Unredeemed

by J M Dolan

  “I’ll see what more I can do about your third name,” Franie offered. “I can run a search through some archived data. Like I said, Veronika Kaminski sounds Russian. That’s a pretty closed country these days. They’re flexing their muscle and not inclined to be, “we’re all in this together, let’s cooperate”. She made air quotes with her fingers. “Let me approach a Russian colleague I have that works in the field. Maybe he can lend some insight.”

  “It’s a good lead,” said Jamee. “I’m always curious about the origin of names and I searched the origin of the surname Kaminski. It could be Russian, Ukrainian, Polish or Jewish – comes from the Slavic word “stone”. I’ll be very curious to see what shakes out of the ushanka hat.”

  Jamee’s phone signalled an incoming text from Sam. He was letting her know Sergeant Dunbar and crew were done at the house. Jamee glanced at her watch.

  “Big date?” inquired Franie.

  “Yeppers. Gonna see, if Samuel Duncan Craig can live up to all the hype.”

  “Woo hee, you go girl.” Franie raised her glass in a toast. “Drink up, so you have lots of time to get ready,” encouraged Franie. “You know — a little black number with skimpy underwear and strappy spike heels.”

  “Ah Franie, you’re such a romantic,” Jamee’s reply was dry.

  ***

  Though she hated to admit it, Jamee took Franie’s advice. She might as well knock his socks off.

  First a bath, all warm and scented with oil and floating bubbles. She let herself go; relaxed knotted muscles, emptied her mind and drifted away to the slow southern blues pumping from her iPod.

  Jamee contemplated the case and what the bits and pieces they’d gathered had to tell them. She concentrated on an image of a still pond, erasing all thought that wasn’t part of the puzzle. She floated on the glassy surface, staring into the still water, seeing the pieces of information form together or break off if the fit wasn’t right. She’d keep up this exercise until the puzzle began to make sense. Her intention was to let the story tell itself; to guide her to look in the right direction and to see what she might have missed.

  When the water started to cool, she rose to towel off with one of Abi’s special Egyptian cotton towels. She liked the cranberry-colour and had one of her own. Towelled dry, she helped herself to a generous portion of thick rich lotion, lathered it on and massaged it in until it was absorbed, leaving her skin soft and smooth and scented. Jamee rarely wore perfume, over a lifetime she’d found few she was drawn to. The bath oils and lotion lingering lightly on her skin, mixed with her own scent, was enough.

  Lacy lingerie and the black, slinky cocktail-dress were sufficient to get her dressed. She paired it with red heels and a matching clutch for her keys, cell and cards. Hair and makeup were effortless as the excellent cut completed the styling and her natural beauty only required a good moisturize. Ruby lip gloss, a bit of mascara to curl her thick dark lashes and she was ready. She knew she’d knocked it out of the park by the look on Sam’s face when he arrived.

  ***

  Sam was forced to swallow hard, when the words he’d started to say simply died in this throat. She was a vision, a stunning sexy vision, in a curve-hugging little black number with a hemline that ended mid-thigh. Those amazing legs were showcased by strappy red heels that added three inches to her height. It brought her eye-level to Sam. He couldn’t help himself from speculating if her lingerie matched the dress or the shoes? He’d gamble that having him wonder over it was probably her intention.

  “Babe” seemed to sum it up.

  Sam reached for her hand to guide her arm to his neck, while with his other he circled her waist and brought her closer. He kissed her raised arm at the inside of the elbow, moved to nuzzle just under her ear then dropped a feather light brush of his lips over hers.

  Sensing her restlessness, Sam guessed she might want to get the business over first.

  His intuition proved accurate when she suggested a cocktail and appetizer in the backyard heated gazebo. The day had been surprisingly warm for fall. He carried out the tray of hot and crispy appetizers in one hand and his light beer in the other. Jamee settled on a bold red wine for herself. She sat back on the thickly-cushioned summer bench. He placed the tray on the cast iron table and sat next to her, his thigh brushing her hip. It was cozy. His mind went to hip to hip and lip to lip, but he forced it back to business.

