by J M Dolan
“I’d concur,” agreed Sam. “I hear ‘help’, then something that sounds like, ‘got trouble’, and definitely ‘note’, whatever that means.”
“No idea,” said Jamee, “but besides sweeping the house for fingerprints and having the voice recording analyzed, we should also add analysis of the mail box. Note made me think of the mailbox and I just checked Abi’s. It was empty. But, there was a red stain on the inside hinge, it might be blood. It’s reaching, but I think it’s worth examining to see if it matches the dead woman or the blood on the shoes.”
“Why not?” Sam sighed. “Reaching is all we’ve got. There’s one more thing we should consider. I found out from Thomas when he gave me the news about Volkov, that the CBSA audit is showing Koval and Kaminski entered Canada under the Temporary Foreign Worker program as exotic dancers. It’s looking more and more like the two women are tied together somehow.
Sam shot Jamee an admiring look and a grin. “Thomas was quick to give you, and your computer expert, full credit for the discovery. In fact, he may have mentioned a merit bonus. He’s crediting your insight as instrumental in detecting a flaw in their system design. On their own initiative, he doesn’t think the CBSA Investigative Team would have uncovered it. Oddly enough, the information was buried in the system rather than deleted,” summarized Sam.
“Which makes me wonder, if the purpose for leaving the information on the system was for a future application,” speculated Jamee. “You know, saving it for something down the road?”
“All too true,” agreed Sam. “Thomas says, ‘If in doubt, follow the money’. He has the investigators tracking financials, to see if there was a payoff. Apparently, the same two officers were on duty when the temporary foreign worker visas were issued and when the women left Toronto and Montréal. He’s gained a warrant to audit their bank accounts.” Sam drained the last of his coffee and gave a negative shake of his head to her gesture for more.
“Koval hasn’t checked in with any of the employers listed by the fraudulent agency. The visas under scrutiny were in the system with assigned authorization numbers, but without names attached.”
“So, that leaves a huge question.” Jamee tapped a finger on the table. “Why would the woman need two visas? Maybe the border officers didn’t erase the fraudulent visa numbers once the women went through, because the plan was to leave the door open for further use of those visas. Maybe like a swinging door, new women every few months.”
Sam took up the thread. “It would be hard to use the numbers again, with the visas that are already on the system, but they might be able to forge the identity of the person the number is assigned to. Hell, this thing is looking like a larger problem all the time.”
“Well, mo charaid,” Jamee’s voice took on a husky note, “don’t give up. It’s a long dark tunnel, but there’s a two-watt bulb at the end.”
Sam let out a laugh and his face lit up in amusement.
She grinned back, enjoying how handsome he was when that smile brought out those dimples.
“We know more now than we did yesterday,” continued Jamee, “even if it still doesn’t make any sense.”
“What’s on your agenda?”
“Originally, my thought was to stay here for a couple of days to get the house ready for sale. The realtor wants to start showing the property, and Abi has a friend available to help her while I’m away. With these new developments, I’m having second thoughts. I’ll have to wait until your guys have had the opportunity to sweep the place for prints and DNA sample the mailbox stain.
“In the meantime, I’ll speak with Franie Le, my CIC contact. I want to see if she has anything for me on the family that employed Veronika Koval. She’s the first caregiver the fraudulent agency processed.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Sam. “I’ll take the mailbox in with me now and place an urgent request for the rest. I should be able to get forensics to sweep the house today or tomorrow morning at the latest. That should get you back in to house prep by tomorrow night. Any chance I could interest you in a dinner date tomorrow evening?”
Jamee gave herself a little mental shake. She laughed in surprise. “Smooth, I like how you fit that all in. Tomorrow for dinner sounds great. You can pick me up here, say around six thirty?” She gave him a saucy grin. “And just to clarify, is that a dinner date or business?
“Definitely date, and six thirty it is.” Sam rose from the table. “Come, give me a hand outside.”
