Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (29 page)

“Don’t be.” He didn’t bother to check out the car for damage. He scribbled a signature on the paper Tom handed him. Then he got into the car and drove away.

Tom stood in the lot watching until the Corolla was out of sight.

Simpson had told him not to bother cleaning the car, and not to open the trunk or check under the seats. He’d assumed it was carrying drugs. Simpson did a good trade sending B.C. Bud, the world’s best marijuana, east and south.

No one would be taking pot
to
B.C.

Not his problem. Tom went into the office.

Jody was getting pushy. Last night she’d been whining again that Tom never took her anywhere. Time to dump Jody. Time to dump this town.

Tom was a firm believer that good times don’t last. Look at his dad, Mad Mike Dunning—top of the world when his band was the hottest thing in Canada. Five-star hotels, big stadiums, the best booze and drugs and groupies. Talk of a major record deal in the States, even a tour of Europe.

These days Mad Mike was lucky to get a bed in the drunk tank for the night.

Even though that prick Simpson took the majority of it, Tom was making good money here, between the car-repair scam and drug-running. He even did a little freelancing of his own. But he’d had a fright when the cops started nosing around while that Corolla was sitting on the lot. Sure the cops weren’t interested in the car-rental business or anything going on there. Their questions were all about who might have killed Barry and where Matt might have gone.

But the last thing he needed was one overeager cop to show an interest in the Corolla.

Or for Jody or Tracey to open their fat mouths and say something really stupid.

Tom didn’t much care if Matt had killed Barry or not. He wasn’t going to hang around to find out. A high-profile murder case, maybe an expensive lawyer looking for someone else to pin the blame on. That didn’t suit Tom at all.

He’d finish this shift. Simpson would be by later to pay him his share of the extra fees for handling the Corolla. Then: time to split.

No one was around and they didn’t have another pick up scheduled until noon.

Maybe he could convince Jody to make a quick trip into the washroom with him. Sort of a good-bye gift from him to her.

Chapter Fifty-two

BEARTRACK TRAIL & BANFF NATIONAL PARK. BANFF, ALBERTA. TUESDAY MORNING.

When Smith pulled up in front of the apartment building on Beartrack Trail, Tracey was outside, pacing up and down on the sidewalk. She leapt into the car before Smith had barely come to a stop.

The girl’s eyes were radiant and her skin glowed. Joy came off her in waves. “Hey, you’ve got a dog. Hi there, dog.” She put her hand out. Sylvester leaned across the seat and sniffed the offering. Tracey rubbed the top of his head. “What’s his name?”

“Sylvester. This isn’t a picnic, Tracey.”

“I know, I know.” She faced forward and snapped on her seat belt. “I’m so happy. Matt called me. He needs help, and he called me.”

Smith kept her opinion to herself. Whether Matt had called Tracey because he loved her, or because he knew she would no more betray him than Sylvester would turn on Lucky, only time would tell. “Where to?”

“Turn left at the end of the street.”

Smith was pretty sure she was heading for a lot of trouble. She’d been told of the presence of a person of interest to the police yet hadn’t called it in. She’d been ordered, more than once, by the local police to butt out. If she were working, if this was Trafalgar, she’d have to report it, come what may.

But here? Tracey had contacted her precisely because she didn’t know Smith was a police officer. Matt trusted Tracey, and Tracey had simply brought along a friend.

It was the way it had to be.

Tracey giving directions, they drove out of town onto the Trans-Canada. After only a few kilometers, Tracey said to turn off. They passed an impressive lodge, and soon came to a parking area. The lot was mostly empty, and Smith pulled up beside two women unloading three small children, backpacks, and hiking poles from a mud-spattered SUV.

“How far?”

“About two hours walking. That’s with Matt leading the way.”

“Let’s go then.” Smith glanced into the back seat. “Sorry, old guy. You can’t come.”

She’d briefly considered bringing Sylvester. But this wasn’t a casual jaunt into the backwoods, and Sylvester was an old dog. If they did run into trouble, Smith didn’t want someone else to worry about.

On her way out of the hotel, she’d dropped into the shop where she picked up bottles of water, granola bars, and bags of nuts and chocolate.

She popped the trunk, pulled out her emergency kit, and began to stuff things into her backpack. Along with the food and water, she took a portable GPS, a high-powered flashlight, a length of rope, her travelling first aid kit, and a box of waterproof matches. She slipped a can of bear spray into her pocket and snapped a small, but good, knife onto the waistband of her jeans. She had not brought her hiking boots, so running shoes would have to do. She had an extra pair of socks, light wool gloves, and a raincoat.

She shifted the pack, checking its weight.

“Wow,” Tracey said. “You’ve got a lot of stuff.”

“Ten yards off that path and we’re in the wilderness. I do not go into the wilderness unequipped.” Smith eyed Tracey. The girl wore her regular running shoes and a jacket. Her bright red plastic purse was slung over her shoulder. “Ditch the bag. You can put anything you need in here.”

Tracey took out a packet of tissues and a tube of lip cream. She half-turned, and took a few bills out of her wallet. She stuffed those into her pocket and threw her bag into the car. Smith dug a pen and piece of paper out of her own purse, and slammed the lid of the trunk. She wrote a quick note saying where they’d gone, and why, put it on the dashboard, told Sylvester to guard the car, and locked the doors. She’d left a note for her mom on the desk in her hotel room.

She adjusted the straps of her pack. She felt the comfortable weight of the knife on her hip. She would have preferred to have her Glock, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Did Matt tell you where he was calling from?” Smith said. “He doesn’t have his phone with him.”

“I didn’t think to ask. I was so excited to hear from him. Everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it, Molly?”

“Lead on,” Smith said to Tracey.

