Divine Justice (15 page)

Probably won the PM a lot of votes
, he thought
.

As Ben drove toward downtown, he thought about Sampson's bizarre memory loss. Having glimpsed a wounded man, one who was confused and devastated by his actions, he actually felt sorry for the man. Alcoholism was an insidious disease and recovery was a constant uphill battle, and there was no doubt in Ben's mind that something or some
one
had given Porter Sampson a downhill push.

But who?

Ben replayed their conversation. Sampson seemed honestly confused. No head games there. The man had disappeared for thirty odd hours and knew nothing about it.

Is this connected to Winkler?

"Time to pay Marilyn Winkler a visit," he decided.

On his way to Winkler Manor, Ben decided to take a short detour. He stopped at the park where Porter Sampson had woken up from his drug-induced sleep.

The concert stage at Britannia Park, he'd said.

The stage was situated on the bank of a duck pond. To the left of the stage was a bench made of wrought iron with weathered wooden planks for the seat, which had seen a lot of wear from Mother Nature and passers-by who'd stopped to admire the view. All around the bench grew short, scruffy-looking grass.

Ben checked the area thoroughly, especially the floor of the stage. He found nothing of notable importance. The city police had done their job. They'd already collected garbage and prints from around the stage.

He sat down on the bench and gazed out over the pond. Patches of algae marred its otherwise perfect mirror finish, but that didn't matter to the three young ducklings that followed their mother into an overgrowth of waving reeds and cattails.

Witnesses?

Ben peered over his shoulder, observing the other occupants of the park. A young woman jogged along the paved path, a golden retriever at her side. The woman's ponytail swung from side-to-side. Her limber legs seemed to barely touch the ground. A couple of teenaged girls giggled nearby while taking long drags off a shared cigarette. Skipping school, most likely. The only other occupant of the park was an old woman dressed in layers of ill-fitted clothing that screamed 'street person.' She was busy feeding the ducks and talking to them.

He strode toward her. "Excuse me, ma'am."

The woman spun around unsteadily.

"What do
you
want?" she snapped, her cold hazel eyes drilling into him. "You gonna tell me it's against the law to feed my babies?"

"No, ma'am." Ben held up a photo of Porter Sampson. "I want to know if you've seen this guy around here."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Why? He kill someone?"

"Why would you say that?"

She shrugged and turned back to feeding the ducks.

"He's a Member of Parliament, ma'am. He woke up on the floor of the concert stage this morning, with no knowledge of how he got here."

"Must've been plastered then. Or on drugs."

"Did you see anything suspicious, anything at all?"

"I ain't seen nothing." She peered over her shoulder at him. "And the only suspicious person 'round here is you. Who comes to the park in a suit like that? You can't be a cop."

Ben chuckled. "I'm with the CFBI."

"CFBI, CIA, CSI…it's all a conspiracy, you know."

He thanked her.

"You wanna thank me proper, leave me a tenner."

Without a word, he tucked a ten dollar bill into her outstretched palm. The skin on her hand was raw and red.

The old woman examined the bill. "Better not be fake."

"It's good," he said.

She beamed a smile at the ducks. "Babies, I'm going to get you the best lunch today." To Ben she said, "I heard music in the park this morning."

"What time?"

"Around five o'clock. I followed it here, but it was already gone. I never saw no one though. And I didn't go up on the stage."

"What kind of music was it?"

"Dunno. It was kinda hard to hear."

He left her to her ducks and headed back to the parking lot. The music the woman had heard could have come from anywhere. More than likely, someone had driven past the park, with music blasting and windows down.

Another dead end.

He mulled over his earlier conversation with Sampson. Something about Sampson's disappearance stank, and it wasn't just the man's sweat-stained and booze-soaked clothes. He'd woken up here, yet had no idea how'd he'd even gotten to the park.

"No, there's more to this than meets the eye."

In the SUV, Ben carefully pulled the tissue from his pocket and unfolded it, revealing Sampson's discarded cigar butt.

"Perhaps this will shed some light on the truth."

Removing a glove, he held the cigar stub loosely between his fingers and closed his eyes. A wave of emotions coursed over him. Confusion, uncertainty…fear. Blurred images crept into his mind. Two of them came into focus for a few seconds.

A Canadian flag falling into water.

A glowing silver sun.

He opened his eyes and waited for the feeling of disorientation to disappear. When it did, he wrapped the butt in the tissue and started the car.

On his way to meet Marilyn Winkler, he thought of the fleeting images. It frustrated him that his visions were always cut short. He'd spent a month in intensive training, working with psychometric specialists, doing everything to refine his gift.

"And this is what I get," he muttered. "A Canadian flag and a silver sun. Great."

When he arrived at Winkler Manor, he put aside all thoughts of his vision and took in the formidable surroundings. He was impressed by the stately home, but the lady of the house was even more extraordinary.

