UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 02     Snowed Out

 

Heather had a laudable policy to save Sundays, all weekend if possible, for personal time, not that Sophie’s work necessarily agreed with this policy.

Of course personal time would also have to include those domestic or household tasks that were overlooked during the working week. Naturally her policy did not always translate into ‘time off’ when urgent operational matters couldn’t wait until Monday.

Heather had a pile of mail left from the previous week and some of that was outstanding invoices or advisories, whilst a few of the envelopes contained cheques from private clients who still refused to settle their accounts using online banking.

She scanned the cheques and the covering letters then saved that onto her personal PC, backed up onto a portable drive. A visit to the bank, in due course, was needed.

Her personal clients tended to be companies or charities that had identified a major problem and needed heavy duty advice but without any publicity. One such was a local church fund that was being fleeced by the treasurer. Heather’s approach was always to try to save the business, recover the funds and protect any innocent parties, whilst excising the rotten person or persons.

Another had been their visit to the Scilly Isles the previous year to sort out a problem with the finances at St Marys’ Chandlers and a corrupt employee, whilst ensuring that the personnel were paid. As far as Heather was concerned, that was a closed matter.

She didn’t advertise, most of the time word of mouth recommendation was sufficient for her to attract a couple of private clients a month. If anyone wanted to investigate Heather they wouldn’t find very much, and that suited her.

Occasionally, however, Heather was asked to go into a company and offer her services, when MI5 or SO15 had insufficient evidence to get a warrant, or perhaps didn’t want to tip their hand. Some of that work she did was pro bono, and any ex gratia payments were passed onto charities. One of the cheques on her desk would benefit a local women’s refuge by £500, just as soon as she could pay it in, not too bad for one day’s work and a very happy client.

If a client wanted her to find some way to hide money, or withhold tax, then she wouldn’t participate, although her own tax affairs were a work of art.

Heather continued to work through her in-tray and finally reached a few bills that wouldn’t be paid automatically, These fell into two piles, those organisations who just billed regardless and those where Heather had good reason to check the invoices every time. It was never clever to try to overcharge an accountant, especially a forensic accountant.

Sophie had mentioned her conversation with the estate agent the previous afternoon so Heather also fired off an email to their solicitor to get him moving. No doubt that would eventually mean documents with wet signatures being exchanged but the process had to start somewhere.

One of the odd results of their regular meetings in London was that they rarely caught up with the news whilst there, unless it was relevant to their briefings. Heather wasn’t a news junkie but simply wanted to stay up to date. That meant a trawl through the BBC News site, followed by the Guardian and she finished with the Western Morning News for a more local perspective.

She went down to the kitchen to boil the kettle, thinking that Sophie must be on her way back. Several minutes later she went back up the stairs and switched to her work laptop. She found the email from Jenny at the top of the pile, noting the twenty or so that were also outstanding.

From: Jennifer Osborne
To: Heather Young
Subject: FW: Restricted: Operation Caspian Trader

Heather,
HM Revenue & Customs are trying to locate the team behind a large drugs import that took place over the Autumn of 2014 using multiple small boats.

Customs intercepted three small vessels but now believe that many more made their way into port unimpeded. It is noted that it took them two months to work out that this operation was by a single cartel and not a series of unconnected one-off shipments. They had also not informed any other agencies about these imports and their senior management have been asked to account for themselves. We were informed late on Friday evening, as were SO15.

The ports used so far were all believed to be on the East Coast suggesting short Channel or North Sea crossings, possibly using a feeder ship off the UK coast. The current suspicion is that the operation could start using the southern ports, including small harbours in Cornwall.

The only individuals so far identified by HMRC were the couriers who only had a drop address and no further details. Therefore there is currently no intelligence on the organisers beyond a possible Russian connection. The couriers have all stated that their contact had a Russian accent, but some said this was a male voice and some said it was female.

Clearly there isn’t much so far, but I’ll enclose everything we’ve received from HMRC.

Jenny

Heather found the files and read through the documents, not that there was much.

Ultimately there was plenty of work to do but it was still Sunday and everything else could wait a day. She closed the lid on her secure laptop and locked everything unnecessary away, hearing the front door to the cottage open and close. She walked out of the office. Downstairs Sophie was still taking off her boots and hadn't moved off the whitening doormat as yet.

“It's not nice out there, Heather, there's fresh snow falling and it's settling.”

“I don't suppose we'll be going anywhere today.”

“BBC Radio Cornwall was on in the newsagents, the advice is for essential journeys only. I don't ever remember hearing that in London.”

“The Tesco delivery is due around one o'clock, is there anything you want to do?”

“Not particularly. I spoke to Emily whilst I was out.”

“Well, I've had an email from Jenny. Let’s grab a coffee and go up to the office.”

It wasn’t ideal but if they needed to discuss any intelligence matters then they were supposed to use the office, it was screened against radio transmissions so mobile phones wouldn’t work and neither should any non-wired bugs. It hadn’t been swept recently but Heather didn’t dictate when the Security Team paid her a visit.

