by J M Dolan
Jamee hit the buzzer to Unit 11. Hearing the slide of the deadbolt, she tried the door. It opened, seemingly on its own. Jamee could only assume it had been activated remotely. Yes, sir…ee… some fancy digs.
“Hey Sam, its Jamee,” she called out. “I’m guessing that spooky door opening business means you’re not ready. Better get your rear in gear or… Her words faltered at the sight of Sam coming through the doorway. A white towel was slung low around his hips, his feet were as bare as the rest of him. A lock of damp hair hung over his forehead and a provocative grin greeted her stunned look.
Jamee cleared her throat nervously. She didn’t quite know where to look.
“I’ll be just a jiffy,” said Sam. He turned back into the bedroom, but didn’t close the door.
Jamee stood rooted to the spot. Guess men must think, closing the door would signal they were uncomfortable in their own skin. Bloody hell, what he should be thinking was discretion is the better part of valour, if he wanted to keep her curiosity at bay. As it stood, she just couldn’t help looking.
His back was to her, and as Sam stretched for his briefs, the towel dropped away revealing a strong back, muscular legs and tight buttocks. Aye, she’d like to take a bite outta that.
“You’re staring,” he said, glancing in the mirror on the dresser and meeting her gaze.
She could feel her face heating up. His was all amusement and knowing.
“Yeah well, you peeked.”
“We could take a few minutes,” he offered with a sexy grin. “I know how,” he added a bold wink, “just need chance.”
“Well, not this morning, buddy. Too much work to do.” She turned her head to hide her glowing face and marched to the kitchen stiff with indignation. “And don’t look so smug.” She threw the words over her shoulder. His laughter followed her out.
Crap, caught her looking, but by God, it was worth it. The man was built. But it wasn’t just his looks. It was everything else that was really getting to her. It had been a long time since she’d been full of joy and playfulness. It was his sense of humour that drew her. He made her laugh. Add in resourceful, intelligent, and resilient and she was in danger of being hooked.
The kitchen was neat and tidy and she liked that. A little impersonal, but then she remembered he was merely house-sitting. It didn’t pay to make it your own, when other than what you put in a suitcase, belonged to someone else. It amused her to see a short case of Kilt Lifter beer and a bottle of thirty-year-old MacCullen scotch on the counter. Under the cherry wood cabinets was a chrome coffee maker complete with to-go cups. A little more searching netted ground coffee and she filled the small individual-sized brew basket. Taking the initiative, she made one for herself, the rich aroma filling the air and then readied the machine for him.
Something soft brushed against her legs and she got her first look at Speechless. Without a doubt, he was the biggest domestic cat she’d ever seen. The feline wound his way through her legs, a rumble in his throat signalled his pleasure for her attention. She reached down to scratch his neck when he leaned in for more, then brought the scratch to a body long caress that she took to midair-off the tip of his tail. At that he flopped down onto his side exposing his belly for a good rub, all the while encouraging her attention with a purr that sounded like an outboard motor.
She couldn’t help thinking how much his colour matched her Tess. The feel of his fur was the softest white under her fingers. So soft, his father must have been a white rabbit, his mother the cat. A couple of paintbrush drops of colour spotted his body and were mirrored in a raccoon ringed-tail and matching dark mask above his eyes and ears. The mask reminded her of Batman. His yellowish-green eyes were half-slitted in ecstasy at her attentions and he kneaded the air with the toes of his front paws spread out.
Out of the corner of her eye Jamee spotted Sam coming from the bedroom, looking relaxed in denim and a black leather jacket. She left off the cat spa treatment to hit the coffee brew switch.
“I see you’ve meet Speechless, the most vocal cat I’ve ever known. Hence the name.” Sam grinned.
“He certainly has a loud motor,” agreed Jamee. “And have you noticed he’s as big as a dog and crossed with a rabbit?”
“Yup, and one heck of a baby.” Sam reached down to scratch behind the cat’s ear. “He’s sometimes a little too demanding.”
“Gee, that makes me think of a rule,” said Jamee.
“Which of your famous rules is that?”
“Rule Number Twelve, you can’t be demanding — if nobody is listening,” quoted Jamee.
“How many bloody rules do you have?” teased Sam.
