“Do you have a working theory?” asked Zwicker.
“There’s a blank spot beginning at about 3:50 a.m., when he said goodnight to his friend and headed home in a taxi. An hour later, he was found floating face down in the canal, barely alive, with handcuff bruises on his wrists. We think someone snatched him, put the cuffs on him and held him under until he stopped struggling. They thought he was dead, removed the cuffs and let him float away, but his heart was still beating.”
“Got any suspects? A motive?”
“So far, no,” said Ashton. “The victim is a political staffer with no ties to crime that we’ve been able to find. Neither his girlfriend nor the friend he was drinking with would seem to have a motive to do him in.”
“Has it occurred to you that he might have fallen into the canal?” asked Zwicker.
“Well, yeah, Captain,” said Ashton. “We’d be happy to mark it down as an accident, but there are a few things that make us think that’s unlikely. For one, the kid was once a life guard. Even if he was drunk, it’s unlikely that he would end up drowning in two feet of water. Then there’s the handcuff bruises, and we have a video. It seems to show him walking under the bridge by the canal with another man shortly before we think he went into the water.”
He looked down at a notepad on his desk.
“So, tell me about your meeting today with David Cochrane.”
Ashton didn’t expect that. “What, the guy in Donahoe’s office?”
Zwicker wasn’t making eye contact. “Yes.”
Ashton shrugged. “I thought I should get some idea of what kind of work Sawatski did. I guess I was, you know, looking for clues.”
“Do you have any reason to think somebody tried to drown the kid because of his work as –” he looked down at his notes “– a policy adviser to the minister of justice?”
“I don’t know why somebody would want to drown him,” said Ashton.
Zwicker put the tips of his fingers together and looked away from Ashton. “I’m told you asked for access to the files the kid was working.”
Ashton nodded at him. “Looking for clues.”
“Okay,” said Zwicker. “I’m told that you need the kind of security clearance that nobody in this office has to see those documents. I’m told we need a good reason before we start pressing the office of the minister of justice to release secret documents to us.”
Ashton shrugged.
“They suggest that we would likely have to have our lawyers talk to the Justice Department’s lawyers before any such documents would be forthcoming,” he said. “And, I didn’t know this, but they tell me that in the future any visits you make to Parliament Hill should be cleared with the office of the Speaker of the House of Commons, or the Speaker of the Senate, depending on where the office is.”
Zwicker looked up from his notes. “We don’t have jurisdiction in the parliamentary precinct. It’s something to do with parliamentary privilege.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Ashton.
“Now,” said Zwicker. “As to your request to look at Sawatski’s files, I’d need something in writing to show to our lawyers. That would be a lot of paperwork.” He shrugged. “Go ahead if you want, but it might be better to work your other angles first.”
“Okay,” said Ashton. “I’ll think it over, talk to Flanagan before we do anything else.”
Zwicker got to his feet. “Great. Can you give me a report on the progress of the investigation by noon tomorrow?”
“That will take up some time I could spend digging,” said Ashton. He returned her gaze, expressionlessly, waiting. “But yeah. Of course.”
“Tomorrow we’ll have to have a look, see where we are with the whole thing,” he said. “Also, Public Affairs tells me they’ve had some calls about this. For the moment, we don’t want to release anything more to the media. So don’t talk to any reporters.”
“Of course,” said Ashton.
He escorted her to the door and held it open for her. As she walked away, he called out.
“Hey,” he said. “By the way, when you get back to your desk, send up a copy of the pictures of the handcuff bruises, and the video.”
Jack decided he’d better skip the scrums after Question Period and start writing his story about Sawatski. The Telegram could use the wire services to handle the Auditor General’s report. He called his editor, told him he was working on his exclusive, and started to type, stopping every now and then to listen to the recordings he’d made of his conversations with Flanagan.
By JACK MACDONALD
Ottawa Bureau
OTTAWA – A St. John’s man working in the office of Justice Minister Jim Donahoe is in hospital recovering from an attack that police consider to be suspicious.
Ed Sawatski, 28, a policy adviser in Donahoe’s office, was pulled from the Rideau Canal early Tuesday morning when a jogger spotted him floating face down. The jogger, whom police have not identified, jumped into the water and administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, saving Sawatski’s life.
Police have made no official comment on how Donahoe ended up in the canal, but sources close to the investigation say they suspect foul play, in part because Sawatski has what appear to be handcuff bruises on both wrists.
“We think he may have had cuffs on him earlier,” said one source. “There are marks on his wrists.”
Sources say Sawatski is still unconscious, having spent about a half an hour face down in the water.
Police are seeking a connection between Sawatski’s near drowning and his work in Donahoe’s office. Officers are interviewing his colleagues there, a source close to the investigation says.
Police are also looking into Sawatski’s movements in the hours before he wound up in the canal. Sawatski was drinking at Pigale, an exotic cabaret in Gatineau, Quebec, across the Ottawa River from the capital, early Tuesday morning.
Sawatski, who grew up in Mount Pearl, attended Memorial University, earning a degree in political science, and worked in the office of Newfoundland Premier Danny Williams until he landed a job in Donahoe’s office.
