Divine Justice

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  "How was he sleeping at night?"

  "That's the odd thing. He was sleeping better than he'd been in years. He told me that." She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, but I'm very tired."

  "I know this isn't easy," Natassia said. "Thank you."

  "We need to see your husband's office before we go," Jasi said, rising to her feet. To Natassia, she added, "Matthew is sending an evidence team over in about an hour. They'll catalog everything in Mr. Winkler's office and bring us anything they think is useful to the investigation."

  "What kind of things?" Marilyn asked in a weary voice.

  "We'll need to look at your husband's computer, laptop, data-com―basically anything that might give us a lead or reveal the identity of your husband's killer."

  "Monty always carries his data-communicator with him." Marilyn flinched. "Did you find it?"

  Jasi glanced at her partner. "No."

  "Well, take whatever you need."

  "Why don't you go rest?" Natassia suggested. "We can let ourselves out when we're done." Her foot accidentally brushed up against the briefcase. "Interesting design."

  Marilyn blinked. "The Winkler family crest."

  "Did Monty usually take this to work with him?"

  "Oh, that's not Monty's. It's James'."

  At that very second, the bald man appeared.

  "James," Marilyn said with a gasp. "I'm so sorry. I didn't make proper introductions before. Agent McLellan and Agent Prushenko, this is James Winkler, my brother-in-law. Monty's younger brother."

  Natassia studied James with careful consideration. He looked nothing like his brother. Not only was James tall, bald and reed thin, his skin sagged with an unhealthy gray glow.

  "I don't know what I'd do without him," Marilyn said, smiling at James. "Show the agents Monty's office, dear. I have some things to take care of."

  James nodded once, his gaze resting for a moment on Natassia's pendant before drifting toward her face. He led them from the room, his back rigid, almost angry.

  What's gotten under his skin?

  "He's awfully quiet," she whispered to Jasi.

  "Maybe he can't speak."

  "Do you think he's mute?"

  James whipped around. The look he gave her silenced any further conversation. All the guy needed was a riding crop to complete the image of Icabod Crane―after his run-in with the Headless Horseman.

  He escorted them to a formidable oak door and paused, one skeletal hand on the knob.

  "Thank you, James," she said.

  But he was already walking away.

  She glanced at Jasi. "A man of few words."

  "Makes me wonder why he's hanging around his brother's widow. It doesn't seem like they're mourning a common loss. Marilyn treats him like the hired help."

  "Brother James does make a good butler."

  "Yeah, but the question is, did he make a good brother?"

  Jasi's first impression of Monty Winkler's home office was that it was like stepping into a cold, gloomy cave. Every piece of furniture was black and the walls were navy blue. A man's room, and a complete contrast to the floral garden of Marilyn's sitting room.

  In the dead silence, a clock ticked loudly above the door.

  She pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "Glove up."

  Natassia blushed. "I left mine in my tote bag."

  "No problem." Jasi pulled another set from her jacket pocket. "Here you go."

  "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I'll be more prepared tomorrow."

  "Don't worry about it. I've got your back."

  The look her new partner gave her was one of surprise.

  "What? You think we don't watch out for one another?"

  Natassia shook her head. "It isn't that. I'm used to…well, you know…it takes time to connect with an already established team."

  "Established." Jasi snorted. "You make Ben and I sound like an old, married couple."

  In some ways, that wasn't far from the truth. Ben certainly knew her better than anyone else did.

  "Now tell me," she said. "Did you see anything when you touched Marilyn's hand?"

  "I saw a wife accusing her husband of being unfaithful."

  Natassia described her brief vision.

  "Marilyn sees herself as a victim of her husband's infidelities. She didn't trust him. When she confronted him, Monty acted disconnected."

  Jasi's mouth thinned. "Marriage has become as unstable as a house built directly over a fault line. One quake can bring it down in a heap, until all that remains is nothing but destruction and garbage."

