"Did you or Monty receive any unsettling or threatening letters or emails?"
"I don't think so."
"Did he have any problems at work that you know of?"
Marilyn's gaze traveled across the room and rested on one of the paintings. "There were always problems. Issues, he called them. Not everyone agreed with his policies or how he ran his campaigns."
James entered the room. His hand trembled as he placed a silver tray on the table. Resisting the temptation to help him, Natassia stared at him, waiting for the man to leave. He glared back at her, his face pinched and stubborn.
"That's fine, James," Marilyn said. "I'll call you if I need anything else."
His chin rose ever so slightly as he hobbled to the far end of the room.
Once the door closed, Natassia said, "Did your husband receive any threatening phone calls?"
Marilyn poured cream into a mug of coffee. She stirred it for a long time. Finally, she shook her head. "He never said anything to me. I think he would tell me if anyone was threatening him. But…"
Natassia leaned forward. "But what?"
"He received phone calls the same time every night for the past week. It was kind of strange. The phone would ring twice and whoever it was would hang up. Then a few minutes later someone would call again. Monty always picked up on the first ring."
"What time was that?"
"Around six-thirty."
Natassia turned to Jasi. "That coincides with the phone calls from the payphone."
"Payphone?" Marilyn sounded surprised.
"Is there anyone you can think of who'd call your husband from a payphone?" Natassia asked.
"No. Everyone we know has a cell phone or one of those data-communicators."
"Did you ask your husband about the calls?"
"I asked him point-blank after the third call."
"What did he say?"
"He gave me a blank look and said he didn't get a call. I was getting worried. I thought maybe he had Alzheimer's."
"Did he always have problems with his memory?"
"Not usually. But…"
"But what?"
"About six months ago, something happened. I don't know what exactly, but…Monty started to change."
Natassia flicked a look at Jasi. "In what way?"
"He became distracted, less patient. With me mainly. And he stopped discussing his day with me. That wasn't like him." Marilyn took a sip of coffee. "He always shared everything."
"Six months ago…" Natassia recalled something. "That's right before he voted for the gun rights bill. Perhaps he was preoccupied with that."
"Or with someone," Marilyn said dryly.
"You thought he was having an affair?"
The woman's gaze hardened. "I was sure of it. Then one night last week he was in his office and I walked in with his evening tea. You would've thought I'd caught him with another woman, the way he jumped out of his chair."
"What was he doing when you walked in?"
"Sleeping in his chair. With the TV on. That wasn't like him, not one bit. My Monty is a night owl. He'd stay up until well past midnight every night."
"What time did you bring him the tea?"
"Seven o'clock. That's our nightly ritual." Marilyn's eyes locked on hers. "But every night for the last three weeks, I found him sleeping in his office. And he refused his tea."
Natassia mulled over the woman's words. Winkler's regular routine had changed right around the same time as the suspicious payphone calls.
Something's definitely off in the Winkler world of Oz.
Natassia glanced at Jasi. Her partner gave a bob of her head, so she continued.
"Did your husband have any health problems?"
"Monty had osteoarthritis in his back, hips and knees. Some days he could barely get out of bed, much less make it through the day. One of his friends told him he was moving like an old man."
"Was he on any medication?"
"Tylenol 3. Two every night. He's been doing that for years, but ever since he changed, I have no idea what he's been taking. He stopped asking me to pick up his prescription. I suppose he could have gotten it himself."
"How was he sleeping at night?"
"That's the odd thing. He was sleeping better than he'd been in years. He told me that." She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, but I'm very tired."
"I know this isn't easy," Natassia said. "Thank you."
"We need to see your husband's office before we go," Jasi said, rising to her feet. To Natassia, she added, "Matthew is sending an evidence team over in about an hour. They'll catalog everything in Mr. Winkler's office and bring us anything they think is useful to the investigation."
"What kind of things?" Marilyn asked in a weary voice.
"We'll need to look at your husband's computer, laptop, data-com―basically anything that might give us a lead or reveal the identity of your husband's killer."
"Monty always carries his data-communicator with him." Marilyn flinched. "Did you find it?"
Jasi glanced at her partner. "No."
"Well, take whatever you need."
"Why don't you go rest?" Natassia suggested. "We can let ourselves out when we're done." Her foot accidentally brushed up against the briefcase. "Interesting design."
Marilyn blinked. "The Winkler family crest."
"Did Monty usually take this to work with him?"
"Oh, that's not Monty's. It's James'."
At that very second, the bald man appeared.
"James," Marilyn said with a gasp. "I'm so sorry. I didn't make proper introductions before. Agent McLellan and Agent Prushenko, this is James Winkler, my brother-in-law. Monty's younger brother."
Natassia studied James with careful consideration. He looked nothing like his brother. Not only was James tall, bald and reed thin, his skin sagged with an unhealthy gray glow.
"I don't know what I'd do without him," Marilyn said, smiling at James. "Show the agents Monty's office, dear. I have some things to take care of."
