Divine Intervention

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  "If you're taking Beranski, then you'd better bring a barf bag," Natassia cautioned.

  "Yeah, I'll pack an extra shirt too," Jasi grinned. "First thing tomorrow, I'll check the cab companies. Maybe Jason Beranski ditched the movie once it started."

  She yawned.

  The trip to the crime scene had exhausted her. A good night's sleep was what she needed. Then she could get an early start in the morning. Thank God, she wouldn't have to deal with that tiring Brandon Walsh anymore.

  After Ben paid their bill, the three of them walked across the empty street toward the Prestige Inn. The hotel lobby glistened with pearlescent floors and matching oak trim.

  Jasi checked for messages, then they headed for the elevators. A group of boisterous, intoxicated politicians rudely pushed past them and confiscated the only vacant car.

  "If people only knew what these guys were really doing with taxpayers' money," Natassia muttered.

  "Then we wouldn't have to worry about voting," Jasi scoffed. "There'd be no election."

  In the elevator one of the men shifted nervously. Jasi curled her lip, her eyes fastening on him, threateningly. As the doors slowly closed, the man sagged against the wall.

  Whether it was from relief or too much alcohol, Jasi didn't know. She didn't care either way.

  The second elevator announced its arrival with a brief melody. Then the doors opened, depositing a frazzled mother with five screaming children, all obviously headed for the swimming pool.

  Jasi followed Ben and Natassia inside and pushed the button to their floor. When they reached the third floor, she strode down the hall, eager for her bed and sleep.

  "Here's your suite," Ben said, swiping a room card across the scanner.

  When the door buzzed open, he handed her the card.

  "I'll keep in touch tomorrow," he told her, then strolled across the hall to his own room. "Goodnight, Natassia."

  Jasi saw her partner's eyes trail after him, disappointment and longing engraved on her face.

  "Hey, Natassia. Look on the bright side," she smirked when they entered their room. "At least you've got me for a roommate."

  Natassia scowled grumpily. "Yeah, but you're not as much fun."

  "Hey!" She ducked as Natassia chucked a pillow at her head.

  "And you snore!"

  8

  Tuesday, June 19, 2012

  ~ Kelowna, BC

  The following morning Jasi called the taxi companies and narrowed down three that had serviced the theatre the night before. Each company stated that they could not release information over the phone. Hailing a Speedy taxi, she gave the driver the address for Kel-Cabs.

  The driver's ID read Ahmed.

  In the rear view mirror, Ahmed's black eyes bore holes into her face. Resisting the urge to scowl at him, Jasi curled up in the seat and stared at the gloomy morning sky. Rain was headed their way and that was not good. If the crime scene hadn't been cleared of all evidence, the rain would obliterate it.

  Without warning the taxi screeched to an abrupt halt next to a bookstore. Jasi peered out the window, noting that the vehicles in front had slowed to a snail's crawl while anxious drivers rubbernecked the area, eager for signs of catastrophe. At first, she thought there had been an accident. Then she noticed that a crowd had gathered across the street in front of City Hall. Two television station vans were parked nearby while camera operators forced their way to the center of the crowd, each vying for prime position.

  A tall blond-haired woman seemed vaguely familiar.

  Jasi realized that the blond was a new reporter for CTBC News. She groaned when she saw who stood beside the woman, basking and primping in front of the camera.

  Premier Allan Baker.

  Great! What the hell is he up to now?

  "Wait for me here!" she ordered, handing Ahmed a twenty-dollar bill. "I won't be gone long."

  Jasi jumped from the taxi and darted between the slowing vehicles until she reached the sidewalk. She pushed her way through the crowd just in time to hear the news reporter introduce Baker.

  "Because of the unfortunate death of your father, you have been wrenched away from your regular duties as Premier of BC," the woman announced in a low, raspy voice. "Has his death been ruled an accident?"

  Baker hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry. I can't comment on the investigation. When the coroner releases that information I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

  "Jesus!" Jasi muttered when she caught the Premier eyeing the reporter's skirt-clad hips.