Donahoe and Public Safety Minister Greg Mowat are said to be the two leading contenders for the leadership of the federal Conservative Party. Prime Minister Bruce Stevens announced Tuesday that he will resign once the party chooses a successor.
Jack stopped typing when the newsroom TV showed Ellen Simms holding a copy of the Auditor General’s report and standing in the House of Commons foyer, with reporters and politicians milling around behind her.
“Sparks flew here today when the Liberals accused the government of favouring its friends in prison construction contracts,” she said. “Backed by an Auditor General’s report that found administrative irregularities in some of the prisons the government has built as part of its tough-on-crime agenda, Liberal Leader Evan Pinsent went on the attack.”
She played the clip of Pinsent sputtering in the House: “This government has wasted billions building prisons in pursuit of a dim-witted American-style policy that everybody knows does not work. And why? So they can brag that they’re tough on crime!”
“Well, the prime minister didn’t take that sitting down,” said Simms. “He countered by attacking the Liberals for being soft on crime.”
“Our party is tough on crime,” said Stevens, looking firm but calm. “The Leader of the Opposition says that our policies do not work. He would prefer that we follow the Liberal policy of allowing violent criminals off with a slap on the wrist.”
Simms beamed at the camera. “But the Conservatives didn’t stop there,” she said. “When the Liberals pressed further, they went on the attack. Here’s Public Safety Minister Greg Mowat.” She played the clip of Mowat demanding that the Liberals apologize to rape victims.
“Opposition MPs said Mowat had gone too far,” she said, and played a clip of NDP Leader Lesley Nowlan talking to reporters in the lobby. “I think this is the worst I’ve seen since I’ve been in the House of Commons. Stevens and Gr
eg Mowat should be ashamed of themselves. They’re hiding behind the victims of crime.”
Simms said, “But the Conservatives were making no apologies.”
Next was a clip of Mowat in the lobby, confronting a noisy throng of reporters. “I will not apologize for what I said today,” he said. “It’s the Liberals who should apologize to the many Canadians who were victimized by their soft-on-crime policies.”
Simms signed off: “For NTV, I’m Ellen Simms.”
The phone on Murphy’s desk rang the moment the story ended. It was Jim Godin, communications director to Pinsent.
“What the fuck was that?” he said. “That was the biggest fucking blow job I’ve seen in my entire life, and I’ve seen some doozies.”
“I take it you didn’t like Ellen’s QP piece,” said Murphy.
“Jesus Christ,” said Godin. “I’ve never seen anything like that. We have a scathing Auditor General’s report, which comes very close to proving the government’s friends are getting kickbacks for their unbelievably stupid multi-billion-dollar prison-building spree, and when I watch NTV, do I see the Auditor General? Do I hear his quotes? Hold on. I have them here. Did you see his news conference? He said that he ‘had no idea whether taxpayers received any value at all’ for many contracts. Jesus Christ! And you guys buried him. You didn’t even put his clips on the air. Instead, you made it look like we were sticking up for rapists!”
“All right, all right,” said Murphy. “Take it easy. I’m listening.” And as he listened, he sent Simms an email, asking her to come to his office.
“I expect you guys to pull some of your punches with the Tories, but this is different,” said Godin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a slanted piece of shit. You can’t tell me you think it’s good. I know you better than that.”
“Okay,” said Murphy. “I understand you. You’re expressing a concern here because the piece downplayed the contents of the Auditor General’s report and, in your opinion, gave too much prominence to the government’s counter-arguments. Is that right?”
“Yes,” said Godin. “I am expressing that concern.”
“Okay,” said Murphy. “I read you loud and clear. I want you to know that I am taking your complaint very seriously, and we’ll take a good look at what you’ve said, and keep it in mind when we put together our piece for the nightly news.”
“You’re going to take another look at it and consider my concerns when you put together your piece for the nightly news?”
“Which has two million viewers. As opposed to the bit you just saw, which has a viewership of, what, forty thousand.”
“Okay,” said Godin.
“You feel better now?”
“Yeah, I do. Thanks.”
“Well, thanks for your call.”
Simms stuck her head around his office door a couple of minutes after he hung up.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Come in. Sit down. How you doing?”
She gave him a nervous look as she sat down, crossed her legs and tossed her red hair.
“You have a problem with the QP piece?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I do. It’s a well-put together piece of TV journalism. Lots of drama, emotion. The cuts are fast, and your standup bits are excellent.”
“What’s the problem then?”
“It doesn’t communicate the substance of what the Auditor General reported today, and the piece we put on the air tonight needs to do that.”
“If you say so. Did you watch his news conference? The guy’s such an accountant. Couldn’t give a good quote to save his life.”
“I know,” said Murphy. “It’s true, but we have to lead with what he found. It’s a lot of money and it raises real questions about the government. It looks like they might be kicking back money to their friends.”
“That’s not what Duncan said though.”
“He can’t say that, because he doesn’t know that. But he does say that he doesn’t know where the money went and has ‘grave concerns.’ That’s auditor speak for a big deal.”
“Okay. I can include more background on his report.”
