[two days later]
If DC Roberta Galbraith thought that going to be working with the NCA was going to be easy then she was very much mistaken. From the first daily briefing, she was assigned a great long list of things to do.

She was expected to get on with her assigned tasks without much direct guidance from senior officers. It soon became very apparent to her that asking for help was regarded as a sign of weakness. Some of the tasks didn’t seem to be connected to the case but Roberta being Roberta, she didn’t complain and worked through the list as best in the time allowed. In nearly all her previous assignments she’d had a Sergeant who would act as a sounding board to her sometimes frankly weird ideas. That was then. This was sink or swim time.

At first, Roberta felt rather lost. She stared at the computer screen on her desk and wondered what the hell she was doing. That lasted nearly an hour. Then her mind began to process the list of things to look into. A picture started to form in her mind about Marie Andropov and importantly, her childhood friend, Antoine de Scudery.

The later ‘person of interest’ piqued her interest mostly because of her history with him. Antoine was the first person she had ever spoken to about her desire to live as a woman. It was while they were fishing on the banks of the Dordogne near Castilion-la-Bataille. He’d just hooked a nice fish and was in a good mood.

Ant as he preferred to be known had not reacted other than to say ‘So?’.

The next day, she had put on a long skirt which promptly got entangled in the chain of her bike, but that was it. For the rest of that summer holiday, Roberta emerged from her shell. Ant had treated her just like before and as far as she was concerned, he was cool with Roberta. That was their last summer together. A few days before she was due to return to school was the incident in Duras when Antoine crashed coming down the hill. His parents deemed her and her strange ways to be a bad influence on him. They never saw each other again other than from a distance. The accident where the family car went into the river happened the following November. Antoine was presumed dead, but no trace of his body was ever found. Those were dark days for Roberta. Despite the forced breakup of their friendship, she always liked Antoine possibly more than she was willing to admit for several years. Then she discovered that she liked women even more.

Roberta was determined to find out what had happened to him in the intervening years. She began a new mind map with all the questions she could think of once the more urgent of her assignments had been completed.

She did the same for Marie Andropov. This was a lot simpler but as far as she could ascertain their paths had never crossed before the day of the murder or at least not in the UK.

Interpol had provided a list of aliases that Marie Andropov had been known to use. The UK Border Force had no record of anyone using them entering the country in the past four years. To Roberta, that said loud and clear that she was using a new alias or aliases. Roberta suspected that she’d entered the country via a car ferry or the Channel Tunnel. Transporting a Crossbow even in checked luggage could prove problematic. In her opinion, no assassin would willingly risk their weapon of choice going missing like so many things do when traveling by air or, being selected for random inspection at an airport.

After preparing a request for passenger lists from the ferry companies and both Eurostar and Eurotunnel she emailed them to DCI Saunders for approval. If that failed then all that was left was a private flight to one of the many small airports around the country. That took money but to Roberta, the gang behind all the smuggling and whatnot were not short of a few Euros.

“DC Galbraith,” said the DCI about an hour later.
“It is nice to see a request so clear and concise. The fact that you have limited the search tells me that you are not going on some fishing expedition. Do you have something to go on?”

“Sir…” began Roberta,
“I am looking for two persons of Interest as you well know. The first one is obvious, the assassin but the second, Antoine de Scuderi is someone I knew as a child. As I said in my report on the video we obtained from the murder scene, he went missing presumed dead more than twelve years ago. I feel that he could be the person behind the whole art theft and smuggling operation. When we were children, he had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of art especially paintings and small sculptures. We visited a number of galleries, museums and chateaux on wet days when I spent the holidays in the Bordeaux region. A lot of the artwork in the Chateaux were smuggled over the border into Spain when Hitler invaded in 1940. He knew the history of many of the pieces of art.”

“Did you have the same knowledge?”

“Sir, I was very much the junior when it came to art. I was more interested in being me at the time. His family home had lots of valuable art on display. The family was proud that they’d hidden all their art from the Germans in WW2. They sent it all to Portugal via Spain in May 1940. The Germans were not happy to find a load of very good fakes in their place when they invaded in 1940. Their home was specifically included in the area not under control of the traitorous Vichy government. My families’ home next door was in the Vichy area. Both houses were home to Vineyards and would throw a big party when the harvest was in and processed. All the local big-wigs would come and it would have been easy for one of them to discover what was valuable and what was not. When the Germans invaded in the summer of 1940, several of their commanders set about systematically feathering their own nests in Germany with plundered works of art. One commander in Bergerac, according to my family legend, was an art historian and would visit every home in the area and take whatever took his fancy. My family lost a few items but nothing of significance. His family were old school vintners and had amassed a lot of significant pieces of art over the years especially items dating from Louis IV. This officer threatened to shoot everyone unless his family revealed where they had hidden their art. They told him the truth that much of it was on loan to the National Museum in Lisbon. The tale goes that he went off promising to return with a firing squad. He never did.”