Jamee moved through the various rooms securing windows, making sure not to touch anything unnecessarily, then locked the back door. Sam was at the mailbox examining the fastenings, wearing disposable gloves. He had a Swiss Army knife in his right hand and was opening the screwdriver blade from the impressive assortment of choices.
“Aren’t you all MacGyverish?” Jamee teased.
“A Jack of all trades,” agreed Sam. “Can you hold the base steady while I remove the screws?” He handed her a spare pair of disposable gloves.
“You come prepared with gloves?” she questioned, as she slid on the gloves and anchored the mailbox base.
“Scout’s number one rule, be prepared,” he said which had Jamee laughing.
“Are you poking fun at me?” She looked up at him mischievously.
Sam thoroughly distracted from his task, cupped her face in one hand drawing her in and laying his lips lightly to hers. He caught the slight sigh as her sweet, full mouth softened in invitation and he gently deepened the kiss.
“Too bad my hands are busy,” she teased. “But tomorrow night might be different.”
“Babe, back at you,” said Sam. “I’d best get this job done before the neighbours really have something to gossip about.”
* * *
Sam left, mailbox in hand. Jamee got into her car and called Franie. Jamee figured she had an hour before the RCMP, clean-sweep-crew, arrived. She hoped Franie had something new to add to the puzzle. The pieces were starting to pile up, but not many were fitting together. That’s how puzzles went. You twist a little this way, twist a little that way and once you got the first few connected, things just fell into place. This case was like a green tomato in a paper bag, just waiting to ripen.
“Hey Franie.”
“Hey back, Jamee.”
“Sorry for this briefing call. I’d hoped we could get together for a discussion, but I’m calling from Abi’s and I have to leave here soon.”
“How is it?” asked Franie.
“Blimey, there’s a hole in the boat and you know how that goes. Dwain the tub,” grumbled Jamee, “I’m drowning.”
Franie laughed at Jamee’s quip and her passable attempt at an English accent.
“Things are murky with the case and our Ukrainian investigator didn’t pan out,” Jamee added.
“Any particular reason you want to share?”
“Let’s just say it was his one-directional sense of humour and leave it at that.”
Jamee let the statement hang for a moment then switched gears to the reason she’d called. “Girlfriend, any news from the son of the old guy Veronika Koval worked for? I could sure use a picture.”
“Your timing’s impeccable as usual. I spoke with him this morning, and he only just messaged me a picture of Veronika Koval. I’ll warn you, the picture’s a little grainy. His father is in it as well, but it was taken at close range, so you get a good look at her face. The father was lying in an invalid bed and the woman appears to have been sitting on the edge.
The son says, he remembers Veronika not being very pleased he took the picture and wanted it deleted. He insisted on keeping the photo as it was a close-up of his father, one of only a couple he has, and the last one taken before his father passed away. I gather the father was a gruff old bastard, and he and his son weren’t very close. The son rarely saw him, and it was only by chance he decided to visit that day. The father passed away that same evening, shortly before midnight. He had a bad heart and had been bedridden for some time, hence the need for t
he caregiver. The son couldn’t give Veronika much of a reference, as he’d never spoken to his father specifically about her capability. I gather he was grateful to be relieved of any responsibility for the old man’s care and wellbeing, once the caregiver arrived.”
“I texted a copy to you while we’ve been talking, said Franie. You should be getting it any minute now. I emailed it as well. You’ll be able to enlarge and print it, if you need too.”
“Thanks Franie. Data just popped into my messages, likely the picture. Let me have a look.”
Jamee parked the call on hold, while she opened the text and the attached picture. Her reaction was immediate and her voice urgent when she spoke to Franie.
“Holy cow, up until now we didn’t know jack shit, but this is a game changer. I think we just found our Avatar. Franie, the woman in this picture is a dead ringer, no pun intended, for the dead woman.
“Gad,” Jamee took a deep breath, “it looks like we have two women, and three names. That’s made a muck of it. Who’s who?