  “That was some bomb you dropped, in the text from your CIC friend, Le,” he said, kicking things off.

  “There’s never a dull moment with Franie, that’s for sure. But it caught me by surprise, too. I’ve been studying on how all this information might fit together to make a reasonable scenario.”

  “Of course you have,” murmured Sam and he draped a friendly arm across her bare shoulders. She’d shed, the fur-collared cape she’d worn out to the gazebo.

  “You mocking me?” Jamee jested.

  “Not at all, seriously your leads have got us to where we are. Otherwise, I’m dead certain that’s all we’d still have, a dead caregiver and nothing to go on. Now at least we know she’s probably not your dead caregiver. I’m all ears to hear what that puzzler of a brain of yours has cooked up.”

  Jamee launched into it. “Something that I just can’t seem to explain is why Odessa would have a visa for an exotic dancer work permit. The thing is, for me foreign worker and exotic dancer link together to equal a red flag for human trafficking. Here’s my “what if”.

  “The woman seemed to be a sweet, intelligent young person. My impression was she would fit in well with my sister and her children. That person would have been able to provide the skilled help Abi needs. My perception was Koval was a natural caregiver. You know, the child who is always looking after younger siblings and quietly taking on the responsibilities of the family unit.

  “That’s a Type C personality,” said Jamee. “And in my opinion, Type C personalities would make easy prey for passive-aggressive manipulation. Most are introverts and because of their lack of assertiveness prefer to work in areas of assistance, rather than in positions of control. That alone makes them an easy mark.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Sam. “In terms of human trafficking, a handler starts off by making the victim feel like they’re the most amazing person on the planet, something someone with low confidence rarely feels. Then they gain control by chipping away their self-esteem, a little at a time. Kiss and kick, is the term that’s used.”

  Jamee let out a disgusted, unladylike snort.

  “When they’re done,” added Sam, “the women are either so frightened, or damaged, they can’t break free.”

  “What if,” said Jamee, “Odessa somehow became involved with a human trafficking ring? It’s a real stretch, but that would explain the exotic dancer work permit, though not the caregiver angle. Veronika Kaminski arrived on the flight with Odessa Koval and was also issued a work permit as an exotic dancer. Maybe she was also a victim of trafficking.”

  “Summarizing,” said Sam. “Both women entered Canada from Ukraine as exotic dancers. Both have status in Canada as temporary foreign workers. Both travelled to Montréal together and both might be in the sex trade. But why a caregiver, then?

  “I know, and my theory doesn’t help to explain why Veronika Koval, a caregiver from over three years ago if that picture is proof of identity, ended up dead with Odessa’s documents on her person. But, obviously there has got to be a connection. My gut is telling me there’s a bigger story here, we just haven’t seen it yet.” Jamee drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair.

  “Well, human trafficking is my focus these days,” offered Sam, “so let’s explore that reasoning.”

  “Okay, tell me what you know.”

  “I know you have done some research work on this topic as well, so it’s a bit of a review for you,” said Sam

  “That’s okay, go ahead.”

  “Well, a common approach is for traffickers to obtain an exotic dancer work visa for their victims,
and then transport them to Canada. Once they arrive in Canada, the victims are forced to engage in prostitution. There is evidence the women, though trafficking may include children and men, are moved by their handlers back and forth across our common borders as needed. Trafficked victims can end up in the U.S. And, research shows that Canadian women are four times more likely to be aboriginal. Vancouver comes out on top for a disproportionate number of missing aboriginal women. The reality, is that in Canada most sex-trafficking takes place within our own borders and most of those victims are domestic.”

  “This might explain,” interrupted Jamee, realization dawning, “why Odessa’s caregiver documents ended up with the dead woman we suspect was Veronika Koval.

  “Veronika Koval was here three years ago as a caregiver. Maybe there was a reason, she needed back into Canada, but she couldn’t get her own documents. Maybe she couldn’t qualify, didn’t have an employer to sponsor her or…there wasn’t time to get through the lengthy process. For whatever reason, she needed to be here, and she, or someone else, cooked up the plan to impersonate Odessa Koval.”

