Divine Justice (30 page)

When they stepped into the elevator, Natassia turned to Jasi. "What's the plan?"

"You and I will check out Winkler's office. Ben can take Sampson's."

The elevator dipped, then pulled to a stop on the first floor. They were immediately escorted by a broad-shouldered armed guard to a security station. Depositing their weapons into a bin, they submitted to a quick pat-down and then walked separately through the metal detector. Jasi and Ben passed through with no problem. Natassia wasn't so lucky.

"Jewelry," the guard said as he reset the alarm.

Natassia stripped off her rings, bracelets and the heavy pendant around her neck, then walked through again. The alarm went off and the guard motioned her to one side. He waved a handheld monitor over her. When it reached the button of her jeans, the monitor chirped.

The guard cleared his throat. "Piercings?"

"Belly button." Her brow arched as if daring the guard to make an unsavory comment. "I could show you if you want."

The red-faced guard waved her on.

Once Natassia had gathered up her jewelry, they took another elevator to the second floor where they split up. Jasi and Natassia followed the signs to Winkler's office, which was at the far end of the second floor.

"Does Ben ever take off those gloves?" Natassia asked.

"When he has a reason to."

"And he has no reason to with you?"

"Natassia, if you're interested in Ben, you should know that he doesn't like to mix business with…"

"Pleasure?" Natassia grinned. "I think I could change his mind."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Let's say I wanted to try. How would you feel?"

Jasi paused in front of the door to Winkler's office.

"Ben's my closest friend. I don't want to see him get hurt. Or you." She patted Natassia's arm. "Trust me, it wouldn't be a good idea. Especially for the team. Anyway, you're here temporarily. What'll happen when you go back to Russia?"

"They won't send me there. I'll be sent back to Toronto. But I understand what you're saying."

They entered the waiting area for Monty Winkler's office. Overlooking the front lawn, it was small and held four plush chairs and a coffee table. A desk in the far corner was occupied by an attractive Latino woman.

"Excuse me!" the woman said. "Who are you?"

Jasi held up her badge. "CFBI. We need to ask you a few questions," she eyed the woman's name tag, "Bonita."

"Me? I don't know how I can help."

Jasi set her data-com on the desk. "Voice record on."

Bonita eyed the device. "Do I need a lawyer?"

Jasi smiled. "I doubt it. We'd like to ask you about Mr. Winkler's schedule."

Bonita seemed relieved. "Oh, well let me see…" She turned the monitor so it faced them. "He always has―
had
― me record his schedule here. That way I could remind him if he's running late." She brought up the calendar program.

"Compare Winkler's data-com entries," Jasi said to Natassia. To Bonita, she said, "Can you state your name?"

"Bonita Valdez."

"And how long have you worked for Mr. Winkler?"

"Three years on Saturday. You know, the police already asked me these questions."

"Has Mr. Winkler always updated his data-com himself, or does he have you do it?"

"Oh no. He did that first thing every morning. He had his routine. Every morning he'd ask for a coffee, double cream, then we'd sit in his office going over the week's appointments. I'd tell him what I have booked in here." She pointed to the computer. "And he'd upload it to his appointment thingy."

Jasi held back a laugh.
Appointment thingy?

"His data-com?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah, that's what I said."

Natassia interrupted. "The appointments match, Jasi. Except for the ones for the dog groomer. There's no record of them on her computer calendar, only the letters
PT
."

"Dog groomer?" Bonita frowned. "The Winklers don't have a dog."

"That's what I figured," Jasi said. "So where did he go every Tuesday at one?"

"He never told me. I always recorded it as personal time." The woman looked at Natassia. "PT. If it was business related he'd have told me."

"The PT and groomer appointments match," Natassia replied.

Jasi sighed. "What was he doing for those hours?"

"Maybe he had someone on the side."

Bonita let out a loud snort. "Not Mr. Winkler. That was all in the past. His wife would have his you-know-what in a knot if he'd ever strayed. He was as loyal as they come, that one."

"Did he have any enemies that you know of," Jasi asked. "Anyone get pissed off at him recently, maybe make a scene?"

"No. Everyone liked Mr. Winkler. Everyone I see, anyway. It's pretty quiet around here. Things really only get heated at the House meetings."

"We'd like to see his office."

"The police already went through his things." Bonita let out a huff, then motioned to the double doors. "It's through there. Do you want me to come with you?"

"That's okay. We'll let you know if we need anything."

"Sure."

Winkler's office here wasn't much different from the one at home. Cool, dark colors and piles of paper. A computer monitor with a cordless mouse and keyboard sat in the middle of the desk. Beside it was a small stack of colored folders. They were all empty and unmarked.

Natassia sat down in the leather chair and turned on the computer. "I'll see if I can find anything here."