  The man was insufferable.

  "Premier Baker, is it true that your father's employment with Kelowna General Hospital was going to be terminated?" The reporter innocently tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

  Baker shifted uncomfortably, then gazed into the camera. "Miss Prescott, my father was fifty-eight years old and getting ready to retire. I have no idea what the hospital administration had in mind."

  Prescott's hazel eyes flashed stubbornly. "But what about his alcohol problem? It's been reported that Dr. Washburn was drinking on the job."

  "My father was a top-notch doctor―the best in his field," Baker replied coolly. "Any claims regarding alcohol consumption while working have been unfounded and all charges have been dismissed. I'm sure you can check the hospital records."

  Baker eyed his watch, then peered into the crowd.

  His eyes targeted Jasi's, and he smiled.

  The reporter nudged the microphone closer. "Premier Baker, do you think your father's death will have any affect on the public support you receive, especially now that you've stated your intentions to run for Prime Minister?"

  Baker's shoulders slumped noticeably and he emitted a long sigh.

  Probably an act, Jasi thought.

  "How my father's death will affect the public, I can only guess. Dr. Norman Washburn was my father and mentor. He supported my campaigns one hundred percent. I'll miss the old man, regardless of what anyone may think. As for public support? I'm very thankful that BC judges a man by his own acts, his own abilities―not by someone else's actions."

  Jasi stifled a snicker. Great act!

  Baker strode toward her, determination evident on his face. He elbowed his way closer while Prescott followed behind, motioning the camera operator to keep up.

  "Now if you have additional questions, Miss Prescott, you can ask Agent McLellan here. She's with the CFBI, investigating my father's death."

  A cluster of microphones collided in front of Jasi. She observed the eager, hungry faces of the news hounds that begged for a juicy treat.

  She wasn't giving them any―not even one little bone.

  Stepping forward, she said firmly, "No comment."

  Prodding Baker past the cameras, Jasi swore under her breath. "Don't say another word to the press about the investigation. The information we gave you was strictly confidential."

  She started to walk away but Baker caught her arm.

  "Whoa! He was my father, Agent McLellan."

  Jasi turned slowly to face him, her eyes narrowing.

  "How did you know I was assigned to this investigation?"

  Baker shrugged. "Your associates told me."

  Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear. "I'd be very happy to help you…investigate."

  "I don't need help. Especially from you. Just keep away from the press, Premier Baker. And stay away from me―and my team."

  Jasi elbowed her way past a group of gawking spectators. Baker's laughter trailed behind her, a low threatening sound. She would need a hot shower after dealing with him.

  "Agent McLellan?"

  What now?

  The blond reporter stepped from the crowd, self-consciously smoothing her navy-colored suit with her hands.

  "Can I help you?" Jasi asked curtly, scouring the street for Ahmed and the taxi.

  "Probably not. But I can help you."

  The reporter smiled and held out a hand "Cameron Prescott, CTBC News."

  Begrudgingly, Ja
si shook it. "I'm familiar with you, Miss Prescott."

  "Please, call me Cameron."

  "How do you think you can help me?"

  Jasi examined Cameron Prescott for signs of deception.

  Although the woman had left both her microphone and camera operator behind, she might still be concealing a recording device. The last thing Jasi wanted to be responsible for was a press leak.

  "This is completely off record," Prescott assured her, opening her jacket to prove she wasn't recording their conversation.

  "I want an exclusive interview with you once the CFBI has reached its conclusion. In return, I'll let you in on a little secret and research anything you want."

  "Look, Miss―uh, Cameron. I know what it's like to be the new kid on the block but I can't possibly discuss this case with you."

  Cameron handed her a business card.

  On the back, the name and address of a coffee shop was scribbled in pen.

  "Meet me there at one," the reporter pleaded in a husky voice. "I've been assigned to the Premier during his campaign and I've got something on him that you're going to want."

  Then Cameron Prescott vanished into the back of the CTBC News van.