  “Would certainly work to cement this developing theory,” agreed Sam. “Winnipeg, Montréal, Calgary, Vancouver and Niagara Falls, are the worst Canadian cities for human sex trafficking and Montréal, La belle province, has become a major destination for sex tourism in North America.”

  “God,” Jamee exclaimed, “it’s hard to take in, isn’t it? These horrible atrocities are taking place in our country. Imagine, even today, people are still being treated like property and without compassion.” The thought of the atrocities made her sick.

  “You don’t have to go far,” said Sam soberly, “happens all over the world. Some places, just aren’t as obvious as others.”

  “Which makes them even worse in my book,” retorted Jamee. “This is Canada, but we whitewash the issue. It’s that whole, truth north strong and free, purity thing.

  “That whitewashing is why I’ve been making this my mission. We need to do a much better job of upholding a higher standard of morality and integrity. We need to wake up,” Sam said.

  “Wake up and stand up,” echoed Jamee. “We all need to take action — talk to our politicians. We need to get involved in what’s already going on.”

  “It’s a biggy,” said Sam. The criminal element is costing all of us and that price is too high.”

  “I know from my research,” said Jamee, “that organized crime networks with Eastern European links, have been involved in the prearranged entry of women from former Soviet States.”

  Sam paused for a swallow of beer.

  “Human trafficking suspects,” said Sam, “mostly operate with associates of similar backgrounds and have ethnic ties to source countries with migrant workers.” Sam topped up Jamee’s glass of wine.

  “So,” said Jamee, “what you’re telling me is, Canada’s immigration policies have been exploited by criminal groups to facilitate, the entry of foreign nationals for exploitation in the sex trade.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” said Sam.

  “This means, as Franie Le and Thomas Avery suspect, there’s just no way in the case of our missing woman, that CBSA and CIC collusion wasn’t a part of it.” Jamee chewed her bottom lip.

  “It’s hard to see where they weren’t,” allowed Sam. “Criminal networks suspected of trafficking can obtain good quality IDs and travel documents. The presence of bribed officials would make the operation practically full proof.”

  “This discussion strengthens my opinion that Veronika Kaminski has a role in this. Perhaps, she was Koval’s escort to Canada. We need to find out more about her. A good clear photo would sure help,” noted Jamee. “We need positive identification on both women. And, we’re still without an answer to my initial quest. Where is Odessa?”

  “We need to meet with Thomas and review the case. I’ve been keeping him up to speed. Do you think Franie would join in?”

  “Not sure,” answered Jamee. “It’s moved beyond her, to upper level management. Best let Thomas make that call.

  “And by the way, Volkov remains in the mix like a sliver, festering away. Has anyone heard anything about his whereabouts? Still in Canada?” Jamee wondered. “Or has he gone underground.”

  “I’ve had reason to regret my actions, as in, discretion being the better part of valour. It might have been better to have him around even when he was a pain in the butt. At least we knew what he was up to.”

  “I wonder if he is still investigating the Koval case,” Jamee said. “We need to check with his government.

  ***

  It was Sam’s pick for supper and he wanted it to be intimate. From the way she looked, all hot and steamy, intimate was the way to go. If he’d read her right, Mississippi Blues might just fit the bill. He suggested Point Zero, a local club, modeled after the 1920 juke joints of the south.

  At Point Zero, the music was electric blues and the food featured Jambalaya, corn bread, sweet potato pie, fried chicken, and deep pit barbecue. Comfort food at its finest.

  Jamee said she’d be doing extra time at the gym but was crazy to go. Sam remembered her mention of a road trip she’d taken down the Blues Highway as being one of her favourites.

  The atmosphere was authentic and the food, tremendous. Sharing, Mississippi Mud Pie with two forks satisfied their sweet tooth, and after-dinner drinks and music had them feeling relaxed. The Delta Mary Blues band had initially played acoustic renditions to create ambiance for the dinners. Now, they switched it up to full throttle electric, rocking out a tribute medley for those three boys from Texas. The montage rolled into La Grange, bringing the dancers out onto the floor.

