‘No, that sounds good. I can be there shortly. I just met with my supervisor and he said he wants me to keep working with you. He doesn’t want me to drop the investigation into Mark’s death until we know there’s nothing for us to investigate, and he’s hoping we can find out why fraud’s involved.’ Kulcheski looked at her watch. ‘I can be there in ten, fifteen minutes. You said you’re at her office?’
‘Yeah. It’s on O’Connor. Do you know which one?’
‘I do.’
‘Perfect. I’ll meet you in the lobby.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Kulcheski’s fifteen minutes was optimistic. Although she only had to travel two exits on the highway, she quickly ran into a train of snowplows, one in each of the four lanes. Each plow was going slightly faster than a brisk jog, sitting on the back bumper of the one in front of it. Behind the plows, a long line of impatient drivers were trying to decide if it would be quicker to exit the highway and find another route or just stay on. It was always a gamble—the plows could get off at the next exit, or they could keep going all the way across town. Kulcheski finally saw an opening and exited at Metcalfe Street.
Driving north towards Parliament, she saw that the parking lot at the World Exchange Plaza wasn’t full, which was surprising for this time of day during the week. People must have decided to work from home again. She pulled in, took a ticket at the automated machine and wound her way down until she found a spot. The garage was pleasantly warm as she made her way to the elevator. She rode up to the main lobby with a woman and her young son. The boy seemed fascinated by Kulcheski’s gun holster just visible under her jacket.
When the doors finally opened at the ground level, Kulcheski followed the young mother and little boy out of the elevator, the mother almost dragging the unwilling boy along. She stood for a moment, getting her bearings, and then headed towards the exit doors that led onto O’Connor street. The revolving door proved to be a sharp transition from the warmth of the lobby to the cold wind outside. She started making her way down the freshly plowed sidewalk, walking past a small woolen mitten that a child must have dropped as he was being rushed down the cold street.
Finally arriving at her destination, she stood to the side of the main door as a man in a black trench coat exited, not bothering to hold the door as he walked by her. ‘Thanks,’ she murmured under her breath.
The man stopped and turned back. ‘Excuse me?’ he said, stepping back towards Kulcheski.
‘I said, thanks,’ she repeated, looking at the man. ‘Inspector Wilson?’
Wilson looked at Kulcheski blankly, obviously not making the connection. He looked at her shoulder boards to see her rank. ‘Do I know you, Corporal?’ He looked at her embroidered name sewn on her right chest. ‘Kulcheski?’
‘We met once before, sir,’ said Kulcheski. She saw his eyes narrow.
‘Right. Just the other day at the autopsy. With that obstinate doctor. She still hasn’t sent me a copy of the report. I’m going to have to file a complaint with the city about her,’ Wilson said. ‘Did you receive anything?’
Kulcheski had received the same report as Penner—the one that revealed Mark had died before he went into the water and not much else. ‘No, sir. Nothing. But you did kick me off the investigation, so that’s not too surprising, is it? You told Dr. Pelow that you were taking over, so there wouldn’t be any need for me to receive any information.’
‘Hmm, right,’ Wilson said, squinting at her with eyes as cold as the windchill. ‘So, what are you doing here?’
‘I have a meeting with…a friend,’ Kulcheski ad libbed. ‘Just meeting for a coffee before I head back to the office.’
‘Yeah, right. Well, when you do get back to the office, you can tell that Monk to stop asking questions about me, or he’ll end up having to answer to our Superintendent.’
‘I’ll be sure to let him know when I see him, sir.’
‘You make sure you do,’ Wilson said, pointing his finger in Kulcheski’s face. ‘And you watch your step. I know you’ve been asking around, too. I told you I’m taking over the investigation. I don’t want to have a problem with you. Am I clear?’