  She ignored the curious look Natassia gave her and moved toward a bookshelf.

  "Do you think Marilyn did it?" her partner asked.

  "Killed her husband?" Jasi shook her head. "I can't see her doing all that. In a drugged state, Winkler would have been a dead weight. No pun intended. There's no way she would have been able to move him."

  "What if she had help?"

  Jasi chewed on this for a moment. "Who?"

  "Maybe James was tired of being demoted to hired help. Maybe he's in love with her, or wants a piece of the pie. Someone's going to inherit a lot of money."

  Natassia was right. It wouldn't be the first time someone was murdered for money.

  "Marilyn does seem close to her brother-in-law," Jasi agreed. "We'll look into the insurance policy when we get back to the hotel."

  "I think that's what was in the briefcase."

  "I saw that too. The bit of paper sticking out said something about two million dollars."

  Natassia stopped rifling through the papers on Winkler's desk. "You think that's the beneficiary payout?"

  "That's exactly what I was thinking. But I'm curious why Marilyn would lie about it."

  "If James is her lawyer, maybe he hasn't shown it to her yet."

  Jasi surveyed the room, frustrated by the lack of clues.

  "Didn't anything in your vision stand out?" she asked.

  "The phone call Winkler got seemed important."

  "Any idea of a timeline?"

  "I'm guessing it was the night he disappeared."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "He was wearing the same suit he wore that night."

  "Great catch, Natassia."

  "Thanks."

  Jasi wandered over to the massive desk, one of those modern interlocking styles. On the right side of the desk was a filing cabinet. She tugged on it. It was locked.

  Keys will be in the desk drawer, she thought.

  Sure enough, a set of five keys rested in a small tray in the top drawer of the desk. Beside it was a handheld device.

  "We're in luck," she said. "Winkler left his 'com behind." She removed the device from the drawer. "It's an older commercial model. Nothing like the high tech ones we have."

  "His wife said he always took it with him."

  "What I'd like to know is why he'd leave this behind?" Jasi held up a worn brown leather wallet. "He's got about two hundred bucks in here. And his driver's license."

  "Winkler drove his Mercedes without his license? Not very law-abiding, was he?" Natassia held out a hand. "Can I see the data-com?"

  "Gladly. I'm not very tech-savvy."

  "Then it's a good thing I'm on your team."

  "You know something about computers?"

  "Some people consider me a techie."

  Jasi let her comment slide. For now.

  "Hmmm," Natassia murmured.

  "What?"

  "He has a lot of entries in here."

  "Anything jump out at you?"

  "He had eight meetings the week before he died. His entries are hard to read though. He abbreviates everything. He met with P.M. on Monday―"

  "The Prime Minister?"

  "Could be. He had other meetings during the week, a couple of doctor appointments, dinner out with his wife and a FR gala, whatever that is."

  "Busy man. What about the day he went missing?"

  "Nothing. That's kind of stra
nge, don't you think? He has something for every day, even weeks in advance. Yet there's nothing on that day."

  "I guess even politicians take a day off now and then."

  Natassia released a heavy sigh. "So what now?"

  "Take the 'com. We'll dump the info at the hotel."

  "What about these?" Natassia pointed to the computer and laptop on the desk.

  "I'll have an evidence team send the files from the PC to our data-coms. You can take the laptop."

  Jasi unlocked the filing cabinet and leafed through the files. Nothing stood out. She took a quick photo of the open drawer with her data-com, then stood back, her eyes wandering over the room.

  Damn!

  She wasn't any closer to finding out who killed Winkler.

  "I've got nothing," Natassia said behind her. "These shelves are filled with books on politics, war and history. Plus there's a stack of legal forms awaiting his autograph."

  "I guess he won't be signing them now." Jasi closed the cabinet. "If you take the forms, we can go over them later."