“DC Galbraith, your knowledge on this matter is extensive and much appreciated.”

“Sir… It was just there in front of me as a child. Antoine would often tell me that he was going to become an art dealer. That’s why I suspect that he’s behind the operation even though he is assumed to be dead.”

Roberta paused for a second before asking,

“Have we heard back from the Sûreté about my identification of Antoine?”

“Officially, nothing but… the Sûreté is now called the French National Police, FNP.”

“Sorry sir. I’ll try to remember that in future.”

The DCI continued,
“Unofficially, they are saying that it can’t be him as he is dead.”

“From your tone, I guess that you are not buying it?”

“We have direct testimony about how he got those injuries. The cops in Paris don’t and Paris is a long way from Bordeaux.”

Roberta smiled.
“And the people in Bordeaux would never speak to cops from Paris. One of their own? Possibly but never to people outside the region.”

The DCI smiled and looked hard at Roberta.

“Are you wangling for a trip to wine country?”

She chuckled.

“No sir. But I have a series of photos of Antoine taken a few months before he supposedly died in a car accident. The techies might just be able to age him to what he’d be today. Then, if we compare that to the photo from the video then the Police in Paris will have to take our claim a bit more seriously.”

“Agreed. When can you get the photos?”

“I have an idea where in the house it is but… If I take the next train from Waterloo, I should be back on the first train tomorrow.”

The DCI thought for a moment. He was unsure about this rookie police officer who had more savvy than the majority of the officers in the NCA. It all came down to whether or not he could trust her intuition or not.

He sighed and said,

“Go for it. I’d love to get one over on them.”

“Thanks Sir. I’ll report in as soon as I get back from home.”

As Roberta went to leave his office,

“Don’t forget to tell the duty Sergeant where you are spending the night.”

“Sir? I’d rather not have my real home on record. It is far too easy to put two and two together and make twenty.”

The DCI thought for a moment.

“Just tell the duty Sergeant that I know where you will be.”

“Thanks sir.”

[the following morning]
“I gather from the smile on your face that your search was successful?” asked the DCI when Roberta arrived at the NCA offices.

“Yes, boss. I have three photos that were taken two days before he broke his nose and one from afterwards. This last one was taken the day the first grapes were harvested. It is always celebrated with a big meal at one of the Chateau. It celebrates the collection of the grapes that go into the ‘Premier Cru’ wines. That year, it was the turn of his family to host the event and they could not very well turn me away without making a big scene. He’d had the dressings taken off a few days earlier.”

Once again, the DCI shook his head.

“Head off to the Techy people and see that they get on with the job right away. I’d like to send the results off to Paris by the end of the day.”

“Thanks Boss,” said a smiling Roberta.

“The data from Eurostar that you requested is in. There are thousands of names.”

“I’ll know at least one of them when I see them… If they are on the list that is.”

Roberta spent an hour with the technical bods before returning to her desk where the passenger lists were waiting for her inspection.

After getting herself a large mug of tea, she settled down to start work. Armed with a red pen, she worked through the eighty-three pages of names, passport numbers and nationalities.

She didn’t mark any records on the first pass other than a small red dot. On the second pass, she began to collate the names and journey times.

Just before 16:00, DCI Gavin Saunders came into the Office and made a bee-line for Roberta's desk.

“I have the aged photos. To my uneducated eye, you were right in identifying Antoine.”

He put two images down on her desk.

As Roberta looked at them, a smile slowly appeared on her face.

“Thanks Boss. They do look to be a good match.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ve already sent the digital files to both the FNP and to Interpol. If what you were saying about him being an art expert then he or someone looking like him could be a person of interest to other forces both in and outside of Europe.”

“Thanks Boss. If you could also ask the FNP where the family moved to when they left Bordeaux. So far, my contacts in the region have not come up with anything good.”

“I will. How is the name matching going?”

“Good. Three days before we estimate the murder took place, an Antoine Crecy arrived on Eurostar from Lille. One hour later, a Valentine Borodin, a citizen of Belorussia arrived from Paris.”

“Why do you suspect these two individuals?”

“When we played sword fights as children, Antoine would always pretend that we were fighting the Battle Crécy. If it was my turn to choose, it would be the three musketeers.”

