Unredeemed

by J M Dolan

  “You’re top shelf, Thomas,” Jamee exclaimed as he surrendered the documents. “I’m all over this, thank you.” She smirked in satisfaction.

  “Hey, what about me?” interjected Sam.

  Jamee sent him a look that included raised eyebrows. “As I recall, you were being a bit of a mouse about it.”

  Thomas’s rumbling laugh had Sam rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s like having an avalanche advancing right on over you.” He grimaced ruefully.

  “But invigorating, old chap.” Thomas slapped Sam on the back. “God help me, I feel like I’m in the middle of a bloody soap opera. Let’s get to work.”

  Several hours and several cups of coffee later, they’d finally run through the Dorval and Pearson footage — twice. The initial footage showed passengers disembarking from the Ukrainian flight in Montréal. Then security footage, twelve days later, of passengers set to board a flight from Toronto to Calgary.

  “Jeez Louise,” said Jamee. “My eyeballs are going to fall out of their sockets, along with my brain. I feel like the blonde joke, it said concentrate so I put it back on the shelf.” That brought peals of laughter from both men.

  “Glad to see you still have your sense of humour.” Sam grinned. “And, no more coffee please, anyone.”

  “You’re right, shots all around.” Thomas suited action to words and pulled a Mickey of twenty-year-old Scotch from his briefcase. He poured them each a shot and they sat quietly, absorbed in their own thoughts.

  “I hate to be unconstructive,” admitted Sam, “but I haven’t the foggiest notion how this coincidence of both women being on the same flights ties together.”

  “Puzzling over it woke me at five-thirty this morning,” said Jamee, “and I just can’t seem to shake the feeling that it’s not a fluke.”

  Moving back to the computer, Sam hit a sequence of computer keys. Using a software recognition program and Odessa’s picture, he isolated the scenes to where she appeared each time in the footage. Next he split the screen, so that each scene appeared as a collage on the monitor.

  “Look here.” He positioned the monitor so Jamee and Thomas could see clearly. “It’s circumstantial, but each scene shows, Odessa Koval with another woman always nearby. We can’t see the other woman’s face but can recognize her from what she’s wearing. It’s my best guess this is Veronika Kaminski.”

  Sam isolated the images of the unidentified woman and zoomed in. She was slender, tall and young, perhaps in her early twenties. Her hat made it impossible to identify the colour of her hair, and her loose fitting coat hid most everything else.

  “I have an idea,” Jamee suggested. Can you take the footage of the women waiting in line at security, after departing the Ukraine to Montréal flight, zoom it up and roll it forward in slow mo?”

  Sam brought up the footage of the passengers arriving in Montréal. Typically lined up in a cattle chute fashion, the women could be seen waiting their turn to pass through security. As passengers reached the front of the line, they were directed to the first available CBSA officer’s booth.

  “Now can you show me, on a split screen, the bit of footage showing the women passing through Toronto security to board their flight to Calgary?” Jamee leaned forward.

  Sam brought up the second video and ran it simultaneously. Quiet filled the room as Sam and Thomas waited for Jamee to enlighten them.

  “The women are always very close together, in all shots.” Jamee pointed to the screen. Each time they line up, the older woman, our Odessa, is directly behind or beside the woman we believe to be Kaminski. If you look carefully and increase the zoom, I think it will confirm Odessa constantly has her hand on the other woman’s arm. I think they were traveling together.

  Sam made some adjustments and all three studied the screen intensely. Jamee’s observation seemed viable.

  “I may have just had an Oppenheimer moment,” Jamee’s voice trembled with excitement. “I think the women were definitely traveling together and it could go even beyond that. I’ve always had an odd sense, about matching Odessa’s picture with her voice and personality. I imagined Odessa as young, enthusiastic and somehow more vibrant than she appeared in her picture.” Jamee leaned forward.

  “Look at Odessa’s wardrobe — longish skirt, shirt with ties she’s made into a bow, baggy sweater-coat, and sensible shoes. She probably thought she was going for adorable, but it looks bloody creepy, if you ask me. She has the fashion sense of a Russian masseuse and ACDC rocker, Angus Young in his school boy outfit.”

