In the Shadow of the Glacier (25 page)

“I might have. But before you ask, I didn’t see anything that made me sit up and pay attention. Too busy.”

“If you remember anything, either of you….”

“I’ll call you,” Jolene said.

“We care about our customers here,” Eddie said as he rang up the charge. And somehow it didn’t sound to Winters like an advertising slogan.

He walked back to the station. He handed out the coffees and was told that Rose Benoit had called. His former partner, Rose was an inspector now, in charge of the commercial crime section. Which suited her—there was not much Rose loved more than getting her head around a set of books.

He returned the call, and caught her at her desk. They exchanged pleasantries before Benoit got to the point. “There’s no reason to believe the resort’s in any trouble.” Winters put his feet up on his desk and took a sip of his coffee. “Unless….” He straightened up. “Unless opposition to the resort, which opponents claim will disrupt prime grizzly bear territory, finds focus and draws enough attention to the environmental dangers that people hesitate to buy into the resort. In addition, if the proposed Commemorative Peace Garden is built in Trafalgar, the nearest town, and vacationers from the U.S., to whom the company is aiming sixty percent of their marketing efforts, avoid the area because of the political implications, the Grizzly Resort could be in deep financial trouble. It’s unlikely that M&C Developments could survive the collapse of Grizzly.”

“Partnership insurance?” he asked.

“Seems straightforward. Enough to help Clemmins and the business absorb some of the blow caused by the death of Montgomery, but nothing excessive. By the look of things, John, I’d say Montgomery was the drive behind the partnership. Clemmins dug up the start-up costs and worked to get investors interested in putting up more money, while Montgomery negotiated with construction companies and townships. I also took a peek at the Japanese firm negotiating with M&C. They seem to be squeaky clean. From what I’ve learned, without Montgomery M&C Developments is hanging on by its fingertips. Clemmins has more to lose with the death of his partner than he has to gain. Although….”

“I like the sound of that, Rose,” he said. “Carry on.”

“Just rumor and conjecture.”

“Rumor and conjecture to a detective without a lead is like mother’s milk to an abandoned kitten.”

“Whatever. The business community’s buzzing with talk about Montgomery and M&C. There was some strain between Montgomery and Clemmins. They were overheard not long ago having an intense discussion.”

Winters had no idea where Rose got all her information. But it was always reliable.

“Seems that Clemmins was getting cold feet. The Grizzly Resort was pretty much the sum total of M&C the last few months. Montgomery even rented a house in Trafalgar to be near the action.”

“Clemmins didn’t like that?”

“He was worried that they were getting too deep into the resort. With local groups and environmental activists opposing the development, and the possibility of an American boycott of the town if this monument to Vietnam draft dodgers is built, the risk of losing it all was climbing.”

“So he decided to cut his losses and take out a contract on his partner?”

“Been done before. But both Montgomery and Clemmins have clean reputations. For developers in this market, anyway. If you want my off-the-record opinion.”

“I do.”

“Clemmins might bash Montgomery’s brains out, or visa versa, in an argument over the resort. But you say he’s got a good alibi, so it would have to have been a contract killing. And I can’t see that. There might be something I haven’t found out, but I’d say Clemmins has too much to lose from Montgomery’s death.”

They hung up with the promise of dinner when he was next in Vancouver. Eliza enjoyed the company of Rose and her husband, Claude, who was, of all things, a sculptor. One of his pieces had been bought by the city for a prominent square. It was a minor scandal, as everyone thought that the sculpture was a stylized giant penis about to penetrate a woman. It was, Claude had sniffed, the arrow of truth breaking into the cave of narrow minds.

Even now Winters laughed when he thought of it. He tossed his coffee cup into the trash. Time to head off to a visit with Ellie Montgomery. That would surely be a waste of time.

“Tell me you’ve heard from Mrs. Fitzgerald,” he said to Denton at the front desk.

“No can do.” Denton was still nursing his double-double. “The Horsemen called. They talked to the Baxter guy.”

“Who?”

“Got a lighter from Andy Smith’s store yesterday?”

“Right.”

