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C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

Ray Lopez was not a happy man. This had to be the worst case he’d ever worked on. Not only was his boss’ wife a suspect, and his boss removed from the case, but the IHIT Sergeant was a single-minded idiot. Madison seemed to have settled on Eliza Winters as the killer, and all he cared about now was gathering evidence to support his assumption.

Some people, Lopez thought, watched too many movies. No way could the gentle, soft-spoken Eliza kill someone.

He looked at the list of names in front of him. Almost finished interviewing the hotel employees. To his disappointment, no one had noticed anyone on the second floor at the time in question. No one but the room service waiter, that is. Other than the one man who thought that, maybe, he heard a noise that might have been a gunshot over the sound of his TV, no one heard anything either.

But someone had been on the second floor—someone had shoved Steiner’s face into the toilet and shot out the back of his head. Someone, Lopez suspected, who’d taken care not to be observed.

He glanced at his watch. Almost seven. His second daughter, Amanda, went to the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. She was home for a couple of days before heading to Europe for three weeks, and then starting her summer job planting seedlings in the northern forests of Ontario. Lopez had met her boyfriend once and hadn’t liked the sullen young man one bit. He wasn’t happy Amanda was going to Europe with this guy, or that the reason she wanted to spend the summer in Ontario was because her boyfriend had gotten them the jobs. Amanda was smart and had big plans for her future. He didn’t want to see that messed up by some lazy lowlife who kept all his brains in his pants. He needed to spend some time with her, find out how serious she was about this guy, and remind her, without appearing to do so, that she had the whole world ahead of her. She left tomorrow, and he’d been so tied up with this case he scarcely had time to say “hi”. One more call to make, and he’d be able to get off home. Take Amanda out for a drink and a nice father-daughter chat.

Winters had the GIS van, but Lopez didn’t bother to call for a ride as his destination wasn’t far from the hotel. He set off at a trot toward town. The police radio had been busy with the bust-up between Josie Steiner and Diane Barton. Both women taken into the station, charged, released. He wouldn’t say he was surprised. If Lopez had to lay bets on the cause of Rudy Steiner’s demise, his money would go on the widow. She was about the same age as Amanda, and a nastier piece of work he’d rarely come across. It was raining and he ducked under storefront awnings and dodged puddles as he made his way down the street.

Trafalgar Thai was busy on a Thursday night, and a cluster of people were standing inside the door, shaking off rain and waiting for tables. Lopez excused himself and pushed his way to the front. The phone beside the cash register rang as he reached the desk, and a pretty young woman dressed in black skirt and white blouse snatched it up. She lifted one finger to the detective, telling him to wait. She pulled a pencil out from the knot of hair in the back of her head, and began to write. It was a take-out order, a long one, with much discussion about what went with what and how many people each dish would feed. Lopez adjusted the collar of his jacket to get the wet part away from his neck, shifted on tired feet, and studied the room. The scent of hot food and potent spices mingled with wet wool and tramped-in mud. He stepped aside to allow a large group, Mom, Dad, Grandma, about ten kids, leave.

“Wanting a table, Mr. Lopez?” The waitress asked. “Be about fifteen minutes.”

“Not tonight, thanks, Lynne,” he said. The girl was a friend of his third daughter, Marlene. “I need a couple of minutes of your time.”

She pushed back a lock of hair, and exhaled. “We’re really busy.”

“Won’t take long. Were you working Monday night?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d like to speak to you.”

“Okay. Let me seat these people first.” She picked up menus, put on a smile, and told the cluster of people standing in the doorway their table was ready. She was back a minute later, wiping her hands on the sides of her skirt. “Do you want Mr. Chen too?”

“Yes, please.”

She led the way into the back, sticking her head into the kitchen as she passed. A man joined them, carried along on a wave of spicy steam and cooks’ chatter. He was small with black hair slicked back and nicely dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and grey tie. “Police?” He looked alarmed.

Lopez gave what he thought was a reassuring smile. They went into an alcove beside the kitchen. The room was piled high with all the detritus of running a food business, leaving barely enough space for the three people to stand.

“Monday night,” Lopez said. “Around eight-thirty. I’m wondering if you noticed a woman. She would have been alone, ordered shrimp rolls, pad Thai, couple of beer.” Mr. Chen looked blank.

“Woman,” Lynne said as she mimed someone eating. Her boss smiled and nodded energetically. Lopez doubted he was nodding because he recognized the feeble description.

“She was in her early twenties. Five-eight, hundred and thirty pounds, round about. Short dark hair, little or no makeup. Probably wearing glasses. Jeans and a blue sweater. Oh, and a silver ring on every finger.”

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.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

“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.”

She 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.