Divine Intervention

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  While he waited, Ben casually examined the room.

  A portrait of a young black-haired woman with dark eyes and golden skin hung above the gas fireplace. She was lying on a chaise lounge in a candlelit bedroom. A sheer piece of lavender silk was draped lightly across her naked body. The fabric left nothing to the imagination.

  Throwing a vigilant look toward the open door, Ben walked over to a cherrywood table. Arranged on it were a variety of professional photographs of the woman in the portrait. He cautiously picked one up, admiring the youthful innocence of its model. She was mesmerizing―exotic, alluring and inviting.

  "Beautiful, isn't she?"

  Ben jumped, then peered over his shoulder at the man standing behind him.

  Martin Gibney had expensive taste. He wore an Italian designer suit. Natazzi, Ben realized. The gray of the fabric reflected the distinguished silver lights in Gibney's short black hair. He had to be in his late forties.

  Ben placed the photo back on the table.

  "Your daughter?"

  Gibney gasped in amusement. "Not quite, Agent Roberts. Try wife." His laughter sliced the air, like a double-edged sword.

  Startled by the man's admission, Ben's eyes drifted back to the portrait on the wall.

  Damn! Gibney was one lucky man! His wife couldn't be more than twenty-five.

  "She's from Brazil, my wife," the man said, as if that was an explanation for why he was married to someone at least twenty years younger.

  "How'd you two meet?"

  "I met her father when I was in Brazil on business, about five years ago. Her father was Orlando Santiago―the leader of the Brazilian Labor Party. Last year Orlando was assassinated. I had promised him years ago that I would take care of his daughter if anything happened to him. So when he was killed I brought Lydia back…as my wife."

  Ben followed Gibney toward a plush leather sofa and sat down.

  "So Agent Roberts. What can I do for you? I have to admit I was a bit surprised to receive a call from the CFBI."

  Ben flipped open his data-com. "Do you mind?"

  When Gibney shrugged, he turned the recorder on.

  "Are you aware that Premier Baker's father died yesterday?"

  Gibney heaved an enormous sigh. "Oh yes, I heard about it on the radio. A sad, sad situation." His head twitched slowly, back and forth.

  The Asian woman entered the room, halting all conversation. She poured two tall glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice, then left.

  "I understand you called the Premier that night, just before midnight," Ben said after the door closed after her.

  "Yes, I did call Allan."

  "Was the call related to Baker's political campaign?"

  The man laughed derisively and leaned forward.

  "Agent Roberts, you do know what I do for a living?"

  Ben realized that he had assumed that Gibney was connected to Baker in a political field. He hadn't checked fully into Martin Gibney's background.

  "No, I'm afraid I don't."

  "I'm on the Board of Administration at the Kelowna General Hospital. I worked with Allan's father." Gibney took a swig of his juice before continuing. "In fact, Dr. Washburn and I go back a long way. I met him when he first became an ER doctor. Back when I was a GP."

  Ben recalled Natassia's vision.

  Natassia had seen a hospital room. She had also recalled angry words exchanged between Washburn and at least one of the hospital administrators.

  Marty…Martin Gibney.

  Ben reached for his glass and knocked back the juice in one gulp. "Why'd you call the Premier?"

  Gibney opened his mouth, about to say something, then closed it again.

  After a moment, he said, "I'm not sure I should be discussing―"

  "We can go downtown, if you like, Dr. Gibney."

  "Mister," the man corrected, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I gave up the title of doctor a long time ago."

  He gave Ben a resigned look. "We were going to fire Dr. Washburn―no pun intended."

  The wheels turned quickly in Ben's mind. If the hospital was about to fire Washburn, perhaps Baker figured out a way to avoid the scandal. The call could have been innocent.

  Or Gibney and Baker could have been discussing a hit.

  Murder.

  "How did Premier Baker take this news?"

  "How do you think?" Gibney asked blandly. "Allan can't afford another scandal. When the public found out his mother had slept with a married man they were outraged. How do you think Allan's supporters would feel if they knew that his father was about to be fired for alcohol and drug misconduct?"

