Divine Justice (34 page)

She glanced at Ben.

He gave her a nod and mouthed, "You're doing great."

She gave a brief statement on the two victims, without releasing cause of death or any other forensic information.

"How were they killed?" a Global TV reporter shouted as she turned away.

"We can't answer that question at this time."

"Do you have any suspects?"

"The CFBI, in conjunction with OPS and RCMP, is looking into all leads," she said patiently. "We're interviewing all witnesses, and we ask that anyone who has information regarding these murders to please call the RCMP Tip Line."

A young reporter from the Ottawa Citizen stepped forward. "Does this mean there's a serial killer loose in Ottawa?"

"At this time we have two murder victims who both happen to be politicians. It's too early to tell if they were killed by the same person."

The crowd erupted in fury.

"How many bodies do you need for it to
be
a serial killer then?" someone hollered.

"What about the Prime Minister? Is he in danger too?"

"Is this a terrorist act?

Jasi held her hand up to quiet the throng. "All I can say right now is that it's only a matter of time before we catch whoever is responsible." She thanked the media. "I assure you, as soon as we have something concrete, we'll notify you and issue a statement."

After the conference, Ben patted her on the back. "I knew you could do it. Sorry I teased you before."

She couldn't help but chuckle. She felt good. Relieved.

"And I didn't even have to picture them all naked."

Ben grinned. "So, Miss Public Speaker, what's next?"

"I'll give Ottawa Forensics Unit a call," she said.

She barely got the words out when her data-com beeped. She gulped in a breath when she saw who it was.

Faith Copeland.

"I was just about to call you," Jasi said.

"I must be psychic."

Jasi bit back a laugh. "It would be nice if you were. So what have you got?"

"Confirmation on the wound pattern. Exact match to your previous victim. But the force used was even greater than with the previous victim."

"But there's no doubt in your mind that we're looking for the same person who murdered Winkler."

"Correct. We found something else that links the cases."

"What?"

"The victim was given a large dose of Flunitripazam."

Rohypnol. The killer's drug of choice.

"Were you able to confirm ID?"

"DNA was a one hundred percent match to the samples we obtained earlier from Porter Sampson." She paused. "You were right, Agent McLellan."

"About what?"

"He died from smoke inhalation. Lucky guess."

Copeland hung up.

Jasi went in search of her partners.

"DNA is definitely Sampson's," she told them. "And the wound patterns are also a match."

"I wish we could figure out the weapon," Ben replied.

"Have you thought more about your vision?" Natassia asked Jasi.

"I haven't had much time to." She realized something. "I was so distracted by the press conference that I haven't even listened to the voice file."

"I'll forward the file to you once I clean up the sound."

"Great," Jasi said. "I keep thinking there's something I missed."

Jasi stood in front of her hotel room door, the IHD in hand. "Well, let's see if you can figure this out."

She plugged the device into her data-com and immediately a numerical keypad appeared on the screen. She entered 911 and a message told her to point her 'com at the door lock, hit the call button and wait for the light on the lock to turn green before turning the knob.

She was inside in less than ten seconds.

"Holy shit, Natassia," she muttered, carefully returning the IHD to her inside jacket pocket.

In the quiet of the hotel room, her mind flitted to her vision. There was a clue in it somewhere. She knew it. All she needed was to remember what it was.

She massaged her temple.
Nothing.

With a sigh, she checked her 'com for messages. Natassia had been true to her promise and a copy of the voice file from the crime scene was waiting in her inbox.

"Come on in,"
she heard herself say.

In the recording she described her surroundings, coached gently by Natassia.

"Did you bring it?"

Sampson had given his killer an envelope.

What was in it?

She'd seen that he'd been drugged.

There was something odd in Sampson's actions prior to taking the Rohypnol. He'd done exactly what he was told, as if the killer was the puppet master.

What hold did his killer have over him?

Was Sampson being blackmailed? Or threatened?

On the data-com, she said,
"If only you had listened. Why couldn't you have done what you were told like the others?"

Jasi gasped. "What others?"

Winkler…Sampson. Who else was involved?

She recalled seeing the vague shape of a boat.

"That's how Winkler ended up in the river. That's why there was no evidence on the shore. The killer lured him on board a boat and then dumped him."

The next thing she'd said on the 'com made her blood run cold.

"No hard feelings, mate."

And there it was. The thing that had bugged her. She knew exactly who had murdered the two politicians. She just wasn't sure she could say it out loud.

