Hamilton’s house was old but well maintained. The porch pillars had been replaced recently, the gutters and the front door looked new, and the paint was fresh. Winters parked in the street. The garage door, an old-fashioned wooden one, was closed, but the tracks of an SUV, clearly visible in the soft, melting snow, disappeared into it. The path from the garage to the front door had been shoveled.
A man, tall and handsome, thick with muscle, dressed in loose soccer shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, opened the door on Winters’ second ring. Sweat stained the shirt and ran down his face and neck. A blue towel was casually tossed around his neck.
“Help you?”
“Sergeant John Winters, TPD. Are you Mr. Mark Hamilton?”
“I am. What’s this about?”
“May I come in?”
Hamilton stood back. “Is something wrong? My mom?”
“As far as I know, Mr. Hamilton, there’s nothing to worry about. I have a couple of questions for you, that’s all.” The entrance hall was barely large enough for the two of them. It was crammed with an assortment of soccer shoes, hiking boots, winter boots, and running shoes, neatly lined in pairs on clean rubber mats. All the footwear was men’s and appeared to be the same size.
“Yeah, sure. Come on through. I’ve been lifting weights.” Hamilton wiped sweat off his brow. “I need a drink. You want something?”
“No, thank you.”
Winters followed the man into the house. The small living room was a clutter of books, newspapers, stacks of paper, an open laptop. However, it was spotlessly clean and everything organized in some fashion. Winters studied the room while Hamilton went through to the kitchen. A tap turned on and water ran. Winters glanced at a pile of papers, spread out on the coffee table, spilling onto the floor. Exams.
Hamilton came back, sipping at a glass of water. “I’ve some marking to do before next week when school’s back. I teach math at the high school.”
“Which,” Winters said, “is why I’m here.”
“Really? One of the kids finally land himself in some serious trouble? Have a seat.”
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for a couple of days. Where have you been?”
“Up north.”
“Where up north?”
“A buddy of mine has a cabin outside Cooper Creek. I went there for a few days’ vacation.”
“Who was with you?”
Hamilton’s eyebrows lifted. His hair was a mass of black curls coiling at the back of his neck. His eyes were a deep brown, and his cheekbones so sharp they might have been sculpted. His Adam’s apple bulged as he swallowed.
“You’d better tell me what this is about before I answer any more of your questions.”
Hamilton dropped into a chair. Winters remained standing. Hamilton appeared comfortable enough, as comfortable as anyone can be with an unexpected visit from the police. He didn’t look like a man with anything to hide.
“You haven’t heard the news since you got back?” Winters gestured to the newspapers on a corner table. The national and Vancouver papers were on top. No sign of the Trafalgar Daily Gazette.
“News? What news? You’re talking in riddles, man. Spit it out.”
“Do you know Cathy Lindsay?”
“What about her? I know her, yeah. She teaches English at my school. Did she have an accident or something?”
Winters studied the man. Hamilton’s face was open, curious and a bit confused. Could be an act. Could be real.
“Cathy Lindsay was killed Saturday morning. Murdered.”
A muscle twitched behind Hamilton’s right eye. Otherwise he showed no expression. “Sorry to hear that. I can’t help you. I left town after school Friday. Got home yesterday.”
“How well did you know Mrs. Lindsay?”
“Not well at all. I saw her at staff meetings, in the halls. That’s it. Don’t know anything about her or her life other than bits and pieces of gossip I picked up.”
“Much gossip about her?”
“No more than anyone else. I don’t mean gossip as in spreading the muck. I mean as in what people do with their life outside of work. You can’t suspect anyone at the school killed her? We’re a pretty mundane bunch. The most trouble the kids get into is a bit of pot or a beer party now and again.”
“I’ll repeat my question of earlier. Who was with you this past week? Saturday morning in particular?”
“No one.”
“No one? You went on vacation alone?”
“Yes I did, if it’s any of your business. You can’t possibly be asking me for my alibi.” Hamilton got to his feet. The movement was swift, effortless. One minute he was sitting in a deep, badly sprung chair, the next he was on his feet, looming over Winters.
“Sit down please,” Winters said. “We have to ask these questions.”
“Are you questioning everyone at the school?”
“You don’t have a family to spend your vacation time with? The school has your mother listed as your emergency contact. We called her. We got a nursing home, and the staff told us Mrs. Hamilton would be unable to help.”
Hamilton dropped back to his seat. “I didn’t have anyone else to put on that form. I guess I was hoping Mom would come around someday. She’s gone downhill so damned fast. Doesn’t know me; doesn’t know where she is from one minute to the next.”
“Did you visit her this past week?”
