Authors: Cheryl Kaye Tardif
In the hallway, Ben answered the call.
"Is this Agent Roberts?" a woman asked.
"Yes, but you have me at a disadvantage."
"Sorry. This is Dr. Faith Copeland."
Ben smiled into the 'com. "Ah, our resident mortician."
"Actually, I prefer
pathologist
."
He could tell she was smiling.
"I tried to reach Agent McLellan, but her line was busy. OPP gave me your number."
"Has something come up?"
"That cigar butt you sent to Tox came back positive for alcohol, like you suspected. They sent me the report as soon as they saw the connection."
"What connection?"
"There were traces of Flunitrazepam in his saliva."
The same drug found in Monty Winkler.
Damn!
He had hoped he was wrong.
"Saliva tests only show positive for up to six hours after the drug is taken orally," Copeland said.
"He wasn't injected like Winker?"
"No, he probably drank something laced with it."
"This isn't enough of a deviation from the method used on Winkler to suggest Sampson was drugged by a different perp."
"Exactly," she said. "And you know what that means."
"Yeah, we're looking for a killer who hates politicians."
"Agent Roberts?" Copeland's voice was edgy.
"Shoot."
"Mr. Sampson should be examined by a doctor. He needs a rape kit done. It's important to rule out any kind of…abuse."
"Monty Winkler's came back negative."
He heard her sigh. "Just because his results were negative doesn't mean Porter Sampson's will be. Take him to the hospital, Agent Roberts."
Ben hung up.
How the hell would he be able to convince Sampson to go to the hospital for a rape kit?
When he re-entered the office, Natassia was laughing at something Sampson had said. She took one look at his expression and her mouth snapped shut.
"Mr. Sampson," Ben said slowly. "I'm going to have to insist that we take you to the hospital for a physical examination."
Sampson jumped to his feet. "I already told you. I'm fine."
Ben gave Natassia a helpless look.
"What did the tox screen say?" she asked.
"He tested positive for Rohypnol," he replied. Turning to Sampson, he said, "Mr. Sampson, you were given a paralytic drug that causes memory loss. If a larger dose had been used, you would've been completely unconscious. Or dead."
The older man seemed baffled. "How could you know I had drugs in my system? I didn't give you any of my blood to test."
"We borrowed your cigarette stub." Ben lowered his voice. "We need to know if anything was done to you while you were unconscious, Mr. Sampson."
Sampson turned a sickening shade of gray. "Are you saying I was…?"
"We don't know that yet."
"Oh God."
There was something pitiful about Sampson's voice.
"Let's wait until all the reports are in," Ben said.
Natassia patted the older man's arm. "It's better to know, Mr. Sampson. One way or the other."
"We'll take my vehicle," Ben said when he saw Sampson fish his keys from a jacket pocket.
As they left Sampson's office, Lorraine gave them a surprised look. "Porter?"
"I'm going out for a bit, Rainey."
His wife's worried gaze followed them to the door.
Outside, Sampson paused in front of the SUV, his eyes barely meeting Ben's or Natassia's. "This is between us. Okay?"
Ben removed one glove. "Our team is very discreet."
As the man opened the vehicle door, Ben rested a bare hand on the man's arm. His vision immediately shifted until all he saw was a cloudlike fog. In the far distance, a shape moved, but Ben couldn't make it out. He felt a cool breeze brush against his face and a mist of water wash over him. Then…nothing.
"Agent Roberts?" Sampson was staring at him, a look of concern on his face.
"I'm fine," he lied.
Sometimes his 'gift' infuriated him. It came and went without any rhyme or reason, and that made him a liability. One day, his unreliable visions would get him into trouble.
14
"Maybe Rohypnol was only used to keep him quiet,
so the perp could transport him to the park," Natassia said to Ben.
They were seated in the waiting area of Ottawa General, awaiting the results of Sampson's examination. Sampson was getting dressed.
"I hope so, Natassia," her partner said absentmindedly.
She smiled. He'd used her given name for the first time. Mr. I'm-so-serious Roberts was warming up to her.
"What are you grinning about?"
"Nothing," she replied.
Cool eyes gazed at her. "By the way, when we're interviewing a witness, or anyone for that matter, follow
my
lead, Agent Prushenko."
So we're back to being formal.
"You mean be quiet?" she said dryly.
"And don't defend me."
She scowled at him. "I was just trying to help."
Ben was being pigheaded. All she'd done was try to smooth things over with Porter Sampson. Why was he so touchy?
"I'm fully capable of explaining myself," he told her.
"Of course you are."
