In a perfect world, Police Constable Roberta Galbraith would have been working in CID as DCI Foster had promised. She actually did spend a whole week in CID before a spanner somewhere in the multi-faceted works that make up the Metropolitan Police jammed something up and word came down from on high, 'I'm sorry PC Galbraith, you can't do that'.

Apparently, there was an obscure rule that prohibited officers with less than two years of service from transferring to CID or, that was what she was told. Roberta OTOH, suspected that it was some weak man wanting to put her in her place. Misogyny was still rife in many parts of the Met Police despite the current chief commissioner being female.

Her old desk had been taken by DC… now PC Thompson. When questioned by Roberta, he was adamant that he was not behind the prohibition. He freely admitted to anyone who bothered to ask, that CID was not for him. For a moment, she debated calling her father and asking him to find out who and why she'd been blocked. DCI Foster was also clear that he wanted her in CID, now he had a vacancy that needed filling.

Back at the station, Roberta was trying to get to grips with how her new Sergeant worked. The old one, PJ Singh, had been promoted to Inspector and transferred to Stratford.

His replacement, a decidedly grumpy man named Sergeant Ian Tomlinson had come to Tottenham nick from Islington. Word about his transfer had circulated around the station like a tornado. Rumour had it that he was just treading water until he could retire on a full pension. It also said that he had a mistress who lived on the edge of the City of London, near Old Street tube station. For him to be transferred away from Islington to Tottenham had made his whole demeanour even grumpier than normal or… that was what the gossips were saying.

In the two weeks since his arrival which coincided with her returning to uniform , Roberta had kept her head down and had even volunteered for extra patrol duty. Eventually, her luck ran out, and she’d been sent with her new Sergeant to the scene of a breaking and entering at a house in Perth Road which is off White Hart Lane. They were only attending because the house was owned by a local councillor. The road that the footie stadium used to be named after and will always be that to the diehard Spurs fan runs west from Tottenham High Road for about a mile. It was almost at the western end of the road where they were headed.

“Finally, we get to go on a case together,” said the Sergeant as the emerged from the station.

“I have heard everything I need to know about you from Sergeant Green so don’t go getting all smarty pants with me… Understand?”

“Sarge?”

“Look Constable ‘Hotshot’, I have three months to go before I retire. I want those three months to go by as if nothing happens and that includes solving domestics. Look at the scene, record it all and give them a crime number. Their insurance will take care of the damage always assuming that there is some in the first place. Got it?”

His attitude was just like that of her first Sergeant, Sergeant Green. Under her breath she swore at the man. He was as ‘Dell boy’ would say, a ‘plonker’.

“Sarge, shouldn’t we at least pretend to investigate it first?”

He glared at her as he drove their police car out of the compound.

---

“Sarge, you had better take a look at this,” said PC Galbraith.
They’d been at the scene of the break-in for half an hour. She could tell that the Sergeant was getting impatient because of the almost constant glances at his watch. Roberta was doing her job as instructed and had dutifully recorded the whole crime scene on her phone. The final part of that job was to look at the small room that was just off the dining room. The intruder had forced the door so there had clearly been something of interest inside. This room did not appear on any of the plans of the house and was well hidden. Only someone with inside knowledge would have known about it. That glaring fact was dismissed out of hand by Sgt Tomlinson.

He sighed
“What is it this time? We don’t want to spend all day on a domestic…”

“Someone has defaced an atlas.”

“So?”

“Sarge, this particular atlas was sold at Christies two years ago for more than three hundred thousand pounds."

His ears picked up.
“Ok, that’s got my interest. Show me.”

Roberta led her Sergeant into the small room where he saw that the walls were lined with glass fronted cases. Those cases held a variety of objects that astonished the Sergeant by their depiction of sexual acts. Roberta knew that at least one of them dated from Roman times and had a lot of value.

One of those cases had a broken pane of glass. The flight end of a crossbow bolt was poking out of the cabinet.”

He looked at the book with the head embedded in it. Compared to the rest of the objects, it was totally out of character.
“That book looks like something a charity shop would reject.”

“Sarge!” said a frustrated Roberta.
“That book was printed two years before Columbus set sail for the new world.”

“And how do you know all this shit? Don’t go trying to pull the wool…?”

