by J M Dolan
He originally approached the Minister of Public Safety for assistance, an action that had netted him Thomas Avery, the Minister’s liaison. Avery was responsible for cooperation between their two countries and the matter had been referred to Inspector Craig.
Volkov was looking forward to the challenge and opportunity presented by the recent development in his assignment. Inspector Craig was heading up a task force, examining illegal immigration into Canada. He was particularly interested in Craig’s investigation into human trafficking.
Volkov had a passion for history and considered himself a scholar and something of an authority on the subject. He firmly believed that some cultures were meant to have supremacy over others and Canadians though resilient, didn’t measure up to his ideals.
Inspector Aleksey Volkov held himself in high esteem. The old Soviet Union was what he longed for. That was a time when his superiority to others would have been rightfully acknowledged.
Canadians, with their polite manners and holier than thou attitudes had just as black and subversive a history as any other nation. Having studied slavery in Canada, Volkov was keen to debate the issue with Inspector Craig.
Legislation to ban slavery in Canada had been introduced in 1793, against the wishes of the people. Even today, despite the do-gooders, immigrants and indigenous peoples still faced contempt and open discrimination. Indeed, many temporary foreign workers were treated not much better than slaves. Volkov surmised Canada’s ability to put on a naïve and innocent face was a bold defense that hid the same dark heart seen the world over. It spoke to his belief in the divine supremacy of a purified white race.
He’d grown tired of the coffee shop and his unsuccessful attempt at surveillance. It was time to relocate to the waiting room outside Inspector Craig’s office. The office lobby was small but well appointed. An older woman presided as receptionist, assistant and anteroom guard. She’d been professional and welcoming when he’d announced himself and immediately offered him an assortment of beverages, plus the assurance that Inspector Craig was on time for their appointment. He’d declined the refreshment and the invitation to wait in a comfortable looking chair. He liked to think standing conveyed a measure of authority. Intimidation was power.
* * *
Sam opened his office door; he wanted to invite Inspector Volkov in himself rather than have Nancy announce him. The human brain was hardwired to observe detail on both the conscious, as well as subconscious level, and Sam liked to be ahead of the game. Sometimes even the minutest reaction could disclose a person’s character.
He spotted his visitor immediately. Volkov was standing, gazing out at the Calgary skyline, his posture ram rod straight; his stance arrogant. As if sensing Sam’s presence, Volkov turned expectantly and looked directly towards the inner doorway. His impassive eyes fixed on Sam, revealing little. Sam’s first take was that the man radiated something cold and austere.
“Inspector Volkov, thank you for meeting with me so soon. I hope you were able to get some rest after your long flight.” Sam crossed to the Inspector and extended his hand. The men were of about the same height, but while Sam exuded whipcord strength, Volkov’s bulk was weight room fashioned.
“Inspector, or Volkov please, Inspector Craig,” said Volkov. The man’s English was excellent.
“Then let’s make it Craig,” said Sam, still measuring the man before him. Handshakes could be deceptive. The offer alone was not enough to build trust. Friendly, was not the vibe he was getting.
The men moved into Sam’s office, and without preamble, Volkov proceeded to review and compare the information he had regarding Odessa Koval. Without waiting for Sam’s comments, Volkov set aside the paperwork and addressed him with an intensity bordering on intimidation.
“I asked my superiors to be specifically assigned to this case — a matter of obligation,” Volkov boasted. “A family of influence in Ukraine has requested that I personally see to the safety of the woman involved.” There was an air of authority and command in his tone that warred with the idea of teamwork.
“I would like you to understand,” he spoke the words in a clipped, abrupt manner, “that Odessa Koval’s father has worked for many years in the employ of a politically connected and prominent Kiev family.”
This time, there was no attempt to hide the arrogance Sam glimpsed earlier. It fairly crackled now as Volkov dug in. “It is in the best interests of the Prosecutor’s office that the girl be located. The girl’s father was unaware of his daughter’s plans and is distraught she left the country.
“It is our contention,” he continued, “the girl was coerced into agreeing to the live-in caregiver program. The fraudulent Canadian immigration placement agency must be brought to justice,” Aleksey Volkov demanded. “That action and, the immediate return of Odessa to her family, would go a long way to assuage the damage done by this most unfortunate circumstance. It is important both our countries are seen to be giving this case the highest priority,” warned Volkov. “I trust I can expect your full co-operation in resolving this matter as soon as possible.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, his full focus on the man opposite. It was hard not to be provoked by the man’s abrasive manner. He felt certain Volkov wouldn’t take the news Sam had to give him very well.
“Inspector, I regret your information regarding the missing woman is not up to date. The police discovered a deceased woman in downtown Calgary in the early morning hours. Documents on her person, I am sorry to say, identified the woman as Odessa Koval.” Sam kept his voice neutral and professional.
“The body was found at the base of a city centre parkade, “Sam quoted from the report he picked up from his desk, “and her injuries were consistent with a fall. Death would have occurred within minutes. The RCMP, have taken over the case classifying it as a suspicious death. The partnering agencies are the RCMP, the CBSA, the Attorney General’s office, a government contracted analyst and yourself.’
