Unredeemed Read online

  “Here, this is Odessa’s full name, passport number and date of birth,” she said and adjusting the order of the papers inside, slid the open file over so her collaborator could take another look. Officer Helpful positioned the file, studied the info and started typing.

  “I don’t see anything on the system under this name” he said, “but my co-officer is right, you do need to speak with someone at Canada Border Services Authority.” He spoke the words, without the bite.

  “Thanks.” She smiled her appreciation, keeping her gaze on him. “I sure appreciate your help.” Jamee gathered up the file and left the office.

  As she walked away, Jamee consoled herself that she’d known help from CATSA had been a slim shot. Normal practice when any person, or persons, entered Canada they were required to proceed to the CBSA checkpoint. There at the Primary Inspection point, a border service officer would examine their Declaration Card, identification and other travel documents. Newcomers to Canada to visit, study or work were asked to provide additional documentation. If Odessa had gotten off that plane, CBSA should be able to make confirmation.

  First thing in the morning, she’d be at the main CBSA office, but she had her doubts as to how much immediate help she’d get. The CBSA were known to be sticklers for modus operandi. She would likely have to jump through several hoops before she’d have her answer. And then in the end, might still have to seek the assistance of a third party. The first inkling that someone wasn’t where they were supposed to be should send up red flags but the CBSA was all about rules and compliance. Their enforcement arm had an especially long reach. They also didn’t answer to the general public. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had to go to their government representative to get even the simplest of answers from the CBSA. Additionally, those answers were rarely straight forward when they did come. The CBSA was not in the business of providing a road map on how to enter the country.

  It had been a long night and a disappointing outcome. Jeff’s solution of providing a caregiver had just become one more problem.

  Chapter Three

  Samuel Duncan Craig sat at his antique, finely-finished oak desk, an open yellow file before him. He had started with his usual preliminary — once through. It was a ritual he followed. Scan, clear the mind, and then review with new eyes a second time through. Once he had a feel for the sequence of events he would read the RCMP summary report, and only then, allow himself to ponder what relevance if any, this particular case might have to his current assignment.

  The file arrived that morning from HQ, sent over in the daily government courier bag. Sam, meticulous by nature, was diligent in combing through each new case. He would determine whether the crime outlined in the file had any connection to his investigation into human trafficking. The RCMP detective assigned to the case must have thought it might or he wouldn’t have forwarded it. The job was new to Sam, and by that measure, only newly created. Everything was put together late last year after discussion and decisions made at the annual National Policing Conference. Action on the agreed upon motion had come into force when the RCMP and other police forces, were instructed by the Attorney General to filter specific case files to specially appointed investigators, one for each province. The recently formed, quasi-judicial force had been granted broad-ranging investigative powers enabling the investigators to meet the challenges presented to them. Sam was one of those special investigators. He had been chosen to spearhead the new initiative in the Province of Alberta — a sort of army of one.

  The goal of this current assignment was to give the government a realistic picture of the profundity and human cost of illegal immigration into Canada.

  Ever since 9/11, Canada had been under the microscope, specifically in regard to criminal activities related to immigrants and visitors from foreign countries. The span of Sam’s investigation ran the gamut from the use of fraudulent documents and the hop-scotching of illegals in and out of the country, to any possible link between immigration and the growing threat of organized crime in the area of human trafficking.

  Sam was eager to uncover the source of human trafficking pipelines and the increasing incidence of fraudulent visas. Both were showing up at an alarming rate. It was always possible the next case he reviewed might be the next piece in the puzzle.

  The yellow office file in front of him contained an RCMP and coroner’s report outlining the discovery of a woman’s body, deemed deceased under mysterious circumstances. The body turned up the previous night on Stephen Avenue in downtown Calgary. Stephen Avenue Walk was Calgary’s National Historical District, an area full of shops and restaurants and a popular tourist destination site.