Oh God…

The air in the room suddenly seemed devoid of oxygen and she couldn't breathe. She rushed to the bathroom, splashed cool water on her face.

"You know who it is," she said, staring at her reflection.

With a deep breath, she returned to the table and plopped down in front of her laptop. For a moment she did nothing but think.

She'd have to tell Ben and Natassia.

"Shit."

Logging into her laptop, she brought up a medical paper on Rohypnol. It confirmed what she'd been told, that the drug was a muscle relaxant, sedative and paralytic. Plus it wiped the memory clean during the time it was in a person's system.

So why couldn't Porter Sampson recall the phone call? Was Rohypnol somehow administered while he was still at home?

The report on her laptop stated that Rohypnol was illegal in North America.

"It might be illegal, but it's all over our streets," she muttered. "You just have to know where to look."

Or buy it overseas.

She knew one person who'd been overseas recently. He could get the drug easily, and he knew how to administer it.

Zane Underhill.

In her vision the perp had said 'mate,' a common expression in Australia. Zane was the only Australian with even a remote connection to the case.

She jumped to her feet and paced the room.

Why would Zane do this?

She called him, but there was no answer.

Frustrated, she called Matthew at Divine Ops.

"I need the file on Zane Underhill," she told him.

"Your psychologist friend? Is this for business reasons or personal?"

"A bit of both. Will you send me his file?"

There was a lengthy pause.

"You're not involved with him again, are you?"

Matthew's concern left her feeling a bit peeved.

"My personal life is my own," she said firmly. "But thanks for thinking of me."

"I'll have the file uploaded to your data-com right away. Just…be careful. Zane Underhill is not receptive to PSIs. He―"

She cut him off. "Any word on the carpet sample from the yacht club? Is Paul Cahill our guy?"

"No. The cue impressions don't match the wounds."

"I had a feeling that would be the case."

Because Zane's the guy we're after.

"Sorry, Jasmine."

"Thanks, Matthew," she said, quickly disconnecting.

She called Zane again. He didn't pick up. That made her nervous. She chewed her bottom lip and stared out the window. "He can't possibly know I'm onto him."

Maybe he's closing in on his next target.

"Maybe I'm wrong," she murmured.

But logic suggested she wasn't. Zane had to be brought in. Immediately.

She groaned. "Why, Zane?"

As if in answer, her data-com beeped. It was Ben.

"We've got another victim," he said.

Jasi's heart sank to her toes as she moved toward the nearest bed. "Shit! I was hoping we'd get to him first."

"Jasi…"

She took a breath. "I should've told―"

"Jasi, I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"First, you should know he's alive," he said, his voice calm and soothing. "Ottawa General is running some tests, but his prognosis is good."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a good thing they found him when they did," he said, as if he hadn't heard her.

"Found who?"

"It's Zane."

She sank into a chair. "What?"

"OPS discovered him an hour ago on a bench in Britannia Park. Someone drugged and assaulted him."

"This doesn't make any sense."

"We think he was targeted because of his involvement in the case. Someone must have leaked that Sampson was going to see him."

"Jesus." She massaged her forehead. "I was so wrong about him."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought he…" She sighed. "Never mind."

"Are you all right, Jasi?"

"No. It's my fault. I dragged him into this."

"Zane agreed to help us," Ben said firmly. "You didn't coerce him into it. He knew the risks."

She knew he was right, but it didn't change the fact that she had been ready to accuse Zane of two murders.

She restlessly paced the floor and thought of her vision.

The killer must have meant 'mate' as in shipmate.

"You said Zane was drugged," she said.

"Rohypnol. Same as Sampson and Winkler."

Sampson had been dumped in the park too―alive―but the killer went back for him. That meant one thing. Zane was still in danger.

"He needs a guard on his room," she said. "Our perp might come back and try to…finish what he started."

"I already took care of that, Jasi."

She batted away a tear, thankful her partner couldn't see her. "I'm an idiot, Ben."

"Why would you say that?"

"I thought it was Zane," she said in a quiet voice.

From her data-com came a muffled reply. "What?"

"In my vision, the killer said 'mate.' Zane says that all the time. You know, it's an Australian thing."

"He's going to be fine, Jazz. He has a gash on his forehead and doesn't remember anything, but he's stable."

"I'll head to the hospital." She paused. "And Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell him I thought it was him."