“Waved it in front of their faces.”

Yet another dead end. “Anything from the people checking gas stations?”

“Not yet.”

“Bassing?”

“Not at his place. His car’s gone, which is good news. We’ve sent his license plate number to the border guards, all across B.C. and down to Washington State. That girl was in here only yesterday, asking for Molly. Any word from the hospital?”

“Not yet.”

□□□

As expected, Winters learned nothing new from Mrs. Montgomery, but driving back to town, Ron Gavin called to tell him that the entrance to Christa’s apartment was a gold mine of forensic evidence—evidence up the wazoo, he said. Her key was on the floor, two sets of fingerprints on it. Two sets on the door knob. The neighbor had been watering his lawn that morning, and had also watered the sidewalk. Muddy footprints too large to be Christa’s had stomped up the path, overlaying a smaller set that was probably hers, and went through her front door.

Dave Evans called next to say that he’d found a neighbor who’d seen Christa in the company of a man only steps from her door. And the neighbor was sure he’d be able to identify the guy.

Winters heard nothing from Smith at the hospital nor from the hospital itself, and he hoped that no news was good news. They should be able to get Bassing well and good. Now all they had to do was to find him.

Time to head home, change and go for a good long run. Something to clear the cobwebs out of his brain.

And maybe he’d have a flash of insight about the Montgomery case while pounding the pavement.

□□□

Andy Smith was sitting at the kitchen table in the center of a puddle of yellow light when Lucky and her daughter got home. Sylvester leapt to his feet and greeted them as if they’d been away for months, trekking in the Himalayas. Lucky pushed him aside. She wasn’t in a mood to endure his usually joyful greeting.

“Christa?” Andy asked.

“She’ll be okay.” Lucky collapsed into a chair. Sylvester kept nuzzling her, until she relented and gave him a half-hearted pat. “A couple of broken ribs, a lot of bruising on her face. A cracked cheekbone.” Christa had been wrapped in bandages, her right eye swollen and blackened, her lips thick and cut. She’d been sleeping when Lucky and Moonlight were allowed a minute in her room. Her breathing sounded harsh and ragged. Lucky kissed her lightly on the cheek, her heart breaking, and Moonlight had clenched her own hands together until her knuckles turned as white as the face of the moon, and they left.

Moonlight tossed her boots onto the mat beside the door. She filled the kettle. “She was starting to regain consciousness when I found her. She could have lain there for days calling for help before that bitch of a neighbor did anything other than hammer on the wall and scream at her to shut up.”

“Can I visit tomorrow?” Andy asked.

“You should be able to,” Lucky said.

“Good. I want to catch the late news.”

Moonlight tossed her gun belt on the table. Lucky winced at the sight of it, as she always did. At least it was her daughter who carried a gun, not her son. She didn’t know why that seemed preferable, but it did.

A loose floorboard creaked under Andy’s footsteps. He hadn’t reached out to comfort her. These days they seemed to interact like two bubble people, each confined to their own private world. It would have been nice if he’d sat with them for a while. Had tea and cookies around the kitchen table, and talked over their troubles. Like they used to.

“It’s my fault,” Moonlight said, taking mugs off the drying rack and bags of tea out of the canister on the counter.

“Nonsense,” Lucky said. “It’s the fault of Charlie whatshisname. And don’t you dare forget that.”

“I told her to take out a restraining order. But when she came to the station, I wasn’t there. I had more important things to do. I forgot her. She could have died.”

“Look at me, Moonlight,” Lucky said. “Look at me.”

Moonlight turned her head. Outside the sun was setting, and the shadows of the trees were as long as those across her high cheekbones. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You did all you could. You tried to warn Christa. You told her to make a complaint. You couldn’t force her to go in front of a judge, could you?”

“No, but….”

“No buts about it. I’ve seen it before.” Lucky accepted a cup of tea. Moonlight threw herself into a chair. The gun belt lay on the table between them. The Great Divide—tearing the one strong river that had been their family into two. “A nice young woman like Christa, she can’t believe in the violence of the world outside.”