  "Winkler has interesting taste in music." Natassia held up a CD with butterflies on the label. One butterfly was emerging from a cocoon. "Relaxation for the Soul. Hmm, well that explains why he kept falling asleep."

  Jasi chuckled. "What did you expect―Metallica?"

  "You know, you look like you could use some relaxing. Maybe you should borrow it."

  "Last thing I need is to be falling asleep in the middle of an investigation."

  As they moved toward the door, Jasi hesitated. She flicked a backward glance across the room. A powerful man had sat behind that desk. He'd looked at the clock, answered a phone call, scheduled a meeting, then…what?

  Winkler's ghost seemed to linger close by.

  "I think we're re done here, Jasi." Natassia prodded.

  Jasi shivered. "I think we've only just begun."

  When she stepped out into the hall, James was waiting for them. His eyes narrowed when he spotted the data-com in her hand.

  "I think we've got everything we need for now." She pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to James. "You'll have to sign this acquisition form. It says we've borrowed your brother's data-com and laptop for the duration of the investigation. We'll return them as soon as we can."

  Without a word, James scribbled his signature on the bottom line and handed the form back. Escorting them to the front door, he moved swiftly, as if he couldn't wait to get rid of them.

  What's your hurry?

  Jasi made a mental note to check out the brother.

  She stepped outside, turned and planted one hand in the doorjamb. James couldn't close the door without catching her hand in it. Looking into his eyes, she wondered for a moment whether she would lose a finger or two.

  Sometimes you gotta take a chance.

  "My sincerest condolences," she said. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

  James' pale blue eyes clouded. Whether from anger or sadness, she couldn't tell.

  "Some people aren't," he said in a flat tone.

  She pulled her hand away as he closed the door.

  "Wonder what's got his knickers tied in a bunch?" Natassia said.

  "Knickers?"

  "Sorry. I spent most of my childhood and early twenties in London, before moving back to Russia. Where did you grow up?"

  "Vancouver. Born and raised. I never really did much traveling until Matthew recruited me."

  When they climbed into the SUV, Natassia said, "Why do you suppose Monty changed his nightly routine?"

  "I don't know. It does seem strange though."

  "Well, he went somewhere that night."

  "And he met someone," Jasi said. "But who?"

  There was one thing she knew for sure.

  When I figure out the answers, I'll find a killer.

  9

  To Natassia, a morgue was a daycare for the dead, until someone claimed them for burial or cremation. The Ottawa Forensics Unit was no different. It held stainless steel sinks and counters, multi-functioning computers, a forensics body scanner and a wall with stainless steel compartments for the dead. The room smelled the same as every other morgue, a combination of sanitizing cleaning products and formaldehyde that fought to mask the unmistakable stench of decay.

  Natassia sprayed some Mentho in both nostrils to ward away the intense odor of decomposition. She read the nameplates on the wall.

  When she found Monty Winkler's name, she pressed the red button beside it. There was a soft hum. A drawer slid out, revealing Winkler's body. It hadn't been bagged yet, but the stapled Y incision told her that an autopsy had already taken place.

  "Dr. Copeland sure didn't waste any time," she murmured, thankful the pathologist had agreed to leave them alone.

  "A high profile case like this means a lot of press," Jasi said. "Last thing our government needs is another scandal."

  Natassia knew full well the devastating effects of scandal. She'd unearthed plenty. The morgue was a place that held so many last thoughts. Few people went peacefully. There was usually some kind of pain, loss, regret…guilt.

  Or burning secrets waiting to be revealed.

  She moved closer to the body. "Well, Mr. Winkler, are you ready to share your secrets?"

  "Let's hope he saw his killer," Jasi said.

  Sitting next to Monty Winkler's body, Natassia studied him for a long moment, her hands finally resting on his bloated face.

  "What do you need me to do?" Jasi asked.

  Closing her eyes, Natassia began to trace each facial feature with butterfly strokes, ignoring the slightly sticky feel of bloated, rotting skin.