“I know about it because I was dating a valuer at Christie’s when it was sold,” she replied lying through her back teeth. If her suspicions were correct, she knew the family who had owned the book before it was sold. They’d had a death in the family and had to sell the book and the Atlas to pay off the Inheritance Taxes. This was one of only eight others like it in existence. All the others were in Museums.

“Record everything then we can give the lady of the house a crime number for the insurance,” said the Sergeant as he moved to leave the small room.

“Sarge?”

“What is it now?” he said impatiently.

“There is something on the arrowhead.”

The Sergeant glared at the Constable. When he saw what she was talking about, his hopes of knocking off early to see his mistress had suddenly gone up in smoke. What he was seeing looked very much like blood, human blood.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Call in the Cavalry,” ordered the Sergeant as he looked at his watch yet again.

---

The ‘cavalry’ as the sergeant had called them arrived half an hour later in the form of two CID officers and a Scenes of Crime Officer (SOCO) who tested the stain and declared it to be human blood. The Sergeant disappeared to make a phone call. Roberta guessed that his ‘bit on the side’ would have to manage without his company that evening.

“Ok Constable Galbraith, explain to me one more time about this atlas,” said DI May who was leading the CID team.

“The Atlas was printed in around 1490 and was sold a couple of years ago at Christie’s for a three hundred and five thousand pounds. With the buyers’ premium and VAT, that’s close to three hundred and sixty thousand pounds. As far as I know, there are only seven others like it still in existence and all of them are in Museums.”

“You know this how?”

She looked around. The sergeant was nowhere to be seen.

“I know this because I know the family who sold it. They needed to raise some money to pay of some Inheritance Tax. It was either sell the other rare book and the atlas, or sell their home that has been in the family since the time of Henry the Fifth.”

“That must be some home?”

“The oldest part is from Henry’s time but much of it dates from around 1690, with a façade that was added in the early nineteenth century.”
Roberta added,
“Christie’s can provide the provenance of the item as they sold it at auction in London.”

“I will do that.”
He looked around the room.
“You seem to be a bit of an expert in this sort of stuff. What is it all worth? Just a guestimate will do.”

Roberta smiled.
“Most of these items are older than the atlas”.
She pointed to a cabinet to her right.
“I think that buckle is of Roman origin. Probably silver. The thing that looks like a penis with a gold top could well be Aztec. It is solid gold and may be 700 years old. The jewellery looks like that it is Indian. That Ruby alone could be worth a hundred grand if flawless.”

“Worth a fortune then?”

“Value of the lot? Probably around two million on the open market.”

“What aren’t you saying?”

“Sir, I know that this might sound silly but I can’t help but wonder if all of this is stolen property. The Mitchells… the current owners of this house have only been here five days. All this…”
She pointed to the cabinets.
“All this is custom made. They didn’t bring it with them and both of them are adamant that this cupboard never had a key so they had not seen inside. It is clear that they’ve been very busy decorating upstairs, and by the huge number of things still in packing boxes I am of the opinion that they are telling the truth. Plus, the room does not appear on the plans used by the estate agents for the sale. The new owners were as mystified as I was. They showed me the plans used for the sale. This space does not exist on them.”

The DI smiled.
“And?”

“I don’t understand?”

“Keep going. I’d love to know what you think about the crossbow bolt? I agree that is blood and the forensic people will have to do their thing about the age and all that.”

Roberta took a deep breath before saying,
“If what the current owners are saying is true, then we should go back to the sale of the house and look at the previous owners. The Fine Art Squad will be able to help with identifying the items and if they are stolen, who the previous owners were… Or something like that.”

The DI chuckled.
“I think I need to go and see your Inspector. I could use someone like you on my team? How does Detective Constable Galbraith sound?”

It took a second for what the DI was saying to sink in.

“Yes… but Sergeant Tomlinson will not support it. He thinks that I am nothing more than a stupid blonde. I heard him talking to his… bit on the side about me and… surely you know about the virtual thick ear that DCI Foster got for promoting me to DC. Some rule exists that stops officers with less than two years operational experience from joining CID on a permanent basis. At least, that was what I was told.”

He looked blank.
“I didn’t know. I have been away on holiday and only returned yesterday.”

“I’d leave things alone at the moment,” said Roberta.

“That I will not do. We are one short. I’m sure that the DCI could wangle a temporary transfer until we get a permie.”

