Divine Justice (11 page)

"I'm guessing it was the night he disappeared."

"Why do you say that?"

"He was wearing the same suit he wore that night."

"Great catch, Natassia."

"Thanks."

Jasi wandered over to the massive desk, one of those modern interlocking styles. On the right side of the desk was a filing cabinet. She tugged on it. It was locked.

Keys will be in the desk drawer, she thought.

Sure enough, a set of five keys rested in a small tray in the top drawer of the desk. Beside it was a handheld device.

"We're in luck," she said. "Winkler left his 'com behind." She removed the device from the drawer. "It's an older commercial model. Nothing like the high tech ones we have."

"His wife said he always took it with him."

"What I'd like to know is why he'd leave
this
behind?" Jasi held up a worn brown leather wallet. "He's got about two hundred bucks in here.
And
his driver's license."

"Winkler drove his Mercedes without his license? Not very law-abiding, was he?" Natassia held out a hand. "Can I see the data-com?"

"Gladly. I'm not very tech-savvy."

"Then it's a good thing I'm on your team."

"You know something about computers?"

"Some people consider me a techie."

Jasi let her comment slide. For now.

"Hmmm," Natassia murmured.

"What?"

"He has a lot of entries in here."

"Anything jump out at you?"

"He had eight meetings the week before he died. His entries are hard to read though. He abbreviates everything. He met with
P.M.
on Monday―"

"The Prime Minister?"

"Could be. He had other meetings during the week, a couple of doctor appointments, dinner out with his wife and a FR gala, whatever that is."

"Busy man. What about the day he went missing?"

"Nothing. That's kind of strange, don't you think? He has something for every day, even weeks in advance. Yet there's nothing on that day."

"I guess even politicians take a day off now and then."

Natassia released a heavy sigh. "So what now?"

"Take the 'com. We'll dump the info at the hotel."

"What about these?" Natassia pointed to the computer and laptop on the desk.

"I'll have an evidence team send the files from the PC to our data-coms. You can take the laptop."

Jasi unlocked the filing cabinet and leafed through the files. Nothing stood out. She took a quick photo of the open drawer with her data-com, then stood back, her eyes wandering over the room.

Damn!

She wasn't any closer to finding out who killed Winkler.

"I've got nothing," Natassia said behind her. "These shelves are filled with books on politics, war and history. Plus there's a stack of legal forms awaiting his autograph."

"I guess he won't be signing them now." Jasi closed the cabinet. "If you take the forms, we can go over them later."

"Winkler has interesting taste in music." Natassia held up a CD with butterflies on the label. One butterfly was emerging from a cocoon. "
Relaxation for the Soul
. Hmm, well that explains why he kept falling asleep."

Jasi chuckled. "What did you expect―Metallica?"

"You know, you look like you could use some relaxing. Maybe you should borrow it."

"Last thing I need is to be falling asleep in the middle of an investigation."

As they moved toward the door, Jasi hesitated. She flicked a backward glance across the room. A powerful man had sat behind that desk. He'd looked at the clock, answered a phone call, scheduled a meeting, then…what?

Winkler's ghost seemed to linger close by.

"I think we're re done here, Jasi." Natassia prodded.

Jasi shivered. "I think we've only just begun."

When she stepped out into the hall, James was waiting for them. His eyes narrowed when he spotted the data-com in her hand.

"I think we've got everything we need for now." She pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to James. "You'll have to sign this acquisition form. It says we've borrowed your brother's data-com and laptop for the duration of the investigation. We'll return them as soon as we can."

Without a word, James scribbled his signature on the bottom line and handed the form back. Escorting them to the front door, he moved swiftly, as if he couldn't wait to get rid of them.

What's your hurry?

Jasi made a mental note to check out the brother.

She stepped outside, turned and planted one hand in the doorjamb. James couldn't close the door without catching her hand in it. Looking into his eyes, she wondered for a moment whether she would lose a finger or two.

Sometimes you gotta take a chance.

"My sincerest condolences," she said. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

James' pale blue eyes clouded. Whether from anger or sadness, she couldn't tell.

"Some people aren't," he said in a flat tone.

She pulled her hand away as he closed the door.

"Wonder what's got his knickers tied in a bunch?" Natassia said.

"Knickers?"

"Sorry. I spent most of my childhood and early twenties in London, before moving back to Russia. Where did you grow up?"

"Vancouver. Born and raised. I never really did much traveling until Matthew recruited me."

When they climbed into the SUV, Natassia said, "Why do you suppose Monty changed his nightly routine?"

