A well-dressed man in a pale maroon suit stood outside the van. The man's California-blond hair, previously broken nose and flashing brown eyes made his face one of the most recognizable in North America. He was none other than Allan Baker―the Premier of British Columbia…and the deceased Dr. Washburn's son.
"Where is he?" Baker demanded softly.
"Where is who?" Ben asked. He jumped from the van.
Resentment flared in Allan Baker's eyes. "My father."
Ben watched the man carefully, sizing him up. Baker didn't seem particularly heartbroken. Upset, yes, but not exactly the picture of the grieving son.
Baker peered down his nose. "Who's in charge here? I don't have all day."
Ben held out his hand. "I'm second in command. Agent Benjamin Roberts, CFBI."
Natassia stepped from the van, catching the Premier's eye. "Agent McLellan is the lead, but she's in the field."
Premier Baker glanced uneasily toward the charred ruins of the lakeside cabin. Then he tossed Ben a disdainful frown. "Okay, so where is he?"
Ben frowned. What exactly had the Premier been told?
"We're very sorry but your father is dead," Natassia said gently.
"Of course he's dead!" Baker snarled. "I wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case. I want to know where his body is. I need to make arrangements."
Subtly, Ben nudged his head at Natassia who gave a faint nod.
"Premier Baker, let's go someplace more comfortable," she suggested.
As Natassia led Baker to a communications tent pitched near the road, Ben followed close behind. Allan Baker had just promoted himself to number one suspect on Ben's list. Everyone knew there was no love lost between father and son, and that Baker resented his father for not acknowledging him when he was a child.
Now if that's not motive enough, then what is?
Yeah, Allan Baker warranted a closer inspection.
And speaking of closer looks…
Ben caught Baker checking out Natassia's assets.
"Premier Baker," he growled. "Take a seat, please. We have some questions for you. Would you care for a coffee?"
"Please. Double cream and sugar." Baker leered openly in Natassia's direction. "I like sweet things."
Ben wanted to punch the man. Instead, he handed Baker a container of cream and their hands made contact. In an instant, he picked up a kaleidoscope of emotions and thoughts.
Anger, sorrow, secrets and lies.
"Premier Baker," Natassia said coolly. "Your father's remains were discovered in his cabin. How much of the details do you want to know?"
"Everything," the man remarked haughtily.
Ben shrugged.
Baker wanted all the details? That's what he'd get then.
"Premier Baker, your father was murdered. He was tied to his recliner and the cabin was doused in diesel. He either died of smoke inhalation or fatal burns. We'll know more once the coroner has completed the autopsy."
Baker's hands clenched. When he opened them, he rubbed the palms, scratching an unbearable itch.
Ben's eyes were drawn to a faint patchwork of tiny scars that covered the man's palms. The lines were refined and silvery, as though Baker had undergone laser dermal resurfacing to make them less noticeable.
"Can you tell us where you've been for the past twelve hours?" Natassia asked, breaking Ben's concentration.
Baker smiled―a politician's smile. "I've been touring British Columbia. We were in Kelowna yesterday for most of the day. Last night I entertained guests at the Paloma Springs Hotel in Penticton until maybe two this morning."
His gaze narrowed suddenly, realization crossing his face.
Standing abruptly, he exploded, "What, you think I killed him? Are you insane?"
Ben leaned forward, his hands gripping the table that separated him from Baker. "No, but someone certainly is."
"This is a goddamn outrage!" Baker uttered acidly. "For your information it's been almost a year since I've seen or spoken with my…father. I've been campaigning. It's been busier than hell. And regardless of my past issues with Doctor Norman Washburn, I'm running for Prime Minister. I don't need the negative publicity."
Ben folded his arms across his chest. "We'll need a copy of your itinerary for the past day, including a list of all contacts that can verify your whereabouts."
"You mean an alibi," Baker snapped hotly. "You know, that bastard got what was coming to him. Don't expect me to cry for him." He slumped into the chair, resting both arms on the table.