“Thanks Sir, but Sgt Tomlinson? He clearly hates my guts. He called me ‘Hotshot’. That is not what I want.”

The DI laughed.

“Leave the Sergeant to me. Are you up to coming over to the ‘dark side’ at least on a temporary basis while we investigate this case. Your background knowledge of art will be a great help to us?’

“Sir… I think… Yes… I am ready.”

“Good. Now go and write up your report and I’ll get you transferred to CID ASAP at least for the duration of this case.”

“Thanks sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet PC Galbraith. You will have to face the wrath of your sergeant for a little longer.”

The DI was right about the wrath of the Sergeant. For the next week, Roberta was assigned all the worst jobs he could dream up. She didn’t complain which annoyed him even more. Her passive resistance did not go unnoticed by the Inspector. Sergeant Tomlinson was proving to be a right pain in his backside and he was proud of how Roberta was not reacting to his taunts. One more and the Sergeant would be up on a charge of sexism. None of the other PC’s in his watch were treated as badly as he was treating her.

Roberta didn’t know it but he’d signed off on her temporary transfer to CID much to the objection of Sergeant Tomlinson.

---

“Welcome to the lofty heights of CID Temporary DC Galbraith,” said her DS, a Chris Mitchell.

“Thanks Sarge. It is nice to be away from the other Sarge, and able to work with someone who is a little more amiable.”

DS Mitchell smiled.
“Who says that I am a pushover?”

Roberta grinned.
“Just about anyone in uniform other than Sergeant Tomlinson, and especially Inspector Singh.”

“Ok, ok. Just don’t take advantage of my kind nature.”

“Gotcha Sarge.”

“Good. Now down to business. The Fine Art people have come back to us with the list of stolen items. All but one piece in that cupboard was stolen from places both in the UK and Europe. They think that it will give us a lead on the people behind the thefts but I’m not so sure. I think that there is a lot more behind this. I can’t fathom out why those items were left behind when the house changed hands.”

Roberta grinned.
“Ok DC Galbraith. Out with it… VJ gave me the heads up about you. He sends his regards by the way.”

Roberta looked a bit worried.
“Don’t look so worried. If he hadn’t sung your praises, we would not have approached the chief about you coming over to CID even on a temporary basis.”

She smiled.
“Thanks sir. I’ll try not to let you and Inspector Singh down.”

“None of that sir stuff. I’m still Sarge, ok?”

“Gotcha Sarge.”
“Sarge, my thinking is that because the room where they were stored was so well hidden, it was as safe a place than any. If the people who had them in their possession were raided, any search would come up blank. A bit like a shell game.”

“That… DC Galbraith is just one of the questions we are being paid to answer.”

---

Roberta began to help CID and the team from the Fine Art division of the National Crime Agency. Her knowledge of antiquities astounded the members of Tottenham CID. She was able to help them track down the artifacts and their real owners. As the DS had said, the items had all been stolen over the previous two years from homes and antiques shops in the UK, France, Spain and Italy. The most valuable item by a long way was the atlas. She was very coy about where her information came from, but it was so accurate that no one questioned her sources. Her cousin Roy, worked as a restorer for the Victoria and Albert Museum and had hundreds of contacts in the Art and Antiques world. He was more than willing to help out Roberta on this case as long as his name was kept out of the official record.

The blood on the crossbow bolt was analysed and found to be that of a human male with an AB blood group. The DNA didn’t match any sample in the UK Police database. A request was made to Interpol. Their searches could take weeks so attention was turned to the previous owners of the property where the artifacts were found.

According to the records that they’d downloaded from the Land Registry, the previous owner was a man called Sergio Velasquez. The estate agents who sold the property confirmed that Mr Velasquez had an Italian Passport despite having a name that was more Spanish than Italian. He’d used the passport as I.D. when making the sale. A copy had been taken as a formality, but it proved to be a great help with the investigation. With the help of the Italian Consulate, the passport was soon proved to be a fake. A very good fake but nonetheless, a fake.

When the news about the fake passport came through, DS Mitchell spoke to the CID team.

“l would like Roberta to dig into this Mr Velasquez. What little we know is almost all a pack of lies so who is he, where does he really come from and more importantly where the hell is he now?” said the DS at a meeting where the team were reviewing progress or rather the lack of progress on the case.