“Currently twelve,” said Jamee. “But the list grows all the time.”
“All gems, I’m sure,” he chuckled. The cat had changed positions to stretch to his full height above Jamee’s knee.
“Speechless, go on,” he directed the cat, “leave Jamee alone now. You’ll have her covered in cat hair.”
“I really don’t mind,” said Jamee. “I love animals. All the usual pets, and some that wouldn’t be considered so much so.”
Sam opened a cupboard to remove a bag of cat food and poured the dry mix into a bowl, setting it on the floor next to a self-watering system.
“This will keep him distracted,” said Sam.
On cue, Speechless rolled down to his feet and two timed it to the bowl.
Jamee handed Sam his coffee in a travel mug. Black, like he liked it.
“Thanks,” he said. “Yep, I’m a dog, cat, horse and anything baby, kind of guy. I used to think I liked dogs the best until I ended up with Speechless. He’s kind of a Garfield type. Thinks all mice are made of cloth and stuffed with catnip. Less doglike than Odie, but more devoted than usual in a feline. He can sit on command and walk on a leash. Kind of the best of both worlds because, he can also spend an overnighter on his own when necessary.”
“That is the dog downside,” agreed Jamee. She reached for her coat. They were both wearing leather today. “So, are we saddled up, and am I still driving?” She rummaged through her purse for the keys.
“Right behind you,” said Sam as he closed the door and locked up, “Your choice on the driving.”
“Buckle up, buttercup.”
Jamee hadn’t had the Mustang on a road trip in a while and felt like cruise’n. Once out of the city she opened it up and let those ponies out. Sam sat calmly beside her, though she saw him glance at the speedometer.
“Do you know what the speed limit is?” he drawled.
She glanced his way. “Don’t, but I will if I get caught.”
That drew a frown, but the corners crinkled as Sam fought to be severe.
“Am I not entertaining?” she asked, reaching to crank up the tunes.
“Jamee, you’re a riot,” Sam said, as he lost the battle and settled in to enjoy the ride.
Chapter Sixteen
Thomas Avery met them in Red Deer at the Dark Knight Restaurant. He’d said he had a hankering for the house steak sandwich.
They found a booth near the back. It was quiet and secluded in the low lit lounge. Soft light filtered through jewel-coloured, stained-glass shades. Sixties music played discretely in the background, just loud enough to cover the small talk. A dark Hazelwood antique bar centered the room and drew in the patrons.
In the background, the luring smell of steaks on the grill exuded a tantalizing aroma. Yum, thought Jamee — breakfast was a long time ago.
“How’s Abi and the kids?” asked Thomas.
Jamee’s lips curved into a smile. It had been entertaining to watch Sam with the kids, how he’d hustled and teased, until he had all three ready to go and on the bus. His knack at making it seem like fun had been a nice change, over the usual mumbling and grumbling about leaving for school.
“Everyone’s good,” said Jamee. “Thanks for asking. Abi just needed a bit of rest. The hardest thing is to get the kids off for the day. Once on the bus, they tend to enjoy school and they’re good
students.
“And Sam,” asked Thomas. “Was he help or hindrance?”
“Come on,” interjected Sam, his tone wounded. “I’m sitting right here. Why would you doubt?”
“Because Thomas, who works with you every single day, knows that sometimes, you need an adult.”
“I need an adult,” replied Sam, with mock indignation. “You’ve got some cheek. You’re the one that needs supervision.”
“Really? If that’s your double whammy.” countered Jamee. “You’ve gone crackers.”
“Give me strength,” butted in Avery, “you’re both bloody crackers.”
“Aye, but Sam’s crack is a mile wide,” retorted Jamee. Her expression was self-congratulatory.
Avery burst out laughing. An indignant Sam choked on his drink.
Jamee took sympathy and surrendered the truth. “All right, I’ll admit it. Inspector Samuel Duncan Craig, investigator extraordinaire, was an eye-opener into the ways of male efficiency. At his encouragement, he had Adaira, Alana, and Angus feeling the need to instruct him in the process of getting ready for school, as if maybe, he’d never done it before.”
