by Vicki Delany
As she walked, she thought about Sergeant Winters. She’d typed up a report, but hadn’t called to tell him what she learned from Frank Spencer. Nothing important enough to bother him, when he had so much else on his mind. Would he end up having to resign over his wife’s involvement in the Steiner case? Might well happen.
She’d left her Ford Focus in its parking space behind the bakery, as usual. Dim light from the streetlamp shone onto it. As she got closer, her nerves twitched and her senses began to wake up. Something looked wrong. She pulled her flashlight off her belt and the alley lit up.
The car was leaning to one side. Both tires on the right were flat. Not, she noticed as she got closer, merely flat, but slashed to ribbons. As she played the light over the ground, it reflected off shards of glass, twinkling in the dirt of the alley.
The windows were smashed, and the roof and hood deeply dented.
Someone had gone after her car with a tire-iron and sheer spite.
She heard something behind her and almost jumped out of her skin. A cat dashed out of a clump of bushes and disappeared into the garbage bags at the back of the convenience store on the corner.
All fell quiet once again.
Heart pounding, she rested her hand on the butt of her gun and fingered the radio at her shoulder with her flashlight hand.
“Ingrid.” Her voice broke and she swallowed before continuing. “Ingrid, I think I need…I need a patrol car at my place. Send them to the alley behind 245 Front Street, Alphonse’s bakery.”
“On its way. Are you okay?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Send the car, please.”
She heard the siren immediately, and her legs almost collapsed under her with relief.
White and red and blue lights flooded the lane, and she lifted her hand to wave the car down. She had a moment of sheer panic, realizing she was lit up, a perfect target, but it passed. Charlie Bassing wasn’t going to shoot her from a distance. He’d want to be in her face.
Dave Evans got out of the car. “Geeze, Molly,” he said. “Have you been playing bumper cars?”
“Ha, ha. Very funny. I got home and found this.”
He walked around the car, studying it from all angles. He said, seriously, “Have a fight with Tocek?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Just asking.”
“If you can’t handle this professionally, Dave, I’ll call for a real police officer to deal with it.”
“Lighten up, Smith. You’ve got to learn to take a bit of ribbing, you know. Not every police force is as friendly as we are in Trafalgar.”
She stepped toward him. “Someone has vandalized my car and I have called it in. I expect you to treat this as a crime. Think you can do that, Dave?”
He started to say something, and then thought better of it. He turned away. “You see anyone?”
“No. I just got here and this is what I found.”
“Looks nasty.”
“You will note,” she said, spreading her arms wide, “there is no other damage. Not even the garbage cans have been turned over. Does that tell you something?”
“I noticed that, thanks. Means it’s probably personal. So I wondered about the boyfriend. It’s happened before.”
They glared at each other, Smith uncomfortably aware that Evans thought of her as a woman with relationship problems first, rather than as a police officer. He turned away and called Ingrid to send a tow-truck.
“You will be sure and secure the vehicle, right? Until someone can get out and dust it for fingerprints.”
“I know how to do my job.”
That she doubted, but she said nothing.
She’d hoped Charlie would give up making his childish gestures and go away. Clearly, that was not going to happen. The intensity of his threats was increasing. Her home—maybe even her body—would be next.
Chapter Twenty-three
Lucky Smith had prepared a hearty picnic lunch. It had been a long time since the Smith family had been together and she wanted to do something nice. Too bad the grandchildren hadn’t come, but for a while she’d pretend it was the old days, and Samwise and Moonlight were still kids, still living at home.
That they’d have to eat the meal sitting around Andy’s hospital bed couldn’t be helped.
She unpacked the hamper. A thermos of soup made from last summer’s home-grown tomatoes, sandwiches, fruit, cookies. Beer for Sam and Moonlight, iced tea for her.
Andy had a new roommate. An old man, all liver spots, sagging skin, rheumy eyes, and sour smell, arrived during the night. He was sleeping, at least his eyes were closed and his breathing was regular, although loud, and Lucky pulled the curtain between the two beds.
“Isn’t this nice,” she said, handing Andy a can of non-alcoholic beer.
“No,” he replied.
Sam helped himself to a sandwich. “I spoke to Judy last night,” he said. “We think it would be okay to take the kids out of school for a couple of days and bring them down for a visit when you’re out of here, Dad.”
Andy smiled. “That would be nice, son. I’d like to see them.”
“What a lovely idea,” Lucky said, “Much better than visiting when you’re in hospital.” Andy reached over and laid his hand over hers and stroked it with his thumb.
Sam related some story Judy had told him about Ben’s science project.
Moonlight stood by the window, running her long thin fingers across the blinds. Her nails were badly chewed and a hangnail on her thumb had torn, leaving a jagged cut in the skin.
“Everything all right, dear?” Lucky asked.
Moonlight turned around. She studied her mother’s face. Lucky looked into her daughter’s eyes, waiting. “Actually, Mom…”
“Afternoon all.” The nurse pulled the curtain aside. “What a nice looking picnic. That’s not a real beer you have there I hope, Mr. Smith.”
