Divine Justice (8 page)

"Someone's left us a message," she said, curious.

She called down to the front desk. "I have a message?"

"There's a small package down here for you."

She frowned. "Who's it from?"

"It's from a Matthew Divine, at the CFBI."

"I'll be right down."

When Jasi returned to the room, she showed Natassia the small box she'd retrieved from the front desk.

"I have no idea why Matthew sent me this."

"What's inside?"

"I don't know. I haven't opened it yet."

Natassia smiled. "Is it your birthday or something?"

"No," she frowned. "Not for a couple of months."

The box was about the size of a triple pack of soap bars and the postal stamp had yesterday's date. When she opened the package, she found an envelope and a note from Matthew. As usual, he was a man of few words.

Jasi,
someone sent this to you, so I'm forwarding it on.

She studied the envelope. Someone had carefully printed her name in block letters. That was it, nothing else.

Who sent this?

She'd have to ask Matthew later.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" Natassia asked.

She did just that and a lighter slid into the palm of her hand. She showed it to Natassia. "Just what I need."

"I take it you don't smoke?"

Jasi made a face. "No, and I sure hope you don't."

"I only have healthy vices. So who's the lighter from?"

Jasi shook her head slowly. "I haven't got a clue." She stuffed the lighter in her purse, then looked at her partner's tote bag. "Aren't you going to unpack?"

"I'm thinking I should get my own room," Natassia said.

Jasi blinked, stunned. "You don't like sharing?"

"Not at all. I just thought…"

"What? Have I grown two heads?"

"No," Natassia said with a sigh. "Jasi, you're the only Level 1 PSI I know. Besides me. And you're team leader. That makes you very important."

With a derisive snort, Jasi said, "
All
PSIs are important."

"You know what I mean."

"Listen, I don't care who is what rank. It's easier if we share. I can pick your brain and you can pick mine."

Natassia relaxed and settled into a chair. "Fine. I wanted to give you the option."

Jasi gave her a wary look. "Why? Do you snore?"

Natassia laughed. "I don't think so."

"You better not."

With the mood lightened, Jasi hung up her jacket and dug her favorite long t-shirt from her bag.

"So…" Natassia drawled, watching her. "You're a Pyro-Psychic, huh? I've met a couple in Russia. Is there anything I need to know?"

"I carry OxyBlast with me."

Natassia nodded. "Do you pass out?"

"Not if I'm careful. I usually wear an oxy-mask if the scene is fresh or if there's a lot of smoke. If you're with me and there's smoke, keep an eye on me. What about you?"

"At times I need a reality line. Depends on the victim."

Jasi studied Natassia carefully. Victim Empaths were known to get deeply entranced by victim's memories. It was an ugly business. Most VEs could read only live victims. Level 1s could read live and dead.

What is it like to feel what a victim feels, feel their fear?

"Let's get caught up on the case," she said. "Matthew sent over the missing persons report that Winkler's wife filed with the local PD. Tomorrow we'll pay her a visit. After that I'll take you to OFU."

"OFU?"

"Ottawa Forensics Unit. The morgue."

"Nothing like a little sightseeing in a new city."

Jasi settled on the bed and combed through Winkler's file on her data-com. As she did so, she thought of Ben's bizarre reaction to their new partner. Sure, Natassia dressed a bit provocatively, but that could be an advantage. Especially during interrogations.

A movement caught her eye.
What is she doing?

Natassia was frisking the other bed, looking under the covers and pillows. With a scowl, she got down on her knees and checked under the bed.

"What in God's name are you looking for?" Jasi asked.

"They usually leave chocolates on the bed. I thought maybe mine had fallen on the floor. Did you see any?"

Jasi tried not to look at the wastebasket.

"Nope. Housekeeping must've missed our room."

7

Winkler Manor was located northeast of downtown
Ottawa in Rockcliffe Park, a neighborhood that was reserved for the very wealthy and for government officials, including the Governor General and the Prime Minister of Canada. Generations of money had been pumped into the area by various ambassadors, computer software companies, Internet entrepreneurs and more than a few politicians.

It had been a few years since Jasi had driven through this area. Things had changed. A year ago, the former Canadian Forces Base CFB Rockcliffe had added a new expansion to Rockcliffe Park. Some of the existing buildings had been converted for other uses. Many had been demolished so that new homes could be built. The Winkler's lived in the original area, in an older estate home.

Grateful for the SUV's state-of-the-art GPS system, Jasi slowed the vehicle so they could take in the gated mansions that nestled in the trees. Somewhere behind them were endless immaculate lawns, azure swimming pools, extra-large hot tubs, outdoor bars and tennis courts.

"Welcome to Ottawa's version of 'Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,'" Natassia said in a British accent. "I'm your host, Robin Leach."

Jasi grinned. "Champagne wishes…"

"And caviar dreams," they said in unison, laughing.

"I think caviar is disgusting," Jasi said, making a face.

Natassia released a contented sigh. "Caviar and sushi. Two of the four food groups. Or they should be. You don't know what you're missing."

