by J M Dolan
Jamee’s expression was pensive. “Our missing caregiver is drumming up lots of interest, including the international kind. An Inspector Aleksey Volkov from the Kiev Prosecutor’s Office is coming to Canada to investigate the possibility of an illegal immigration scam involving Odessa Koval. A conclusion that concurs with the direction our investigation is taking.”
Franie was facing the doorway, and now she nodded in that direction. “There’s Colette, so enough with the shop talk and onto the guy talk.” She punched Jamee lightly on the arm. “It’s time to spill the beans, girlfriend.”
“Fill her up.” Colette slid into the empty chair with a big smile for her friends. She was already reaching for the only remaining wine glass, before her butt hit the seat. Her two friends were as different as night and day, thought Jamee. Colette was a petite brunette, and true to her French heritage, spoke non-stop all the while gesturing animatedly. Franie was quiet, but quick and sharp as a tack. Her exotic Asian features serene and still like twilight.
“Jamee has something to share,” Franie announced with a wink to Colette. The women drank from their wine and looked at Jamee expectantly.
“In all the craziness of what’s been going on with Abi and Jeff, I’ve met someone.” She paused to gather courage. “And I think I’m interested. In fact, I’m thinking of making him a bad habit.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Colette chuckled. “That is a not a bad habit. It’s a good thing. Otherwise we’d all be priests and nuns.”
Jamee and Franie laughed.
“What’s wrong with that is — it’s a slippery slope to possibly a hard fall,” protested Jamee.
Franie put her hand over Jamee’s. Colette draped an arm over Jamee’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You deserve some romance and love in your life, Jamee,” said Franie.
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I could go for some hot sex. It’s been a long time.” Jamee sighed. “Yep, I’d be all over that like ants to a picnic.”
“A toast,” said Colette and she tapped her glass to Franie’s, “to the end of the long dreary Jamee drought.”
On that note all three drank.
The speculation on a new man in Jamee’s life set the chins to wagging. When Colette and Franie pressed her for information, Jamee played it cagey. It was far too early to admit the possibilities, even to herself. One day at a time. Hey, that could be another rule, but she didn’t need to add more to the list. Some days her life was too full of rules. Playing by all those rules made her feel old.
The conversation and girl time stretched almost to closing and it was late by the time she got home to the farm. As usual though, time spent with her girlfriends left her feeling energized and light of spirit. Before she turned out the lights, she took the time to send an email to Sam and Thomas, summarizing the information and discussion she’d had with Franie about the phony agency, a possible link to human trafficking, and the suspicious coincidence that the first visa issued by the company in question had been for a live-in caregiver named Veronika Koval.
What the heck, she’d just considered one more thing to check out — were the flights open-jawed? Slipping out of bed, Jamee tread lightly down the stairs and back into her home office. She retrieved the flight manifest pages, André faxed to her earlier. There it was – Odessa Koval, one-way, Veronika Kaminski, open-jawed. It gave her a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Chapter Eleven
Sam’s reply came through while she was having her morning coffee. The text read. Regarding the caregiver Koval name association – happy coincidence? I think good detecting on your part. Agree, suspect same woman – slight name variation. Sometimes criminals just aren’t that smart. Concur with your summation. Fraudulent agency could have human trafficking angle. Can I come out?
Jamee wasn’t sure she was quite ready for Sam to meet the family and begged off in her reply. Now she was feeling guilty. Abi just informed her she and the kids were on their way out with a friend for a little shopping. The house would be empty and her ready-made excuse was gone. What the hell, don’t be such a stick-in-the mud. She quickly emailed Sam back: Sorry for the confusion. I’ve just now been able to juggle things, come on out.
Thank God. Sam’s reply was immediate. I’m practically on your doorstep. FYI, I have coffee, deli stuff and Thomas and Inspector Volkov are with me. Sorry for the short notice.
