Divine Intervention

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  Battleaxe locked her hands behind her, a soldier at ease.

  "Thank you for showing me to the room," Ben said pointedly, hoping the woman would get the message.

  Kathy eyed him rudely. "I can't leave you alone in the Premier's room."

  "Actually, you can't be here while I conduct the search," he stated bluntly. "It's against CFBI regulations. Should I call your supervisor to explain this to you?"

  The security guard's jaw dropped in outrage.

  Ben jerked his head toward the open door. "Now, if you don't mind…"

  Kathy Fairmont stomped out of the room, giving the door a final slam behind her.

  "Make sure you put everything back!" he heard her yell.

  Heavy footsteps thumped down the hall, away from room 418, and Ben groaned with relief.

  "Jesus!" he muttered. "Is there anybody here who doesn't like Baker? Besides me?"

  The empty room ignored him.

  Ben pushed a small white button on the X-Disc Pro, activating its search mode. Search and Destroy, he called it. Search for evidence in a controlled area and then destroy any hope a defense attorney had of getting his or her client off on a technicality.

  The X-Disc beeped softly and Ben set it down on the floor. About the size of his hand, the X-Disc quickly stored the measurements of Baker's suite and then with a soft hum, it lifted off the floor. Hovering about five feet in the air, it moved back and forth slowly, scanning the room and making peculiar clicking sounds. When it was finished, the X-Disc settled on the floor and a green light flashed.

  Ben took out his data-com and scrolled to the satellite transmission page. Entering his ID and password, he downloaded the data from the X-Disc. The data was specifically categorized to make it easy to find evidence.

  The first category Ben checked was Prints. Bypassing the fingerprint category, he scrolled down to Shoe/Boot Prints. The X-Disc had captured a number of footwear prints and had matched them to various manufacturers.

  Thermogard wasn't anywhere on the list.

  Next, he checked the list of fingerprints. Some matched the hotel employee database and belonged to housekeeping staff. A few were unidentifiable. Baker had entertained in his room. Perhaps he had entertained women other than Lydia Gibney.

  The data-com beeped, indicating a hit.

  Two prints found in the room matched the CFBI's international fingerprint database. The first one belonged to Premier Allan Baker who had been printed when he first stepped into a political position, as was standard protocol. The second print was a positive match to Martin Gibney. Gibney's prints were on file because he was on the board of administration at Kelowna General.

  Ben grabbed his tote bag and stepped back into the living room. Placing the bag on a coffee table, he knelt in front of the sofa. He removed the cushions carefully, one at a time, and searched beneath them.

  Nothing.

  Sinking into the sofa, he rubbed his temple and checked his data-com. Then he scrolled over the other stats the X-Disc had picked up.

  There were no hits.

  Allan Baker couldn't be directly linked to either case.

  Ben proceeded efficiently through each room, opening closet doors and checking clothing. He was hunting for something made of yellow plastic, perhaps a raincoat.

  But yellow was not Premier Baker's choice of color.

  When Ben reached the bedroom closet, he recorded Baker's shoe―size ten. Next, he ruffled through the pockets of the numerous suit jackets. He found a couple of gas receipts, but nothing for the night of Washburn's murder. And none of them were for diesel.

  The X-Disc had mapped out where traces of hair, fibers, and paper were positioned in the room. Ben grabbed some evidence containers from his bag and consulted the map. Then he took a couple of samples from the bed sheets and tweezed some hairs from the pillows.

  Disappointed that he hadn't found anything conclusive, he groaned aloud.

  Then he recalled Natassia's vision.

  The young man wearing a yellow jacket, smoking a cigarette. The incubators exploding all around him. His arm was in a sling…broken.

  Was this man the arsonist?

  Ben thought of Premier Allan Baker. Everything pointed to the man. If he was the young man in Natassia's vision then they only had to confirm that Baker had broken or injured his arm when he was younger.

  "Data-com on! Personal file―Allan Baker."