“Thanks for the extra leg work on this friend. You know what they say. You don’t need to find the answer – if you know who to ask.” She could hear Franie’s chuckle. “I’ll forward your text to Sam right away. This definitely gives us something concrete to add to our murder board.”
“No problem, glad to be of help.” Franie paused, “I know it’s not our usual night, but have you time for after work cocktails? I’m off early today.”
“Sure, Palliser Lounge at four okay?
“Perfect,” said Franie.
* * *
Jamee was just finishing checking her emails and firing off responses when the RCMP sweep team arrived. The vehicle they pulled up in was non-descript and the men were all plain clothes officers, something she was relieved to see. It wouldn’t help to sell the house if the neighbours were all suspicious of some kind of goings on.
One man with strong features stuck out from the others. The neighbours were definitely going to notice him. The man was a shade over average height with a strong build. The uniform was spit and polished RCMP. He looked starched but the face was friendly enough and the grayish-blue eyes intuitive. A very professional, Sergeant Jock Dunbar, introduced himself and the two crime lab techs with him. Jamee explained the house was for sale and Dunbar assured her they would be in and out with as little fuss as possible.
She let him know it wasn’t equipped with an alarm system. Once she let them in, all he had to do was set the lock and pull the door shut as they left. His easy manner and intelligent confidence put her at ease.
Jamee provided Dunbar with her cell phone number, in case he needed anything and then returned to her car. She had several errands to tend to and one client meeting before she was to hook up with Franie at the Palliser.
Chapter Fourteen
The Palliser was an important historic and architectural landmark in downtown Calgary. When the Canadian Pacific Railway arrived in 1883, Calgary was but a simple police post and trading centre, strategically situated adjacent to the majestic Rocky Mountains. But, by 1914 when the hotel was conceived, it had grown into a bustling city and tourist destination. Many world class events and handshake deals had been struck in this old gal, indeed – if these walls could talk.
Jamee waited for Franie, nursing a drink in the Canadian Pacific Railway Pavilion, part of the magnificent glass rotunda. The Pavilion provided Jamee with a unique look at vintage CPR train cars. Permanently displayed outside the glass walls, the train cars served to recognize the history of partnership between the hotel and the rail company.
Franie Le slid into the seat across from her, a little out of breath. “Crap, traffic’s getting worse all the time,” Franie grumbled.
“Yep, it sure is a bummer living in the city,” agreed Jamee.
“Jerk” Franie shot back. Jamee smirked.
She and Franie had an ongoing contest as to the best place to live – city or countryside. Franie might complain about the traffic, the crowds and the impersonality of urban sprawl but she was a city girl through and through. On the other hand, there was a lot of Green Acres in Jamee’s vision of perfect. Fresh air, land spread’n out on a 360-degree horizon, country girl — thank God.
Franie, impatient to de-stress, pre-ordered her usual Caesar as she strolled past the mahogany bar. Franie batted her lashes at the bartender and with a sigh said he was just what she needed. Of course, she was referring to his bringing her drink, but the sigh left him a little twitter-patted and he stood there with a big goofy grin on his face.
Franie smiled and palmed him a couple of bills. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, anytime.” His tone spoke volumes. A sexy wink included both ladies as he headed back to mixing drinks.
“Quit practicing on the staff,” scolded Jamee.
“Innocent fun for both of us, and I needed a lift. Fun today work certainly wasn’t. You know I love that job, but it can be stressful. Today, I added a layer. And, that has my supervisor with a bug up his ass. I hope you don’t mind, but in light of what I’d learned through your investigation, I decided it was time to fill the CIC know-it-alls in.”
“Course not,” said Jamee. “Working together is how we solve the problems of the world, not on our own for sure.”
“Well, the shared info has created quite the fervour. We all agreed, that the chain of events your investigation has revealed couldn’t have been possible without including CIC duplicity.” Franie frowned and swirled the liquid in her glass.
