Divine Intervention (20 page)

"There's your man."

Baker was getting into the passenger side of a black car.

"Can you enlarge it?" Ben asked.

The picture grew distorted as the tech zoomed in, but Ben identified the vehicle―a black BMW sedan.

Probably a 7 Series, he thought. A high-end vehicle for someone with money.

The license plate number was obscured by the angle of the camera. The moving shadows inside the car indicated the presence of one other person besides Premier Baker. The driver. But the windows of the car were so heavily tinted that Ben couldn't identify him.

Disappointed, he watched while Baker and the mystery driver sped away into the night.

"I'll need the disks we looked at," he stated firmly.

Obediently, the security tech handed him the three disks.

"Thanks. I'm ready to see Premier Baker's room now."

"Okay," the tech agreed, pressing a button on his desk. "I'll get Kathy to let you in."

Ben was about to ask who
Kathy
was, when a security guard barged into the office, breathless and red-faced. The woman was of native heritage. Her almond eyes were framed by cropped black hair. Her skin was weathered.

From roasting in the sun, he mused.

"Kathy Fairmont," the woman grunted.

Her voice was low and gruff, like someone who had smoked two packs a day since birth. She was a woman trapped in a man's body. A body that probably weighed over three hundred pounds.

Ben introduced himself, ensuring that his gloves were on securely. There was no way he wanted to pick up anything from Kathy Fairmont's mind.

"CFBI agent, huh?" the woman mumbled.

She peered down her flat nose, huffing in disdain. Her three chins, one of which sprouted a large brown mole, mesmerized him.

Battleaxe.
That's what came to Ben's mind.

"This way," Battleaxe said coolly.

She marched down the hall toward the elevator and waited inside, tapping her foot. He remained silent during the quick ride up to the fourth floor where Kathy led him down a hallway, the rolls of her uniform-clad buttocks swinging from side to side.

The woman walks like she has a bug up her ass, Ben thought with a snort.

Kathy's eyes aimed poisoned darts at him. "Yeah?"

"Something wrong?" he asked innocently.

Battleaxe stopped sharply and turned to face him. Her eyes sparked with animosity, her voice was arctic ice.

"Premier Baker's a good man. He's done lots for us. Don't know why ya guys have to bother 'im."

Damn! Another fan of Baker's. How did the guy do it?

Shaking his head in amazement, Ben massaged his temple. "We're just here to conduct an investigation, ma'am. This is for his protection too. You know, rule him out."

Battleaxe's eyes narrowed.

Ben could hear her labored breathing as she hefted her weight down the hall. A picture came to mind of her trying to climb up eight flights of stairs. He wondered what the woman would do if she had to chase someone through the hotel. He wouldn't want to run into
her
in a dark alley. With her attitude, she'd probably shoot first and ask questions later.

He snickered at the thought.

The woman shot an angry scowl in his direction before stopping at room 418. Swiping a security card, she opened the door and stepped inside the room.

He whistled appreciatively. The word r
oom
was an understatement. 418 was a luxury suite of spacious rooms―complete with sitting room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom and a large Jacuzzi in one corner. An empty bottle of champagne lay beside the Jacuzzi.

Someone had been celebrating.

"Don't make a mess!" Kathy warned. "Premier Baker's still using this room and he likes everything nice and tidy. He's got lots on his plate, that man. Specially now that his dad's dead."

Ben ignored her and extracted an object from his tote bag. The X-Disc Pro was a small computerized hovercraft that could scan for evidence. If there were trace elements such as illicit drug residue, skin samples, blood, semen or vaginal fluids, the X-Disc would find them.

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."