Just then, Sampson stepped into the waiting room, his face three shades of red. He glanced around, noting the empty seats beside Ben and Natassia.
"Well," he said. "If I didn't feel violated before, I certainly do now."
"We're very sorry," Ben said. "But we had to know."
"Now what?"
"Now Agent Prushenko is going to talk to you alone for a few minutes."
"Why?"
"I may be able to help you recover some of your memories," Natassia said, standing. "Come with me."
Ben pulled her aside. "Do you want me to be your reality line?"
Surprised by the offer, she shook her head. "Not necessary. He was drugged and that makes his energy weak. Thanks, though."
She led Sampson into an empty examination room and closed the door. "Have a seat, please. I promise this won't hurt."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to help you remember." She dragged a chair in front of another. "Sit."
Sampson sat down, eyeing her suspiciously. "You gonna hypnotize me or something?"
"Something like that. Trust me." Sitting across from him, she rested her hands on both sides of his head. "Just relax, Mr. Sampson. Think of this as a kind of relaxation massage."
Once she felt some of the tension drain away, she moved her fingertips down to his jaw, stroking his face softly.
"That feels…nice," Sampson said, his voice distant and tired.
"Shh…no talking. Close your eyes and picture yourself at home in your office on the night you went missing. It's after supper and you're working."
With that, she was in.
She was in Sampson's office, seeing it through his eyes, living it through his actions, inside his body.
The phone on the desk rang twice then went still.
Minutes later it rang again. Sampson's hand picked up the receiver after the second ring.
"Hello?" she said in Sampson's voice.
"Justice," a voice whispered.
Yawn. "Sorry. You've got the wrong number."
Sampson hung up.
His hand reached for a blue binder on the shelf. Nothing was legible inside the binder. It looked like someone had taken an eraser and rubbed it over every page in diagonal lines, canceling out letters and words along the way.
His body suddenly felt very heavy.
I need a break. Maybe I'll watch a little TV.
He slumped into the chair behind the desk. Placing the binder in front of him, he picked up the remote control and turned on the television. The screen was blank and all he heard was static, but he was too tired to bother changing channels. Besides, the static was kind of soothing.
I'll rest my head. Just for a moment.
The binder felt cool against his face. He closed his eyes.
It seemed like only seconds had passed before he awoke to the sounds of a loon crying in the distance.
He lifted his head. "What the―?"
He was lying on cold concrete.
It took him a few minutes to recognize his surroundings. He was on the floor of the concert stage at Britannia Park.
Panic overwhelmed him.
How the hell did I get here?
Returning to Ben's side, minus Porter Sampson, Natassia was wearier than she'd anticipated, probably more from jet lag and a bout of insomnia during the night.
Ben frowned. "You look exhausted."
"Thank you, kind sir. It's not easy inhabiting someone else's mind, body and memories."
"No. I don't suppose it is. Do you need to lie down or something?"
"Trying to get rid of me already?" In her best Sarah Palin impression, she added, "Don'tcha worry your head about little ole me. I'm just peachy."
It was a lie, but she wasn't going to show him any weakness. Her energy wasn't always reliable or sustainable.
"Did you get anything?" he asked.
She told him what she'd seen.
"Well, that confirms the presence of the blue binder in his home. I wonder why he doesn't recall bringing it home." He shook his head, frustrated. "And you didn't see where he went?"
"It was really weird, Ben. One minute he was in his office asleep at his desk; the next he was laying on the stage floor in the park."
"The phone call seems weird."
"I agree. I don't think it was a wrong number. I think Sampson knew who called him."
"Do you think you'd recognize the voice if you heard it again?"
"I doubt it. He whispered that one word."
Justice.
Ben leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
"The only thing that makes any sense," he said after a moment, "is that someone snuck into his house, found him sleeping and drugged him. It's the only way anyone would be able to get him out of his house without him knowing it."
"This just gets stranger and stranger," Natassia said, peering down the hallway. "I feel so bad for Porter Sampson. No one should have to go through this."
"At least he didn't wind up like Winkler."
"True, but doesn't it make you wonder why?"
"It sure does. So what did the perp have to gain? What did he want from these men?"
"And did he get it, whatever
it
is?"
Ben's gaze hardened. "I'm not going to stop until I find out why Winkler was brutally murdered, while Sampson was dumped, alive, in the park."
"We," she said in a firm voice.
Ben looked confused.
"You said
'I,'
" she said. "We're a team, Ben. And
we're
not going to stop until we solve this case."
His intense gaze rested on her mouth and a shiver tingled up her spine.