“No. She’s sixty-four years old and as empty minded as a baby.” He shook his head. “Her reward for a life of hard work, of never doing any harm to anyone. What a miserable world we live in.” His face filled with anger. “I go to see her once a month or so. Have tea, check she’s okay, talk to the staff. She doesn’t know who I am.”
“Your father still alive?”
“He died when I was a baby and my mother never remarried. Just me and Mom. I wasn’t a good son when I was young. I try to make it up to her now, when it’s too late to do any good.
“And before you ask, I’m divorced. It was an ugly divorce, bitter. On her part, more than mine. I don’t keep in contact with my ex-wife and we didn’t have any kids. I enjoy getting away from it all and went up to Cooper Creek. My buddy’s place is in the woods, private, quiet. What I wanted.” Hamilton shifted in his seat and rubbed at his face. The twitch was increasing.
“Did you see anyone on Saturday? Anyone see you?”
“I wanted to be alone. So I was alone.”
“How about your friend who owns the cabin?”
“He lives in Vancouver. Leaves a key in a shed.”
“They must have had a lot of snow up there. How’d you get in?”
“My friend has the private road ploughed regularly in case he gets the chance to get away for a couple of days.”
“Did you see anyone Friday night? Or at any time on Saturday? Stop in at a store maybe? Buy gas?”
“I told you, I spent the time alone. I drove straight up after school got out on Friday. I’d filled up with gas and bought groceries the night before. I skied, I read. You can’t seriously be thinking I had anything to do with Cathy’s death. I barely knew the woman. You still haven’t told me how it happened.”
“School’s back on Monday?”
“Yes.” Hamilton pressed his fist into his cheek, hard. Trying to control the twitch.
“Were you having an affair with Cathy Lindsay?”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’ve heard you were close.”
“Cathy might have wanted to be close. I did not.” Hamilton got to his feet once again. He walked to the window, looked outside, walked back. “I’d like you to be going now, Sergeant. I have nothing more to say to you.”
“You were in the army. Spent time in Afghanistan.”
“I’m obviously a person of interest in this if you’ve been checking up on me. Yes, I did a couple of tours in Afghanistan. I have no idea what that has to do with anything. I am what I am now. A small-town high school teacher. A divorced man
who has no one to spend his holidays with.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hamilton,” Winters said. “I have to ask you not to leave Trafalgar without letting me know.”
“You can’t possibly be serious.”
“I am very serious. Is that a problem? Did you plan on going somewhere?”
“No. School starts Monday. I have to work.”
“Glad to hear it.” Winters headed for the door. He stopped, studied the array of footwear. Only one pair of winter boots of the type one would wear for a walk in the snow. Winters gestured toward them. “Mind if I borrow those boots?”
“What?”
“Just a formality. I’d like to check out your boots.” Ron Gavin had taken prints of the tracks they’d found in the snow. Easy enough to compare them.
Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. “Actually, Sergeant, I do mind. How am I supposed to get around?”
“You have plenty of other footwear. I’ll return them tomorrow.”
Hamilton shrugged. “Whatever. But I want them back. Tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“You haven’t told me how Cathy died. Or why you think she was murdered.”
“She was shot. From a distance. By someone who’s a good marksman. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hamilton.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Molly Smith collapsed face first into a heap of snow. Her left leg twisted and the ski detached itself from the boot. She sputtered and groaned and checked herself out for pain or anything not working as it should. She wiggled her toes, as much as she could in the solid ski boot. Everything seemed to be in order, and she flipped onto her back, spitting out snow.
Tony crouched beside her, his body at an awkward angle in his own skis. “You okay, Molly?”
“Just a tumble. Where’s my ski got to?” She pushed her goggles up and wiped more snow off her mouth and chin.
“It’s over there. Need a hand up?”
She held out her arm and he half lifted her to her feet. One pole was looped around her wrist, the other lay about five feet away. Her errant ski had come to a halt at the edge of the run, up against a tree.
She pulled off her glove and stuck her free hand into the neckline of her suit, scooping out snow.
People whizzed past, crouched low, moving fast, bodies tight.
Tony snatched her pole out of the path. “Better get out of the way.” He took her arm and helped her to the side of the run. The wayward ski was unharmed, and she bent over and snapped it onto her boot. “Good to go.”
“Do you need to rest a minute?”
“No, I’m fine.” And she was fine. The landing had been soft, a straight forward face plant with no twisted limbs, encounters with snow-covered rocks, or trees suddenly appearing out of the cloud of mist and falling snow.
They’d been racing through powder, and she’d tried to overtake him. One wrong move, one moment of inattention as she gloated over her impending victory, and she was down. An ignominious lump.