"I'll live just fine without sludge in a tin. Give me a charbroiled steak any day."

Jasi maneuvered the SUV along the perfectly paved main road, then turned down a secondary street lined with pruned black willow, red maple and hundred-year-old hackberry trees, and assorted trimmed bushes, no doubt the responsibility of an expensive lawn care service. In Rockcliffe, the lack of sidewalks stood out. People liked their privacy at Rockcliffe Park. They expected it.

She slowed the car in front of two brick pillars. There were rough iron gates on either side. An ornate wooden plaque was centered on the pillar on the right side.

Winkler Manor
, it proclaimed in a floral scroll.

"That's odd," she said.

"What is?"

"Most people in this neighborhood keep their gates closed."

The Winkler's gate was wide open.

Natassia frowned. "Did you call Marilyn Winkler to let her know we were coming?"

"Nope. I prefer the element of surprise."

"It looks like she's expecting someone."

"I wonder who."

Jasi turned down the long driveway and was silent for a moment, taking in the rich green lawn and colorful flowerbeds. She envied people with yards like this. She couldn't keep a houseplant alive for more than a month.

"Matthew said you're training for the position of team leader," Natassia said hesitantly.

"Uh, yeah. They think I'm ready."

"What do you think?"

"I know I'm ready. Ben's been drilling me for over a month."

"You're lucky to have someone who believes in you the way he does."

"I know." She studied her new partner. "So, how shall we do this?"

"I'll follow your lead."

Well, Natassia was certainly accommodating.

"Since Marilyn is a victim of sorts, can you read her?"

Natassia shrugged. "I do better with people who have directly experienced a violent crime. I feel the energy from their trauma."

"So you probably won't get anything from her then."

"I doubt it."

The scenery suddenly flared open and an impressive coffee and cream brick house, roughly five thousand square feet, lay before them. Owning the land with its grandeur, Winkler Manor resembled a medieval castle with two towering turrets and a peaked roof. An oversized balcony looked down over the driveway.

Natassia whistled. "That's some house."

Jasi couldn't agree more.

The driveway circled around in front of the estate, with a three-car garage forking off the main curve. A one-lane paved road continued past the garage and disappeared between the bushes. Parked in front of two garage doors were a silver Sebring and a blue Cadillac.

"The Winklers like their toys," Jasi observed.

They climbed out of the SUV.

Flat slabs of beige and gray stone carved a sidewalk to a porch with two white columns that framed arched double doors inlaid with etched glass panes.

"Custom built," Jasi determined.

Natassia nodded. "There's some serious money here."

Jasi found the doorbell and pressed it. They were rewarded with a familiar waltz tune that played inside and out. Mid-tune, one of the heavy doors opened, the archway appearing even larger as it dwarfed a bone-thin bald man in a disheveled burgundy suit.

Wordlessly, he glowered at them with cold eyes.

Jasi glared back.
Why is he so annoyed?

"We're here to see Mrs. Winkler."

The man squinted at her badge. Without a word, he turned away, leaving the door ajar.

Natassia gave her a questioning look.

"Good help is so hard to find," Jasi quipped.

Inside, they followed the clicking of the man's dress shoes. The scent of roses lingered in the air as he led them across a marble floor and into a carpeted sitting room decorated in pale shades of lavender and pink. Pink roses in crystal vases graced every surface, along with potted African violets of various shades. A quick once-over of the room told Jasi that it was rarely used by anyone other than the lady of the house.

Like an old-fashioned Victorian parlor, everything was delicate and flowered, from the Queen Anne sofa and loveseat, to the embroidered pillows and window valances, to the ruby and gold decanter set that accented an elaborately carved mantle over the wood fireplace. Massive oil paintings in intricate gilded frames hung on the far wall, threatening to buckle the pastel mauve wallpaper behind them.

"Please tell Mrs. Winkler we're here," she said, eyeing the bald man.

The look he gave her wasn't any warmer than the one they'd gotten at the door. With a shrug, he turned on one heel and left the room.

"What a strange man," Natassia whispered.

Jasi had to agree.

While they waited, Jasi studied the paintings. She was sure they were all originals, probably handed down from generation to generation. They had that air about them. Valuable. Old money.

"My husband's collection is impressive, isn't it?"

The lady of the house breezed into the room, her entrance marked by a scented cloud of rose, vanilla and a hint of sandalwood. She moved slowly across the floor as though she had all the time in the world, as though her husband wasn't lying dead in the city morgue.

"Welcome to my home."

My
home, not
our
home, Jasi observed.

Marilyn Winkler was not a beautiful woman, but she commanded attention. People would notice her because of the severity of her appearance. Her hair, an indefinable black or dark brown depending on the lighting, was sleeked back from a high forehead, then twisted at the back and fastened with a jeweled clip. The combination of pale iridescent foundation, razor-thin black eyebrows that were drawn on, cold brown eyes and thin blood-red lips made her face look harsh and unfriendly.