The sky was clear and the temperature comfortably cool. The trail began as a paved path. A short walk took them to a spot where the swift-moving river tumbled over a rocky waterfall into a pothole. People milled about, taking photographs, watching the white water churning at the bottom of the falls. Smith breathed in the fresh spray of crisp cold water. She dug her raincoat out of her pack and slipped it on. The trail wound uphill, dense forest on one side, a wooden guardrail on the other. Everything drenched in spray. A handful of people were on the trail, heading, Tracey told her, for the falls further down the path. They passed the second, larger waterfall, the pavement ended and the path became bark and wood mulch, narrowing as it turned away from the water.

“That way goes to the ink pots.” Tracey pointed toward a group of people coming up from the valley floor. “We go this way.”

The trail got narrower and rougher and began to climb steadily. Talk and laughter fell behind them, and soon they were alone. Signs marked the hiking trails. “We stay on this path for about an hour,” Tracey said. “When we come to the end of the trail, we turn left. I think.”

“You think?”

“Like I said, Matt always led the way. I just followed. I’m sure I can remember though. It goes to a nice little pond. We’d stop there for our picnic.”

If they ever found this nice little pond, Smith suspected Matt would be concealed, wanting to see who Tracey had brought with her. She hoped she’d be unthreatening enough that he’d come out of hiding.

They began to climb. The neatly groomed trail faded away and they jumped over fallen logs and pushed aside struggling saplings. After about half an hour, Tracey began to fall back. Her breathing was labored and her cheeks flushed. “Can’t we slow down a bit?” she asked. “Matt doesn’t walk so fast.”

Smith slowed. “When was the last time you were here, Tracey?”

“About two weeks ago. It looks sorta different.”

Smith was glad she hadn’t called Sergeant Blechta. If she’d led him and a bunch of his officers on a wild-goose chase, he’d not be happy. As it was she didn’t have anything to do anyway. If not for Tracey stumbling along behind, she’d enjoy the hike.

They reached the end of the marked trail. An arrow pointed left, directing them back to the parking lot.

A small path, more a deer track than a hiking trail, rounded an old spruce. Tracey didn’t hesitate, but walked on. As the elevation increased, the trees got smaller, the vegetation thinner. Smith thought it was also getting colder.

“Can we rest for a few minutes?” Tracey said after a short while.

Smith shrugged off her pack. “Sure.” The women took seats together on a large boulder. The cold of the rock leaked into Smith’s rear. She found water bottles and granola bars and handed them to Tracey. She checked her GPS and her watch. “It’s almost noon. We’ve been on the trail for an hour and a half. At three o’clock, regardless of whether we’ve found Matt or not, we’re turning around.”

“But…”

“No buts. We can’t chance getting caught out here after dark.”

“We’ll be all right. You’ve got that thing.”

“The GPS helps. It’s no substitute for being able to see where you’re going.” Smith checked her phone. No signal.

Tracey pouted as she ripped open the packaging on her granola bar.
What had Matt been thinking?
Or, most likely, not thinking. Tracey had been all set to rush off into the wilderness, with no equipment, no food, no common sense. One wrong turn and she would have been totally lost.

Smith looked up, through the trees. The sky was still clear. She ate her own bar and took a glug of water. “Let’s go.”

“So soon?”

“Three o’clock. No longer.”

Tracey muttered. She tossed her wrapping behind the rock, into the bush.

“Hey! Pick that up.”

“Sorry.” Tracey scrambled for it and put the offending object into her pocket.

“That’s better.” Smith plunged into the woods.

Less than a kilometer further, the deer trail split neatly into two. One arm pointed to the left, the other to the right. Both appeared to have been recently used.

A flash of red caught her eye. On the path leading to the right, the branch of a fir had been snapped off at eye level. The broken wood pierced a scrap of cloth.

“I told you he’d leave signs.” Tracey slipped around Smith and touched the fabric. A smile crossed her face.

“So you did.” That marker could have been left by anyone, but Smith had no reason to think it hadn’t been Matt. The color was bright red, so it hadn’t been out in the open for long.

They took the trail to the right.

The scraps of cloth came regularly as the deer trail slipped in and out of groves of trees or disappeared into the bush. Smith wanted to walk quietly, but Tracey’s stumbling and crashing behind her put an end to that. They were in the sub-alpine now, thickly covered with small trees of pine, spruce, and larch. At one-thirty, Smith called a halt.

“I thought you said this was two hours in, Tracey? We’ve been walking for three so far.”

“When I’m with Matt time had no meaning.”

Smith rolled her eyes. She took out the bag of nuts and passed them over. She wondered if Matt was watching them. It was possible. He had to suspect Tracey would either tell the police she’d heard from him or they were keeping an eye on her.

He’d have to be good in the woods, though, for Smith not to detect his presence.

It was quiet. A few birds flittered among the trees and the brush rustled occasionally as squirrels and other small animals hurried to get out of their way. They hadn’t seen a human being since leaving the waterfall. She took a deep breath, pulling fresh air into her lungs. She wished Adam were here.

Even more, she wished Norman were here.

The women both started as a branch snapped. A soft grunt followed. Tracey leapt to her feet. “Matt. Here I am! Matt.” She darted down the path, heedless of her footing.

“Wait. Tracey, come back. Stop.” Without bothering to pick up her backpack, Smith ran after the girl. She did not like the sound of that grunt. She heard a sharp intake of breath and then a muffled scream. She rounded a bend in the path.

Tracey was frozen to the spot. A bear stood on its hind legs not more than ten feet in front of her. Its mouth opened and its formidable teeth flashed.

“Tracey,” Smith said, her voice slow and calm. “Back up. Do not turn around and do not run.”