Part 7 (1/2)
She concentrated on her driving. A SUV had skidded off the road at the corner of Front and Monroe Streets and was blocking the intersection. She could see the police station ahead, up the hill where Monroe met George Street, but was trapped in the snarl of traffic. Heat radiated off her face. She wanted to take her gloves off but was afraid of making a move.
Winters activated the computer. Hed sent the ITO moments before they pulled up in front of the B&B. Now hed have to withdraw it.
Why the h.e.l.l hadnt she noticed that the fireplace in the common room of the Glacier Chalet B&B was gas? Because no one had told her there would be a test later. Shed been there to tell a young woman her brother was dead. Not to examine the scene as if she were Sherlock Holmes crawling across the floor, peering into his magnifying gla.s.s.
No excuse. It was her job to see, to observe, and she hadnt.
A tow truck arrived, a man climbed out and he and the SUV driver stood back to examine the scene. ”Looks like you might be here a while,” Winters said. ”Ill walk the rest of the way.”
”Okay.”
He put his hand on the door handle. ”I need to go back to the B&B and ask very politely if I can check Williams room. That will now be somewhat awkward. Ron Gavin came out on his day off because hes a good officer. Also because he owes me one. Well both consider that debt to have been paid. The Horseman who followed Ray will no doubt make sure everyone back at the station gets a good laugh hearing about how I screwed up.” Horseman, Smith knew, meant a Mountie. Winters opened the car door. Unfortunately he wasnt finished. ”And this will be my screw up, Constable Smith. Eventually to become a story spread far and wide for the amus.e.m.e.nt of police officers everywhere. Ill wear it, because I will not embarra.s.s myself, or the Trafalgar City Police, by trying to set the story straight.” She ground her teeth and fought back tears. Shut the f.u.c.kin door. Just shut up and shut the door.
”I will, however, be required to give a full, and honest, report to the Chief Constable.”
The door slammed shut.
She gripped the steering wheel. Slightly ahead and to her right a bright red Toyota Echo, dotted with magnetic black circles that made the car look like a giant ladybug, backed out of a parking s.p.a.ce. The ladybug hit a patch of ice and slid downhill, very slowly, coming to rest against the b.u.mper of the police car.
A tall, slim middle-aged woman climbed out, spiked purple hair, red coat, blue scarf, yellow mittens, and clanging jewelry. She waved her mittens in the air, and mouthed apologies.
Smith could see Sergeant Winters climbing the hill. His head was down and his back bent as his boots stomped through packed snow.
Molly had two choices: she could tell the ladybug woman to leave her the h.e.l.l alone and go home to bury her head in her duvet, or get out of the patrol car and direct traffic.
She took a deep breath, and got out of the car.
Wendy plunked herself down on a bench by the door. She was sick and tired of skiing. She didnt like it much anyway, but all the fas.h.i.+onable people skied, so she made the attempt. After tossing her salad at the odious reporter, whod read her intentions in time to duck and avoid most of the barrage, Wendy wanted to head back to town. Shed arranged to meet the others when the lift closed at four. Jeremy had the keys to the SUV. Theyd had to rent another car, seeing as to how Jason had driven the first one into the river.
Jason. Wendys chest closed. Jason. Shed resented him for almost all their childhood. Jason the Perfect, she called him. Their parents favorite. At the same time shed loved him. He was the older brother, the one who looked after her, worried about her, protected her. He couldnt be gone. Hed be at the B&B when they got back. Laughing his over-the-top laugh at how hed made fools of them all.
And Ewan. What had the reporter said about Ewan? That there was something suspicious about his death? What the h.e.l.l did that mean? She chewed at a fingernail.
A young woman fell onto the bench beside Wendy, dropping helmet and goggles into her lap. ”It hurts, okay. Get it? Hurt. Pain. Agony.”
A man knelt in front of her. His long hair was black with yellow streaks. Real yellow, not blond. Yellow like out of a childs box of crayons. ”Let me see,” he said, reaching out. Like the woman he was dressed in mis-matching ski jacket and pants.
”Dont touch,” she shouted.
”Lets take your boot off, at least.”
”Dont touch me. It hurts. I want to go home.”
”It might not be so bad. Maybe your boot isnt fitting right.”
”I know when my boot fits and when it doesnt. I want to go back to town. Now. If you wont take me, Ill call for an ambulance. And you can be sure Ill remember you left me here, all alone.”
”Okay, okay. Ill get the car. Can you at least hobble down the steps and meet me out front?”
”Absolutely not,” she said, ”it hurts too much. Youll have to carry me.”
”For G.o.ds sake, Jackie.”
”Why dont I help?”
Jackie, clearly enjoying her pain and suffering, gave Wendy a look that would curdle milk.
Wendy didnt care. ”Ill help you down the steps while your friend goes for the car.” She smiled at the black and yellow haired boy. ”If you dont mind, that is?”
He jumped to his feet, throwing her a smile full of grat.i.tude. ”That would be so great. Thanks. Itll take about ten minutes for me to get to the car and bring it around front.”
”Well be waiting,” Wendy said.
”I dont want to take you away from your skiing,” the injured girl said. Her lower lip stuck out. Most unattractive.
”Dont worry about me. Hey, heres an idea. Ive just about had enough today anyway. Ill come back to town with you, in case you need more help.”
”Great.” The boy ran for the door.
”Nice guy,” Wendy said.
”Keep your paws off, hear me.”
”Ive problems enough of my own, thanks. But heres a tip for nothing: bad, bad idea to do the Prima Donna thing. Men tire of it so easily. Lean on my arm if you must and Ill deposit you at the bottom of the steps. I have to get my skis.”
John Winters stormed into the police station. He didnt say a word to Jim Denton at the front desk, or to the legal clerk who had to jump out of the way to avoid being knocked over. He marched into Barbs office. She was opening a package of cookies. A cup of herbal tea, smelling like someones wet socks left to dry on a fireplace fender, emitted steam from beside her elbow. ”Paul free?” he snapped.
Wisely, Barb refrained from making a crack about his mood. She glanced at the phone on her desk. A red b.u.t.ton was s.h.i.+ning. ”Still talking to the mayor. If its important, h.e.l.l be glad of the interruption.”
Young, fresh, keen, rash. Sometimes so G.o.dd.a.m.ned stupid. All words that would have fit John Winters when he was a s.h.i.+ny new recruit.
”Not important enough to drag him away from the mayor. Ill be in my office for a while. h.e.l.l want an update on the bodies pulled from the river. And its a doozy.”
”Ill tell him.” Barb gave him a sideways glance as she returned to her cookies.
Winters went to the GIS office. He should have spent some time talking to Ellie Carmine about her guests, and he needed to have a look at Williams room, to see if anything was out of order, but he was so frigging angry at dragging everyone and their dog around to the B&B for an urgent search-of a gas fireplace-that he knew he had to get out of there before he exploded.
He called the Glacier Chalet B&B. The guests, according to Mrs. Carmine, had all gone out first thing and werent usually back until four-thirty or five, after the ski hill closed. He confirmed that theyd arrived under one booking, and wrote down their full names as Mrs. Carmine recited them.
The phone rang as soon as he put it back into the cradle.
”Chiefs free,” Barb said.
Back down the corridor he went. The legal clerk clutched a ream of papers to her chest as she saw him coming. He gave her what he hoped was a rea.s.suring smile.
Paul Keller leaned back in his chair as his lead detective came in. Even from the other side of the room, Winters could smell the cigarette smoke that surrounded the man like an aura. The Chief Constable popped the top on a can of c.o.ke. ”Want one?”