  The deceased woman was described in the report as middle aged, eastern European in appearance, and modestly but well-dressed. Strange, particularly this time of the year, the woman had been shoeless. The body bore no distinguishing marks nor had she been wearing jewellery. She was carrying a work visa inserted passport, a casino chip and a cash card inside a small leather handbag found under the body. The coroner’s report stated death was likely the result of a fall. A determination Sam found in keeping with the fact, the body was discovered at the base of the Stephen Avenue parkade. The RCMP were continuing to investigate the crime as a suspicious death. Speculation was probable suicide, but homicide hadn’t yet been ruled out.

  A soft chime sounded three bells, bringing Sam’s head up to glance at the silver framed ornate clock that graced a prominent space on his large oak desk. The clock was a gift from his sister, chosen for him as a special keepsake on one of her many forays into the north. It had been presented in thanks when he’d lent a hand to Iqaluit, the remote Inuit community she favoured. Sometimes when he studied the Inuksuk, which was part of the clock, he thought of pathways marked by stones and recognized he had yet to find contentment in his personal life.

  Found his way, or still searching — now what put those thoughts into his head? Lately his feelings changed like leaves blowing in the autumn breeze. Perhaps it was the fact he’d recently reached his mid-forties, or more likely it was the phone call he’d taken early that morning. The name from his past had him thinking how sometimes life’s path was like a meandering creek turning back onto itself.

  The quiet knock on the door signalled his unexplained caller had likely arrived. Sam swiveled towards the sound as the door pushed open and his assistant poked her head past the entrance.

  “Yes, Nancy?”

  “Sam, your three o’clock is here.”

  “Please show her in.” He slid his chair back.

  Nancy pushed the door wider then stepped aside, beckoning to the visitor to enter. Sam rose to his feet, his six foot plus frame towering over the desk.

  Sam watched as Jamee Blair stepped inside offering a polite “thank you” to his assistant. He noted her discrete perusal as she quickly took stock of her surroundings.

  The bank of windows on the long west wall offered a striking view of the foothills and looming mountains, while the southern windows showcased the progressive and prosperous growth of the Calgary skyline. Lots of oak trim, full bookshelf built-ins and comfy dark leather combined to make for a feeling of authority and importance.

  He hid a smile. Both the ambience of the space and the view exuded an undeniable self-assurance that evoked confidence and trust. It was impressive. It suited him.

  “Hello,” said Sam, “you must be Ms. Blair. We spoke on the phone this morning. I’m Inspector Sam Craig. Please, take a seat.”

  Sam moved from around the desk and motioned to a nearby, less formal sitting area. Adjacent to the magnificent corner windows, the two snug upholstered chairs in subdued tartan and a complementary black glass table made a cozy nook. Jamee crossed the room. Sam couldn’t help his appreciative appraisal. The woman was upper class chic, stunning, even without the striking red of her suit and shoes. The outfit hit all the right professional notes, but hinted that the wearer was not mainstream conventional. Jamee extended her hand and Sam held o
ut his own. He could see from her serious expression this was not a social visit. He quashed his purely male appreciation of the woman before him, flirting was not why she was here.

  Sam’s warm hand engulfed her much smaller one. His handshake steady, he kept his expression encouraging, open and sincere.

  “Jamesina Blair,” she said.

  Her voice had a deep musical cadence that reminded Sam of the blues.

  “Please call me Jamee. Everyone does.” She smiled. “Jamesina’s a bit of a mouthful,” she declared and moved to sit in the chair Sam held out for her. “Thank you for taking my phone call, Inspector Craig,” she said graciously.

  “Happy to,” agreed Sam. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you since we spoke. I’ll admit, you have piqued my curiosity.” He gave her a friendly smile. “It was a surprise to hear from anyone connected to Jeff Swynia. It’s been a long while since I worked with Jeff, or heard the name,” he admitted. “You said you were connected to Jeff through marriage — his wife, right?” Sam paused in consideration, “That would make Abi your — sister?”

  “Yes,” Jamee took up the thread, “Jeff was my brother-in-law. I believe you and Jeff worked together as swampers on the rigs. For several summers, as I understood it.” Jamee crossed her legs and settled back into the chair. “I’m guessing that was mostly before Jeff and Abi married.” Jamee leaned forward, looking for signs of recognition. “I thought you might have met Abi during that time.”

