It was ironic. Brett had gotten his wish to become popular. But what a price he paid for it.
Jasi still couldn't get the kid's face out of her mind. He reminded her of her brother Brady―young, impetuous, troubled and filled with resentment. The perfect recipe for disaster.
Pro-gun supporters didn't seem to care what guns were doing to the youth on the street, and no one bothered to look at what gun rights had done to the USA. The United States of Arms, as some called it.
She sighed. "No one outside of law enforcement would be carrying if it weren't for Winkler and that other MP. What was his name?"
"Ravinder Sharma," Ben replied. "They sure surprised everyone with their votes."
"Wonder what made them change their minds."
"Who knows? Some people believe they have a God-given right to protect themselves at all costs."
"Well, they're half-right," she said dryly. "They just don't realize they increase the chance of violence by simply having a gun in their possession. The people shot at the Ottawa protest have proven that."
Ben nodded. "Nothing worse than an angry mob."
Jasi thought of the corpse lying in the morgue.
"I don't think Monty Winkler would agree."
3
The Embassy Hotel & Suites, a regal hotel located on Cartier Street, was cradled in the heart of Ottawa. It had served military and government officials for decades, and the security was impeccable. Security guards and cameras made it virtually impossible for someone to walk into the hotel, carry out any nefarious plan and then get away without being detected.
The sun had gone down by the time Jasi and Ben checked in. They took the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor. Their rooms were side-by-side, with windows facing Parliament Hill and the Rideau Canal.
When Jasi opened the door to her room, she eyed the two queen-size beds. Recycled airplane air always made her tired and she'd give anything to just crawl into bed and sleep the rest of the day away.
"First things first."
She locked the door behind her and tossed her tote bag and backpack on the bed near the window. Shrugging off her jacket, she hung it on the back of a chair. She removed her shoulder harness and quickly inspected the M9 Beretta holstered in it. The double-action semiautomatic was ancient compared to the newer Glock models most agents were fitted with, but Pop had given it to her when she graduated from CFBI training. She'd cleared it with Matthew under the strict rule that she'd have it inspected by a weapons tech every three months.
She slipped the gun into the holster and draped the harness over her jacket. "Time to check out the view."
Crossing to the window, she pulled the cord and the gold satin drapes parted, revealing a sensational night skyline and the Ottawa River. City lights glinted off the Rideau Canal, the 125 mile long waterway that was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site back in 2007.
Jasi recalled that in the winter the canal was closed down and turned into the world's largest skating rink, but because global warming had initiated an earlier spring, a warm spell during the first two weeks of April had melted most of the river ice. Ships and personal watercraft now dotted the Ottawa River, which was back to business as usual.
She left the drapes open and moved to the bed where she opened the backpack and took note of the field supplies in various pockets. A full canister of OxyBlast, two flashlights, extra batteries, bottled water, evidence markers and other items. Everything was in order, so she unpacked her tote bag and hung her clothes in the wardrobe.
She was about to toss the tote bag in a corner when she spotted a gourmet truffle on the pillow.
"Dark chocolate. My favorite."
Paying no heed to the inner voice that reminded her she hadn't gone for her run yet, she removed the wrapper and stuffed the decadent candy into her mouth before her conscience could argue. She let it melt, slowly, savoring the treat.
She ate the chocolate from the other bed too.
I'll add ten more minutes to my morning run.
She tossed both wrappers into the wastebasket.
A beeping sound caught her attention. Unclipping her portable data-communicator from her belt, she read a message from Ben. Have a good sleep, Jazz.
"You too," she texted back. "Tomorrow the investigation begins."
She peeled off her jeans and blouse and sniffed them. They smelled of death. From the morgue. She stuffed the clothes into a laundry bag and set it by the door.
In the bathroom, she stripped completely and opened the glass door to the double shower. Inside was a digital panel set up for touch or voice command. Most modern hotels had these showers now. Jasi had one recently installed in her apartment, a luxury most people couldn't afford. She'd learned a long time ago to splurge on the few things that brought her comfort or pleasure.
"Shower on."
The shower obeyed, but the water was cold.
"101 degrees."
She stepped inside and heaved a sigh of relief. As steaming water washed away the morgue blues, she took a deep breath and released it, watching her tense morning swirl down the drain.
She reached for the shampoo bottle. "Damn."
In her haste to catch the flight from Vancouver to Ottawa, she'd forgotten to pack shampoo and conditioner. She picked up the hotel's mystery sample, opened it, gave it a sniff, then shrugged.
"Note to self," she said as she lathered her shoulder-length hair. "Buy shampoo and conditioner in the hotel gift shop."
She wondered how much Monty Winkler had spent on hair care products. Any time she'd seen him on TV, he'd always appeared immaculately groomed, as if he'd just stepped out of a Vidal Sassoon salon.
As she rinsed her hair, she thought about his wife. Marilyn Winkler had supported her husband, followed him everywhere. The woman would be devastated.
At least she doesn't have any kids to break the news to.
She instantly recalled her own father's grief-stricken face the day he had taken her aside and told her that her mother was dead. Her life had changed forever after that. She couldn't recall events from her childhood before that, much less what happened exactly on the day her mother was brutally murdered. There was only one thing she could remember with perfect clarity. The sound of her mother screaming.