  “Want to dance?” Sam nodded at the dance floor.

  “Sure why not. I need to do something to work off that meal.”

  “I can think of a few suggestions.” Sam murmured as he rose to his feet. He placed his hand casually to the small of her back then smoothly turned her into his arms when they reach the dance floor. The fit was alluring but loose. “You up for a little Cajun?” asked Sam.

  The question seemed to catch her by surprise and her lips quirked into a quick smile as he spun them into a Cajun two step, matching the legendary riff, “A haw, haw, haw. Hm, hm, hm, hm.”

  Jamee matched him step for step and Sam was impressed. He swung her out, threw in some cross-overs and grinned at Jamee’s enjoyment. Jamee was one hell of a dancer. Good on the dance floor and gorgeous to boot. He sure couldn’t fault her rhythm.

  “Hey, you’re pretty good,” Jamee remarked.

  “I’m no pole dancer, but I know how to show a girl a good time. Just stick with me, kid,” Sam teased and gathered her in again as the band switched it up with a slow one.

  They kept to the dancefloor until the band finished the long set with a bluesy, ukulele rendition of Kamakawiwo’ole’s, Sea of Love.

  “I’ve got a great recording of Rainy Night in Georgia, if you’re interested in a nightcap?” offered Sam.

  “Does that line really work for you,” asked Jamee.

  “Not ever.” Sam laughed.

  “Well, this might just be your lucky night,” said Jamee. “I’ve a yen — for a night cap and a little more blues.”

  Sam leaned over to drop a light kiss below her ear.

  “Your purse is vibrating.”

  He reached for the object resting against his thigh and handed her the leather clutch. He was mildly curious as Jamee dug into the contents and retrieved the phone which shifted from vibrate to ring.

  “Odd,” she said followed by “Crap” when she recognized the caller. She mouthed ‘Abs’ at his expectant look.

  “Hey Ab’s, what’s up.” Jamee signalled for Sam to wait and moved into the quieter area of the lobby. A few minutes later she was back.

  “Everything ok?” asked Sam.

  “It will be. Abi hates being dependent, and she wouldn’t call me for nothing, she’s having a bad night.”

  “Sorry to hear it. Do you nee
d to get out to the farm?”

  “No, she didn’t want me to rush home, but she’s concerned about getting the kids to school in the morning. I won’t go to the farm tonight unless she calls again, but I’m going to have to take a rain check on that night cap. I figure if I get up a six, I’ll be able to trek on out and be there first thing.”

  Jamee moved in to circle his waist with her arms, Sam thought it felt just right. “I’m going to have to shorten the rest of our evening. Too bad, too.” She smiled up into his eyes. “I was having a great time.”

  Sam pulled her close. “Me too — let’s get you home. We’ll still have a few minutes, maybe we can replace that nightcap.” Sam did not plan to disappoint.

  The goodnight kiss at the door after the steamy session in the car made it one humdinger of a kiss. He’d helped her get the key in the lock and wondered if she’d toss and turn and hardly sleep a wink. For his part, he was going to drop off like a baby. He was sure he heard her mutter, “cocky bastard” but he couldn’t get rid of the self-congratulatory expression on his face as he whistled his way back to the car.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sam’s text read: Meet with Thomas this morning in Red Deer? If ok, pick me up and I’ll help with the kids. Once they’re on the bus we’ll drive up together.

  Jamee liked the plan, and with the early hour, she was able to easily reach Sam’s downtown condo before the morning rush. She parked in visitor and used the key-pad code at the entrance. She punched in the numbers Sam texted her and thought how she couldn’t imagine living in a place, where you had to give your visitors a code to park. A second code got her into the main building and reusing the visitor’s parking code got the elevator moving. OMG. How did he stand it? She had to admit though the upscale surroundings were very classy, all black and brass with real art and live tropical plants strategically arranged in corners and open spaces.