  “I do remember Abi.” A rumble of laughter accompanied his words. “We all teased Jeff that Abi was much too good for him. Out of his league. It puffed him up like a regular rooster.”

  “That would be Jeff,” Jamee replied. “A little too cock-sure I always thought.” Jamee paused before adding, “I should mention, Jeff and Abi are recently divorced, part of the background and reason why I’m here.”

  Sam shot her a sympathetic look, “I’m sorry to hear that. They seemed happy together back then, and he was nuts over her.”

  “I think at the time they were,” agreed Jamee.

  Sam moved to a sideboard. “Can I get you something to drink? My caffeine level is running a bit low.” He gave her a look of apologetic guilt. “I hate to admit, I’m a slave to the three o’clock pick me up, but it’s true.”

  “Sure,” Jamee responded, “that’d be great. Just whitener, if you have it.”

  Sam brought the coffees to the table on a tray, along with a plate of cranberry pecan, toffee-edged biscotti. Nancy made sure there were snacks for the nights when he worked late. He unloaded the tray and set it aside before settling himself comfortably. Patiently, he waited for Jamee to broach the objective of her visit.

  Jamee took a taste of her coffee then glanced at the biscotti as though eyeing up the enemy. Observing her glare, brought a small amused smile to the corner of Sam’s mouth. Memories of his passing acquaintance with Jeff and Abi filtered back to him.

  “I remember a little something about you too,” said Sam, relaxing into the conversation. “Jeff mentioned a sister of Abi’s from time to time. He paused, as though recalling past stories, then raised eyebrows as in mock surprise. “I suppose you’re Jamee, the naughty one.”

  Jamee almost choked on her coffee. She forced a swallow. “I’m not so sure I was naughty,’ she replied in haughty fashion. “I just have a very curious nature and an inquiring mind.”

  Now it was time for Sam to sputter. He let out a soft chuckle.

  “And of course, there is Rule Number Three,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Amusement coloured Sam’s tones.

  “Don’t try to be good,” drawled Jamee, “try not to be bad.”

  Her comment brought a surprised laugh from Sam.

  Sam watched the smile tug at the corner of Jamee’s lips as she fought to hold back the grin. Looks and personality, he thought — awesome on both counts.

  “So, Jamee how can I help you.” Sam settled back and smiled.

  Jamee set her china mug back onto the table, leaned forward and launched into her story.

  “Abi was recently diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. If her symptoms flare up she can be periodically bedridden. As much as she hates to give into it, when that happens she can’t look after the kids. I’m trying to help out where I can, and the kids are great at pitching in, but times are tough. Jeff, the little puissant, vamoosed right after the divorce finalized. Abandoned the troops so to speak,” Jamee attempted to disguise the catch in her voice.

  “MS, that’s rough.” Concern and understanding was evident in his eyes. “It breaks my heart,” he said “to think of Abi that way. Marriage sometimes can become a charade, an illusion where everyone around it believes one thing to be true when it’s not.” He briefly laid a large warm hand over Jamee’s in comfort.

  “Jeff made arrangements to hire a live-in caregiver for Abi and the kids,” Jamee said crisply. “They have three — two girls and a boy, ages thirteen, eleven and seven. I think Abi’s MS diagnosis precipitated the split up,” she explained. “The kids try hard to look after their mother,” pride was evident in her voice, “but the addition of a caregiver will be a blessing.” Whatever else there was to say about how things were was veiled behind eloquent eyes, shadowed by disappointment and grief.

  “Christ,” swore Sam vehemently, “Jeff’s, the kind of guy that gives the rest of the male species a bad rep. I guess it goes with that arrogant attitude of his. He could be a jerk, that’s for sure. The first day we met, he asked me for a cigarette, then said, ‘Christ man, you’re no good for nothing,’ when he found out I didn’t smoke.”