Natassia continued tapping on her data-com. "No one's expecting anything from you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Baker growled.
She raised her head. "It simply means, Premier Baker, that how you grieve is up to you. We're here to deal with the facts and the evidence."
Ben curled his lips into a tight smile. "Once we confirm your whereabouts, Premier Baker, we'll be able to rule you out. No worries, right?"
Allan Baker glared bitterly, then rose to his feet.
Smoothing the front of his jacket, he said crisply, "I'll have my assistant fax you my itinerary and the list of contacts as soon as I return to my office."
Ben watched Baker climb into a sleek black sedan. The dust swirled behind when the car sped out of sight.
"I'll take Baker," he told Natassia. "While you and Jasi follow up on Beranski."
He brushed a hand through his thick hair, then released a deep breath. "I have a feeling Dr. Washburn made a lot of enemies. And I think his son is hiding something."
"I'll go get our fearless leader," Natassia murmured, finishing her coffee in one gulp.
When Natassia reached the unarmed perimeter beacons, she surveyed the wreckage. The bumpy ground was scorched and black. The ashes were now cool to the touch, but the odor of roasted human flesh still lingered in the humid air.
She could see her friend bent over a pile of rubble, gloved hands carefully pulling aside boards and melted plastic. Natassia had only worked with Jasmine McLellan for a short time, but she admired the woman's dedication. She was grateful for the opportunity to work with Jasi―and Ben.
Standing near the edge to avoid contaminating the scene, Natassia hollered at Jasi. "Got anything?"
Her partner glanced up briefly and waved. "Not yet. I'll have to wait until everything is collected and bagged."
Natassia watched Jasi carefully re-trace her footsteps back to the main beacon and reactivate the security code.
"We have a potential, Jasi."
"Who?"
"Jason Beranski, a pharmacist in Kelowna. And we already had a visit from our primary suspect."
Natassia witnessed the shock in Jasi's eyes.
"Premier Allan Baker," she told her before Jasi could ask.
"What? Baker was here and I missed it?"
"You sure didn't miss much. The man is a disgusting pig. I can't believe he's Premier of BC. All he seemed worried about was how fast he could get dear Daddy into the grave."
Maybe Baker even put him there!
Jasi snorted loudly. "Yeah, that's Baker. What'd he have for an alibi?"
"He said he was at a function at the Paloma Springs Hotel in Penticton. Ben wants to take Baker."
"Then we'll take the pharmacist."
Natassia flagged down a passing patrol car. As they climbed inside, she asked the officer to drop them off at the helicopter, then waited while Jasi connected to Ben.
"We're heading to Kelowna to interview Beranski," Jasi told him. "Meet us there when you're done."
While Jasi exchanged a few words with Ben, Natassia listened, tamping down the flicker of jealousy that erupted every time she thought of their close friendship. Ben and Jasi were just friends―she knew that.
"We could have Beranski brought in to Ops," she suggested when Jasi had ended the communication.
"No, we're going to pay Mr. Beranski a surprise visit."
Natassia pulled out her data-com and continued narrowing down the list of Washburn's pote
ntial enemies. As long as the press didn't get wind of Premier Baker's status on her list, the investigation would progress smoothly.
Aboard the helicopter, Natassia strapped herself into the seat while Jasi puffed on OxyBlast to clear her lungs. A few minutes later Jasi dozed off.
Awake and anxious, Natassia tried to calm the rumbling in her stomach.
After interrogating Jason Beranski, it would be time for her to take a trip to the Kelowna Coroner's Office.
In the bowels of the city morgue, a victim lay on a metal slab―a victim who had something to say.
Something only Natassia could hear.
6
~ Kelowna, BC
Jason Beranski smiled politely at an elderly woman while he filled her prescription of Arthrotec.
"One hundred m-milligram capsules. Make sure you take this with f-food so it won't upset your s-stomach, Mrs. Beaumont."