“But…?” said the DCI.
“Didn’t the French get beaten by the horrible English at Crécy?”

Roberta smiled.

“They did, but he hoped that our battles would turn out different. I always beat him and the scar above his eye was a result of one of those beatings.”

“I can see that he’d like you knocked off.”

“He did vow to get rid of me one day, but I just dismissed that as childhood banter. Perhaps he recognised my name and saw it as a threat to his operation.”

The DCI thought for a few seconds. Then he asked,

“Did he know that you wanted to be a cop?”

Roberta shook her head.
“No. Back then I wanted to be a pilot.”

The DCI laughed.
“Thanks for the background. What about the woman?”

“Valentin Borodin. Valentin is a male name and she has used Valentina in a couple of her aliases. Then there is Alexander Borodin, who is a well-known Russian Composer. Borodin was born in St Petersburg like she was. Then his wife was called Evdokia Konstantinovna Antonova. Her mother was as far as we know, called Evdokia Konstantinovna.”

“You know this how?”

“Sir, this information is in the Interpol files on her. I use the ‘her’ pronoun because she seems to be more comfortable operating as a woman.”

“That’s my fault. I should read all of those files rather than just the front page.”

“Don’t berate yourself. Most of the data in those Interpol files is next to useless. None of it is graded in a common way. The info from one country is filed in a totally different way to that of another country. That alone makes it hard to collate.”

Without being asked, Roberta opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out her copy of the file.

“This version of the Interpol data may turn out to be easier to understand,” she said as she gave it to the DCI.
He smiled.

“Thanks.”

As he walked away, he shook his head once again. Roberta noticed this and smiled before starting to compose a warrant for the CCTV from the UK Border Force control points on Eurostar entry. She had the exact times of the processing of their passports. Roberta wanted to see the unobstructed faces of her foes.

She was drawing a blank when it came to finding out what had happened to him between the accident with his mother and now. All she could come up with was that his family had fallen on hard times due to some bad investments and that the selling up and moving away was nothing to do with her. His father went to live on the island of Reunion and married a local girl. As for Antoine, it was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth. That led Roberta to conclude that he must have lived somewhere using a false or doctored identity. The French authorities were not saying much, but that was not unusual for them. Washing their dirty linen in public was just not their style.

[The following Monday]
Roberta arrived for work to find the place a hive of activity. She hadn’t reached her desk when DS Monroe said,

“The boss wants to see you like yesterday.”

Roberta acknowledged him with a nod of the head before turning around and heading for DCI Saunders’s office.

She gave a brief knock on the door and went in.

“I don’t know what it was that you did, but the border people are going berserk. Someone with the name Antoine Crecy is on the Eurostar arriving at St Pancras International in under an hour. We’ve contacted Eurostar and the BTP[1]. We are all heading there in a few minutes. I’ve also involved Special Branch. Technically, until they are out of the secure area they are in the equivalent of no-mans land. Only they, Border Force and the BTP have the authority to operate in that area.”

Then after a deep breath he said,

“MI6 are also relying on us to arrest him. I don’t know the details but something about a container load of small arms on a ship bound for
Felixstowe being linked to him.”

Roberta’s heart began to race. She had disturbed a very large swarm of bees.

“Shall I come along?”

“Absolutely. You are the only person who can positively identify him without waiting for day to get it confirmed by the French.”

Literally dozens of plain clothed officers were deployed all around the platforms where the Eurostar from Paris was due to arrive. Many of them were armed but not overtly so. The usual number of armed, uniformed officers were present but keeping a discrete distance. This wasn’t their show.

While everyone was confident that the suspect, Antoine Crecy was not armed due to the security at the Gare Du Nord, they were not taking any chances of him fleeing out of the mouth of the station along the tracks. Members of the BTP who were safety cleared to operate on active rail lines were in place. They were posing as rail workers inspecting a signalling control box close to the end of the platform. There was even a ‘banksman’ in place to alert them of the arrival of the train. It looked very real. It had to be. The last thing anyone wanted was a death of a ‘worker’ just as an arrest was due to be made.

Roberta hung back in the public areas of the station. The lower part or ‘undercroft’ was once used to store beer that had come to the city by train from the breweries in Burton upon Trent. Now it was were used by thousands of people every day, who, in the main were oblivious to its history.

She mentally rapped herself over the knuckles for daydreaming. It was her way of diverting her mind from worrying about the task at hand but sometimes… it became hard to switch back to reality.

At the insistence of DCI Saunders, she'd donned a bulletproof vest dayglow yellow jacket with the words 'Police' on the front and back. So much for blending in! The radio that she was carrying burst into life. The BTP team had reported that the train had started to emerge from the tunnel that carried the line from Stratford and beyond.