James nodded once, his gaze resting for a moment on Natassia's pendant before drifting toward her face. He led them from the room, his back rigid, almost angry.
What's gotten under his skin?
"He's awfully quiet," she whispered to Jasi.
"Maybe he can't speak."
"Do you think he's mute?"
James whipped around. The look he gave her silenced any further conversation. All the guy needed was a riding crop to complete the image of Ichabod Crane―after his run-in with the Headless Horseman.
He escorted them to a formidable oak door and paused, one skeletal hand on the knob.
"Thank you, James," she said.
But he was already walking away.
She glanced at Jasi. "A man of few words."
"Makes me wonder why he's hanging around his brother's widow. It doesn't seem like they're mourning a common loss. Marilyn treats him like the hired help."
"Brother James does make a good butler."
"Yeah, but the question is, did he make a good brother?"
Jasi's first impression of Monty Winkler's home office was that it was like stepping into a cold, gloomy cave. Every piece of furniture was black and the walls were navy blue. A man's room, and a complete contrast to the floral garden of Marilyn's sitting room.
In the dead silence, a clock ticked loudly above the door.
She pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "Glove up."
Natassia blushed. "I left mine in my tote bag."
"No problem." Jasi pulled another set from her jacket pocket. "Here you go."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I'll be more prepared tomorrow."
"Don't worry about it. I've got your back."
The look her new partner gave her was one of surprise.
"What? You think we don't watch out for one another?"
Natassia shook her head. "It isn't that. I'm used to…well, you know…it takes time to connect with an already est
ablished team."
"Established." Jasi snorted. "You make Ben and I sound like an old, married couple."
In some ways, that wasn't far from the truth. Ben certainly knew her better than anyone else did.
"Now tell me," she said. "Did you see anything when you touched Marilyn's hand?"
"I saw a wife accusing her husband of being unfaithful."
Natassia described her brief vision.
"Marilyn sees herself as a victim of her husband's infidelities. She didn't trust him. When she confronted him, Monty acted disconnected."
Jasi's mouth thinned. "Marriage has become as unstable as a house built directly over a fault line. One quake can bring it down in a heap, until all that remains is nothing but destruction and garbage."
She ignored the curious look Natassia gave her and moved toward a bookshelf.
"Do you think Marilyn did it?" her partner asked.
"Killed her husband?" Jasi shook her head. "I can't see her doing all that. In a drugged state, Winkler would have been a dead weight. No pun intended. There's no way she would have been able to move him."
"What if she had help?"
Jasi chewed on this for a moment. "Who?"
"Maybe James was tired of being demoted to hired help. Maybe he's in love with her, or wants a piece of the pie. Someone's going to inherit a lot of money."
Natassia was right. It wouldn't be the first time someone was murdered for money.
"Marilyn does seem close to her brother-in-law," Jasi agreed. "We'll look into the insurance policy when we get back to the hotel."
"I think that's what was in the briefcase."
"I saw that too. The bit of paper sticking out said something about two million dollars."
Natassia stopped rifling through the papers on Winkler's desk. "You think that's the beneficiary payout?"
"That's exactly what I was thinking. But I'm curious why Marilyn would lie about it."
"If James is her lawyer, maybe he hasn't shown it to her yet."
Jasi surveyed the room, frustrated by the lack of clues.
"Didn't anything in your vision stand out?" she asked.
"The phone call Winkler got seemed important."
"Any idea of a timeline?"
"I'm guessing it was the night he disappeared."
"Why do you say that?"
"He was wearing the same suit he wore that night."
"Great catch, Natassia."
"Thanks."
Jasi wandered over to the massive desk, one of those modern interlocking styles. On the right side of the desk was a filing cabinet. She tugged on it. It was locked.
Keys will be in the desk drawer, she thought.
Sure enough, a set of five keys rested in a small tray in the top drawer of the desk. Beside it was a handheld device.
"We're in luck," she said. "Winkler left his 'com behind." She removed the device from the drawer. "It's an older commercial model. Nothing like the high tech ones we have."
"His wife said he always took it with him."
"What I'd like to know is why he'd leave this behind?" Jasi held up a worn brown leather wallet. "He's got about two hundred bucks in here. And his driver's license."
"Winkler drove his Mercedes without his license? Not very law-abiding, was he?" Natassia held out a hand. "Can I see the data-com?"
"Gladly. I'm not very tech-savvy."
"Then it's a good thing I'm on your team."
"You know something about computers?"
"Some people consider me a techie."
Jasi let her comment slide. For now.
"Hmmm," Natassia murmured.
"What?"
"He has a lot of entries in here."
"Anything jump out at you?"
"He had eight meetings the week before he died. His entries are hard to read though. He abbreviates everything. He met with P.M. on Monday―"
"The Prime Minister?"
"Could be. He had other meetings during the week, a couple of doctor appointments, dinner out with his wife and a FR gala, whatever that is."
"Busy man. What about the day he went missing?"
"Nothing. That's kind of strange, don't you think? He has something for every day, even weeks in advance. Yet there's nothing on that day."
"I guess even politicians take a day off now and then."