“Funny you should say that,” said Jamee. “Sam has deduced — love that word, that the bad guys not only got into the CBSA system, but left a door open for future endeavours. This has led to more sleuthing, another good word.”
“I’m feeling you have a theory developing here,” hinted Franie. “I’m all ears.”
“It’s fuzzy, but I’m thinking if the permit numbers are left open on the system, the numbers can be matched up to slightly varied names without detection, or at least without deeper scrutiny. The inaccuracy was only found because we did some intense looking. Now we have evidence that Veronika Koval, Odessa Koval and Veronika Kaminski are somehow linked together. Deep fishing in the program files, netted us two permit numbers that have at different times been assigned to at least three different names. The dates on the permit numbers line up with Veronika Koval, three years ago and Veronika Kaminski and Odessa Koval most recently.
“Fingerprints, taken from the body, don’t match the prints CIC has on file for Koval. This, combined with your picture, will leave considerable doubt that our live-in caregiver is the deceased.
“You’ve been busy, girl.”
“That’s not all. We’re also looking into a recent voice message left on Abi’s answering machine. The voice sounds suspiciously like Odessa.”
Franie looked about to speak.
Jamee held up her hand. “We still need something definitive to confirm that fact.”
Franie held her silence.
“Then, there’s the evidence that points to the possibility Koval may have been traveling with Veronika Kaminski. Three names, two women, so which names are a match and which name is the odd man out?” Jamee wasn’t expecting an answer. The question was rhetorical.
“I’ve forwarded your text message and the picture to Sam. That’s a ball breaker paired with the voice on the tape. It will be interesting to hear what Sam makes of the news. He’s requested the RCMP sweep Abi’s house for fingerprints and prepare some additional DNA testing.
“If the dead woman isn’t Odessa, despite what the documents say, my gut feeling is it’s her voice on the phone,” concluded Jamee. “Sam seems willing to back my theory. Odessa might not be dead but she’s in serious trouble.”
“Speaking of Samuel Craig,” interjected Franie, “what’s the skinny?”
“The skinny?” replied Jamee her tone filled with innocent naivety.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. Dish it.” demanded Franie. “Is
he doable?” Franie features took on a dreamy look. “I’d do that gorgeous hunk — every male chunk of him.”
“Franie, you’re so shallow,” retorted Jamee. “I’m holding out for the white picket fence and station wagon.”
“Ha,” laughed Franie, “and you’re such a liar.”
That had them both laughing.
“Ok, seriously.” Jamee stifled her amusement. “I’ll admit I’m intrigued. He’s great to look at for sure, but he’s also smart, funny and has a common sense decency and integrity you can rely on. The whole package has tremendous appeal. And, last but not least – there’s this sizzle when we’re in proximity. Left unchecked it could become a lightning strike.”
“Yo, now that’s what I’m talking about, girlfriend,” moaned Franie, in her best Harry Meets Sally voice.
“Stop,” warned Jamee, “here comes your bartender.”
Franie peeked over her shoulder and offered a flirty smile. The bartender set down a bowl of munchies from the bar and smoothly inquired about their drinks. Franie tipped him another five, and in return, he slipped her his phone number on a paper napkin.
“Well are you happy now?” Jamee inquired.
“You betcha.” She smirked. “And what’s wrong with that? If you’ve got it…work it! Blondes are just so-o-o... envious.” The remark garnered Franie a laugh from her dearest friend.
“But, one last thing before we move on,” Franie sobered, “all this drama has the higher ups dusting off the RCMP Task Force Report, examining Canada’s security risk regarding immigration. CIC will be doing an internal audit that will include software and hardware systems and staff clearances. You guys had better move swiftly ’cause… the rabbit’s out of the pot.”
“Hat,” offered Jamee, “out of the hat.”
“Ya, that too.” Franie shrugged apparently oblivious to the fact she’d spoiled the effect with a comic error.
Jamee struggled to hide her amusement.
