Disclaimer: Still not mine. Please don't sue.
A/N: Was Fraser right? Has he finally found what he is searching for? Have a read and find out...
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Sitting through the lecture was torture. Oh, there was nothing wrong with the speaker. In fact, judging from the reaction of the crowd, he was excellent, it just happened that Fraser hardly heard a word he was saying, so caught up in what could be the end of this whole matter. The only reason he was at the lecture was that he believed it would be rude not to show up for something that was such a good cause, and which Ottawa had paid good money for him to attend. He tried to listen, he really did, but he just couldn't keep his mind on the words.
When the speaker finally finished, Fraser left the conference room quickly, eager to reach his destination. He had to virtually stop himself running down the Toronto streets, so desperate was he to arrive at the office. Entering the building, he could see the similar layout, with the main reception desk in the centre of the large lobby area. Thankfully, this reception was also manned by a woman. He hated to think of manipulating people, but he had found that it was sometimes easier to get what he wanted by smiling nicely and being polite, and that this usually worked best when it was a female on the desk.
Flashing his ID badge at the young lady, Fraser started by repeating his earlier enquiries, leading up to the question he really wanted to ask.
When the presence of secure lockers was confirmed, he brought the conversation around to the issue of accessing the locker of a deceased employee.
"Well, we're not really supposed to open them without the consent of the owner."
"I understand that ma'am, but this particular employee died some time ago, and the contents of that locker may be very important in bringing about the conviction of some very bad people. If I could just have a look inside…"
"Well, I don't know. How do you even know there is a locker?" The receptionist was eying him somewhat suspiciously now.
"Well, we are not one hundred percent sure, but I believe you hold the power to confirm that from your records. In fact, if there is no locker in the name Jenna Richards, then there will be no need for me to trouble you any further."
"Jenna Richards?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Alright, give me a second."
"Thank you kindly," Fraser replied, as the young lady started typing information into her desktop. After a short time, the results were displayed.
"Well, it looks like you woman did have a locker, opened it a couple of years back, but there's no record of any other activity. No one has collected the contents after her death, if that is what you are interested in."
Fraser nodded. "That's very helpful, ma'am. Um, would it be possible for me to have a look inside the locker?" He held his breath, waiting for her answer. She looked hesitant, as though she was weighing up the trouble she could get into from her boss against the want to help the nice-looking police officer.
"Well, seeing as the occupier is deceased, I can't see what harm it could cause. I'll phone down to security, they have access to the master key that will open your locker. Number D62. The access is through that door over there." She gestured towards the door to the basement. "I'll open it for you." And with that, she clicked one of the many switches on the panel in front of her and picked up the internal telephone. Fraser thanked her once again and headed through the door.
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Upon entering the basement level, Fraser found a security guard.
"You the Mountie who wants to look in the locker?"
"Yes sir." Fraser nodded.
"Let me see your ID." Retrieving his badge from his pocket, Fraser took in the surroundings. There was a thick steel door directly ahead of him, through which he assumed the lockers were housed.
"OK, come this way, please." Fraser followed the guard through the electronically-operated door and entered the locker room. There were lockers stacked four-up in rows that stretched the length of the room.
"D62 is over there, fourth row from the left, about midway down." The guard handed him a small key before returning to his post.
"Thank you kindly." As Fraser made his way down towards the row the guard had gestured to, he became aware that his heart was pounding. After everything that had happened, it dawned on him that this may finally be the catalyst that could bring this to an end. Holding his breath as he reached the locker, he slid the key gently into the lock and turned. Hearing the clunk of the mechanism deactivating the lock, Fraser gently pulled open the door, almost afraid to look inside for fear of what he might, or might not, find.
Placed on the thick steel bottom of the locker there was a small bundle of files. Fraser gingerly lifted them out, placing them on one of the small tables that were strategically placed between the rows of lockers.
Opening the top file, Fraser's heart almost stopped beating. Inside were a pile of bank statements, detailing the transfers of money from a Maxwell account to one in the name of Marcus Richards. Another file had a copy of the contract the Government had drafted to secure the services of Maxwell Developers. As Fraser skimmed through the contract, he noticed subtle differences between this copy and the copy he had secured whilst in Chicago. There were omissions in his copy, omissions like that which detailed the delay in start time to a time deemed suitable for the Developers. Such a tiny sentence in the small print, but one which made perfect sense in the scheme of the project. Any Government official asking after the build could be deterred by the clause, and yet the money had already been paid.
Gathering up the files, Fraser placed them inside his jacket. Quietly closing the locker door, he returned the key to the security guard, thanking him for his help. Climbing the stairs back up to the lobby, he smiled gratefully to the receptionist, who was now talking quickly on the telephone, and left the building.
Walking down the street towards his hotel, Fraser thought about what he held in his hands. The evidence that was going to bring down the crooked politicians, the evidence that was going to bring Meg home. He couldn't help but smile then.
Re-entering the hotel, he suddenly became aware that he did not know how to contact Mike. Was he still in Toronto? He had said he had come from Ottawa, so he must work there somewhere, but in which department, Fraser did not know. Asking to use the safe, Fraser deposited the documents into the care of the hotel, before returning to his room.
Picking up the telephone, he dialled the number to the RCMP headquarters, asking to be connected to a Michael Williams.
"No, ma'am, I'm sorry but I don't know which department he is in…Yes ma'am, I'll hold. Thank you kindly."
Waiting, listening to a tuneless O Canada play repeatedly through the handset, Fraser thought about what he was going to say when he finally got through to Mike. How was he going to explain that he had disobeyed direct orders and yet solved the case? And how was he going to explain without saying too much over the telephone.
"Hello, Superintendent Williams."
Fraser decided to go with the approach that suggested that the two men had never met one another. "Ah, sir. My name is Constable Benton Fraser. I, um, need to speak to you regarding a matter of some urgency."
"Constable! Right, would it be convenient if we met somewhere? Where are you now?"
"I am in Toronto at the moment, sir, for a conference. I am due to return to Chicago tomorrow, but I could come to Ottawa first if that is convenient to you."
"Ah, yes, I think I could find a slot for you, around midday. That should give you enough time to get a flight up here, should it not?"
"That should be fine, sir." Fraser sighed, relieved. He had been afraid that Mike would refuse to see him, or ignore his presence completely.
"Alright, good. I'll send someone to pick you up at the airport."
"Thank you, sir."
"Well, until tomorrow Constable."
"Goodbye, sir." Hanging up the phone, Fraser suddenly found the prospect of tomorrow daunting. He had tried for so long to get everything together, but what if it wasn't enough? What if Mike refused the evidence? Refused to submit a case against the people who had so obviously caused Jenna's death?
Deciding that he couldn't think about that now, Fraser telephoned the airport, requesting information for a flight to Ottawa for the following morning. He was in luck, there were spaces on the 9.25 am. After giving his booking details to the airport and requesting a wake-up call from the hotel, Fraser tried to settle down, go to sleep. It had been a long day and he wanted to be refreshed and alert during his meeting with Mike the following day, but sleep just refused to come. He tried counting caribou, picturing the wide calming expanses of the Yukon, everything that he could think of to relax his mind and body, but nothing seemed to work. He was too tense, too nervous, thinking about her and the possibility that she might be coming home soon to rest.
Finally a sleep overcame him, though it was a sleep filled with dreams of lost hope and failed efforts. He awoke early the following morning, and decided to take a walk before making his way to the airport. He needed to clear his mind for the day ahead.
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