"I don't know. It does seem strange though."

"Well, he went
somewhere
that night."

"And he met someone," Jasi said. "But who?"

There was one thing she knew for sure.

When I figure out the answers, I'll find a killer.

9

To Natassia, a morgue was a daycare for the dead,
until someone claimed them for burial or cremation. The Ottawa Forensics Unit was no different. It held stainless steel sinks and counters, multi-functioning computers, a forensics body scanner and a wall with stainless steel compartments for the dead. The room smelled the same as every other morgue, a combination of sanitizing cleaning products and formaldehyde that fought to mask the unmistakable stench of decay.

Natassia sprayed some
Mentho
in both nostrils to ward away the intense odor of decomposition. She read the nameplates on the wall.

When she found Monty Winkler's name, she pressed the red button beside it. There was a soft hum. A drawer slid out, revealing Winkler's body. It hadn't been bagged yet, but the stapled Y incision told her that an autopsy had already taken place.

"Dr. Copeland sure didn't waste any time," she murmured, thankful the pathologist had agreed to leave them alone.

"A high profile case like this means a lot of press," Jasi said. "Last thing our government needs is another scandal."

Natassia knew full well the devastating effects of scandal. She'd unearthed plenty. The morgue was a place that held so many last thoughts. Few people went peacefully. There was usually some kind of pain, loss, regret…guilt.

Or burning secrets waiting to be revealed.

She moved closer to the body. "Well, Mr. Winkler, are you ready to share your secrets?"

"Let's hope he saw his killer," Jasi said.

Sitting next to Monty Winkler's body, Natassia studied him for a long moment, her hands finally resting on his bloated face.

"What do you need me to do?" Jasi asked.

Closing her eyes, Natassia began to trace each facial feature with butterfly strokes, ignoring the slightly sticky feel of bloated, rotting skin.

"If I'm not out in ten minutes, pinch me hard and yell 'yeah, baby' at the top of your lungs."

"That's your safety phrase? Yeah, baby?"

Natassia didn't answer. She couldn't. She was already slipping away. She was as light as a feather, drifting above the corpse of Monty Winkler.

In a flash, she was staring out through his eyes, an observer of his final memories.

And a witness to murder.

Terror gripped her, making it difficult to breathe. She couldn't move anything except her eyes.

Monty Winkler's eyes.

She―he― was lying on one side. On a sofa.

Where was he?

The last thing he remembered was…

James! His brother wanted something from him. What was it? It was something very important. Think!

James' image flashed before him.

"Monty, you need to sign this. Today."

A piece of stark white paper fluttered in the air. It disintegrated into dust before it touched the ground.

Wait? What was that, James?

An image of Marilyn fluttered past him.

Come back, he yearned to say.

They'd had a fight. What was it about? Why couldn't he remember anything?

He thought of Marilyn.

Marilyn, my love. I'm so sorry. I hope you'll forgive me.

From the corner of his eye, he peeked at the shadow that hovered over him. He tried to make out a face.

There wasn't one.

The shadow carried something shiny in one hand.

A hammer?

Whatever it was, it rushed toward Monty's head with lightning speed. He tried to back away, but his body didn't cooperate. He heard a sickening thud and his head jerked close to the edge of the sofa.

Oh God…

As another blow fell, an enraged shriek filled the air.

But it wasn't Monty's.

He felt a rush of dizziness. He gasped, and his lungs sputtered. No, please…

No sound came from his mouth.

The shadow moved away and Monty drifted between unconsciousness and death. He felt no pain. The drug in his system took care of that.

In the flickering light, he saw that his wrinkled hands were covered in blood and tied with coarse rope. He couldn't move his fingers. He couldn't even feel them.

Someone was approaching.

Help me, he tried to cry out.

Arms reached down. He was lifted and carried out into the night air. He couldn't focus on anything, not the person who carried him or his surroundings. The shadow unceremoniously leaned down and dropped him in some kind of…box?

Monty struggled to blink as his limbs were maneuvered until they fit inside the cramped space. Fear gripped his heart and he could hear its frantic beating.

Wait! No, please…why are you doing this?

He wanted to cry, and for a moment he thought the cool droplets on his face were tears
until he smelled their overpowering scent.

Gasoline.

Oh Jesus. He's going to burn me to death.

Bile rose in his throat. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he felt his entire body ebbing and receding. He heard a haunting violin composition, a sputtering engine and a slapping sound. Music symbols floated through his mind.

He wanted to relax, give in. Surrender.