“Yeah,” broke in Sam, “like I explained to the little nippers. I was home schooled by a very strict, strap welding, male nanny. No friends, no sports, no recess — no fun. They, on the other hand, are lucky to be able to go school. And, on a school bus no less.”
“He was at his Tom Sawyer best,” Jamee said. “I think Adaira was a little smitten and Alana and Angus appreciated his style. Not just a pretty face, he’s rowdy and, a joker and teaser, all rolled into one. I’ll give him this, it’s no small feat to motivate a thirteen-year old, a ten and a seven-year old into a tight time slot. You did good soldier!” She chucked him on the shoulder with her fist.
Sam took the praise with a raised eyebrow.
“I’ve been practicing on my sister’s kids for a while now,” he said, “and you can bet, I’ve learned a trick or two. It was fun helping out with your three amigos. They’re terrific kids. Plus, it was nice to catch up with Abi. She’s looking well.”
“And,” Jamee added, “not altogether immune to your charms. It was lovely to hear her laugh.”
Jamee gave Sam a nod, with a look to Thomas. “Aye, pretty boy here has charisma.”
Thomas leaned in to level a fierce scowl in Sam’s direction. “Bloody hell,” he growled. “The bloke better not hog all the lime light. I’m rather looking forward, to meeting your sister myself.”
Jamee laughed at the display of male competition. She couldn’t wait to tell Abi about the flirt’n and fight’n. It was amusing to have the men, “duke it out” over a lady, when that lady was her sister.
“Great! I’ll set up a barbecue as soon as this case settles,” she offered.
“Agreed,” the men spoke in unison.
“Speaking of such, things seem to be moving forward with the case,” began Thomas. “But, first let me say, I got a call last night from our foreign friend.
“Foreign,” Sam was intrigued, “as in…Volkov called you?”
“Interesting. So what did inquiring minds want to know?” chimed in Jamee.
“He wanted an update,” said Thomas.
“Really,” grunted Jamee. “Shit, everybody has to be a dog sometime.” Sam and Thomas shared a grin.
“I told him,” Thomas’s expression was smug, “that things had gone south. All and all with no new leads it was shaping up to be one of those cases, you can’t win for loosing.”
“Did the mangy cur say if he was still investigating the case?” asked Jamee.
“The mucker was…what’s the word…cagey?” assessed Thomas. “When I asked if he’d made any progress. He ignored the question and mentioned he’d changed hotels. I asked where he was staying, and he dodged. Said that if we were trying to reach him, we should call his cell.
“It was that kind of ambiguous response that gets your attention.”
Jamee and Sam nodded in agreement.
“It stirred me to call the Kiev Prosecutor’s Office this morning. The receptionist put me through to Volkov’s supervisor. When I mentioned our joint working relations, the bloke was completely taken back. He said he was unaware of any Canadian assignment Inspector Aleksey Volkov might be working on. He said as far as he was aware Volkov was on vacation. Apparently, the Inspector requested three weeks paid leave. The supervisor said the time might have included a trip out of Ukraine, but he couldn’t confirm. He didn’t discuss Volkov’s vacation plans, just approved the request.”
“Okay, so is he helping the family as he implied?” asked Sam. “Or, is he a lone wolf operating on his own. It would seem his trip wasn’t work related like he made out. If it’s not for the job, then it might be personal. But what’s his motivation?”
“Yup, there you go. It’s like a pair of week old socks,” crowed Jamee, “something stinks. My guess is, that he’s up to his neck in it. This is all very fascinating. He’s sure no sweet pea.” Jamee pursed her lips. “What do you think, mobster, spy or hit man?”
“Bugger all!” said Thomas in disgust, “I vetted him and he didn’t check out. As much as I hate to jump to conclusions I think you’re right Jamee, Volkov is not our buddy.”
“And, likely now in the wind,” reasoned Sam. “Well, we’re not out of ideas yet – Jamee has a theory.”
“Let’s hear it,” said Avery.
“I think this enigma is all about human trafficking,” announced Jamee. “Odessa, as caregiver was their “in” to having access to a long-stay ticket. She may have been deliberately targeted to be replaced by another woman.
We know Veronika worked in Canada as a live-in caregiver three years previously and there’s definitely a connection between the women. I suspect Veronika Koval couldn’t get back in on her own because she broke the rules.”