Natassia released a heavy sigh. "So what now?"
"Take the 'com. We'll dump the info at the hotel."
"What about these?" Natassia pointed to the computer and laptop on the desk.
"I'll have an evidence team send the files from the PC to our data-coms. You can take the laptop."
Jasi unlocked the filing cabinet and leafed through the files. Nothing stood out. She took a quick photo of the open drawer with her data-com, then stood back, her eyes wandering over the room.
Damn!
She wasn't any closer to finding out who killed Winkler.
"I've got nothing," Natassia said behind her. "These shelves are filled with books on politics, war and history. Plus there's a stack of legal forms awaiting his autograph."
"I guess he won't be signing them now." Jasi closed the cabinet. "If you take the forms, we can go over them later."
"Winkler has interesting taste in music." Natassia held up a CD with butterflies on the label. One butterfly was emerging from a cocoon. "Relaxation for the Soul. Hmm, well that explains why he kept falling asleep."
Jasi chuckled. "What did you expect―Metallica?"
"You know, you look like you could use some relaxing. Maybe you should borrow it."
"Last thing I need is to be falling asleep in the middle of an investigation."
As they moved toward the door, Jasi hesitated. She flicked a backward glance across the room. A powerful man had sat behind that desk. He'd looked at the clock, answered a phone call, scheduled a meeting, then…what?
Winkler's ghost seemed to linger close by.
"I think we're re done here, Jasi." Natassia prodded.
Jasi shivered. "I think we've only just begun."
When she stepped out into the hall, James was waiting for them. His eyes narrowed when he spotted the data-com in her hand.
"I think we've got everything we need for now." She pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to James. "You'll have to sign this acquisition form. It says we've borrowed your brother's data-com and laptop for the duration of the investigation. We'll return them as soon as we can."
Without a word, James scribbled his signature on the bottom line and handed the form back. Escorting them to the front door, he moved swiftly, as if he couldn't wait to get rid of them.
What's your hurry?
Jasi made a mental note to check out the brother.
She stepped outside, turned and planted one hand in the doorjamb. James couldn't close the door without catching her hand in it. Looking into his eyes, she wondered for a moment whether she would lose a finger or two.
Sometimes you gotta take a chance.
"My sincerest condolences," she said. "I'm very sorry for your loss."
James' pale blue eyes clouded. Whether from anger or sadness, she couldn't tell.
"Some people aren't," he said in a flat tone.
She pulled her hand away as he closed the door.
"Wonder what's got his knickers tied in a bunch?" Natassia said.
"Knickers?"
"Sorry. I spent most of my childhood and early twenties in London, before moving back to Russia. Where did you grow up?"
"Vancouver. Born and raised. I never really did much traveling until Matthew recruited me."
When they climbed into the SUV, Natassia said, "Why do you suppose Monty changed his nightly routine?"
"I don't know. It does seem strange though."
"Well, he went somewhere that night."
"And he met someone," Jasi said. "But who?"
There was one thing she knew for sure.
When I figure out the answers, I'll find a killer.
&
nbsp; 9
To Natassia, a morgue was a daycare for the dead, until someone claimed them for burial or cremation. The Ottawa Forensics Unit was no different. It held stainless steel sinks and counters, multi-functioning computers, a forensics body scanner and a wall with stainless steel compartments for the dead. The room smelled the same as every other morgue, a combination of sanitizing cleaning products and formaldehyde that fought to mask the unmistakable stench of decay.
Natassia sprayed some Mentho in both nostrils to ward away the intense odor of decomposition. She read the nameplates on the wall.
When she found Monty Winkler's name, she pressed the red button beside it. There was a soft hum. A drawer slid out, revealing Winkler's body. It hadn't been bagged yet, but the stapled Y incision told her that an autopsy had already taken place.
"Dr. Copeland sure didn't waste any time," she murmured, thankful the pathologist had agreed to leave them alone.
"A high profile case like this means a lot of press," Jasi said. "Last thing our government needs is another scandal."
Natassia knew full well the devastating effects of scandal. She'd unearthed plenty. The morgue was a place that held so many last thoughts. Few people went peacefully. There was usually some kind of pain, loss, regret…guilt.
Or burning secrets waiting to be revealed.
She moved closer to the body. "Well, Mr. Winkler, are you ready to share your secrets?"
"Let's hope he saw his killer," Jasi said.
Sitting next to Monty Winkler's body, Natassia studied him for a long moment, her hands finally resting on his bloated face.
"What do you need me to do?" Jasi asked.
Closing her eyes, Natassia began to trace each facial feature with butterfly strokes, ignoring the slightly sticky feel of bloated, rotting skin.
"If I'm not out in ten minutes, pinch me hard and yell 'yeah, baby' at the top of your lungs."
"That's your safety phrase? Yeah, baby?"
Natassia didn't answer. She couldn't. She was already slipping away. She was as light as a feather, drifting above the corpse of Monty Winkler.
In a flash, she was staring out through his eyes, an observer of his final memories.
And a witness to murder.
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