And that, was Jamee’s cue to do a one-eighty inspection and make sure the house looked presentable. She’d have to check there weren’t wet towels hanging out on the bathroom floor.
Not that she was vain about the space she lived in, but neither did she want to be accused of being a slob. Truth was, she was pleased Sam felt comfortable enough with her and her tidy adobe, that he would simply pop out. Still, she glowered when a quick glance in the mirror was all the time she had before her security alarm went off. Well, life’s a bitch – no whining. Tess’s crazy incessant barking was better than a tripwire warning to announce company was on the doorstep. With a squinty look, she ran her fingers through her hair and marched to the door.
Her guests carted in containers of food and drink which Jamee directed to the kitchen. They would eat in that bright, homey space with sunlight pouring in from the bay window.
The blokes were all large of frame making Jamee appreciate, more than usual, her grandmother’s table. The heirloom folded up to the size of a sideboard, but when leaves were added, it could seat twelve. In the time her grandparents lived in the house, the table sat in the dining room. Back then, the home was renowned throughout the county for dinner parties and live music. Jamee’s grandmother was an accomplished pianist. She played professionally before becoming a farm wife. Later, most of her time had been taken up by the homestead and children, but, she’d kept her music alive through teaching students and playing at social gatherings. Jamee herself had a talent for it, but had very little reason to host parties. She found the special dining room table much more useful in the large farmhouse kitchen. Kitchens ruled as the hub of the farm home, and everyone naturally radiated to that casual space. It was a good place to share conversation, both the light and lively, and when necessary a serious confidentiality.
The men unpacked the deli food and once relieved of their duty, spaced out around the table. Sam handled the introduction of Inspector Volkov with practiced ease and Jamee had her first good look at the man, whose email started the investigation.
There was something intimidating about him, even though he answered Jamee’s welcome politely enough. It was an arrogance in his tone and body language that came through loud and clear. He could have had bully branded onto his forehead.
Intuitively she felt it in the cool glaze he’d levelled at her the minute he walked through her backdoor.
He was aloof and surly while they shared the meal and indisposed to make polite conversation. Jamee made an effort to draw him out, but Volkov wasn’t forthcoming. The few times he’d been called upon to respond, he’d spoken to her like she was a clueless child, or directed his answer to one of the men. It was pretty clear he wanted to ignore her. It made her cautious about how much they should be sharing with the man. When it came to the subject of the mysterious disappearance of her caregiver, the man literally had her spidey senses tingling. He’d practically bristled when she’d brought up the subject of the similarities of the names on the two visas.
Jamee had seen other men who were used to circulating in the good old boys club react in the same way. Politicians were famous for it, concentrate on the people in the room that could do something for you and speak man to man. Volkov leaned back with an air of detachment and Jamee sensed a master of manipulation. She wondered what he was really after.
It fell to Sam and Thomas to be entertaining. Jamee joined in on the small talk, but unobtrusively studied Volkov. He hadn’t asked her to call him Aleksey, and not surprisingly, Volkov or more formally Inspector, came naturally. She suspected, in the long run something less flattering wo
uld come to mind. There was an argument to be made against snap judgments, but Jamee put a lot of faith in her first impressions. The trick was going to be, not to let it show. Volkov was already measuring on her Grumpy Meter.
He was a big brute of a man with a bullet shaped, shaved head that only served to emphasize his overly large proboscis and narrow deep set, pale eyes. There was something sinister and aggressive about him that didn’t inspire team work.
“Where’s the family?” asked Thomas, as they cleared away the uneaten food. The table would be needed as a group work space. “I was looking forward to meeting your sister and checking out the family resemblance.”
Jamee chuckled. “I can assure you the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, strong Blair family genes. Everyone says you can tell we’re sisters — though she’s brunette, more Anglo-Saxon, less Gaul.”
“As I remember” chimed in Sam, “one of my better days in the oil patch was the day I meet Abi. She has an ineffable smile and the most amazing green eyes. Verdant green, I’d say.”