“As if,” Andy grumbled.
“Everything all right here?” she asked.
“No,” Andy said.
“Just checking,” the nurse said, her cheerful smile fixed firmly in place. “Be sure and let me know if you need anything.” She bustled off.
When Lucky turned back to her daughter, Moonlight asked Sam what Roberta would like for her birthday, and the moment for confidences was over.
***
Winters had driven around for hours last night, with nowhere to go, nothing to do, his mind in turmoil.
He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know if he could face her, sleep in the same bed with her. So he took the coward’s way out and returned to the motel, telling himself that the Chief had suggested he not stay at home until this was all sorted out.
In the morning, he felt like garbage.
He was staring blankly at the TV when his phone rang. “Winters.”
“Sorry to bother you at home, John,” Molly Smith said. “I know you’re busy these days, with other things, I mean.”
“Is something the matter?”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have called. It can wait until you’re back at work.”
“Molly, spit it out.”
“Charlie Bassing is after me.”
“Where are you now?”
“At the hospital. I don’t mean he’s after me right now, as in breaking through the doors, I just mean…” Her voice broke. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
Knowing the place would be largely empty on a Sunday afternoon, he took Molly Smith to Big Eddie’s Coffee Emporium. The red velvet couch against the back wall had seen better days, but it was clean and comfortable. Old newspapers and ski magazines were tossed on the table. He carried over coffee and a mug of hot chocolate, overflowing with whipped cream. He went back to the counter and took a plate of cookies from Jolene. The soft voice of Diana Krall, perfect for jazz classics, came from the speakers at the back.
Smith accepted her drink with a small smile. He sat beside her, drank his coffee
, listened to the music, and waited.
Finally she looked up. Her eyes were clear but her mouth was set into a tight line. “Charlie Bassing wrecked my car last night.”
“You report it?”
“Yes. Dave had the nerve to suggest it was Adam.”
“Never mind Dave. He has issues of his own. Where’s the car now?”
“Taken to the body shop we use and locked up. Someone from forensics is going to have a go and see if they can find any fingerprints. When they can get the time.”
“You’re sure it’s Bassing? Could have been someone else you’ve run afoul of since you’ve been with us.”
She shook her head. Her short blond hair quivered. The haircut made her look too young, too vulnerable. He would never say so. “It’s him, guaranteed. He’s been following me, making hostile gestures.”
“Has he said anything?”
“Nothing that could be considered threatening. I look up and he’s there, watching me. He did tell me he and I have unfinished business.”
“When was this?”
“New Years. The night after the Wyatt-Yarmouth case ended.”
“What the hell! This has been going on for three months and you’re getting around to telling me about it now. Are you crazy?” Not just crazy, but downright stupid. Young cops, sometimes they thought they could handle all the world’s problems by themselves.
He looked up to see Jolene watching them, her beautiful black face concerned. He gave her a sheepish nod.
“I guess that was a mistake,” Smith said.
“It was.”
“It’s just that I was worried I’d look like I can’t handle my own problems.”
“You were worried some people in the department will think you’re a hysterical female, you mean. Which is nonsense. You’re hardly the first police officer to be threatened by someone they put away. What’s Adam got to say about it?”
“I haven’t told him,” she said in a low voice. She dipped her index finger into the whipped cream mountain on top of the hot chocolate.
“You didn’t tell Adam either?”
“I was afraid he’d overreact. Do something…career limiting.” She sucked the tip of her finger.
He let out a breath. “Okay, I can see that.” Another stupid young cop.
“For starters,” he said, “this is criminal harassment. We’re going to lay a charge under Section 264.1 of the Criminal Code. Please, please tell me you’ve been keeping a record of these events.”
“I started a file after the rat incident.”
Winters rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “The rat incident?”
“He nailed a dead rat to my door.”
“For God’s sake, Molly, that’s serious stuff.”
“I know. Don’t be mad at me, please. It’s just that so much is going on. My dad, Adam fighting with the guys I have to work with, you…I mean your wife.”
He put his cup down. “Let’s go. Anything else you have can wait. We’re going to start a complaint against Bassing. Then I can bring him in, let him know I’m watching him. The least we can do is get an order keeping him away from you.”
“He won’t pay attention to an order.”
“Probably not, but once he knows the police are paying attention to his every movement, if we’re lucky he’ll leave town. Permanently.”
She looked directly at him for the first time. “I’m scared, John. I really am getting scared.”
“I understand. Don’t worry anyone’s going to think less of your professionalism because of this, Molly. Unfortunately it can come with the job. You’ve a right to be frightened of him.”
He stood up, and held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. He held her hand for a moment and looked at her. The traces of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. The music came to a stop as the CD ended.
“The only unprofessional thing you’ve done is not report it immediately.”
They turned to leave. Dick Madison stood in the doorway watching them.
“Fuck,” Smith said under her breath.
“Sergeant, Constable. Enjoying your days off?” Madison’s face was set into a smirk.
“Yes, thanks,” Winters said, brushing past the Mountie.
Smith’s face had turned a brilliant red. “That wasn’t good,” she said.