“That’s the point, Mom.” Moonlight hit the table so hard the sugar bowl jumped. “I know! I knew she was in danger. I wasn’t there when she turned to me. I was too busy.”

“Too busy,” Lucky said, “trying to find the person who murdered a citizen of this town. I may have disagreed with Montgomery, profoundly, but I want his killer to be caught. Don’t make it sound as if you were smoking a joint and reading
Cosmo
, Moonlight.”

Lucky’s daughter stared into her tea cup.

“You’re an officer of the law. A policewoman. Moonlight Smith can’t make Christa’s choices for her. But Constable Smith can do something about bringing that…person…to justice. Not only Christa, but Montgomery, and the people of this town need you. Are you going to be there for them?”

“I don’t know, Mom.” Moonlight lifted her head. Her eyes were blue pools in a face touched with sunburn. She was so fair, like her father, that she didn’t take the sun well. “The job. The responsibility. Sergeant Winters thinks I’m a schoolgirl. Christa needed me and I forgot her. Graham would have told me what was right.” She ground her knuckles into her eyes until fireworks exploded behind her lids.

“Well, Graham isn’t here,” Lucky said, sounding as firm as she could. “And you’re on your own, Moonlight. Molly. But think of this…if you’d been working as a clerk in your brother’s law firm, or helping out at the store, or teaching at the university, would you have found Christa today?”

“No, but….”

“Lucky, get in here!” Andy bellowed from the family room.

Mother and daughter looked at each other. Had his favorite baseball team scored?

“Now, Lucky!”

They ran.

“Not him again.”

Rich Ashcroft was interviewing Frank Clemmins. Lucky caught the tail end of the interview as Clemmins, trying to hide a tear at the corner of his eye, talked about his business partner, so cruelly cut down. He hoped, he said, with a deep sigh, to be able to continue the project that was Reg’s vision. He said something about families enjoying the wilderness. Then he was gone and Ashcroft pontificated for a few seconds. An ad for a luxury SUV came on. Somehow the advertisers had been able to associate their product with saving the environment.

“That wasn’t much,” Moonlight said. “Forget him. He’s had his fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Sit down, both of you,” Andy snapped. “He isn’t finished. The whole first segment of the show, he said at the beginning, is about Trafalgar. And didn’t I see him this afternoon, in front of our store?”

The family sat in silence waiting for the program to resume. Lucky picked a copy of the
Utne Reader
off the coffee table and fanned her face. A hot flash was coming on.

A group of people wearing animal masks appeared on the screen, and for a hopeful moment she thought the program had gone to an early Halloween segment.

“That sounds like Robyn Goodhaugh.” Moonlight was sitting on the arm of her father’s chair. She touched his shoulder, and for a moment Lucky had a flush of hope that they could be a loving family again. Or was it just another hot flash? She fanned harder. Damned house—they should have gotten air conditioning years ago.

On TV, the wolf head said something about kill or be killed, and they broke for a commercial.

Lucky groaned. Robyn had joined the Commemorative Peace Garden committee and worked like a demon organizing petitions and letter-writing campaigns. At first Lucky thought they were fortunate to have her. But Robyn’s rhetoric quickly turned to threats of violence if she didn’t get her way, and Lucky and Barry decided that she had to go.

The parting had not been easy. Robyn was now quick to disparage the park committee at every opportunity.

“Didn’t you have that fool of a woman here, in our house, Lucky?” Andy said. “I’d have expected you to have better sense.”

“Stop bickering.” Moonlight threw herself onto the floor in front of the TV. If not for the dark blue uniform and the shoulder patches with the town crest and the words
Since 1895; Trafalgar City Police,
Moonlight might have been a kid, pleased to be allowed up late to watch a special program.

Ashcroft interviewed a young man next. He’d been born after his dad died, he told Rich, in Vietnam, only a month short of the end of the war. He spoke about growing up without a father, full of pride of the man he’d never known. The skin at the corner of his left eye twitched. And now this garden, he said, this monument to cowardice, made him wonder if his life had been a lie and he should be ashamed of his father’s sacrifice.