Roberta positioned herself alongside a group of similarly dressed officers who were waiting outside the exit from ‘Eurostar Arrivals’.

A few people were waiting for their loved ones to emerge from the arrivals area. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one person walking up to those waiting only to suddenly stop and turn around. That grabbed Roberta's attention. As she turned around, the other person started to run.

For a brief moment, they looked directly at Roberta. She knew who it was in an instant.

“Follow that woman!” she shouted at her colleagues as she took off after the woman.

“Female suspect heading away from Eurostar arrivals. Wearing black hoodie and black leggings and red boots. She could be the partner of the suspect on the train,” she called into the radio.

The ‘undercroft’ of St Pancras Station is huge. Roberta knew that it was large but… she’d been running for what seemed miles when the suspect headed for the exit that led to Kings Cross Station.

She followed and spoke into her radio.

“Female suspect heading out of the exit towards Kings Cross Station.”

Roberta emerged into the daylight to find the suspect on the floor. She’d run right into the officers who were assigned to patrol the outside of the station. She was struggling and shouting some very vile obscenities in Russian at her captors.

“DC Galbraith, NCA. This woman is a suspect in a murder and is the probably accomplice of the man we are waiting for on the Eurostar from Paris,” she said breathlessly to a Sergeant.

“We have her under control,” said the Sergeant.

“Sergeant, we suspect that this woman is an accomplished assassin and is wanted on three continents. We need her secured and unharmed.”

As Roberta identified herself to the Sergeant, the suspect spat at her. Her eyes told everyone that she wanted to kill Roberta. Roberta deliberately omitted to mention the attack on her life by that very person who stood before her.

“You were lucky the last time I tried to kill you. Next time, you will not escape,” she hissed.

So much for holding back on the crime.

“Thanks for the confession,” said Roberta holding up her phone.
“I have it all recorded.”

The sergeant and a uniformed constable searched the suspect. An 'oyster' card and a small amount of money was all that she had on her person. Her backpack was another matter entirely as it contained three mobile phones and a map clearly showing where Roberta was staying temporarily. A small vial of a yellowish liquid was also found along with five passports all in different names. There was no sign of a crossbow.
“Sergeant, please get this suspect transported to NCA HQ ASAP, I’m sure that DCI Saunders will send a message of commendation to your commander if she arrives in perfect condition.”

“Thank you, DC Galbraith. We’ll take good care of her.”

Roberta watched three burly officers load her into the back of a Police Van. This was one of the vehicles that was equipped with cells for transporting prisoners.

While she watched them lock her up, her radio burst into life.

“DC Galbraith. Where the hell are you?”

It was the voice of DCI Saunders.

“Sir, we have apprehended a female suspect. I think that it is Marie Andropov. She had been searched and is in custody.”

“Well done. We have the target in custody and are awaiting your presence to identify him.”

“On my way sir.”

Roberta knew that the DCI was both pleased and displeased with her. Pleased for apprehending a known assassin but displeased because of all the resources that were now standing idle waiting for her to arrive to identify her old friend, Ant.

Roberta made her way to the Eurostar Arrivals area. A large number of heavily armed police were on high alert. She had to show her warrant card twice just to get close to the DCI. Another uniformed officer with a lot of braid and stuff was giving him a bit of a hard time. She could overhear some of what he was saying,

DCI Saunders was trying to get a word in but the 'brass' was in full stream. Roberta decided to interrupt.

“Sir, you wanted me pronto?”

The 'brass' was a Chief Super of the BTP. She guessed that he'd been bypassed when the operation was set up in a rush.

“Yes, DC Galbraith. We need you to identify the suspect.”

He turned to the Chief Super.

“Sir, if you will excuse me. The sooner this is done, the sooner your team can get back to their normal duties.”

The Chief Super wanted to say something but happily for Roberta, he refrained. He just stormed off to give someone else a slagging off.

“Thank you, DC Galbraith. You saved me from a real ear bending. Chief Superintendent Gibbs is a known blowhard.”

“Just doing my duty sir. Now where is he?”

The DCI nodded in the direction of a throng of yellow-jacketed officers.

She walked over to the group. The DCI followed her.

The sea of yellow jackets parted and there in front of her with his hands cuffed was her old friend Antoine de Scudery.

“Ça fait longtemps qu'on ne s'est pas vu, Ant. Comment était la rivière Dordogne alors ?”

“Go fuck yourself. I’m not saying a word,” came his reply.