  "If I'm not out in ten minutes, pinch me hard and yell 'yeah, baby' at the top of your lungs."

  "That's your safety phrase? Yeah, baby?"

  Natassia didn't answer. She couldn't. She was already slipping away. She was as light as a feather, drifting above the corpse of Monty Winkler.

  In a flash, she was staring out through his eyes, an observer of his final memories.

  And a witness to murder.

  Terror gripped her, making it difficult to breathe. She couldn't move anything except her eyes.

  Monty Winkler's eyes.

  She―he― was lying on one side. On a sofa.

  Where was he?

  The last thing he remembered was…

  James! His brother wanted something from him. What was it? It was something very important. Think!

  James' image flashed before him.

  "Monty, you need to sign this. Today."

  A piece of stark white paper fluttered in the air. It disintegrated into dust before it touched the ground.

  Wait? What was that, James?

  An image of Marilyn fluttered past him.

  Come back, he yearned to say.

  They'd had a fight. What was it about? Why couldn't he remember anything?

  He thought of Marilyn.

  Marilyn, my love. I'm so sorry. I hope you'll forgive me.

  From the corner of his eye, he peeked at the shadow that hovered over him. He tried to make out a face.

  There wasn't one.

  The shadow carried something shiny in one hand.

  A hammer?

  Whatever it was, it rushed toward Monty's head with lightning speed. He tried to back away, but his body didn't cooperate. He heard a sickening thud and his head jerked close to the edge of the sofa.

  Oh God…

  As another blow fell, an enraged shriek filled the air.

  But it wasn't Monty's.

  He felt a rush of dizziness. He gasped, and his lungs sputtered. No, please…

  No sound came from his mouth.

  The shadow moved away and Monty drifted between unconsciousness and death. He felt no pain. The drug in his system took care of that.

  In the flickering light, he saw that his wrinkled hands were covered in blood and tied with coarse rope. He couldn't move his fingers. He couldn't even feel them.

  Someone was approac
hing.

  Help me, he tried to cry out.

  Arms reached down. He was lifted and carried out into the night air. He couldn't focus on anything, not the person who carried him or his surroundings. The shadow unceremoniously leaned down and dropped him in some kind of…box?

  Monty struggled to blink as his limbs were maneuvered until they fit inside the cramped space. Fear gripped his heart and he could hear its frantic beating.

  Wait! No, please…why are you doing this?

  He wanted to cry, and for a moment he thought the cool droplets on his face were tears until he smelled their overpowering scent.

  Gasoline.

  Oh Jesus. He's going to burn me to death.

  Bile rose in his throat. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he felt his entire body ebbing and receding. He heard a haunting violin composition, a sputtering engine and a slapping sound. Music symbols floated through his mind.

  He wanted to relax, give in. Surrender.

  Fingers of fire scorched him. Intense heat engulfed the top of his body. He screamed silently. He was melting, burning…dying. He could smell his flesh burning, but he couldn't move, couldn't do anything but lie there.

  God help me!

  The violin melody merged with the pitter-patter of rain, the bittersweet sound calming him.

  Maybe the rain would put out the fire. Maybe not.

  Marilyn, I love you. I always have. James―

  A gasoline tear on his cheek sizzled and ignited.

  His life flashed before him.

  Did my life mean anything?

  The glow that encircled him was brilliant and he fought for air, while a sudden cold permeated his skin.

  This is it then. End of the line.

  Gradually, the blazing light was extinguished and Monty released his fear and floated away. It was peaceful in the great Nothing. He could float there forever.

  No, you can't!

  The part that was Natassia struggled to gain control and return to her body, but the calmness seduced her, threatening to pull her back.

  Something stung his arm―her arm.

  She heard a muffled yell and spiraled away from the iron grip of Monty Winkler's spirit. But not before she felt another painful twinge. Finally, Natassia began the painful task of separation.

  Time to go…