  Scrolling through the records, he found the one marked Medical. His heart pounded with anticipation. Reading the hospital reports, he discovered that while Baker lived with his mother, he had been relatively healthy child. There was nothing unusual in his medical records―no broken bones.

  Then Ben came across a report filed during the time Baker had lived with Charlotte Foreman. The foster mother had brought Baker to the hospital after being attacked by a gang of boys outside her home. The boys had burned Baker's hands on a hot pipe.

  There was no mention of any broken bones.

  Ben chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, remembering the scars on Baker's palms.

  Perhaps Natassia's vision was symbolic. Maybe all they needed to know was that Baker had been hurt.

  Scanning the hospital reports, Ben noticed that there were no other incidents. However, he did notice one thing that made him do a double take.

  The doctor who had examined little Allan Baker had been none other than…Martin Gibney, M.D.

  Small world, Ben thought.

  Washburn's illegitimate son had ended up in Gibney's office. Had Martin Gibney known who the boy was back then?

  Ben closed his eyes and a baby's face flashed before him. Natassia had seen babies in her vision. And a pregnant woman. Maybe Washburn had fallen into the seedy business of black-market baby sales, or abortions.

  But how did that connect?

  In Jasi's vision, the arsonist had said that Washburn had 'burned' him once. An arsonist usually acted out of passion or rage. Or both. Fire was a method of cleansing. It destroyed the guilty by punishing or torturing them.

  They were searching for someone with a hit list, Ben realized. A serial arsonist blamed more than one person for his situation. And he wouldn't be satisfied until they all paid the ultimate price―with their lives.

  "Abuse," Ben muttered to himself.

  That was the key.

  Yet, he could find no indication that Baker's mother abused him. In fact, by all accounts, Sarah Baker had owned up to her addiction problem, sought help and recovered without incident.

  Norman Washburn certainly hadn't been in the picture, so he couldn't have abused Baker.

  That left one other person.

  Charlotte Foreman!

  Ben searched for listings of all children placed with foster mother. While the data-com downloaded the information, he experienced a tingling sensation down the back of his neck. It would take awhile for the satellite to transmit everything on Charlotte Foreman but he knew he was on the right track.

  Picking up his tote bag, he examined the room once more before moving toward the door. One sofa cushion remained on the floor. Shrugging, he left it there.

  Ben wanted Baker to know his room had been fully searched.

  He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, half expecting Battleaxe to be skulking nearby. Relieved that the woman was nowhere in sight, he strolled toward the elevator and waited.

  When the elevator doors parted, Ben stepped aside to allow the passengers out.

  "Agent Roberts!"

  Ben snapped his head toward the voice.

  Allan Baker glared at him with an openly hostile expression on his face.

  "I'm not sure what exactly you were looking for in my room, but I know you didn't find anything," Baker growled.

  Ben fingered the security disks in his pocket, then stepped inside the empty elevator.

  "Don't be too sure about that."

  When the doors closed, he let out a slow stream of air. He had enjoyed the startled uneasiness on Baker's face.

>   Perhaps enjoyed it a bit too much.

  Ben's data-com chirped loudly.

  "Data-com on."

  Natassia's voice greeted him cheerfully. "Hey! We just got back. We're on our way to the Prestige Inn."

  "How's Jasi?"

  "Sleeping." There was a hint of anxiety in her voice.

  "What about Walsh?"

  He heard Natassia laugh softly.

  "He's watching Jasi sleep," she answered. "I think he's just what she needs."

  Walsh?

  Ben wondered what Brandon Walsh could offer Jasi―besides heartache. Walsh wasn't like them. He didn't understand Jasi or her gift. She deserved someone who accepted her in every way, someone who believed in her.

  "Ben?"

  "Yeah, Natassia?"

  "I checked Baker's financial statements. There's no indication that he paid Gibney blood money. No evidence of a murder conspiracy that I could find."

  "Okay. I'll be at the hotel in about two hours," he told her.

  Natassia's voice was faint. "That long?"

  "Sorry, I have a stop to make first."