  They'd question Baker's suitability as Prime Minister of Canada, Ben thought.

  And Allan Baker? He'd feel cornered.

  "Why were you the bearer of bad news?"

  "The Premier has made some significant contributions to the hospital and I thought he was worth some consideration. Better to hear it from me than on TV."

  Gibney's manner was indifferent.

  Ben mulled over the information. "Why didn't you attend his campaign party at the Paloma Springs? Your name was on his guest list."

  "We held an emergency Board meeting to discuss Dr. Washburn. It didn't finish until eleven. By the time it was over I realized it was too late to go to Allan Baker's party."

  Gibney peered at his watch.

  A solid gold Rolex, Ben noted. The hospital administrator must be pulling in a hefty salary. So much for government cutbacks.

  "Anyway, my wife represented us both. She was at his gala until maybe three in the morning."

  The man rose to his feet, a blunt indication that their meeting was terminated. "Su-Lin will see you to the door, Agent Roberts. I have another Board meeting this afternoon."

  "Is your wife home. I'd like to speak to her."

  "I'm afraid she's out―shopping. You know women."

  "Yeah," Ben agreed, holding out a bare hand. "Thank you for your time."

  As he shook hands with the man, Ben sensed that Martin Gibney was hiding something―and he was terrified that someone would find out.

  When Ben pulled his hand away, he was startled to see that his palm was covered with a sticky reddish-brown substance.

  Blood.

  Then the vision faded, leaving Ben feeling uneasy.

  Martin Gibney had blood on his hands. But whose?

  Ben ordered the voice record off.

  Then he filed a mental note to talk to the wife at a later date. Perhaps Mrs. Gibney had noticed something at the party. Maybe someone who should have been there…but wasn't.

  Following Su-Lin, he made his way past the fireplace and hesitantly studied the portrait of Gibney's wife. Yeah, she was the kind of woman a man would do almost anything for.

  Outside in the warm sunlight, Ben thought of Natassia Prushenko.

  Natassia was sexy, intelligent and beautiful. Although they had only worked together for a short time, he admired her immensely. Admiration wasn't the only thing he felt for her. But it was against CFBI policy for agents to mix business with pleasure.

  Lately, however, the beautiful blue-eyed Russian was on his mind…more than he cared to admit.

  Damn you, Ben!

  Benjamin Roberts was on Natassia's mind too.

  Trapped in a musty taxi with no air conditioning, she wondered why Ben had been assigned to Gibney while she was stuck with the lecherous old men and snobbish society women on Baker's party list.

  Jasi would certainly get a piece of her mind too, Natassia thought.

  Frickin' politicians!

  If they weren't staring at her cleavage, they were winking at her. Most of the Premier's male supporters and political cohorts were men in their seventies and eighties.

  Playing hooky from a graveyard.

  The men were members of a pretentious group―one that believed in their own importance. The wives were no different with their polished acrylic nails, double-D-cup breast implants and 'extreme makeover' liposuctions and face-lifts. />
  The taxi took a corner and steered closer to her destination. Every now and then, Natassia eyed the streets―and the meter.

  She pursed her lips in disgust.

  If she had to interview one more pair of fake grape-colored eyes, compliments of SEE, she'd gag. She couldn't understand why women went for the fake look when they could get a more natural sectional eye enhancement.

  Like her own.

  Everyone believed the dark blue color of her eyes was natural, but she had taken a trip to a SEE office before transferring to Vancouver. Three thousand dollars and an hour later she went from brown eyes to blue.

  Natassia surveyed her schedule.

  Fifty-three people on Baker's list lived all over BC and had already given their statements via phone or data-com. Eight couples had lived nearby so Natassia had arranged a taxi to drive her for the day. She was now down to the last three people.

  That's when she noticed that Martin and Lydia Gibney's names were at the bottom.

  Oh well, Ben would take care of them.

  Consulting her notes from the other interviews, she exhaled in disappointment.