“Still listening,” encouraged Thomas, “but you’ll need to flesh it out.”
Jamee leaned forward. “I’ve got more.” “According to Immigration, Veronika left her employment early and then overstayed without employment. That makes her out of status in Canada. There is no record of when, or if she left. With the CIC, acts of disappearance are highly frowned upon. Her file ends with a complaint registered by her deceased employer’s son, though nothing seems to have come of it.” Jamee looked pointedly at Thomas, him being the senior government official at the table. “The caregiver apparently left abruptly after a brief phone call to the son declaring her intentions. His father succumbed from his ailments a few days later. Veronika Koval was never heard from again. I’m dead in the water though,” she noted, “as to why this is significant.”
Their waitress arrived with their drink order, and with consensus on steak sandwiches all around, collected the menus. Jamee picked up the thread of conversation.
“Still a lot more questions than answers,” she acknowledged. “Why would Veronika Koval impersonate Odessa? Did that play a part in our mystery woman’s death? I can’t conceive what would be the value of Veronika taking Odessa’s place. I haven’t been able to discover where Veronika Koval has been for the last three years. Could it be possible she’s just been hiding in the wood-work? Or,” she paused dramatically, “slipping in and out of the country, with help?
“I think the third woman, Veronika Kaminski, travelled to Canada with Odessa. Mutually, they were supposed to enter as exotic dancers. I think Odessa, was assimilated into the sex trade to cover-up the change of identity. Kaminski may have been destined for a similar fate, but somehow I have a feeling she’s middle-management.”
“Brilliant,” said Thomas, “while I was building a piano bench, you were building the piano. Impressive theory Jamee, but where’s your proof?”
“Aye, that’s the problem,” said Jamee, “it’s a little lacking.”
“Horse feathers.” Thomas leaned forward triumphantly. “Let me hand you some. It turns out your theory might actually be plausible.”
“Sergeant Dunbar called with results f
rom the DNA, the fingerprint and electronic sweep of Abi’s house. DNA from the blood on the heels of the shoes didn’t match our deceased, but did match the blood on the mail box hinge. That means, whoever wore the shoes left at the parkade was at Abi’s house and cut themselves on the mailbox.
“The blood analysis gave us another surprise. Blood typing and DNA analysis came up with confirmation that two different individuals, left blood on your sister’s mail box. One sample was from whoever wore the shoes, and no match yet for the other. That hinge must be a real killer,” quirked Thomas.
Jamee laughed at Avery’s pun. “I don’t remember anyone ever scrapping themselves before, but I noticed when I checked for the mail yesterday the screws on the hinge were protruding. I had to be careful not to scrape my hand when I reached in. Abs told me the mail box was knocked off its post recently, likely the garbage truck got a little too close. The neighbour’s husband offered to put it back up. He must have had to use longer screws to get it to hold. It’s pretty easy now to get a scrap.”
Thomas continued. “The house and key elements outside were dusted for fingerprints. We’ve eliminated, Abi’s, the kids, yours Jamee, and Sam’s. We’re left with one currently unidentified set inside the house, and two sets of prints from the mail box. One of the mail box prints is a match for whoever was in Abi’s house, and the other set matches those on file for Odessa Koval. This provides proof the woman was at Abi’s house, and it very well may be Odessa’s voice on the answering machine. In the phone message, the woman clearly says something about a note.”
“Therefore, a realistic conclusion,” put in Sam, “is that she may have left a note in the mailbox thinking someone would be checking. If we had the information from that note it might give us her whereabouts. I realize,” reckoned Sam, “it’s a lot of ifs. What else you got?”
Sam’s figured Avery had probably saved the best for last.
“One more thing,” revealed Thomas, “and it’s major. Thanks to your friend Jamee, I had CIC assign Franie Le to our team as case liaison. She’s provided photographic evidence which proves our deceased woman is Veronika Koval. Franie came through for us with archived CIC records of Veronika Koval’s Live-In-Caregiver Application from three years ago. The prints and an I.D. photo in her file matched our dead woman. I think it’s safe to say Veronika Koval was primed to take Odessa’s place as your live-in caregiver. Though why she would, is still a mystery to me,” concluded Thomas.