  18

  ~ Kelowna, BC

  Ben flew back to Kelowna in the Ops chopper.

  Then he hopped in a taxi and gave the driver an address. Fifteen minutes later, the taxi rolled up next to 103 Dremner Boulevard. Remaining in the back seat, Ben flipped open his data-com.

  "I need to make a call first," he told the cabby.

  The phone was picked up on the fourth ring. The voice on the other end was small and timid.

  "Yes?"

  "Is Martin Gibney there?"

  "No, Mister is out."

  Ben recognized the voice. It belonged to the Asian housekeeper, Su-Lin.

  "What about Mrs. Gibney?" he asked.

  "Yes, yes!" Su-Lin said excitedly. "Mrs. Gi-ney right here. You want speak to her?"

  "No. That's okay." He hung up.

  Speaking to Lydia Gibney over the phone was not what Ben had in mind.

  He paid the driver to wait for him, and then headed for the mansion. A soft, feminine voice answered the H-SECS intercom.

  "Si? Can I help you?"

  "Uh, CFBI, Mrs. Gibney. I need to speak with you." Ben held his badge up to the camera lens.

  When the door opened, Gibney's wife stood in the entrance wearing a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt. Her long coal-black hair was clipped back away from her face.

  The woman looked like she was eighteen.

  Not quite the high society wife, Ben thought.

  He showed her his ID again. "Agent Benjamin Roberts. I spoke with your husband yesterday."

  "Si. Yes, I know. Martin mentioned that someone had stopped by. This is about Dr. Washburn's death. Is that correct?"

  Her voice was soft, with a slight Spanish accent.

  Ben accompanied Lydia Gibney through the house, past the sitting room where he and Gibney had sat the day before. Incense wafted from somewhere in the house and its sensual fragrance trailed after them. Sultry jazz filtered through hidden speakers in the ceiling.

  Something caught Ben's attention.

  A mood wall. The wall shifted gradually from peaceful aqua tones into shades of crimson as Lydia walked by.

  Red, he knew, was the color of fear or extreme nervousness.

  What was Lydia so afraid of? What did she know?

  Ben followed her outside into the garden.

  "Close deck door," she ordered loudly.

  The door whispered behind them and closed.

  She gave him an apologetic shrug. "I hope you don't mind, but I prefer being outdoors on a day like this."

  Then she smiled and took the seat across from him.

  Ben flicked on the data-com and clipped it to his jacket.

  "No problem, Mrs. Gibney. I just have a few questions and, uh, some are of a rather sensitive nature."

  The color drained from Lydia Gibney's face.

  "What do you mean, a sensitive nature?"

  He scooted forward, his voice calm. "We have the security disks from the Paloma. There are cameras everywhere."

  He waited for his words to sink in.

  When they did, the woman took a steadying breath, but it didn't stop the tremble in her voice.

  "What exactly did the cameras see?"

  Ben could sense her fear. He didn't envy her position. Having an affair was one thing. Getting caught was another. Her husband held a prominent position.

  Lydia Gibney could lose everything.

  "We know that you and Premier Allan Baker were having an affair," he remarked gently. "The cameras show you going into his hotel room the night of the party. We also have a witness who's seen the two of you together at other functions."

  Lydia began to shake. Her dark eyes blinked back tears and she tossed a hasty glance over her shoulder.

  "If Martin finds out―"

  "Mrs. Gibney, I can't promise that we'll keep your name out of this, but if you can help us, give us some information…"

  Lydia nodded slowly. "Allan and I have been, uh, seeing each other for the past year. Martin…doesn't know."

  "When you left his room that night, what were you arguing about?"

  "Martin had called while I was in Allan's room. He told Allan that they were going to fire Allan's father. Allan was very upset. He tried to get Martin to influence the board members, to keep his father on."

  "Because he didn't want a scandal?"

  "Allan was afraid that if the press caught wind of this, they would dredge up his past," Lydia answered, a distraught look in her eyes.

  "How close were your husband and Dr. Washburn?"