  As Jasi crossed the busy street, oblivious to the blaring horns and swerving vehicles, she wondered what the woman had on Baker. Whatever it was, Jasi thought, it had better be good.

  Approaching the bookstore, she swore.

  Ahmed, you bastard! Where the hell are you?

  There was no sign of the Speedy taxi. Or its beady-eyed driver. The parking lot was empty except for a Mitsubishi Zen, one of 2012's newest model sports cars.

  Jasi recognized the car.

  Allan Baker didn't travel cheaply.

  Locating Kel-Cabs on the data-com's city map, she discovered it was two blocks away. Oh well, walking was good exercise. And it would give her time to think.

  She glanced at her watch. The morning was half over and she still had two other taxi companies to investigate. After that, she would have to check in with Ben and Natassia.

  There was also Cameron Prescott's invitation to consider. And Jasi was very curious what the reporter had to say about Premier Allan Baker.

  Kel-Cabs was located in an old brick building that backed onto a busy parking lot. It even housed its own car wash facilities. Three freshly washed cabs were parked inside a bay, their drivers standing impatiently nearby while a cleaning crew scoured the tires.

  Situated on the ground floor, the main dispatch office was chaotic and noisy. A row of bored dispatchers wearing headsets was positioned along one wall. Each dispatcher had a computer terminal on his or her desk.

  Jasi could see route maps on some of the monitors―the odd Solitaire game on others.

  A cacophony of voices and bad frequencies delivered her a blinding headache. She massaged her forehead while notifying the secretary at the reception desk that she had an appointment to see the manager.

  The secretary ignored her, as if she hadn't heard a word Jasi had said. Instead, the young girl continued talking on a cell phone. The girl's neon orange nails tapped the wooden desk nervously, betraying her knowledge of Jasi's presence.

  "Excuse me!" Jasi grabbed the phone from the startled girl. Putting it to her ear, she snarled, "She'll call ya back later!"

  Then Jasi flicked the cell phone shut and hurled it toward the secretary. A flash of her badge obtained a quick apology from the girl, and then Jasi was personally escorted upstairs to the manager's office.

  "Uh, Mr. Hawkins will be right in. He's just finishing a…uh, meeting."

  The secretary gawked at the empty office before she nervously scurried away.

  Alone in the stale-smelling office, Jasi stood by a grimy window and thought about Cameron Prescott. She didn't know much about her, other than she was one of Vancouver's new top reporters. She must be good to have been sent all the way to Kelowna for a story.

  There was no question in Jasi's mind about showing up at the coffee shop. If Cameron Prescott had dirt on Baker, then Jasi would definitely start digging. Maybe if she dug deep enough, perhaps the Premier would bury himself.

  She knew Baker was guilty of something.

  But was it murder?

  "Can I help you?"

  "Well that remains to be seen," Jasi replied, examining the manager from a distance.

  The man was probably in his sixties. He wore a monk's fringe of gray, oily hair and sported a bulbous nose with enlarged pores―a drinker's nose. Grossly overweight, the man's belly bulged over a silver buckle fastened to a worn leather belt that was stretched to its limits. He wore jeans and a stained denim shirt with tacky rhinestone buttons.

  The Rhinestone Cowboy, Jasi thought, positive that somewhere in the building a lone Stetson was perched haphazardly on a rack.

  I wonder where the rest of the Village People are.

  The man gasped nervously for air―like a fish out of water. Nervously he wiped his forehead, leaving a smear of sweat across the sleeve of his shirt.

  A musky odor wafted toward Jasi, sweet and familiar.

  The man was higher than a kite.

  "Albert Hawkins, manager," the man coughed, holding out a shaking, grease-stained palm.

  She peered down her nose at his hand, ignored it, and then showed him her ID. She explained that CFBI computers had traced his company to two pick-ups at the Pyramid Theatre after midnight the night before.

  "I need to see those records."

  Hawkins huffed indignantly. "We respect our clients confidentiality."

  "I can subpoena them," she threatened softly, watching his bloodshot eyes.

  Jasi knew she had him by the balls. There was no way Albert Hawkins wanted the CFBI snooping through his records―or his place of business.