“Jeez, look at you, most men wouldn’t know mauve,” Jamee teased him.
“You’ve nailed it though,” her expression softened, “that’s my sister, pretty and popular — clever too. You’d enjoy Abi, and the kids are dynamite.” Pride filled her. “Next time, I’ll make sure you meet them, but this afternoon a girlfriend took the bunch of them off to do a bit of shopping. Getting a head start on Christmas was what Abi said. She is one, organized woman.”
“I’m sure your sister and her children are a riveting conversation, but perhaps we could get back to the topic at hand,” Volkov interrupted with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow. “My time is a scarce commodity.”
The breath went out of Jamee with a whoosh. “Need I remind you Inspector, you’re the one who contacted my sister initially? So, sorry we’re boring you.
Balancing a handful of leftovers, Jamee crossed through the swinging doors and into the panty. Sam had his head in the fridge packing away the cold cuts. She angled up behind him and was openly admiring his well-shaped tush when he stepped back, making contact in a very intimate area. The surprise at his limited backward motion and resulting soft impact caused him to straighten and bang his head on the refrigerator door.
“Frick”
“Oops,” said Jamee, “where’s your backup beeper?”
“Hey, you can’t blame me for unintentional contact.” He put out a restraining hand when she moved to return to the counter.
“What do you think about the Inspector?”
“I think I got out of there just in time. The smell of his after shave is so strong it nearly glued my lips shut. I haven’t smelt Brut like that since I was a teenager. Mind you Aqua Velva makes me gag.”
“I meant beyond his personal grooming habits,” drawled Sam.
“He’s no prince charming. Pompous ass comes to mind,” said Jamee.
“Pompous with a capital p,” Sam agreed.
“And, such a brilliant conversationalist — it gives a whole new meaning to the glass half empty turn of phrase.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in her tone. “He has what I would call negative charm. I think I liked it better when he was talking over me.” She ground her teeth and absently picked up a carving knife from the counter the sharp blade glinting in the light.
Sam let out a sharp laugh. “Remind me, not to get on your bad side.”
“Sorry,” said Jamee, “did I just betray my true thoughts?”
Sam chuckled and reached over to put a friendly arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side, he brushed his lips to her temple. His other hand plucked the knife from her fingers and returned it to the counter.
“I have to admit,” Sam agreed, “the Inspector’s a down right waste of skin. He never seems short of put downs, sarcastic remarks or pessimistic responses.”
Very much aware of the contact and the quick flutter his lips caused, she continued, “I realize I should be more generous, that benefit of a doubt thing.” She stepped to the counter to plug in the kettle and set cups and a plate of cookies on a tray. “It’s his, holier-than-thou attitude,” she admitted. “It makes me want to find fault.”
Jamee moved with Sam back into the kitchen. The others were finishing the last of their take-out coffee. It was an uncomfortable silence and it was Jamee who spoke first.
“As Inspector Volkov suggested,” she said briskly, “let’s get to the subject at hand. I understand Inspector, that Sam has filled you in on our initial investigation.”
The man managed a grunt of acknowledgment.
“We found it quite a coincidence,” said Jamee, “that Odessa Koval was traveling on the same two flights as a woman named Veronika Kaminski. And by fluke, in cross referencing information, I’ve turned up evidence that two years ago a woman going by the name, Veronika Koval, same last name as Odessa, also entered Canada to work as a live-in caregiver. Startling twist of fate or some connection here, I’m not sure,” cautioned Jamee. She watched Volkov carefully for any reaction to the introduction of the third woman. If he recognized the name, he hid it well. She caught Sam’s eye. He’d had the same thought for observation and gave her a very subtle, negative shake of his head. Thomas, in a heads up play to cover the interaction, pushed back from the table.
“I’ll go check on the kettle,” he volunteered.
Jamee mentioned the tray she’d prepared and Thomas assured her he could handle both.
