pissed in your cheerios?”
“The grandkids are visiting. Haven’t slept for three days.”
“Good thing you work here then, Jim, lots of chances to get some shut eye.” Constable Dawn Solway came out of the lunchroom, wiping her hands on a paper towel.
“If I wasn’t so amused, I’d laugh,” Denton said.
Smith went down the corridor to the GIS office. The door was open and Winters was at his desk, typing fast with two fingers.
“Jim says you want to see me?”
“Come on in.”
She pulled up a chair. “Ray’s violets are looking great.”
“Please, don’t remind me. I’m sure he’s going to carve ‘plant killer’ into my tombstone.
“I have an appointment at three-thirty to go around to Ashley’s apartment and look through her things. I would’ve liked to have done it earlier, but the roommate was insistent that she needs her sleep before going to work at five. But, as it’s now three and you’re on duty, you can come with me.”
“Okay.” Smith tried not to look pleased. Her shift was from three to three, and it could be pretty boring out on the streets in the late afternoon. And any chance to be involved in GIS work would do her in good stead, she hoped, if she were to make detective some day. But—she poured cold water on her ambition—she needed to graduate from probationary Constable first.
“This girl, Ashley, is proving to be as elusive as a puff of smoke. Dawn says she doesn’t know much about her. She showed up in town six weeks or so ago, baby on her hip. No big deal: many girls here have babies. She didn’t go out at night, hang around the bars or street corners. I’m checking with all the guys to see if anyone ever stopped her and asked for ID, but so far no one has. I’ve had photocopies made from a pic taken at the autopsy, the best they could do considering the circumstances, and we’ll be asking around. I’m hoping that a bar somewhere will have carded her.”
“She looked very young. Might be underage,” Smith said. “Maybe she went somewhere else looking for fun.”
“Her roommate says she didn’t have a car. No reason that means she didn’t have access to one, of course. But without a name, it’s going to be hard to find out.”
Winters glanced at his watch. “We’ve just enough time to get a coffee at Eddies.” He stood up and put on a light jacket. Smith stood also.
“How’s Christa?” he asked.
Smith did not want to talk about it. Christa Thompson, her best friend, her former best friend, had recently been badly beaten by a stalker. “Doing good, although she’s anxious about the trial.” Smith only knew that because Christa had spoken to Lucky. She hung up the phone if Molly tried to talk to her.
“She shouldn’t be worried. We’ve got him good.”
They clambered down the steps of the police station. Christa was not, in fact, doing good at all. She was a mess, afraid to go out, not starting on the new term’s university courses. Just sitting around her apartment all day, blaming Molly Smith for all her troubles. As Smith blamed herself. Lucky told her that Christa needed time to heal, mentally even more than physically, and when Charlie’s trial was over, she’d be better equipped to deal with her trauma.
Smith doubted it.
She’d eaten before leaving home, so refused Winters’ offer of a drink. He drank his coffee on the two block walk to Ashley Doe’s apartment, and tossed the half-finished cup into a garbage can outside the door.
***
Joan Jones had to be the most boring name in the entire world. As soon as she escaped from the stifling environment of the parental home in Winnipeg, she’d given herself the name she’d been born to have. Now she was Marigold. And Marigold was not pleased to have the cops around again.
Dead or not, Ashley deserved the privacy she guarded so carefully. And Marigold intended to respect that.
She opened the door to Ashley’s bedroom and stood aside to let in the pretty uniformed woman and
“The grandkids are visiting. Haven’t slept for three days.”
“Good thing you work here then, Jim, lots of chances to get some shut eye.” Constable Dawn Solway came out of the lunchroom, wiping her hands on a paper towel.
“If I wasn’t so amused, I’d laugh,” Denton said.
Smith went down the corridor to the GIS office. The door was open and Winters was at his desk, typing fast with two fingers.
“Jim says you want to see me?”
“Come on in.”
She pulled up a chair. “Ray’s violets are looking great.”
“Please, don’t remind me. I’m sure he’s going to carve ‘plant killer’ into my tombstone.
“I have an appointment at three-thirty to go around to Ashley’s apartment and look through her things. I would’ve liked to have done it earlier, but the roommate was insistent that she needs her sleep before going to work at five. But, as it’s now three and you’re on duty, you can come with me.”
“Okay.” Smith tried not to look pleased. Her shift was from three to three, and it could be pretty boring out on the streets in the late afternoon. And any chance to be involved in GIS work would do her in good stead, she hoped, if she were to make detective some day. But—she poured cold water on her ambition—she needed to graduate from probationary Constable first.
“This girl, Ashley, is proving to be as elusive as a puff of smoke. Dawn says she doesn’t know much about her. She showed up in town six weeks or so ago, baby on her hip. No big deal: many girls here have babies. She didn’t go out at night, hang around the bars or street corners. I’m checking with all the guys to see if anyone ever stopped her and asked for ID, but so far no one has. I’ve had photocopies made from a pic taken at the autopsy, the best they could do considering the circumstances, and we’ll be asking around. I’m hoping that a bar somewhere will have carded her.”
“She looked very young. Might be underage,” Smith said. “Maybe she went somewhere else looking for fun.”
“Her roommate says she didn’t have a car. No reason that means she didn’t have access to one, of course. But without a name, it’s going to be hard to find out.”
Winters glanced at his watch. “We’ve just enough time to get a coffee at Eddies.” He stood up and put on a light jacket. Smith stood also.
“How’s Christa?” he asked.
Smith did not want to talk about it. Christa Thompson, her best friend, her former best friend, had recently been badly beaten by a stalker. “Doing good, although she’s anxious about the trial.” Smith only knew that because Christa had spoken to Lucky. She hung up the phone if Molly tried to talk to her.
“She shouldn’t be worried. We’ve got him good.”
They clambered down the steps of the police station. Christa was not, in fact, doing good at all. She was a mess, afraid to go out, not starting on the new term’s university courses. Just sitting around her apartment all day, blaming Molly Smith for all her troubles. As Smith blamed herself. Lucky told her that Christa needed time to heal, mentally even more than physically, and when Charlie’s trial was over, she’d be better equipped to deal with her trauma.
Smith doubted it.
She’d eaten before leaving home, so refused Winters’ offer of a drink. He drank his coffee on the two block walk to Ashley Doe’s apartment, and tossed the half-finished cup into a garbage can outside the door.
***
Joan Jones had to be the most boring name in the entire world. As soon as she escaped from the stifling environment of the parental home in Winnipeg, she’d given herself the name she’d been born to have. Now she was Marigold. And Marigold was not pleased to have the cops around again.
Dead or not, Ashley deserved the privacy she guarded so carefully. And Marigold intended to respect that.
She opened the door to Ashley’s bedroom and stood aside to let in the pretty uniformed woman and
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