Pharmacity was one of Kelowna's busiest drugstores. Today there seemed to be an unusual amount of traffic. But Jason didn't care. Today was a great day and nothing was going to spoil his mood.
"I'm on b-break," he told his assistant, Doris.
He had missed his lunch and was dying for a cup of sludge that the day manager made instead of real coffee. Removing his orange striped apron, he left it on a stool and disappeared into the back room. The shelves were stacked with expired pharmaceuticals and new freight.
He nudged a box into one corner before grabbing some coffee. Then he slipped out the back door.
Outside, he straddled an empty crate and sniffed the blistering, humid air.
The alley was littered with trash. A large rusted Dumpster overflowed―a potpourri of ripe, spoiled food…and something else. Urine. Beside the Dumpster, a stray tabby cat meowed forlornly, anticipating a treat. Sensing danger, it remained a safe distance from the skinny man with the shaved head.
The alley was Jason's domain.
The other staff members remained inside during their breaks. They couldn't understand why he would choose to sit amidst the garbage and stench instead of in a clean, although cluttered, back room.
How could he possibly explain to them that he savored his freedom? In the alley, no one judged him. No one teased him about his speech impediment.
He watched the cat attack a piece of newspaper that blew across the pavement. Leaning forward, he picked up a squished pop can and hurled it at the stray.
"I guess you're not a cat lover," a voice said suddenly.
Jason turned and was shocked to see a woman with long auburn hair standing in the doorway.
"Jason Beranski?"
He nodded, sensing that his great day was over.
The woman fished a badge from a pocket and stepped toward him. "Agent Jasmine McLellan, CFBI."
"CFBI? W-what do you w-want with m-me?" he stammered uneasily. "I haven't d-done anything."
Agent McLellan eyed him strangely and he squirmed uncomfortably.
"We're conducting an investigation. I have a few questions. Do you mind?"
He hesitated before answering her. "Would it m-matter if I d-did?"
The agent ignored him, then brought out a handheld computer device. Moving beside him, she pulled up another crate, swept off the top and sat down.
I know what this is about, he thought. That bastard got what was coming to him.
He spared the woman a look, and was positive that she could see his guilt.
"Voice record on," the agent commanded.
Jason felt a shiver of apprehension race up his spine.
Inside the pharmacy, Natassia immediately headed for a petite young woman with short fire-red hair. The pharmacy assistant, Doris Richards, appeared to be ready to hurl when Natassia showed her a badge.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions."
The assistant's mouth quivered. "I haven't done anything wrong."
Natassia released an impatient sigh.
Why did people look so scared when she questioned them? Maybe she should try a gentler tactic.
"Ms. Richards, uh…may I call you Doris?"
The woman nodded hesitantly.
"We're not investigating you, but we sure could use some help." Natassia almost bit her tongue on the word help.
Doris's eyes widened. "Of course. What can I do?"
She motioned Natassia to follow her into the back room.
"We're investigating an arson and Mr. Beranski's name came up. Now I'm not saying he's a suspect, just that we have to check all bases. You understand, Doris?"
"Mr. Beranski?" The woman glanced nervously over her shoulder at the back door. "He's a decent boss."
Natassia took out her data-com. "Voice record on! Interviewing Doris Richards, assistant pharmacist and co-worker of Jason Beranski, case H085A. Ms. Richards, you understand that this is simply an informal interview?"
The woman smiled timidly and bobbed her head.
Natassia pointed impatiently to her data-com, to which Doris responded with a loud, "Yes!"
"How long have you worked with Mr. Beranski?"
"About eight months. I transferred from Shoppers when they bought out Pharmacity."
"What can you tell me about him?"
"He's an okay boss. I mean, he pretty much leaves me alone to do my job." Doris smiled tentatively. "He keeps to himself mostly. Ever since his mother died last Christmas, he does his job and goes home."
Natassia wondered how angry the man was over the death of his mother. How close was Beranski to her before she died? Maybe close enough to go after Washburn for revenge.
Doris tugged nervously on a strand of heavily gelled hair.