"Damn."

"What's wrong?"

"You'll probably need a password."

Natassia grinned. "A little old password isn't going to be a problem. I have an IHD." She held up what looked like a regular flash drive.

"How'd you get that?"

"I had it expressed here, overnight."

"I thought Investigative Hacking Devices weren't being issued to the CFBI until next year."

"Hacking is one of my…uh, special skills."

Jasi snorted. "Nothing psychic about that. You sure you're a PSI?"

Natassia chuckled. "I knew you were going to say that."

"So someone just
gave
you an IHD? Without CFBI authorization?"

Natassia plugged the device into the front of Winkler's hard drive. "I'm testing it. Kind of like Beta testing. I know the woman who designed it." She turned on the computer and tapped on the keyboard.

Jasi watched, amazed. "Friends in high places, huh?"

"If you only knew."

"How does it work, this IHD thing?"

"You plug it into a computer and it'll bring up a menu of systems it can hack into. It can even unlock secured doors if you plug it into your data-com. Great for breaking into places." She looked up and grinned. "Not that I'd ever do that."

"Of course not."

The monitor in front of them flickered.

"Check it out, Jasi. Here's a file on proposed budget changes, saved as individual pages. Winkler was working on it the week before he went missing. Some of the pages have been deleted."

"Completely?"

"Not even a comma left."

"What was he working on the day he went missing?"

Natassia scrolled down the page. "Nothing."

"Nothing? He had to have done something that day."

"That's what I'm thinking too." Natassia's fingers paused on the keyboard. "That's strange."

"What?"

Jasi peered over her shoulder, not really sure what she was looking at. The calendar had changed to a screen of code.

"Two hours before Winkler was found dead, someone transferred a file, then deleted it from the hard drive. They replaced it with a dummy file, but they forgot to change the properties."

"Well, we know Monty Winkler didn't do it. He'd been missing during that time. Any idea what was in the file?"

"All I have is the file name. PSI-0512."

"PSI? Really?"

"It's probably a coincidence, Jasi. It could stand for anything."

"Can't you dig it out with the IHD?"

"I could have if it hadn't been replaced."

"Where was it transferred to?"

"I'm not sure exactly. It was a mobile transfer. Whoever stole the file had to have done it from a three block radius of this building. They were probably parked right outside."

"So they accessed Winkler's computer from the street?"

"Yup."

"Can anybody do that?"

"Not exactly. With all the new security measures in place, especially for government officials, you need the IP address of the computer you want to hack, plus the password. And they would have needed an IHD to do the file transfer."

"How many IHDs did this woman you know make?"

"About two dozen, for testing purposes only at this stage. Another company will manufacture them as soon as some of the glitches can be worked out."

"And that's what you're doing. Working out the glitches."

"Yeah." Natassia gave her an apologetic look. "In this case the IHD is limited. I can get into any part of the hard drive, but I'd need the portable device used in order to get that information. It's one of the drawbacks of this version, something my friend is working on."

"Damn. We just can't get a break."

"Hold on. We know one thing for sure."

"What's that?"

"Whoever did this had access to an IHD. There are only a dozen prototypes being tested at this time. I have two. That leaves ten more out there."

"Unless someone stole one."

Natassia activated her data-com. "Call B-Tech."

"What are you doing?"

"I need to find out if the inventory has been tampered with."

While Natassia made her call, Jasi studied a photo of Winkler and Marilyn. They looked happy enough.

"Bad news," Natassia said behind her.

"There's an IHD missing?"

"Two. He must have taken an extra one for backup."

Frustrated, Jasi stepped away from the window. "The entire population of Ottawa, plus every law enforcement agency in Canada and the US knew about the IHDs."

"Yeah, but not many people know who designed them or where to get one."

"Jesus," Jasi said, rubbing her forehead. "What the hell is going on?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Jasi gave a nod. "Good work."

"I had a little help." Natassia held out her hand. A second IHD rested in her palm. "Take my backup IHD. You might need it."

Jasi frowned. "I'm terrible with modern technology."

"Plug it into your data-com and practice opening the hotel room door. After you plug it in, enter 911 on the keypad, then push the call button. It'll do the rest. Piece of cake."

Jasi tucked the IHD into her inner jacket pocket.

24

Porter Sampson's
office was as immaculate as the one in his home. The only noticeable difference was that the books on the built-in bookshelf were filed alphabetically by title this time, rather than by author.

"Sampson has way too much time on his hands," Ben observed, withdrawing a blue binder from the shelf. "I wonder if the binder from home is here."

He checked the label. It was from last year.

Sampson had said he'd misfiled the binder, but everything here seemed organized. Right down to the man's pens. Red, blue and black pens, all high quality, occupied three compartments and silver paperclips filled the fourth.