“I’ve had about enough for today, anyway,” he said. “Let’s take it easy for a while.”
They glided the rest of the way down and she enjoyed the slower pace, letting her muscles relax, letting her mind wander and appreciate the beauty of the woods and the day. The lifts would soon be shutting down for the night. She’d gotten off work at six this morning, napped until noon, met Tony at the hills at one. They’d pushed themselves hard, themselves and each other, one run after another, one race after another. In the valley temperatures were rising, the snow slowly melting into dirty, slushy puddles, but up on the mountain winter’s firm grip still held.
The muscles in her thighs and arms ached and she knew she’d be in for it. She had tonight off, thank heavens, but had to be back at work tomorrow to put in an extra shift.
She needed some sleep.
“Care for a drink this time?” Tony asked.
“Sounds like a plan.”
They left their equipment in the racks outside the building and waddled up the stairs to the lounge. One long room with the kitchen at the far end, the serving counters and cash registers, then rows of rough wooden tables and benches. Backpacks were slung across tables or hung on pegs, and the floor was wet and filthy with melting snow. The scent of frying food, bubbling grease, and curry spices mingled with the odor of socks and mittens steaming in the heat of the room. A small alcove tucked into a corner made up the bar, featuring a huge fireplace, cozy tables, and overstuffed couches.
At this hour, the lounge was emptying out as families headed home, and the bar was filling up with those eager to recount the highlights of their day.
“Whatca having?” Tony asked.
“Kokanee, please.” She was driving, but one beer couldn’t hurt. He pushed his way through the crowd at the counter, and she found a table for two close enough to the fireplace that they could admire it, not so close they’d roast.
She pulled off her helmet and ran her fingers through her hair. She was trying to grow it out, it was now at that horrible stage of being too short to make a bouncy ponytail but too long to look good ungroomed.
“Hey, Molly, Nice to see you.”
She smiled up at a man standing beside her table, beer in hand. The mechanic from the garage which serviced the police cars. “Have a good day?” she asked.
“Great. The kids are with their grandparents. Not often we get a day on our own. This is my wife, Sandra. Sandra, Molly Smith, one of Trafalgar’s finest.” The woman, plump cheeks ruddy with cold and exercise, nodded in greeting. Smith struggled to remember the man’s name.
He glanced around. “Adam here? He came by last week to talk about a truck and…”
Tony put two beers on the table and pulled out the spare chair. He looked at the mechanic, smiling, wondering if he was going to be introduced.
“Uh…No,” Smith said. “This is Tony, my ski partner.”
The men shook hands. “Sid Armstrong. Nice to meet you. See you around, Molly.”
He turned back to his wife and their circle of friends.
Smith forced herself to smile as she picked up her beer. Tony dropped into the chair. “Cheers,” he said. They clinked bottles.
Nothing wrong, she reminded herself, going skiing with Tony. Nothing at all. She and Adam weren’t married, they weren’t even engaged.
Adam had called her last night. She’d ducked into the doorway of a closed shop to take the call, and they’d talked for a long time. He’d talked, mostly, which wasn’t like him. Nothing important, chatter about his parents and his sister and her family. Toronto had no snow, just a continuous cold, driving rain, making it difficult to entertain the kids. A man could only take so many movies suitable for the under-ten set. The kids were keen, he told her, to meet Norman. Maybe he’d invite them out in the summer. They were old enough to fly on their own. He could take them camping, do some hiking, kayaking. “Should be right up your alley,” he said.
“Sounds like fun.”
“Getting a lot of skiing in?”
“Not a lot. It’s tough with working nights.”
“You’ve got vacation coming, right?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Let’s plan something. Something really nice. Spring skiing, maybe. How about Whistler? A top hotel, nice restaurants. Really spoil ourselves.”
She hesitated.
“My treat. I’ll even throw in a visit to a spa.”
“Adam…”
“I miss you, Molly. I can’t believe how much I miss you. And I’ve only been gone three days.”
Her throat closed.
He tried to turn the sentiment into a joke. “’Course I started to miss Norman after two days.”
“I never mind playing second string to Norman. Look, Adam, I gotta go. I’m supposed to be keeping the streets safe for the good citizens.”
“And the not-so-good ones. I love you, Molly.”
“Bye, Adam.” She’d shut the phone carefully, slipped it into her pocket, and stepped into the sid
ewalk.
Terrifying a young couple who were sauntering down the street, arms wrapped around each other, paying no attention to anything or anyone until a dark-clothed, armed figure emerged from the gloom of a shop doorway.
“How about dinner tomorrow,” Tony said, bringing Smith back to the here and now.
A Cold White Sun: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Series) Page 18