The woman probably kept the hair companies rolling in dough, Natassia mused.
The assistant interrupted her thoughts. "What do you think he's done? I mean, I work with the guy. I'd like to know."
"Sorry, Doris. We're still investigating."
Sensing the woman's disappointment, Natassia said, "I have a few more questions and then you can go. Has Mr. Beranski been acting unusual in the past two or three days?"
"He's unusual all the time!" The woman crossed her arms and blew out a long breath. "Well, he has been acting kind of strange today."
"What do you mean?"
Doris shrugged. "Usually he's quiet. He does his job but doesn't talk to anyone. He's not particularly happy most days. You know what I mean?"
Natassia knew exactly what the woman meant.
Beranski was a loner. Kept to himself, no real friends, no family. A prime candidate for someone out to prove himself. A prime suspect.
"So what's different today?" Natassia prodded.
"Jay―I mean, Mr. Beranski has been whistling and smiling all day. He's even been friendly to our customers, asking them how they feel. Every few minutes I hear him saying 'It's a great day today', like he's won the lottery or something."
"Doris, why do you think he's so happy?"
The assistant smirked. "I'll tell you exactly why I think he's so happy. This morning, on the radio? We all heard that some doctor in Kelowna was killed in a fire. The store went quiet―all except Jason. He was stocking the new shipment and dropped a case of Amoxil. Luckily it was bubble-wrapped."
"So he dropped the pills…and?"
Doris's eyes strayed toward the ceiling while she tried to remember the order of events.
"Yeah," she managed finally. "And then he smiled. It was weird. Here we all were, thinking about that poor doctor's family, and Mr. Beranski was smiling."
"Is that it?"
"No. When I asked him what was so funny? He just said 'It's a great day today. The bastard finally got what was coming to him.' And since then, he's been smiling and friendly to everyone. Weird! That's all I can say."
Doris chewed on her fingernail, then blinked.
"Hey! Was that the same fire you're investigating?"
"Voice record off," Natassia replied, without answering the woman's question. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you anymore."
She thanked Doris
for her time and watched the woman rush back to the pharmacy.
The gossip was going to be good today.
Natassia checked her watch.
Time to join Jasi and Beranski.
But first she would do a quick, although illegal, search of the back room. Perhaps one of the boxes contained IV tubing. And if a piece of it just happened to be on the floor then she would need no other reason to investigate. She knew that Jasi would keep Jason Beranski busy for at least fifteen minutes.
That would give Natassia plenty of time.
Outside in the back alley, Jasi fumed.
She had wasted her time trying to establish Beranski's background and his whereabouts during the early morning. The man was clueless and infuriating.
"Mr. Beranski, are you aware that Dr. Norman Washburn was murdered this morning?"
"Yeah, so what of it? You expect m-me to feel s-sorry for him?"
"We're fully informed about the charges you filed against Dr. Washburn. We also know that he was found not guilty in your mother's WD case."
Pacing in front of her, Beranski booted a rusted coffee can against the Dumpster.
"Not guilty? That d-d-drunken bastard killed my mother! He s-slaughtered her in the operating room so that no other surgeon could p-put her together again. And the h-hospital officials? Those assholes d-defended him. They m-made up some excuse that he b-blacked out. A stroke, they said."
Jasi clipped her data-com to her jacket and slid a photo toward him. "You hate him enough to do this?"
The X-Disc had taken the photograph on its fly-by. It showed Washburn's body, blistered and burned to a crisp. In fact, it was impossible to discern where the body ended and the chair began. It was an image of death, a macabre thing to show a suspect.
But Jasi wanted to see the man's reaction.
She wasn't expecting his face to turn green, though.
"The ME had to identify the body by dental records," she nudged. "Every inch of him was roasted, the flesh was peeled from his bones like an overcooked turkey."
The pharmacist stood up, knocking over his coffee mug. He reached for the back door, desperate for escape.
Divine Intervention (Divine Trilogy) Page 5