  Not one solid lead. Crap!

  In fact, the only thing she could confirm was that the Premier had left the party before midnight to take a phone call. Every guest was positive they had seen Baker during the evening. The problem was no one was sure what time he had returned to the ballroom. His guests thought they had seen him off and on throughout the party and the hotel staff could only confirm that at around 2:20 a.m. Baker had notified the front desk that the ballroom had been vacated.

  Natassia rolled down the window. She needed air.

  Scrolling to the last name on her data-com, she let out a breath. She was almost finished.

  Alyssa Bines was the final person on her list.

  The taxi dropped Natassia off at Tim Horton's. The restaurant was peaceful and cheery. The scent of freshly made donuts and strong coffee lingered in the air. Thankfully, the morning rush of executives and homemakers was over.

  She selected a table near a window.

  Glancing around the room, Natassia noticed a young man slumped in a far corner booth. His long bangs hung in his eyes while he read college crib notes―cramming for an exam, by the look of the coffee cup graveyard on his table.

  Other than the kid, she was alone.

  Natassia was pouring over her field notes when a hesitant voice interrupted her.

  "Agent Prushenko? Sorry I'm late."

  She peered up to see a woman in her twenties standing beside the table.

  Alyssa Bines was a natural beauty. Her long strawberry-blond hair was secured with a silver clasp at the nape of her neck. She wore a two-piece Vera Wang creation in a pale shade of coral. Her makeup was fresh and light.

  The most noticeable thing about her, though, was her infectious grin.

  "No problem, Miss Bines. I needed a few cups of caffeine anyway."

  "Alyssa," the woman stated firmly before sitting. "Miss Bines sounds so…uppity."

  Raising one eyebrow in surprise, Natassia grinned and activated her data-com.

  This one was different from the other society queens.

  A waitress brought them two vanilla lattes while Alyssa made herself comfortable.

  "I've never been questioned by the CFBI before," the woman giggled.

  Natassia nudged the data-com closer to the woman.

  "Can you repeat your name, address and phone number, Alyssa?"

  The young woman gave the information, then asked, "Is this about Premier Baker's father?"

  "How'd you guess?"

  Alyssa glanced excitably over her shoulder.

  Then she hunched forward, chewing her bottom lip.

  "Have you talked to Lydia Gibney yet? She could tell you a thing or two."

  "My partner is handling the Gibneys."

  Alyssa responded with a loud snort. "That husband of hers―Martin? He hasn't got a clue."

  "What do you mean?"

  Alyssa peered over the rim of her coffee cup.

  "I don't like to gossip but…"

  She paused for effect, then shrugged and laughed.

  "Okay, so I do like to gossip. Anyway, the night of the party at the hotel I saw Lydia and Premier Baker together."

  Natassia's head snapped to attention. "What do you mean, together?"

  Alyssa smiled suggestively. "You know…together, together."

  She took a long drag of her latte.

  "I was invited to the party because my father is a major contributor to the Premier's campaign. I've been to tons of these things. Most of the time they're a bore. Stuffy old people."

  Natassia could certainly understand how Alyssa felt. Baker's followers would put most people to sleep.

  "Once in a while I get lucky," the woman said mischievously.

  Natassia's eyebrow winged. "Really?"

  "I don't mean that way. It's just that sometimes I meet someone younger. Someone single and interesting."

  "Are you talking about Allan Baker?"

  "The Premier? No way! Not that he hasn't tried. Anyway, he's infatuated with Mrs. Martin Gibney right now."

  Natassia watched Alyssa carefully, wondering if the woman was telling the truth.

  "How long has that been going on?"

  "About six months maybe. I first spotted them sneaking out to the gardens at the New Years Eve party in Vancouver. I've seen the two of them flirting with each other at a couple of other events too. Then, at the hotel, I happened to see Lydia duck into the Premier's room."

  Natassia double-checked her data-com.

  It was essential that she get Alyssa's statement on record. If the Premier of British Columbia was having an affair with a married woman then she needed solid proof.