  “On the other hand, though we see very little of the other woman’s clothes, under that plain and bulky coat, look at her shoes. Nice shoes, especially compared to Odessa’s sturdy oxfords — real “party girl” shoes. The picture’s grainy so it’s hard to be sure, but they definitely remind me of the shoes in the crime scene photos.”

  More silence followed. Sam zoomed up the magnification and zoomed in on the shoes hoping to get a better look.

  “I’d like to go out on a limb here and ask for a favour and, a leap of faith,” said Jamee.

  “Okay, I’ll nibble,” responded Sam.

  “You mentioned earlier the forensics team would likely run a DNA sample on the victim and on the fancy shoes found on the fifth floor of the parkade. I’m guessing they won’t match, so I think they should run both samples through whatever DNA data bases we have available and see what turns up.”

  “Can I ask why?” Thomas leaned back and frowned at her.

  “The spike heels would fit with an exotic dancer, but definitely odd for a live-in caregiver. We’ve been assuming both women were coming to Canada to fill live-in caregiver positions, based on evidence the fraudulent agency manufactured two LIC visas. My perception from speaking with Odessa was quite different, despite the pictures she sent. I was expecting someone more youthful than the woman we’ve identified as Koval. On the other hand, the very conservative clothing of the other woman says, “Caregiver” but not the shoes. Now they don’t fit with my preconceived ideas of traditional,” Jamee hypothesized.

  “Veronika Kaminski’s passport picture looks more like what I would have expected from Odessa Koval. I can’t seem to get my mind off it. It’s like trying to force a round piece into a square hole.”

  “My instinct is to try playing it like Tetris and keep spinning what facts we have until they fall into place. We accept that the agency that processed the visa applications was fraudulent. Forged documents could have been used to create false I.D.s.” Jamee tapped her fingers on the desk. “Is it feasible the identities were reversed?”

  “That’s quite a stretch,” volunteered Sam, “inside help would have been required, but I don’t have a better idea. Thomas?”

  “I’ve got bugger all, and who knows, it might be brilliant. I say go for it. Request the DNA testing.”

  “In that case,” said Sam, “I’ll take the request to the case officer.”

  Sam turned to Jamee to fill her in. “Thomas set up my original meeting with the Staff Sergeant. Dunbar is assigned to the RCMP, Criminal Investigations Unit. We seemed to hit it off, and he’s aware the RCMP is to fully cooperate with my investigation.

  “The Staff Sergeant might find the DNA follow-up request unusual, but he’s the one that specifically mentioned the shoes to start with. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have that piece of information to ponder on. I think, he himself found it odd or he won’t have brought it up.”

  “I’ll okay the paperwork when it crosses my desk,” agreed Thomas, “and in the meantime, I have my own follow up to initiate.” He handed Jamee a personal business card with his work and private contact information.

  “In light of these surveillance tapes and Jamee’s theory,” Avery directed a look to Sam, “someone at the CBSA must have been compliant. I’ll be having a close look at the border officers who were on duty when the women went through Customs.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if CBSA hasn’t already initiated an internal review,” Jamee spoke co
yly. At the pointed look from Avery, she added a bit defensively, “The CBSA were already deep into investigating the agency Jeff hired when I got involved.”

  “Nice work, Jamee,” Sam congratulated her. Despite his earlier teasing, he was quick to have her back. He raised his shot glass in salute and laid a hand over hers. “It’s good to have you aboard.”

  “Alright blokes, time to wrap it up,” said Thomas. “You guys still have a long drive back. We’ll get together in Calgary next time. I’m looking for a court rematch Sam, and after my last defeat I’m coming loaded for bear.”

  “Game on.” Sam laughed.

  Thomas walked them out and they said their goodbyes. Jamee’s car was in the underground parking of the federal building. On their way down, Sam offered to drive, admitting he was dying to drive the classic mustang. Now that – was male macho, he’d joked. She’d agreed, to both.