Kulcheski looked at his outstretched finger, inches from her face. She wanted to slap it away but knew better. ‘Perfectly clear, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my friend’s waiting.’ She could feel his glare as she stepped past him and opened the door. Inside the lobby of the building she looked around and saw Millar sitting on a bench next to a large ornamental palm tree.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, walking up to Millar. She took off her hat and undid her coat. ‘Got tied up with Inspector Wilson.’ She turned and looked towards the entrance. Wilson was still there, staring at her through the glass door.
Millar followed her stare. ‘Is that him out there?’
‘It is. He was coming out of the building when I first arrived. He knows that my supervisor and I have been asking around about him. He’s not very happy about that. I can’t figure out why he’s so secretive about what he’s doing. Usually members in different units work well with each other.’
‘Every force seems to have that one guy who would rather do it all himself,’ Millar said. ‘Wonder what he was doing here?’
‘Who knows,’ said Kulcheski. She watched as Wilson finally walked away. ‘Should we go and see if Ms. Ingram is in?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Millar said, standing up. They walked over to the elevators where three other people were waiting. In less than a minute, the doors of one elevator opened and they got in. Millar pushed the button for the seventh floor.
Millar and Kulcheski stepped out of the elevator into a rather busy corridor. Millar couldn’t help but notice that it seemed busier than Mark’s office. People wandered about in all directions, some carrying large stacks of paper, others talking on their cell phones. Millar stopped an older woman and asked where they would find Laura Ingram’s office and she pointed them in the right direction.
Inside the office, a woman in her twenties with thick rimmed glasses and hair tied in a tight bun greeted them from behind a large, cluttered desk. ‘Can I help you?’
‘We’d like to see Laura Ingram if she’s in,’ Millar said.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ the receptionist asked, looking between Millar and Kulcheski.
‘No, we don’t. We’d just like to ask her a few questions. Shouldn’t take long.’ Millar didn’t bother showing his badge. Kulcheski was in uniform, so he assumed the woman would figure out who they were.
‘I’ll see if she’s available.’ The receptionist picked up the phone, dialed and waited. ‘There are two officers here to see you. Okay, thanks.’ She replaced the receiver. ‘Down that way, second door on the right.’
‘Thanks,’ Millar said. He looked around the office as they made their way down the hall. It was a typical open concept office. A few low walled cubicles, people milling about, too much inane chatter. He knocked on the closed door of Laura’s office.
‘Come in,’ a strong female voice called out from the other side.
Millar opened the door and held it for Kulcheski. The office was large and brightly lit. The smell of incense and the drone of meditation music filled the air. Several plants were perched on the overflowing bookshelves. Two large chairs sat in front of an old wooden desk which was covered with papers and file folders. Laura Ingram stood up from behind the desk, stepping around to the front of it to greet Millar and Kulcheski. She was tall—made taller by her high heel shoes. Late fifties, Millar thought, but he couldn’t really be sure.
‘Sorry to bother you, Ms. Ingram,’ said Millar.
‘Please, call me Laura.’
‘Laura. I’m Detective Millar from the Ottawa police and this is Corporal Kulcheski, RCMP.’
‘Ah, Natasha, right?’ Laura said, offering her hand.
‘That’s right. Good to see you again,’ Kulcheski said, shaking Laura’s hand.
‘Ottawa police and the RCMP? What have I done
this time?’ Laura said with a smile. ‘Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?’
‘We’re fine, thanks,’ said Millar, sitting in one of the chairs. Laura leaned on the edge of her desk. ‘You’re a member of the Opposition’s Shadow Cabinet, correct?’
‘I am,’ Laura said. ‘We really should have been the party in charge, but unfortunately, things didn’t quite go our way last election. One too many idiots saying one too many idiotic things to the media. Oh well, I think we’ll do better this time around. Much less dead wood in our party.’
‘And your role is?’
‘I’m the critic for International Trade—but I feel like you already knew that.’
‘So, in this role, you would know Mark Williams?’ Millar continued, ignoring her comment.