That sound still haunted her at night.
On that horrible day so many years ago, eight-year-old Jasmine was the only witness to a home invasion gone wrong. It had happened on Brady's second birthday. Everything she knew was from what her father had told her years later. He had returned from an outing with Brady and found Jasmine on the floor. She was covered in blood, holding her mother's limp hand, singing a lullaby. Her father had placed Brady in his playpen, then pulled Jasmine into his arms and carried her into her bedroom, where he broke down, sobbing.
Jasmine had said nothing. She was in shock, nearly catatonic. Realizing he needed to also tend to Brady, Pop tucked her in bed, kissed her forehead and left the bedroom. Ten minutes later, while uniformed officers and a crime scene unit invaded their home, Pop had sat on her bed, stroking her hair. He tried to explain that her mother was gone, that she'd never be coming back. Ever.
Her mother's death had left a gaping hole in Jasi's heart. Over the years she'd tried to remember, but every time she thought of that horrible day, all she could recall was her mother's scream.
And the blood. There had been so much blood.
In the shower, Jasi blinked away the tears and tipped her head back under the cleansing spray. But all the water in the world couldn't wash away that memory of death.
4
Monday, April 16, 2012
~ Ottawa, ON
While waiting for Jasi to arrive, Ben used the in-room menu on the touch screen plasma TV to place a breakfast order from room service―two omelets, crisp Canadian back bacon, toast and coffee.
He set up his laptop on the small table near the window. Attaching a short cord from the laptop to his data-com, he transferred the secure files he'd received
from Divine Ops to the laptop.
While waiting, he removed his leather gloves, massaged his hands and frowned at their paleness. He rarely removed his gloves during the day. The last time he'd been careless and left them off, he'd had an unexpected vision. Jasi had caught him off guard and he grabbed at her ponytail to give it a teasing pull. With a bare hand.
Big mistake.
He had an instant vision, a flash of a woman lying on the floor, her body bruised and beaten beyond recognition. It haunted him. As did the image of large black shoes. Something about them gnawed at his mind, like an irritating sliver that wouldn't dislodge itself.
"You saw my mother," Jasi said when he told her what he'd seen. "The night she was murdered. A night I can't remember clearly and one I desperately want to put out of my mind."
They'd spent the evening together, lying side-by-side, not touching, just talking. It was the beginning of a deep friendship.
Ben was reading the file on Monty Winkler when the door opened. Jasi entered, looking flustered but refreshed. Her hair was damp and she wore no makeup. Then again, she didn't need it.
"Hey," he said. "I was about to call you."
"Sorry, I was sleep-showering after my morning run. I could've stayed in there for another hour."
"You'd come out looking like a shriveled prune."
"With ratty hair." Jasi smoothed her ponytail. "This hotel needs to get new blow driers."
He smiled.
"What are you grinning about?" she muttered.
"Nothing."
Jasi's pet peeve was her hair. She preferred it straight, but she grumbled that it took too long to straighten with a hot iron. The natural waves always crept back as soon as the humidity soared. So every morning, up it would go into a ponytail that swung when she walked.
"You look great," he said, pulling on his gloves.
Jasmine McLellan always looked great, as far as he was concerned. She was a beautiful woman with striking green eyes and flaming red hair. A Scottish wench with a wicked temper, he thought with a smirk. He should know. He'd been on the receiving end of that temper many times.
"You're a sight for sore old eyes," he said, turning back to the monitor.
Jasi snickered behind him. "Yeah, you're so old, Ben. That bit of gray hair above your ears is spreading. Might have to get you a walker soon." She dragged a chair beside him. "Where's the coffee?"
"It's coming. I ordered breakfast for us, so we can start wading through all the files. The RCMP really didn't have much to give us. I can see why they're stumped."
She nudged the laptop. "What have we got so far?"
"Stats on Monty Winkler." Ben clicked on a folder. "He's married, no kids. A member of some exclusive social clubs, including the Ottawa Hunt & Golf Club."
"Membership to the Hunt Club isn't cheap," she said. "Even for an MP. What's his wife do again?"
He scrolled through the file. "Marilyn Winkler is the CEO of Paragon Research Corporation, located at Shirleys Bay." He frowned. "Hmm, this is interesting."
"What?"
"Paragon is funded by three generations of family money."
Jasi's brow lifted. "Winkler money?"
He shook his head. "Dailey money." At her blank look, he said, "Warner Dailey?"
"I have no idea who you're talking about, Ben."
"Warner Dailey was a business tycoon who made it big back in the late 40s. He funded companies that sold weapons and ammunition to the US and Canadian military during the war."
"And he owned Paragon?"
"Dailey founded the company in 1952. His son Stephen took over when he passed away." He glanced at the monitor and a chuckle escaped. "You'll never guess who Stephen Dailey was."
"Who?"
"Marilyn Winkler's father."
"And now she's CEO."
"Her father died last year and left her the family business, plus all of his investments."
"That's some inheritance."