Volkov rose from his chair to stand rigidly before Sam. His face betrayed disappointment and a glimpse of some strong emotion that was quickly shuttered, but his body language screamed anger.
“I am shocked to learn the woman is dead. I traveled all this way expecting a relatively simple retrieval,” Volkov bellowed, before catching himself and lowering the decibel level. “This will not sit well with my superiors who will hold your country entirely accountable. And further, I must object to the number of departments involved.” It will only dilute the efficiency with which this matter can be dealt with. It’s overkill, as you westerners would say. I demand Canada’s full co-operation and priority on this case. I want definitive answers to give to the girl’s family,” he demanded.
“The person or persons will be brought to justice, but it will take a team effort which is why we have several good people on it. The numbers sound worse than they are,” Sam refused to be intimidated. “The RCMP is operating solely on my direction so that reduces the involvement to four. The other two players are Thomas Avery, your contact from the CBSA, and the analyst who received your initial email. For us,” he paused studying Volkov, “that’s how this all started.” It seemed to Sam, that Inspector Volkov was part of the mystery and perhaps privy to some unknown information. The man’s integrity had yet to be verified.
“Who is this analyst?” hissed Volkov, noticeably agitated and sidestepping explanation.
“Jamesina Blair,” responded Sam. “She’s the sister of Abi Swynia, the woman you contacted regarding Odessa Koval. You’ll be meeting Ms. Blair and Thomas Avery shortly,” said Sam calmly.
“That is an amazing coincidence,” said Volkov. “Do not create a blunder by making light of the power behind this situation.” His tone was menacing. “The father’s employer is very well connected. He will want answers. The woman’s death is not only tragic, but could lead to a volatile political situation. Are you certain there is no mistake?”
“As I said, we are in the very early stages of investigation.” Sam ch
ose his words with care. “The deceased had documents on her person indicating she was Odessa Koval and we have no particular reason to doubt that.” For the sake of diplomacy, Sam was willing to attempt to defuse the situation.
“We have discovered,” Sam confided, “a discrepancy in Koval’s departure and arrival dates. She was to be met at the airport by Ms. Blair two days ago. The employer was under the impression Odessa was arriving directly from Kiev. However, we have obtained information that indicates she actually entered Canada two weeks prior to that date – possibly in the company of another woman. Do have any knowledge that she might have been traveling with someone?” asked Sam.
“Any information I have,” responded Volkov, “indicates she was on her own. I will confirm this with her family.” Volkov had composed himself following his outburst. A mask of indifference had fallen over his face. His next words were spoken in polite monotone. “Can you not question the individuals from the placement agency?”
“A dead end. CBSA raided the offices and they were empty. They’d pulled up stakes and high tailed it.”
“In other words you have nothing,” chided Volkov, “a female body without confirmation of identity, a fraudulent agency that has disappeared like magic and corruption at your border. Am I missing something?”
Volkov’s voice was increasingly sarcastic. “How do you deal with incompetence in this country, Inspector Craig?”
“Well, we don’t have a Siberia. If that’s what you’re asking,” Sam kept his tone even and civil with an effort. He hated to think the man was getting under his skin, but damn, his patience was running thin. In another attempt to play diplomat, Sam brought out the vodka. He kept a small bar with coffee, liquor and biscotti. Setting out two shot glasses he poured an ounce into each, then one-handed them onto the desk in front of Volkov.
“I don’t want this going off the rails,” said Sam, as he picked up one of the shots. “Daborja,” Sam tossed back the drink. God be dammed, it was ten o’clock in the bloody morning, the liquid left a fiery trail in his innards, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
Anger still raged in Volkov’s eyes but he picked up his shot glass and returned Sam’s salute. “Daborja.”
“I apologize,” said Volkov adopting a lighter tone. “My frustration is not directed at you. It is better that we find the answers as a team.” His smile didn’t quite remove the animosity in his eyes. “Believe me, the investigation would not be happening any faster in my country. Here at least, you have more resources to call upon and good Canadian vodka.” Words that he looked like he might choke on thought Sam.
“I think our foursome should get together,” said Sam. “I’ll get in touch with Ms. Blair and Avery. Where are you staying? I’ll get a meet and greet set up, hopefully today.”
* * *
Volkov provided the name of a low budget hotel nearby, then gave Sam his cell number for contact. He was actually springing for the extra cost of a room at the four-star Palliser, but it wasn’t anything he wanted Craig, or the team, to be aware of. He hated budget, but needed to present the image that was expected in this bourgeoisie society.
Aleksey took his leave. He had his own consultations to set up and was sorely disappointed in this one. He’d played the game badly. What the hell was wrong with him that he’d lost control? A long time ago he’d learned to hide his emotions to achieve his objectives and he knew better than to push so hard. He hadn’t liked Samuel Craig much, and even in the brief encounter, he could tell they were worlds apart. The entire situation put him in a bad mood. The news was bad, the people he would have to appease, worse. What went so wrong that resulted in the damn woman turning up dead? It appeared he’d made an error in judgment in sending the email. At least the placement agency was one less headache. Christ, he needed more than a vodka shot, he needed to pound something. He knew just the person to call.