‘Of course. I was surprised to hear of his passing,’ said Laura, her expression remaining neutral. ‘It was my job to keep him in check. Not always an easy job, mind you.’
‘Oh? How so?’
‘Let’s just say that he often tried to enter into some less than ideal deals,’ Laura said. She reached for her water bottle and took a sip.
‘Did you get along with Mark?’
‘Not at all,’ said Laura, putting the bottle back down.
‘Really?’ Millar said, taken aback by her bluntness. ‘Why’s that?’
‘I didn’t think he was very good at his job. The last two trade deals he signed—well, I am sure I would have gotten a better agreement for Canadian businesses. He was too much of a pushover to be able to do any real negotiating. If things got tough, he would cave and accept any deal that was offered. I’m going to have my work cut out for me when we win the next election and I have to start renegotiating. Some countries don’t like when we try to change agreements after the fact.’
‘You couldn’t have stopped the deals going through?’
‘I tried, but as the minority, we can only do so much. We can try and hold things up, express our concerns, but at the end of the day, if it comes down to a vote, we’re going to lose. The joys of politics.’
‘You said that Mark didn’t always make the best deals. Do you know if he made any, how can I put this, questionable deals?’ asked Millar.
‘Questionable how?’ Laura asked, picking up her bottle again.
‘Possibly not on the up-and-up?’
‘Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask that question.’
‘Really? Why?’ Millar asked, leaning forward in his chair.
‘Because one of your co-workers told me you would be here asking questions like that,’ Laura said, looking at Kulcheski.
‘One of my co-workers?’
‘That’s right. What was his name?’ Laura said, turning around, looking at her desk. She grabbed a business card.
‘Let me guess. Wilson?’
‘That’s right. He was here not long before you. Asked me a bunch of questions about Mark and told me to not discuss anything related to him with anyone else. So, I’ve probably already said too much. I don’t want to run afoul of the RCMP now, do I?’
‘So, that’s what he was doing here,’ Kulcheski said to Millar.
‘If there’s nothing else I can help you with,’ said Laura, standing up straight, motioning to the door.
‘No, that’ll be all for now,’ Millar said, taking the hint. He and Kulcheski walked to the door. ‘Thanks for your time.’
‘My pleasure. Sorry I can’t be of more help, but he was pretty insistent,’ Laura said. ‘I’ll see you around Parliament,’ she said to Kulcheski, patting her shoulder.
They took the elevator back down to the lobby with three other people in the awkward silence of elevator riders everywhere.
‘Want a coffee?’ Millar asked, seeing a small coffee shop.
‘A tea would be good, thanks,’ Kulcheski said. ‘I can’t believe Wilson was here, and he’s silencing potential witnesses,’ she said as they stood in line. Millar didn’t respond.
When they got to the cash register, Millar glanced up at the list of beverages behind the cashier. ‘Medium dark roast, please, just black, and…’ He turned to Kulcheski. ‘What type of tea do you want?’
‘Mint, if you have it. Thanks.’
When they had their drinks, they found a small table in the crowded food court and sat down. ‘Thanks for the tea.’
‘No problem,’ Millar said. His coffee was steaming. He took the lid off and let it sit on the table to try and cool it down.
‘So, what do we do now?’ Kulcheski asked.
‘Well,’ Millar said and stopped. He wasn’t exactly sure. ‘Well, I have Detective Penner checking on someone who claimed Mark only won the last election because of voter fraud, so we’ll see if she finds out anything.’
‘Do you think that’s why Wilson’s digging around?’
‘What else could it be?’ Millar asked, trying his coffee. It wasn’t all that hot after all, nor was it very good.
‘The election was over three years ago now. If a complaint was made, it was probably made shortly after the votes were counted, right? I doubt the investigation would still be ongoing.’
‘Good point,’ admitted Millar. ‘We can at least find out when the complaint was made. I’ll check our records, see if it came to us, if you can check yours.’
