced to Adam and shrugged her shoulders. They got into the truck and went to the hospital.
Sam hadn’t met Adam yet. Molly introduced them and they shook hands beside Andy’s bed. The window sill was full of flowers. Lucky had snatched the tables next to the empty beds and used them to hold potted plants and get well cards. Smith flicked through the cards while Adam and Sam made getting-to-know-you chat. All the cards were from Lucky’s friends. Like many men his age, Andy didn’t really have any friends of his own.
He looked better, she thought; the pain medication must be working. He had more color in his face and his cheeks had lost some of that god-awful gauntness. His thin gray hair was freshly washed and combed. Sun streamed through the window, and the spring light made everyone look good.
“Any word about the operation?”
Lucky was smiling at Adam. Hearing wedding bells? Smith wondered. She was pleased he hadn’t tried to intervene in that strange conversation with Diane Barton. He had stood aside and let her get on with it.
“Monday, they’re saying,” Lucky answered. “Let’s hope. Those poor children from the accident put everything behind and some more serious cases got moved ahead of your dad. It looks as if all the kids are going to be okay, so we can be grateful for that.”
“If I don’t get out of here soon,” Andy said, “they’ll be transferring me to the mental hospital.”
***
Ray Lopez concentrated hard on keeping his professional face in line. Not to please the good citizenry, but to stop from slugging the RCMP Sergeant.
Madison had told him he was running a weapons check on John Winters.
“Waste of time,” Lopez said.
“We’ll see,” Madison replied.
Lopez blew out a lungful of air. They’d almost finished on the second floor. Steiner, his wife, and his assistant’s rooms had been gone over with, literally, a fine-tooth comb. Other than Steiner’s bathroom, they’d found plenty of nothing.