  Sam opened her car door and settled her into the seat. Brushing the back of her hand with his, he handed her the seat belt.

  Sam felt her reaction to the contact, an almost imperceptible shiver that made him change that brush of skin to a light clasp. Casual touching was not something normally part of his comfort zone but he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her soft smooth skin.

  The three-hour drive, under a night sky filled with stars and dancing Northern Lights, seemed to isolate them from the outside world. Jamee’s excellent, after market stereo, pumped out soft rock and cocooned in the comfort of the car, the atmosphere was conducive to sharing bits and pieces of their personal lives.

  Jamee learned that Sam had a sister, who worked with indigenous peoples of Canada, particularly the settlements in the north. It seemed they were very close. His parents were still living, and both siblings spent as much time with them as they could. Surprise, surprise — she’d discovered Sam, had a cat he called Speechless, because it talked too much.

  He would like to have had a dog, but it didn’t fit in with his hours and current lodgings. “Gotta call someplace home,” Sam commented. “I’m currently house-sitting a downtown loft.”

  “What about you?” inquired Sam? “Tell me about your work.”

  “I like to call myself, a multi-career expert,” declared Jamee.

  “I thought you were some kind of government analyst, now freelancing as a research and solutions specialist.” Sam quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “I am, but before that, I had twenty-three different jobs that made me the specialist I am today.”

  “Like what?”

  “Retail sales, medical reception and data entry, veterinary assistant, medical lab technician, pharmacy technician, x-ray tech, dental assistant,” she took a breath, “water treatment plant operator, business owner, hair stylist, outfitter and guide,” another breath, “economic development officer, chamber of commerce manager, conference coordinator, student services coordinator, restaurant manager, import/export documenter,” Jamee filled her lungs, “bank teller, courier driver, daycare provider, industry consultant, a sneaker testing security of cyber companies and presently,” she took a long deep breath, “government research and solutions advisor.” Jamee snuggled deeper into the comfort of her seat. “Of course, a varied educational background was beneficial to each change.”

  “You remind me of a song, “I’ve Been Everywhere Man,” jested Sam. “What’s with all the careers?”

  “When I was younger, I kept my nose buried in a book. Then one day, I realized I was living my life through the experiences of others, instead of building my own.” Jamee turned in her seat to study Sam in the darkness. She realized she wanted him to understand who she was and what it was that drove her.

  “I have an appetite for mixing driven energy with periods of laze and I tend to get caught up with both. I like the “endorphin buzz” I get from doing all sorts of things and balance that with the cozy comfort of laziness that usually follows. Not, that I don’t wish the energy buzz lasted longer. Too long lazy, and I tend to get depressed.”

  “I can understand that,” said Sam. “There are never enough hours to go around.”

  “I found eventually, mainstream jobs become routine and ultimately boring and tedious. I look for new challenges and I like a bit of adventure. Everything and anything interests me. Sometimes, I feel quite driven — my sister would say stubbornly focused. I prefer to think of it as a determination to accomplish goals.”

  “Boy, and I thought I was an “A” type personality,” said Sam.

  “Oh, I assure you.” Jamee laughed. “I can be quite the couch potato at times, and I’ll share a little secret, I’ve been known to hate the gym. I don’t generally work much over-time and I definitely take vacations.”

  “Well, you’ve got me there,” said Sam. “I’ve been labelled a workaholic and undomesticated. An ex-girlfriend once told me, I was like living with an adolescent teenager. I’m past my randy youth but there’s been several more exes, with the same opinion.”

  “There are certain rules for men living with women,” Jamee pointed out. “Cleanliness is a priority, don’t blow your nose in the shower, don’t pee on the floor, and put the seat down when you’re done.”

  “I’ll have you know, I’ve trained my dragon in the ways of bathroom decorum,” said Sam.

  The remark brought a smile and a snort from Jamee.

  “So, is this one of your famous rules,” asked Sam?

  “It should be,” asserted Jamee, “but it’s actually a general rule, for all adults.”