  She watched as he lowered himself into a torn leather chair. He pushed aside a half-filled coffee mug. It left a pale ring of dampness on the wooden desk. Shoving a pile of food-stained receipts and invoices to one side, he awkwardly fingered the keyboard of his computer.

  "There."

  He rotated the monitor in her direction and pointed a stubby finger at the screen. "Two pick-ups in that area after midnight. One at 12:15 paid by credit card and another at 12:39 paid in cash. The credit card we can track, but the other…"

  Cash customers were the bane of Jasi's existence. There was no way to trace any kind of transaction if cash was involved.

  "The credit card is registered to Gayle McDermid. Was signed by her too." Hawkins glanced up with a hopeful expression in his drugged eyes.

  Jasi shook her head. Dead end.

  Hawkins checked the screen again. "The driver with the cash payment indicated 'male passenger' in his logbook. The driver's name is Ian Vandermeer. You have a picture of the guy you're looking for?"

  Jasi slapped the photo of Jason Beranski on the desk.

  Hawkins squinted at the picture, then waved his arm.

  "Show it to Ian. He might remember picking him up. There's nothing more I can tell you. We done, Agent McEwan?"

  "McLellan."

  "Wha―"

  "The name's McLellan," Jasi snarled.

  The man stumbled to his feet. "Is that all?"

  Hesitating at the door, she turned back and gave him a penetrating stare. "No, that's not all, Mr. Hawkins."

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You might want to keep in mind that the next time the CFBI makes an appointment to see you, you better not stagger in here smelling like a Z-Lyte factory."

  Without saying another word, Jasi made her way out of the office, leaving the door ajar. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hawkins slump thankfully into his chair. She was tempted to confront the man about his earlier meeting. Using Z-Lyte was one thing but the man could be dealing. A taxi company would be the perfect place to operate from. Unlimited contacts.

  Today Albert Hawkins was safe though. Jasi had more important predators to bait. But one day…

  In the back lot, Jasi was pointed in the direction of the
driver who had been paid in cash. Ian Vandermeer was just a pimply-faced kid. He didn't appear old enough to be finished high school―much less to drive a taxi.

  She was tempted to ask the kid for his ID, but instead she clenched her teeth and showed him the photo of Beranski. Vandermeer smiled slightly, revealing bright multi-colored braces. He told her that the man who had gotten into his cab two nights ago had been wearing a hooded jacket.

  "Maybe it's him," Vandermeer shrugged. "I can't say for sure. All I know is the dude paid with cash. Lousy tipper, though."

  She thanked the kid, her eyes following him while he responded to a message from dispatch. He climbed into his designated taxi and peeled away from the curb.

  What is the world coming to when pimply-faced kids are driving city cabs?

  9

  Benjamin Roberts unfolded himself from the back seat of the taxi after it stopped at 103 Dremner Boulevard.

  Martin L. Gibney lived in an impressive Victorian mansion. The house was located in an exclusive, posh Kelowna neighborhood known as The Heights. The white siding was trimmed with dusty rose shutters and brick pillars. A large turret rose on the right side of the massive home, its windows staring down onto the street.

  The front yard was professionally landscaped and immaculately groomed with tall pine trees. A granite retaining wall sectioned off a three-tiered rose garden on the left. A meandering creek flowed through delicately scented flowers and poured between the rocks. At the bottom, a small waterfall emptied into a pond.

  Ben followed a hedge-lined sidewalk until he came to a door. Just as he was about to push the intercom button, the door opened and a tiny elderly woman of Asian heritage jumped back in alarm.

  "I have an appointment with Mr. Gibney," he explained to the startled maid. "Agent Benjamin Roberts."

  The woman pointed to the mailbox outside the door. "I checking mail." Her voice was soft and lilting.

  She pushed past him, opened the mailbox and retrieved a handful of letters and bills.

  "Come!" she smiled, waving him inside and leading him to a spacious sitting room. "I get Mr. Gi-ney for you. You sit." Then she disappeared.