“My source says Veronika Koval was hired to care for an elderly man. The man was an invalid and bedridden. He has since passed away. I was able to get his family’s contact information, and I’m waiting to hear back from the man’s son. My plan is to see if there are any leads that tie to our case,” Jamee continued.
With a nod to her, Sam picked up the thread of discussion. “Here’s a summary of the information compiled from the RCMP file.” His voice held a note of authority. “We are assuming, based on documents found on her person, that the body discovered on Stephen Avenue is Odessa Koval.
“The RCMP Lead Investigator, Sergeant Jock Dunbar, provided me with photographs of the crime scene.”
While he spoke, Sam passed out copies of the summary sheet to each member of the team. Taking up the coloured photographs, he placed them strategically around the table. Everyone took a moment to study the photos and to read through the summary. The list of facts was short. There wasn’t much to go on.
Volkov reached out a well-manicured hand to turn one of the pictures a hundred and eighty degrees and leisurely slid it to lay directly in front of him. In this picture the coroner had turned the woman’s head to provide a full frontal view. Volkov’s attention was directed specifically on a close-up of the woman’s face. Jamee leaned in.
“Inspector Volkov, perhaps we should review your email, which for us was the beginning. You said you came across some documents relating to Odessa which showed she faked being a caregiver and had no intention of staying in my sister’s employment for more than a few weeks. Have you any idea why that was?” Jamee wanted to get the ball rolling.
Volkov looked up abruptly from his study of the photo. The expression on his face reminded her of a predator, the eyes fierce and intense. For a moment, she was filled with shock and trepidation.
“Do I look like a mind reader, Ms. Blair?” Volkov spat the words with palpable contempt.
“No, you do not.” Condescending bastard comes to mind, though. She held his stare, waiting patiently until the mask of calm returned. It was like a curtain drawing closed.
Purposely, he stretched out the pause. “When her name came up in my investigation, and I realized who she was, I contacted her father. He admitted he hadn’t spoken with his daughter for nearly a year and hadn’t been aware she was planning to leave the country.” He oozed self-importance as he spoke.
Thomas cleared his throat and made an effort to ease the increasing tension. “Not a close family, I gather.”
“Close enough that if the matter isn’t tho
roughly investigated and a satisfactory explanation forthcoming as to why his daughter is now dead, the whole country will hear about it,” threatened Volkov.
“Okay.” Jamee kept her expression and voice neutral. “What we do know, is Odessa entered Canada two weeks before she was scheduled to, and it appears she might have been traveling with another woman. Inspector Volkov, were you able to check with the family to determine if there might have been anyone she would have been traveling with?”
There was a split second of silence. Volkov appeared to be weighing if there was an option to ignore her question. The fact that he considered Jamee insignificant was clear. When he did speak, he directed his response to Sam, making no attempt to mask his contempt of her.
“I spoke to the family about it but they were unable to be of any assistance in that regard,” answered Volkov. “To the best of their knowledge when Odessa left the country, she was traveling on her own.”
“Inspector, what made you suspect the agency was fraudulent and the girl faked her qualifications?” Sam’s tone was edgy. “We have no hard evidence indicating what Odessa might have been involved in, or what ultimately caused her to end up dead.”
Volkov swept the details aside. “We received an anonymous tip. It is a common enough occurrence in the Prosecutor’s office.”
Sam’s inclination was to push the subject but they were already nearing gridlock. The intensity of the room had become tangible.
“Since we’re brain storming here,” interjected Jamee, “it’s possible Odessa might simply have been trying to get away from her family or — maybe she met someone on the internet.” She paused for that thought to sink in. “Mail-order-bride, it’s all the fashion these days. Sadly, it’s not uncommon to orchestrate a ruse in order to meet a love interest. For many women that scenario is the only way to escape a harsh life. Odessa may have been desperate for a way to escape and criminals prey on that vulnerability.”