  "You mean, why would Martin cover for Dr. Washburn for so many years?" Her voice was tinged with disgust. "My husband met Dr. Washburn years ago. Martin was still trying to pay off his university loans."

  The woman hesitated, guilt engraved across her face. "I-I really shouldn't say anymore."

  Ben cleared his throat, then said, "Mrs. Gibney, if you know something, you need to tell me. Or I'll be forced to go to your husband with the security disks."

  Lydia released a long sigh. "Dr. Washburn came to Martin with a proposition. A month later they were operating an abortion clinic. Underground, of course. Most of their clientele had money―real money. That's how Martin paid off his debts."

  Just as Ben had suspected. Abortion was the key.

  Terminating a pregnancy was legal and had been for years, but Washburn and Gibney had been doing it on the sly―and charging big bucks.

  "Why would your husband jeopardize his career?"

  Lydia shrugged, then shook her head.

  "Martin was easily influenced back then. Dr. Washburn held my husband's career in his hands. Another reason why Martin was forced to influence the board to keep him on. If Dr. Washburn had told the board what they had done, my husband would lose his job too. And probably end up in prison."

  "Did Allan Baker know what his father had done?"

  "I'm not sure. Allan never mentioned it. He rarely talked about the past…or his father. Allan was always afraid of his past. He used to say ghosts were chasing him."

  "Did he say who or what those ghosts were?"

  "Ghosts from his past." Her black eyes examined him intensely. "He was placed in foster care as a child. Did you know that?"

  Ben nodded.

  "Allan was placed with a woman who abused him terribly."

  "Charlotte Foreman?" he asked, shocked.

  "Yes, that was her name. She had four other foster children living with her during the time Allan was placed there. She was an animal, that woman. She would burn the children with cigarettes or on the stovetop when they refused to do what she asked them. She'd lock them in the shed for hours."

  Lydia stood up, agitated and shaky.

  When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse and filled with emotion. "Can you imagine what that would do to a child, Agent Roberts?"

  It could turn a kid into a cold-blooded murderer, Ben realized.

>   Aloud, he asked, "Was she responsible for burning Allan's hands?"

  Lydia froze and her gaze drifted.

  "His foster mother held them down on the stove burner. She accused him of stealing money from her emergency jar. Allan swears he never took a cent from that woman."

  Ben tapped the arm of his chair, restlessly.

  "On the night of the party what exactly were you and Baker arguing about?"

  For a moment, Lydia said nothing. Her eyes pooled and she slumped back into the chair.

  "Allan demanded that I get a quiet divorce―leave Martin. He wanted me to tell my husband about our affair but I told him that I couldn't do that to Martin."

  Her voice wavered and her smile softened.

  "My husband is a good man. He took me away from a dangerous world and gave me all this." She waved a hand in the air. "How could I possibly leave him after everything he has done for me?"

  "What about Allan Baker?"

  Ben knew that his question was inappropriate and unnecessary to his investigation, but he was curious.

  The woman smiled sadly. "I love my husband, Agent Roberts. But Allan is…well…Allan."

  Clasping her hands in her lap, she bent forward and asked, "Haven't you ever felt the excitement of being with someone you know you should stay away from? Someone forbidden to you?"

  Lydia didn't wait for an answer.

  Instead, she smiled calmly. "That's what it's like for me and Allan. It's strictly passion. Sex, if you like. Martin has, well, problems in that area."

  Ben shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "So you left the hotel and came home to your husband?"

  Lydia's gaze was incredulous, shocked.

  "No," she admitted. "I didn't come straight home. Allan called me on his cell phone and apologized. I thought you knew that already."

  That was the cell call the security camera recorded, he realized.

  Ben glanced at her sharply. "After your call to Baker, he left the hotel in a black BMW."

  Lydia smiled mysteriously.

  "Follow me, Agent Roberts."

  She led him to a door on the side of the house. When she entered a security code the door opened, revealing a three-car garage. Parked in the middle stall, a Series 7 black BMW sedan gleamed expensively.