  Alyssa frowned suddenly. "The night of the party my father hooked me up with a son of a friend. The man was so obnoxious that I developed a terrible headache."

  Natassia grinned.

  She had dated a couple of men where a nasty headache―real or imagined―had come in handy.

  "So you left?"

  Alyssa nodded. "I went back to my room. Premier Baker's suite was a couple of doors down from mine, on the opposite side of the hall. That's when I saw them. Allan Baker and Lydia Gibney. They went into his room and I didn't hear anyone in the hallway until maybe half an hour later."

  Half an hour was a long time for a ten-minute phone call. Natassia wondered what else Baker had been up to.

  Alyssa lowered her voice. "Later, I heard them arguing in the hall. Lydia sounded almost frightened. I heard Martin Gibney's name mentioned a few times. Then I heard her run down the hall―crying. A few minutes later, Premier Baker walked past my door. He was talking to someone."

  Natassia carefully sipped her latte, thinking about the ramifications of Alyssa's story.

  Baker would have had time to talk to Martin Gibney on the phone, and then take Gibney's wife for a ride―albeit a short one. Maybe Lydia got off on pounding Baker while he talked to her husband on the phone.

  But who was he talking to in the hallway? And where did he go?

  It was only about eighty kilometers from downtown Kelowna to Washburn's cabin. If Baker had hopped in his car after his romp with Mrs. Gibney, he could have easily made it by one o'clock. At that time of night, he would have had no traffic to fight against.

  Baker was definitely looking good for the murder of his father.

  Natassia carefully studied Alyssa Bines. The woman had a certain freshness about her, an almost child-like quality. Yet, she was one hell of an observer―unlike the other wealthy socialites Natassia had talked to. The ones who had peered down their noses at her.

  Alyssa withdrew some money from her purse and tucked it under her coffee cup. Then she rose gracefully from the booth.

  "Coffee's on me, Agent Prushenko. My life is usually quite mundane, so this bit of excitement will keep me going for awhile."

  "Thank you for talking to me."

  Alyssa h
overed near the table. "Tell me, Agent Prushenko. What exactly is it that you do in the CFBI, other than listen to bored women with nothing but time on their hands?"

  "I listen to the victims," Natassia answered. "When no one else hears them."

  The young woman nodded slowly. "They are very fortunate to have you."

  When Alyssa Bines was gone, Natassia pondered the woman's parting remark. There were days when she would agree. Especially if she touched a live victim and correctly identified the perpetrator. But sometimes the live cases were the most difficult to handle.

  At least a dead victim's pain and suffering was over.

  Her data-com beeped suddenly.

  "What's up?"

  "I'm done with Gibney," Ben replied. "I talked to the staff at the Paloma and checked with hotel security. If Baker left the hotel that night, he didn't drive his vehicle. The parking attendant confirmed that Baker's Mitsubishi Zen was parked all night long."

  To Natassia, it was like someone had knocked the wind out of her. The excitement she experienced earlier left her suddenly and completely pissed off.

  But there were still inconsistencies in Baker's alibi.

  And there was the affair.

  "Meet me for lunch back at the hotel," Ben said.

  "Okay, but I'm bringing dessert," she joked, thinking of her conversation with Alyssa Bines.

  She heard a sharp intake of breath on Ben's end.

  It wasn't until she hung up that Natassia realized how suggestive her comment had sounded.

  10

  The two remaining taxi companies on Jasi's list had begrudgingly shown her their credit card records. Both companies indicated customers who had been picked up at or near the theatre. Jason Beranski's name wasn't on any of them. So unless the man had sprouted wings, there was no possible way that Beranski could have left the theatre and made it to Washburn's cabin.

  Unless he had been the man who had paid Ian Vandermeer in cash, Jasi mused.

  Entering Bits & Bytes, a popular Internet café chain, she ordered a Chai latte and slowly scanned the room. There were eight data terminals with dividers between them for privacy. The terminals formed an oval in the center of the café. Small tables with hammered silver chairs surrounded the oval and lined the windows.