Marilyn Winkler welcomed him with the grace of a woman accustomed to entertaining. There was no sign of her brother-in-law James.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," she said, one hand patting the bun in her hair. "I wasn't expecting company."

That wasn't how it looked from his perspective. Marilyn was dressed for business. For success.

She offered him tea, but he declined.

"If you don't mind," he said, "I'd like to check your husband's office."

"Of course I don't mind."

She showed him the way.

"Would you like me to stay?"

"That's okay," he said, but not before he caught a faint glimmer of distrust in her eye.

"Are you sure, Agent Roberts?"

"I'd like to get a sense of Monty," he said, purposefully using her husband's first name. "I promise I won't take anything without your permission."

That seemed to have the effect he was hoping for.

Marilyn retreated, the door closing softly behind her.

He released a breath, then turned to the business at hand.

Monty Winkler's office had the aura of a man's world. He imagined that this was where the politician had conducted a lot of business, tying up deals, making policies that affected the Canadian life.

He removed his gloves and tucked them in his jacket pocket. He picked up a golf trophy. It was cold and he got nothing from it. He set it down, careful to place it exactly where it had been.

A framed newspaper clipping hanging on the wall near the window caught his eye. He carefully took the clipping down. The photo was familiar. It had run on the front page of the Ottawa Sun.

The headline read:
Victims of Violence Gun Gala.

Suddenly an image flashed before him. A road splitting in two. Winkler was walking down one side, while a ghostly twin strolled down the other.

Ben jerked, and the vision vanished. Returning the clipping to its place on the wall, he thought of Monty Winkler. Somewhere in his career, the man had taken a detour, a decision that quite possibly had resulted in his brutal murder.

So what had he decided?

12

Jasi knew something was up the second she saw Ben.
He was seated at the table in his room, scrolling through documents on a laptop. He was so engrossed by whatever he was reading that he didn't realize that she and Natassia had entered the room.

She was about to say something when Natassia dropped her purse on the tile floor. It landed with a loud thud.

Ben's hand reached for the gun on the table.

"Good thing I'm not a bad guy," Natassia joked.

"Well, you're not a guy," he quipped. "The jury's still out on the
bad
part."

"Ha-ha."

Natassia flashed him a saucy grin and Ben looked away.

Jasi hid a smile.
Very interesting.

"I think we need a pow-wow," she said.

Natassia's brow arched. "Pow-wow?"

"It helps to talk the case through out loud." Jasi perched on the bed. "So what do know so far?"

"Winkler had a fondness for butterfly music," Natassia said.

Ben frowned at her. "What?"

Natassia glanced at Jasi. "Forget it. It was an inside joke. You had to be there."

Jasi watched them with curiosity. The air was electric, sizzling with tension. Or perhaps something else.

Something's happening here.

Whatever it was, she wasn't sure she liked it.

After they rehashed everything they knew about the two cases, Jasi sent a written report to Matthew via her data-com. Then she activated the phone number search. Within seconds she was connected to Ravinder Sharma's office on Parliament Hill.

"We're investigating Monty Winkler's murder," she told him. "I'm wondering if someone went after him because of the gun rights bill. Have you received any threatening phone calls or letters on this?"

"I've received some threats, Agent McLellan," Sharma replied in a heavy accent. "Mostly emails. But I don't take them seriously. It comes with the territory. A kind of political karma and all."

Political karma?
That was a first.

"I had lunch with Monty a couple of weeks ago," the man added. "He seemed content and happy, no worries. If he was being threatened, I think he would've told me. We were very good friends."

"I'm sorry for your loss." She paused. "I have one more question. It's about the gun rights vote."

"You want to know why I voted for and not against the new law." Sharma's voice grew quiet. "I can't answer that, Agent McLellan."

"It's not like it's confidential information," she argued.

"No," he said calmly. "I mean, I can't answer you because I'm not sure
why
I voted for it. I planned to vote against guns. So did Monty."

Jasi was shocked. "Then why did you both vote yes?"

"I think we were just overworked at the time. Anyway, by the time we'd realized what we'd done, it was too late. And frankly, we both felt a little stupid."

Stupid and irresponsible,
she thought.

"Is there anything else?" Sharma asked.

"No. If I have any other questions, I'll call back."

"I hope you find whoever did this. Monty was one of the good guys."

"That's what everyone tells me."

After she hung up, she turned to Ben. "Neither Sharma nor Winkler seem to have received any direct threats relating to the gun law."

"Then perhaps someone's harboring a grudge about something else." He filled them in on his visit to the Sampson residence.

"It could be exactly as it looks," Natassia said. "Maybe he went out and got drunk."

Jasi turned to Ben. "What's your take on Porter Sampson? Do you think he's lying, trying to cover up where he really was?"