‘I can do that,’ Kulcheski said. ‘Chances are it would have been with us where it was a federal election. The original complaint may have been lodged with you guys, but we would have taken it over.’
‘Like how Wilson’s taking over now?’ Millar joked. ‘Something you guys do a lot?’
‘Funny. We usually only take over cases when it’s our jurisdiction. And besides, we don’t usually take it over from one of our own, just from other forces,’ Kulcheski smiled.
‘Alright. I’ll touch base with Penner and see if she’s heard anything more from Faye. Sounded like the initial autopsy didn’t turn up too much.’
‘Basically that he was dead before he hit the water, but there was no obvious cause of death,’ Kulcheski said.
‘You got the same report, I guess,’ said Millar. ‘Grant was supposed to visit the school where Mark was doing a presentation the day he died. I’ll see what he has to say.’
‘I’ll check to see when the complaint about the voter fraud was initiated and see if I can get the file—there may be something in there. And I’ll try to do some more digging into Wilson. If he’s not investigating the last election, I’d like to know what he’s looking into.’
‘You and me both,’ Millar said, trying another sip of coffee. ‘Nope, still not good,’ he thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Millar made his way back to his car. The wind was still howling. Dark clouds filled the sky, making it seem much later in the day than it actually was. He climbed back over the snowbank, got in his car and started it, cranking up the heat and the fan. Before returning to the precinct, he decided he would go and see if he could figure out where Mark had gone into the river.
He turned onto Wellington Street and drove past the Parliament buildings. He was surprised how many people were wandering around the Hill and standing by the Centennial Flame. Two large tour buses were idling on the side of the road, waiting for the groups of tourists to return to their warmth.
He continued onto the Sir John A. MacDonald Parkway and turned right onto Booth Street, heading towards Quebec and passing by the Canadian War Museum. As he crossed over the Ottawa river on the large green iron bridge, he looked out to his left at the Chaudière Falls where white water rushed through the dam. He slowed and looked out the passenger window, the free-flowing water met up with the ice-covered river a few hundred feet away.
Once over the bridge, Millar turned into the parking lot of the old, abandoned paper mill. He parked his car beside a chain link fence and pulled out his notebook, flipping to the page where he had scribbled some notes after visiting Mark’s assistant. He pulled out his phone and looked for corner stores on Eddy Street, just the other side o
f the intersection where he was parked.
‘Wow, there’s that many depanneurs?’ he said to himself, seeing four in the first ten blocks alone. ‘Maybe I should have sent Grant out to do this,’ he thought, as a gust of wind blew snow off a snowbank in front of his windshield. He stepped out of his car and ran across the street.
The corner of Eddy Street and Portage Avenue had two large government buildings. The closest store Millar had identified was in the ground floor of one. He opened the door and a bell chimed above his head.
‘Bonjour. Comment allez-vous?’ a young man said from behind a crowded counter to the right of the door.
‘Uh,’ Millar stammered. He understood some French, but he always tried to avoid speaking it. ‘Je vas bien, No, je vais bien.’
‘Ah, good,’ the man said in English with a heavy French accent. ‘Can I help you find something?’
‘Oh, thank goodness you speak English. This could have been tough,’ Millar said with relief. ‘I’m wondering if you might have seen someone in here Monday, probably sometime in the afternoon.’ He pulled out his phone and found a picture of Mark on his party’s website. ‘He may have been in here buying some beer.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ the man said, looking at the picture. ‘We get lots of people in here, but I don’t think he is one. Maybe. I don’t remember everyone, you know?’
‘Right. Well, thanks for your time,’ Millar said. He turned and walked back onto the street.
He tried two more stores, but the same results. So far no one that was working had recognized Mark. He decided to try one more that was just past a local bar.
The store was larger than it looked from the outside. Several aisles were tightly packed with a variety of dry goods. Directly across from the door, next to the cash, was a large cooler section with vegetables and meats. Walking up to the cashier, Millar passed by three aisles of beer and wine.
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