  Despite the years that had passed, Sam’s mimicry pegged Jeff bang on. The story brought a grin to Jamee’s face.

  “Yep, the little shit always had a lot to say about other people” she said, “but never seemed to see himself the way the rest of world does.” Jamee lost the grin and became serious, drawing back to the reason for her visit.

  “Abi has her good days and her bad days” she persisted. “A live-in caregiver would sure go a long way to getting her life back in order, but I have a situation with the caregiver Jeff hired.” Her name is Odessa Koval, she’s from Ukraine. I went to pick her up at the airport last night, but she didn’t show up as scheduled. It’s going to throw a wrench into everything if something’s gone wrong.”

  “It can’t be easy,” said Sam. “I am truly sorry to hear about their troubles.”

  “Thank you,” said Jamee. “Luckily, Abi can work from home when she needs to. My sister has a great job and she’s been at it for a while. It’s allowed her to have the security of benefits and a satisfying career. Abi works for a pharmaceutical company as an IT specialist. Their main office is here in Calgary.”

  “Good job,” said Sam. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Yes,” agreed Jamee, “it’s a blessing.” “Continuing to work, and having the kids around, is what keeps her from going crazy. It’s very important to me that they have the most normal life they can and I’m hoping to help out with that.” Jamee ran a hand back through the bangs on her forehead.

  Sam suspected it was a habitual gesture.

  “I’ve asked Abi and the kids to move in with me,” she continued. “With one other person to help we should be able to make out okay;” Jamee paused, “that’s why the live-in caregiver was so important. When she didn’t show up as scheduled, I assumed we’d had a communication mix-up, or maybe a change of mind, but as of this morning things don’t seem that simple.”

  Sam started to speak but the subtle shift of Jamee’s hand temporarily halted his interruption. He waited for her to continue.

  “Today I received this email. Now, I’m truly worried.” Jamee dug around in her large all-purpose handbag and produced a file folder. Pulling a sheet of white paper from the front of the folder, she handed it over to Sam to read. Sam scanned through the message then looked to Jamee for clarification.

  “This says your caregiver is being investigated for illegal immigrati
on by the Fraud Investigation Unit of Kiev. The email is from an Aleksey Volkov. I’m guessing he’s the lead on the investigation.”

  He could see from the strain on her face, and from the angle of the conversation, Jamee had decided to shoulder the burdens left by Jeff’s desertion.

  “I stopped at the CBSA office this morning,” she said. “They weren’t very interested in my missing caregiver or that email.” Jamee’s words were measured.

  “I confess I got a little panicked which is why I looked you up and called. I heard through my work for the government that you were with the Attorney General’s office. Word is you’ve been investigating immigration fraud. I might be reading way too much into this, but I’d like your thoughts on the situation, if you’re willing,” Jamee waved a hand at the email.

  “I’m not liking our chances of actually employing Odessa Koval, and I’m troubled by Abi’s connection to this mess.” She took a deep breath. “I came here hoping to get your honest option — is there any risk to Abi?” Jamee looked at him straight in the eye. Her expression was outwardly serene, but the worry was there, deepening the fine lines at the corner of mouth and eyes.

  “Sam, do you think there are possible implications of wrong doing on our part. Jeff hired the woman and I’m not sure of the details, but as I said before, its Abi’s name on the contract.”

  Sam had been reading the one-page email as Jamee spoke. Now he looked up with a thoughtful expression and a flicker of incredulity. There was one other name in the email that stood out. Jamee had just provided the name of the deceased woman from this morning’s RCMP file.

  “Bloody hell,” he swore softly, “You say Canada Border Services Agency wasn’t interested in this?” He held up the page for emphasis. The paper crackled as if to make a point.

  “They sure didn’t appear to be,” said Jamee. “They told me to go home, show a little more patience and wait until I heard from Odessa. Otherwise,” the modulation of Jamee’s voice took on the haughty tone of the CBSA officer, “I should contact the overseas agency, and Odessa directly, before I come running to them.” It was a passable imitation. “Too early for them to be involved was the message,” she said dropping the impersonation.