He watched as Jasi moved to the window. There was a calm grace in her movements, like a dancer. Of course, she was completely unaware of this and if he ever said anything, she'd deny it and probably tackle him to the ground.
You're one tough cookie, Jasmine McLellan.
"Money and a position of authority are a powerful mix," she said without looking at him. "It gives her freedom to travel with her husband."
"And keep an eye on him. The file says two women publicly accused him of adultery."
Jasi turned. "Who?"
"Karen Hampton and Deirdre…Dailey. Now that can't be a coincidence."
Jasi's eyes widened. "I remember hearing about Deirdre. She's Marilyn Winkler's sister."
"We'll have to check both women out. His wife too."
"Anyone else stand out as a possible suspect?"
Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door.
Jasi's face brightened. "Food."
He opened the door and a uniformed room service attendant pushed a wheeled cart inside. On the cart two silver-dome lids covered their meals. Along with the plates and condiments, there was a glass pitcher of ice water with lemon slices, a carafe of coffee and two mugs.
"Do you want all this on the table?" the attendant asked.
"Just leave the cart," Ben replied. "We'll put it out in the hall when we're done."
"Fine, sir. Please sign here."
Ben signed the electronic receipt.
"Thank you, sir. Here's a complimentary newspaper."
Ben took the newspaper and gave the man a ten dollar bill. He'd write it off as an expense later.
"Here." He tossed Jasi the newspaper. "See if there's anything in there on Winkler." He pushed the laptop to one side of the table to make room for their breakfast plates.
"There's an article on page two," Jasi said, pouring coffee into the mugs. "And we're in it, complete with a photo of us."
"Great," he muttered.
"Nothing new in the article. I can't believe they found out about us so soon. They mention us by name."
"So much for keeping a low profile, but I guess it's to be expected, considering who was murdered."
This new development did nothing but darken his mood, and he knew Jasi felt it too.
"Smells awesome," she said, adroitly changing the subject. She lifted the lid and grinned. "You know me so well."
He watched as she doused the omelet in ketchup and dove into it. Jasi always ate like it was her last meal.
"You're the only woman I know who can pack away food like a guy."
She almost looked hurt. "I burn it all off."
"Yeah, you're lucky that way. If I ate like you, I'd gain ten pounds a month." He picked up his fork.
"This is heavenly," she said, her mouth full. "Great choice. Thank you, Ben."
He was tempted to wipe the spot of ketchup from the corner of her mouth, but he didn't. It was too intimate of an action. Plus, she'd probably hit him.
"You're so ladylike, Jazz," he teased.
"I was raised by a man. What do you expect?" She picked up a piece of bacon with her fingers, stuffed it in her mouth, then licked her fingertips. "Shouldn't we get back to Winkler?"
Between bites of food and sips of coffee, they reviewed their respective files, Ben on the laptop and Jasi on her data-com. Ten minutes passed before he saw something interesting.
"Monty Winkler might have been well respected, but he did butt heads a few times on certain controversial issues."
Jasi raised her head. "Which ones?"
"Gun rights and gay marriage seem to be the hot spots."
"So it's possible that one of those hot spots set off a killer." She paused. "I'll look into Ravinder Sharma, the MP that voted with Winkler on gun rights. Maybe someone was threatening them."
"The locals have no leads yet," he said, picking at his salad. "Which is why Matthew sent us here. Today we get acquainted with Monty Winkler until we know everything about him. Tomorrow we'll head out to the crime scene, see if there's anything they overlook
ed."
"Secondary crime scene," she corrected. "We don't know where Winkler was killed."
He grinned. "Good catch. I thought you'd miss that one. We'll check it out first thing tomorrow morning.
"Sounds like a plan. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"Really?" he teased, one brow arching devilishly.
She swatted his arm. "You've got a one-track mind. You know, I pity the woman who ends up with you. She'll be lucky to get out of bed each morning."
"Aw, Jazz, you know there's only one woman for me."
Before she could pull away, he tugged at her ponytail, thankful he'd remembered to put on his gloves.
She scowled at him. "Enough of that."
"But we're best friends, remember?"
She clinked her mug against his. "Bestest."
By mid-afternoon, they'd gone over more than half the files related to the case, plus some that delved into Winkler's political career. It was dry reading and Ben could tell that Jasi was getting impatient. Every now and then she'd let out a frustrated sigh, emphasizing it to make sure he heard.
He chuckled when she did it again. "Take a break, Jasi."
"I want to get this over with. You know I hate politics."
"Hey, you might actually learn something."
"Learn something?" She scowled. "I'd rather have a root canal done. Without anesthesia."
Ben was about to say something when his data-com beeped. He answered, then activated the speakerphone so Jasi could hear.
"Have you solved the case yet?" a gravelly voice asked.
"Ha-ha, Matthew," Jasi replied.
Ben watched as her smile brightened. Matthew Divine was almost a surrogate father figure, and he knew their boss held a special place in his heart for her.
"Are you both settled in?" Matthew asked.
"It's a very comfortable hotel," Ben replied.
"I've arranged for another SUV to be delivered to the hotel. For Jasmine. It's in the underground parking. Keys are at the front desk."
Divine Justice Page 3