Chapter Ten
Jamee poured luscious red from the bottle they’d decided on and handed a plain stemmed wine glass to Franie. She picked up the other for herself and plopped down into an overstuffed chair. It was girl’s night out and Jamee definitely needed some “girl time”. The hang out was the one they’d used since college days. Staff had changed some, but the owners were the same and it had a kind of family feel. Closing time was early on week nights, so no chance for morning hangover regrets.
Franie sipped at her wine and studied Jamee over the rim of her glass.
“You seem a bit antsie for a girl’s night out,” said Franie, “what’s up”.
“You’re right. I really need to relax. There’s a lot going on right now in my personal life, and I guess I’m used to having a clearer separation between private and business.” Jamee paused and savoured the wine.
“Abi and the kids moved in today. It’ll take some getting used to, not having the farm house to myself, but I’m confident we can work it out. Abi and I have always been close, and we normally spend a lot of time together, so that shouldn’t be anything new. And, the kids are great.” She reached for a handful of party mix then shoved the bowl towards Franie.
“Adaira’s thirteen and quite mature and all so anxious to grow up. I worry a bit about Alana — middle child you know.” Jamee popped a few snacks into her mouth.
“She’s trying to make up for the things that have gone wrong with the family,” Jamee said. “I see her taking on more responsibility than she probably should — a real little nurturer. Then there’s Angus, our boisterous seven-year-old, in many ways he’s still Abi’s baby. The farm will be good for him. It gives the kids a place for quiet, a place away from everyone else — a place where they don’t need to pretend.”
“Just like it’s always given you,” said Franie with conviction. “Are you sure you can share?”
“For a while,” Jamee said. “Besides, I don’t see anything better. Abi can continue to work from the farm, and she needs that. She won’t have to worry as much about the kids, which means her MS will be more under control. There’ll be less pressure on everyone living with me in the country.”
“What about your added pressure?”
“What can I say,” Jamee gave a lop sided smile, “it’s my motto — family first.”
“That sucks,” argued Franie. “It’s time you thought about saving some of that first for yourself.” Franie reached over to give Jamee’s arm a squeeze “It’s time Jamee, to put aside the old baggage and start again.”
Jamee knew the history Franie was speaking of, but took a sip of her wine before replying. She was still a little undecided about sharing her new found feelings. Her lament was she needed more time. But, she’d made up her mind on the way over that if she didn’t fork over at least a piece of what was going on in her personal life, she’d be in danger of breaking the girlfriend code.
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” Jamee confessed, “and I have a little news to share, but let’s get business over with first. Once Colette gets here we won’t have time for anything but guy talk.”
“Right Oh,” agreed Franie. “I have very little for you, on the placement agency Jeff used. To my mind that in itself speaks volumes. I tracked back five years to pull up any issued visas connected to that agency. “There was activity in the past three years but nothing prior to that. The visas were mostly for short term temporary foreign workers, all were women. The type of work was interesting, mainly exotic dancers or massage therapists. Only one other live-in caregiver approval beside Koval’s and that was the first visa ever processed under the agency’s name, three years earlier.
“We’re a day late and a dollar short here,” cut in Jamee. “Odessa was apparently issued both a live-in caregiver visa and a temporary work permit. Why ever would she need both?”
“You’re chasing a dog’s tail on that one,” said Franie. “I couldn’t find out much about the individuals who were granted visas through the agency. There is record of the various temporary workers coming into Canada, but not their exit. The exception is t
hat first live-in caregiver applicant. She left employment just shy of her time to qualify for permanent residency and there’s nothing to show that she ever completed the required time. Her employer was listed, so I did a little digging around. She was hired to care for an elderly man. He was an invalid and bedridden. He’s since passed away. I’m waiting to hear back from the man’s son.”
“What was the woman’s name?” asked Jamee.
“Now that’s an interesting twist. The visa was issued to Veronika Koval.”
“What a happy coincidence,” remarked Jamee. Her sarcasm said she didn’t buy it for a minute. “So to clarify – we have my Odessa Koval traveling on the same two flights as a Veronika Kaminski and by fluke about three years ago, a Veronika with the same last name as Odessa’s, entered Canada as a live-in caregiver?”
“I’m not sure how common these names are, but it does seem odd,” agreed Franie.
“It’s obvious the agency is fraudulent. There might even be something more malevolent going on here. A few years ago, I did some research work for the RCMP on a report they were compiling, on human trafficking. This agency Jeff found has all the earmarks. Problem is, I can’t see where the live-in caregiver angle figures in. I will though.”
“One last thing, said Franie, “I wasn’t able to discover the immigration category declared upon entry for either Koval or Kaminski. Odessa’s visa still hasn’t been activated, but we’re convinced she came through Customs over two weeks ago. Veronika Kaminski is listed in the system as having legal status, but it doesn’t say what that is in any detail.
“In the notes on her file, someone at the government call centre took an overseas call from Kaminski priory to her recent entry to Canada but all it states is live-in caregiver application abandoned. Then, in a separate note, work permit approved. Neither was dated. It’s all very suspicious and it’s understandable that the Minister’s office has requested an enquiry to review the files of both women.”