  They laughed, enjoying each other, the repartee and ease of being together.

  “Currently seeing anyone, Sam?”

  “Not now and haven’t been for some time, you?”

  “Ditto,” said Jamee.

  Sam pulled the mustang up beside his BMW, by now sitting solo in the open lot and slid the car into park. Turning towards Jamee he took her in his arms. He figured they’d both been thinking about it. He might as well take the initiative. She was soft and warm, alert to the possibilities. Those incredible eyes studied him — measuring him.

  While one arm held her close, he used his other to skim a hand through the hair at the nape of her neck and felt a shiver run through her shoulders. He wanted to take his time, to heighten the moment. He couldn’t remember ever reacting to a woman the way he did to Jamee. There was something about her that drew him. Something that felt familiar and comforting He’d wanted a taste of her right from the beginning. He wouldn’t wait any longer.

  The hand that had fired the nerve endings on the nape of her neck, now gently cradled the back of her head as he drew her mouth closer to his. She was tucked into his shoulder and her breasts pressed against his chest. He brought his other hand to the curve of her jaw and lightly brushed his thumb across those luscious lips. Her breath was a whisper of warmth as she opened her mouth slightly and ran the tip of her tongue across his thumb.

  Desire slammed into his gut, shaking his control. His sharp intake of air resonated loudly against her soft sigh. He’d intended a gentle touch of lips. Instead, he took her mouth with a passion that he struggled to restrain. It bucked inside him like a wild thing.

  It was amazing, it was wonderful; it was too fast. Jamee brought her hand to Sam’s chest to gain some separation and control.

  Sam broke off the kiss then strained to rein in his hunger, his senses on fire. She’d tasted tart-sweet, like cranberry and apricot, all mixing and swirling, making him visualize his brain going down the drain.

  Jamee pulled back slightly. “God, I don’t know what to say about that.”

  “Jamesina Blair, lost for words? A rarity, I’m sure,” teased Sam.

  “I think my brain shut down,” countered Jamee.

  “I’d like to try that again.” Sam groaned. “But at this exact moment, I’m a little afraid, too.”

  “Aye, I think a breather would be in order,” whispered Jamee huskily.

  She casually moved back into her seat and opened the car door.

  “Since that w
as quite a way to say good night, I think I should take my exit.” She stepped out of the car to move around to the driver’s side.

  Sam met her and held open the car door as she got in. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, after my meeting with Volkov. Maybe we can get together in the evening to discuss strategy.” And other things. Sam closed the door and watched her buckle her seat belt then walked to his own car for the drive home.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, Jamee was glad to see the lights of the farm house. Her brain felt like scrambled eggs, and not just from hours of surveillance tapes. That was some…kiss. Nobody had ever ignited her passions so quickly or so hotly. The only way she was going to get in some sweet dreams, instead of a restless night’s sleep, was to run a nice hot bubble bath and listen to a particular CD.

  Jamee reckoned there were emotional bridges she was going to have to think about crossing but that would keep until tomorrow. Her thoughts tonight, were for the promise in that kiss.

  Chapter Nine

  Inspector Aleksey Volkov arrived early. He liked to get the lay of the land and a feel for the terrain. With his back to the wall, he sat in the franchised coffee shop studying the patrons. Business at the take-out counter was brisk.

  He couldn’t understand North America’s singular addiction to lattés and cappuccinos. It was hardly real coffee. No wonder they were all dying — too much refined sugar and a lack of exercise. Srakas! Who in their right mind would stand in line an indeterminate amount of time, just to get a sugar-caffeine fix?

  To help fill the time, Volkov pondered his current assignment. The Prosecutor’s Office in Kiev had turned out to be a perfect fit for him. It allowed him the opportunity to follow both the criminal element and any product moving in and out of Ukraine. There was lots of action in that regard.

  Today, he was staking out the lobby of the Harry Hays Building in Calgary, hoping to get a first impression of the man he was there to meet. His instructions were to work in tandem with Special Investigator, Inspector Samuel Duncan Craig.