DCI Marshall, who was head of the Tottenham CID team, looked at DS Mitchell and then at Roberta.
“DC Galbraith, that is a lot of work for one person and especially one who is a rookie when it comes to CID work.”

“Sir… with all due respect, aren’t there are several more important cases that the rest of the team should be working on? By assigning me to this case, at least we can tell anyone who asks, we are pursuing several leads.”

She smiled at the DCI and said,
“Besides, it will be a good way of easing me into how the CID works if I could have a little of DS Mitchell’s time when I need it?”

The DCI realised that he’d fallen into her trap without even being aware of what she was doing. He made a mental note… ‘don’t let her fool you again’.

“Ok… but just until this time next week. Then we will review progress understood?”

Roberta’s beaming smile told everyone in the meeting that it was more than ok.

---

With the rest of the CID officers dealing with a series of stabbings that had every indication of a tit-for-tat war between two of the local drug gangs from the Green Lanes area, Roberta had almost carte blanche in her pursuit of the mysterious Mr Velasquez.

She’d only been working on a plan for a few hours when Sgt Mitchell came back to the office.

“Do you have a plan yet?” he asked.

“Sarge? I’ve only had a couple of hours in which to get my thoughts together.”

He grinned.
“Good. I can tell the DCI that you are working on a plan. Between you, me and the office cat, he wants you to do this properly, and not to go rushing off on potential wild goose chases.”

The office didn’t have a cat, but Roberta knew what he was hinting at.

“I have been mind-mapping everything we know so far. Do you want to see?”

Sgt Mitchell thought for a moment.
“Later perhaps. I have to get a search warrant application filled out. We may have stumbled on a meth lab in Northumberland Park.”

Roberta smiled.
Meth labs were a constant pain in the backside for Police all over London. They’d pop up, work for a week or so and move on leaving a highly toxic and very inflammable residue behind. It was not unknown for one of these labs to spontaneously combust burning those inside to a crisp.

“Gotcha Sarge.”

She returned to her deliberations while the Sergeant grabbed a form from a filing cabinet and disappeared off in search of the Superintendent or the Chief Super to get it signed off. Then he’d be heading to the Magistrates Court to get it approved. Roberta knew that if her plan came to anything, she’d be doing exactly the same thing herself in the not too distant future.

She smiled as Sgt Mitchell returned with the signoff from the senior officers. That had taken a matter of minutes which told her that the evidence for the inevitable raid was pretty solid. During her Criminology course she’d studied the effectiveness of search warrants in drug cases. To say that there was room for improvement would be an understatement. For the Sergeant’s sake, she hoped that this one was successful as she turned back to creating her ‘To Do’ list for the next three days.

As her mental clock said ‘it is time to call it a day’, she heard the sounds of shouting coming from deep within the station. The tone of the voices told her that the raid had been successful. She took the sounds as a hint and slipped out of the station before she got roped in to help process the new occupants. Her former Sergeant at Colindale, Sgt Greene, had gone out of his way to make sure that Roberta was always as the Americans say, ‘front and centre’ when it came to processing those who had been arrested. She’d had suspect proposition her, spit in her face and threaten to kill her and worse so it was a duty that was near the top of her ‘avoid if possible’ list. After the incident with the spitting, she’d been sent to the hospital for an Aids test. This was standard procedure in such incidents but was a PITA. At least while she waited for the results she was not allowed to come into contact with other prisoners or detainees which had annoyed Sgt Green. Ironically, the next week, spit hoods were deployed at the station.

---

Roberta put out a number of feelers relating to the missing fake Italian with a Spanish name. The first to respond was the UK Border Agency. They confirmed that Mr Velasquez had made seven trips abroad in the past year using the fake Italian passport. He’d travelled to France, Spain, Italy and Portugal by plane and had returned by sea on all occasions through the port of Portsmouth.

That bit of information made Roberta think about two possible reasons why he’d gone to those countries. The first was that he was buying wine. Why else would he make two trips to Bordeaux and one to Lyon in November which was time for Beaujolais Nouveau. The other was that he was using buying wine was a cover for something else. Then she thought that there was probably another explanation for it all that had nothing to do with wine at all. Despite a nagging feeling, she decided to go with the wine importer as a place to start.

If Mr Velasquez was a genuine wine importer, then he’d need a warehouse and some customers. Roberta started with the latter and began to ring around all the independent off licenses and wine sellers in North East London. That failed to bring any positive results so she moved her search area to the City of London.