“As it is now, the piece makes it seem like the Opposition is angry because the government is locking up criminals.”
Simms was unconvinced. “Look, I don’t know if I want to make this too negative on the government. Last night you told me I should cultivate sources near Mowat and Donahoe. But if I do the piece the way you want, Mowat won’t like it. He might shut me out.”
Murphy drummed his fingers on his desk. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll do the AG piece, and we’ll lead with that. Then you can follow up with a reaction piece, with whatever clips I don’t use from QP and the scrums. That way if Mowat gives you grief, you can tell him it was me. Tell them I’m a hard ass and insisted that I do the lead piece, because I thought your piece was too soft on them.”
He laughed, then stood up. “I’ve got to go. If I’m going to do the piece for tonight, I’d better get to work.”
He looked back at Simms, who was still sitting with a perplexed expression on her face.
“I’m not joking,” he said. “Tell them it was my idea, and tell them they’re likely not going to like the piece.”
Jack filed his article and called his editor to talk through it. They made a few small tweaks, and his editor quizzed him about some of the sourcing, but his answers satisfied him.
“That’s a good fucking story, b’y,” said his editor. “Them b’ys up there will be following us for a change tomorrow. Good work.”
Jack made his way outside, where he stood on the steps of the Peace Tower, smoking a cigarette and smiling at his colleagues, who were heading home after filing their stories about the prison-building program gone wrong. In a few hours, when his story went online, they would learn that he’d scooped them with a juicy Parliament Hill crime story. He smiled inwardly in anticipation, and then he thought about the subject of his scoop, and chill came over him.
Back at his desk, he gave Sophie a call and asked how Ed was doing.
“It’s hard to know,” said Sophie. “His mom keeps saying that he can understand when we talk to him, and I almost think she’s right. He blinks occasionally after someone says something, and it really seems like he’s acknowledging it. Other times, though, it seems totally random. The doctor says he might be sort of fading in and out. Maybe sometimes he’s registering what we’re saying and other times he’s not.”
“That’s so hard,” said Jack.
“Well, it’s reality, at least for now,” said Sophie. “We have to keep talking to him and hope that he gets better.”
“Well, I’ll pop in to see him when I can,” said Jack.
“It’ll get easier,” said Sophie. “I felt bad for you today, with his mom making you talk to him, but she has the right idea. If you engage him directly, try to communicate, we might be reaching him.”
“Maybe there is reason to hope.”
“There is always reason to hope,” said Sophie, and she laughed. “Listen to me, the wise woman.”
“So you still there?”
“No. I’m at home. I’m having a bite, then I’ll sit with Ed while his parents go out for dinner.”
“Sophie, I think you should let them know I’ve got a story on Ed coming out tomorrow. I didn’t want to tell them about it today. It seemed like too much.”
“What kind of story?”
“Nothing much,” said Jack. “Just the facts. He’s in hospital after nearly drowning. The police are investigating. I didn’t want to do it, but my editors said it would be a story at home.”
“Shouldn’t you tell his parents yourself, give them a chance to comment?” said Sophie.
“I just really don’t want to bother them.”
“You don’t mention me or Minister Mowat?”
“No. I didn’t see any reason to drag you into it.”
“Okay,” said Sophie.
“Call me later if you feel like talking, afte
r you’re finished at the hospital.”
Ashton and Flanagan met in the police station cafeteria when he got back from Gatineau.
“How was the ballet?” asked Ashton, when she walked up to the table with coffees for both of them
“Ah, you know,” said Flanagan, laughing. “Seen one you seen ’em all.”
“I bet,” said Ashton, turning a chair backwards and straddling it. “Did you have time for a little grind?”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” said Flanagan. “I’m a good Catholic. I wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, the wife would kill me.”
“Devon, you’re divorced.”
“I am,” he said and winked. “She divorced me for being a bad husband. Think what she’d do if she caught me with a naked lady.”
They laughed together.
“So did you learn anything?” Ashton asked, sipping from her old Ottawa Police Service mug.
“Not a whole lot,” said Flanagan, flipping open his notebook. “I did talk, though, to one Henri Tremblay, driver for Regal Taxi, who is pretty sure he drove Jack Macdonald to his residence and Ed Sawatski to his. Mr. Tremblay is ninety-five per cent sure that they were the two guys in question. I suspect the five per cent is just in case he has to go to court to testify and finds out some tough guys don’t want him to. He was carting drunks home after Pigale closed. The time matches. He can’t remember the exact addresses, but the neighbourhoods match with Macdonald and Sawatski’s addresses. Said they didn’t say anything, and he didn’t see where either of them went once they got out of his cab.”
“Shit,” said Ashton.
“Shit is right,” said Flanagan. “And, before you ask, he didn’t find a BlackBerry in his cab.”
Flanagan turned the page in his notebook. “According to the best recollection of one –” he flipped more pages “– Rejean Masouf, a security professional at Pigale, the two gentlemen appeared to be thoroughly intoxicated. He remembers them because they were so drunk. They weren’t causing trouble, but apparently one of them fell down and Masouf thought about ejecting them for drunkenness. It was after last call, though, so he decided to just wait till they left.”
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