There was a lot of venom in his voice.

“Votre oie est bel et bien cuite et aucune quantité de Sancerre ne pourra la rendre meilleure.”

Before he could reply, Roberta turned to the DCI.

“This is Antoine de Scudery or as I used to call him ‘Ant’.”

“And this thing is not a real woman,” grunted Antoine.

The DCI nodded and one of the officers gave him a small kick.
“Take this scumbag away. I will be questioning him later.”

“Lawyer,” grunted Antoine.

“In due course. The information that I received from MI6 less than an hour ago will make it likely that you will be charged with trying to smuggle weapons into the UK.”

This was news to Roberta.

“That means a terrorism charge. You my now not dead Frog are in deep shit.”

The anger on his face only increased.

The DCI nodded and six officers escorted him away. The DCI personally thanked some officers and told them to resume their normal duties.

“Time to head back to the office DC Galbraith.”

Her puzzled look told him that she needed at least to know some of what had just happened.

[Back at NCA Headquarters]
“My office Roberta, there are a few things that you need to know.”

“Sir… I don’t need to know anything. It is clear that we stumbled upon the tip of a much bigger iceberg. If the security services are involved then I don’t want to know anything about those two except when I will be called upon to testify…”

DCI Saunders smiled back at DC Galbraith. She’d outplayed him… again. Her logic was impeccable.

“Get your report on today written up. Then take a few days off before reporting back to Tottenham on Monday.”

“Sir?”

“I will smooth it over with your DCI and Roberta, without you, we would not have gotten anywhere with the murder let alone the big picture that we have now.”

“Thank you, sir…But?”

“You don’t want a mention in dispatches?”

“Nothing formal if that is possible.”

“I’ll try but things might come out from the other side.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

“Sir!”

Roberta went to her desk and began to write up her report on the day. It had been quite a day.

She’d almost finished when her phone beeped. She read the text.

It was from her father.

“So, Ant is still alive then? You did good girl. Real good. The Home secretary just gave a statement to the house about the arrest. I and my fellow Home Affairs committee members have just had a private briefing from ‘6’. They talked about this quiet unassuming DC from Tottenham as being the key to the whole case. I had to bite my lip more than once. I’m proud of you girl.”

A beaming Roberta replied,

“Thanks Dad. That is all the commendation I need.”

“Will you be home for the weekend? I thought that we could go fishing? Cook said that the freezer is getting a bit low.”

Roberta smiled again before answering the text.

“Thanks dad. The DCI has given me a few days leave. I’m hoping to get the last train home tonight. Cod or Conger?”

“I’ll be down after a briefing from your lot tomorrow,” said her father.

“If I’m not mistaken, I promised to take you over a new wreck the next time we went out. I’m told that the conger, are very feisty in the area.”

His words did a lot to dispel her annoyance at not being able to see the case to a conclusion. That was something that she’d have to get used to if she was going to stay in the Police.

[Tottenham Police Station, the following Monday]

“Welcome back Roberta,” said Sergeant Tomlinson as Roberta arrived in the CID office.

His greeting surprised her. This was most unlike him.

“Thanks Sarge.”

“I want to apologise for being a total prick before. You didn’t deserve it. I read the reports in the press about the case. They only touched the surface of what went on. I do know that there was an attempt on your life by an assassin, and no officer deserves that.”

“No problem, Sarge.”

“I’m afraid the current case load is a lot less interesting than a murder, art thefts and gun running, but we can’t all be in the limelight all the time, can we?”

“Sarge, being in the limelight is something that I don’t want. Believe me… there are far too many people who have come to regret their fifteen nano seconds of fame. I just want to get on with the job. On this case, I got lucky in that I had some history with one of the suspects that allowed me to identify him. That won’t happen again. Being in the shadows is perfect for me if it means more people who deserve to be locked up are…”

He smiled back at her.

“Good. Your old friend Leroy James has been up to his old tricks again. The file is on your desk. He and his little gang have been dealing out punishment beatings on a couple of idiots who tried to sell some very bad crack on the estate. The same stuff has already killed two users in West London. While we can’t condone what they are doing, we have to be seen to investigate if you know what I mean. Perhaps you can setup a meeting with him and have a quiet word about not being so public with their version of justice in the future.”

“Thanks Sarge,” said a smiling Roberta.

She was back in the fold and doing the job that she loved.

[The end]

[1]BTP : British Transport Police. A small Police force with responsibility for all forms of transport around the country especially the railways.

[Authors Note]
There are some questions left unanswered in this story. Don’t fret… They will be resolved in the next story involving Roberta Galbraith.