“What?”
“There’s something else I haven’t been telling you.”
***
Molly Smith went back to the hospital after her meeting with Winters. She didn’t care for the look on Madison’s face when he’d seen them together. Winters had gone white with fury when she told him Madison was making suggestions that Winters had something to do with Steiner’s death because he was possessive of his wife. And, she’d said, feeling her own face turning red, Madison was also insinuating that Winters and she, Smith, were playing games out of school.
The Steiner murder was like a poison, spreading venom to everything it touched. The Chief had earlier sent a memo around, reminding everyone they could be dismissed, even brought up on charges, for revealing confidential information. Particularly to the newspapers. Now, everyone was walking on eggshells.
Lucky and Sam had left the hospital, taking the picnic things with them. Andy sat up in bed, watching a movie on a portable DVD player Lucky borrowed. His roommate was sleeping, and they’d been joined by a third man. A young fellow with a thick white bandage wrapped around his head, cuts and scratches all over his face, and his arm in a cast. A bicycle helmet sat on his bedside table, indicating the probable cause of his misfortune.
Andy pulled out the earplugs and switched the machine off when his daughter came in. She pulled the curtains around his bed to give them some privacy and kissed his cheek before sitting down.
“All ready for tomorrow?” she asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied. He studied her face. “You don’t look too good lately, sweetheart. Not worrying about me, I hope.”
She tried to smile. “I never worry about you, Dad. Other things on my mind I guess.” She hadn’t planned to but found herself telling him she was considering looking for a city job and moving away. As well as Toronto, the city of Ottawa was accepting applications. People said Ottawa was a nice place to live, although darn cold in winter, and it wasn’t too far from the ski hills of Quebec.
“Would you be okay with that, Dad? If I move?”
“Of course not. But not as upset as my mother was when I left the States and moved to a foreign county. And definitely not as upset as my father was when I not only moved but abandoned everything he thought important in life.” Andy and Lucky had left Seattle to settle in Canada when he received his draft notice during the Vietnam War. “Children have to do what they have to do. If it’s what you want, then go for it. Your mother won’t be happy, you know that, but we can always visit, wherever you are.” He gave her a big smile. “I hear they’ve invented this marvelous thing called a flying machine. We don’t have to travel over the mountains by ox-cart anymore.”
She laughed. “What will they think of next?”
“Do I take this to mean your relationship with Adam isn’t too serious?”
“That I don’t know, Dad. I want to be with Adam, yes, but I’m not sure I’m ready to plan my life around him. I haven’t said anything to him about it.”
“Perhaps you should. For all you know he’s been offered a posting in Ontario but isn’t taking it because of you.”
She talked about Adam for a while, how conflicted she was about her feelings for him, how she thought of Graham sometimes when they were together, and felt guilty.
The nurse came in and Smith got up to leave. “You sleep well, Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. When she pulled back his eyes were very wet.
“You’ll find your own way, Molly. And whatever you do will be right. I’m proud of you. Very proud. You’ve grown up to be a wonderful woman.”
Her own eyes filled up.
“Thanks, Dad.” She said good night to the nurse and left.
***
Eliza wrapped herself in a warm sweater and took her book and a cup of tea outside. A tarpaulin covered the large patio table, and she tucked a corner back before using a kitchen rag to wipe some of winter’s residue away. She brought a single chair out of the storage hut and settled down.
Dirty snowbanks still lined the driveway and the paths, but crocuses were erupting in welcome bursts of purple and yellow and white and the green tips of tulips had broken through the earth. A woodpecker landed on the dead branch at the top of a pine tree. The sun was warm and she lifted her face to it, but she felt no warmth inside her. She sat for a long time, while her tea got cold. She didn’t read a single word of her book.
She had told John everything that had happened that night. The night Rudy died. He wrapped her up, and led her upstairs and put her to bed and she thought it would be all right.
But when she woke, it was obvious that he hadn’t joined her. His car was gone and there was no note explaining he’d been called out.
Didn’t he believe her? Could he really think she had killed Rudy?
It was time, she decided, to end this. One way or the other.
She went into the house and picked up the phone.
Less than a half an hour later she pulled up in front of the worst motel in town. This was where he was staying? Her husband would rather sleep here than in their own house, with her?
He opened the door to his room before she even knocked. He looked dreadful, eyes puffy, face drawn, unshaven. Behind him she could hear the tinny voice of the TV, blaring out some stupid sports game.
He rarely watched sports on TV, although he did like to go to a hockey game when they were in Vancouver. He was a great reader, John, the sort of man who rarely watched TV or rented DVDs. He liked to spend his quiet time in the pages of a good book. He liked hard-edged action thrillers. She liked movies, light and fluffy things usually. On a normal Sunday evening they’d sit together in the family room, her curled up on her chaise lounge watching a silly romantic comedy, him in his leather chair, nose buried in a book. Apart, but somehow together. He would look up when she laughed or reach out to touch her hand as she passed by, heading for the kitchen or the bathroom, and she would sometimes sneak up behind him and plant kisses on his head.