That struck gold. After three days of phone calls, she located four wine sellers who had done business with the elusive Mr Velasquez. After updating Sgt Mitchell, she set off for White Hart Lane railway station. Twenty minutes on the train deposited her right in the middle of the city. Her first port of call was right around the corner from Liverpool St Station in Bishopsgate.

Twenty minutes later, Roberta emerged from the wine merchants in a very good mood. She now had the address of Mr Velasquez’s warehouse, his bank account details and his mobile phone number plus copies of his invoices. One downside was that the owner of the merchant was very surprised by the sudden disappearance of the aforementioned Mr Velasquez. He had been about to place a large order for wine with Mr Velasquez.

The remaining three wine outlets just served to confirm what she already knew. Mr Velasquez was a genuine wine importer and had been for almost five years. Anything else was the ‘icing on the cake’. He had a good reputation with his clients for supplying excellent wine at a good price. One of the merchants had provided Roberta with a record of all the wine that they’d bought from Mr Velasquez going back a full five years. She needed just one glance at the names of the wine on the invoices to know how he’d gotten that reputation. There were even a few dozen cases from one of the vineyards that were owned by a good friend of her family. That ‘Chateau’ regularly won gold medals in the Paris competition. Mr Velasquez or who you really are certainly knew his wine.

When Roberta took the train from Liverpool St Station back to the Police Station she was in a good mind.

That mood was still good when she briefed Sgt Mitchell.

“What’s next?” asked the Sergeant.

“I’d like to visit the premises he used for his business. It is on the industrial estate just off the A10 near, Sainsbury’s.”

He grinned back at Roberta.
“Lets’ go then? I could do with some air…”

He saw a look of concern on Roberta’s face.
“And, it will get me away from this mountain of paperwork for a couple of hours…” said the Sergeant.

Roberta smiled.
“Ok…”

---

The Sergeant drove them the short distance to the industrial unit. He seemed to be in a good frame of mind almost as if Roberta’s mood had rubbed off on him.

“It looks deserted…” remarked Roberta as the Sergeant parked the car outside.
“From what you said, he was a one-man band.”

“That is a mystery in its own right. Why would a fairly successful wine importer work alone? That does not make sense. The retailers I visited had nothing but praise for the quality of the wine he sold. He seemed to specialise in small producers that are on the fringe of top priced areas. I have copies of the invoices from a couple of his customers. They are pretty good and he sold them for a decent price without too much of a markup. That tells me that he was good at his job.”

“I sense a but coming?”

“That alone does not explain why he was using a fake Passport. A good one but a fake.”

“More unanswered questions for your mind map?”

“Yes. That makes thirty-nine.”

The Sergeant chuckled.
“The thirty-nine steps then?”

Roberta groaned as they got out of the car. She was beginning to like working with him. He wasn’t stuckup or too full of himself.

---

“There is no one here,” said the Sergeant stating the obvious.
He tried the door to the office part of the unit. It was locked.

Roberta tried the roller doors that led to the warehouse section. To her surprise, it moved.

“That should not happen,” she remarked.

The sergeant was suddenly very alert.
“Stand to one side and roll up the door. But first, it is time to glove up.”

‘Glove up’ meant putting on gloves so that their fingerprints would not contaminate a possible crime scene.

Roberta guessed what he was on about. After putting on a pair of gloves, she moved to one side and let the door open far enough to allow them to go inside.

“That does not smell right,” remarked Roberta.
She knew very well what the smell was but she didn’t want to appear to be a real smarty pants to the DS.

“That, DC Galbraith is the smell of a dead body. A dead body that has been here for a while and is in the process of decomposing.”

Roberta stopped dead in her tracks. She could see someone sitting in a chair in the office.
She pointed to the office as she tried not to be sick from the smell. This body was in her opinion, well bloated and starting to putrify. Roberta knew from her criminology professor, that this was the time of peak stench.

Sergeant Mitchell nodded his head and went into the office. He returned a few seconds later.
“Lets’ get out of here. This is now a crime scene.”

Roberta didn’t need a to be told again. If the smell of the old woman she’d discovered as a rookie was bad this was a hundred times worse.

“If I’m not mistaken, that is the body of the late Mr Velasquez and it looks like there is a crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest.”

[to be continued]