Sophie followed Heather into the room then leant against the closed door, Heather took the only seat. It wasn’t ideal and there was an irregular need for the pair to have joint briefings, that was the major reason for the planned larger office in the expanded cottage. That reason could swing the agreement of Heather’s manager if, ultimately, it would improve her working conditions.

Sophie never complained about standing but at times it was uncomfortable so did try to hurry Heather. Today was no different, the exchanged their information in five minutes and ignored the potential for cross analysis.

Sophie withdrew to the kitchen where she could do some public research and make some notes. She’d printed off a map of known East & South Coast ports then started to scribble on that, so far nothing she was doing would be considered a security risk but the DS was well-aware that there was a line that would have to be crossed, for now she kept that information in her head.

Heather decided to tidy the office and clear the rubbish, as well as used mugs. She operated a clear desk policy, but that didn’t necessarily apply to drinking vessels. She walked down to the kitchen and distributed the detritus between the sink and the bin. Her phone, in a skirt pocket, pinged.

We regret that due to the weather no deliveries can be made today from your Tesco store. Please visit our website to rebook

“Damn, Sophie, what are we going to do?”

“Muddle through.”

“But what about dinner?”

“Adapt!”

That meant a dig through the more inaccessible recesses of the freezer, a check of the fridge contents and a quick scan of the larder's tinned and dried ingredients. In truth they had several days worth of food and wouldn’t run out of staples such as milk and bread as Sophie had bought these during her stroll through the snow.

A noise was heard outside, it was probably a cat but that didn’t stop Heather checking the CCTV monitor in the kitchen just to be certain. Traffic on the street was minimal and there was no sign of anyone within range of the cameras. Outside the front door Sophie's footsteps had already been covered over by fresh snow.

The slow cooker was filled with root vegetables while four Cumberland sausages started to defrost, add a spoon or three of paprika, a dash of pepper sauce as well as a hot stock and the pot was starting to resemble a goulash. The lid was secured and the pot would be ignored for several hours. Meanwhile lunch was a sandwich for each of them, it was nothing special but it filled a need.

It might still be Sunday but Heather was already resigned to getting on with the research task, especially as it was now a Met Police job as well. She trudged back up the stairs and settled into the office, carrying a mug of tea. Her first task was to go over the scant information that she'd been supplied and made the standard basic checks using the government databases, trying to find links where none existed. She jotted on scrap paper, circling numbers, as she compiled her search results, this would later be shredded - of course.

She needed to stretch her legs but first went into the master bedroom to brush her hair, out of the window she could see the snow was falling faster, it wasn't going to clear quickly.

Back in the office her secure laptop pinged, she checked the emails and found an unread message from Jenny which included some news:

I Was informed late on Friday that Suzie Small has been recruited for the finance team. Suzie is the eldest daughter of the late George Small but was initially recruited before his death and was estranged. It is imperative you attend the inquest and make contact with Miss Tamara Smart. Suzie joins us in March subject to final clearance.

One of Heather's investigations just before Christmas had been into Tammy Smart and her family when her mother, Tara, had become involved with an Albanian smuggler Alban Berisha. Another Albanian had attempted to kidnap Miss Smart when Tara went into hiding and that had led SO15 to become involved. It had been ascertained that Tammy and her father hadn’t been involved in any criminal activities so had been classed as victims.

The Police and MI5 inquiry into the Smart family had been widened to include the Small family due to a campaign of violence instigated by George Small, who subsequently tied in a police cell leaving a widow and two children, although both were now over eighteen. The widow had formed a near immediate bond with Tammy’s father Richard Smart.

Suzie Small had been in England at the time of her father's death and had been estranged for several years. She hadn't known Miss Smart at that time and they had met for the first time a week earlier, just prior to the funeral.

Jenny's email didn't include any other new information so Heather shut that down. She picked up her own laptop and locked the office before heading down to the lounge. Sophie was reading a report.

“I can't see this weather improving overnight, I'll rebook the food delivery for Tuesday morning, we can survive until then, can't we?”

“I reckon so.”

On Monday they fairly split the tasks, Heather stayed in the warm office pushing keys and moving the mouse whilst Sophie took a shovel to the white stuff outside. Sophie was defrosting half an hour later.

“If it snows again, Heather, you can go out there!”

She sneezed by way of reply. “I don’t think my GP would agree.”

“That’s a feeble excuse, anyway I hope you made progress on the case?”

“Sort of, I think I've found a shipment that isn't recorded in the existing files.”

“Damn, when?”

“Four weeks ago, into Exeter I think.”

“How?”

“I was running an existing search for non-UK debit and credit cards in university towns; I try to identify Russian and Chinese students but also pick up regular visitors who aren’t students.”

“Why university towns?”

“Most of those towns also have research facilities that might be attractive to foreign intelligence.“

“Oh, okay Heather, so what did you find?”

“I’ve widened the search a bit to include countries where Russians have settled in large quantities and I found a Bank of Cyprus card being used to withdraw cash, it hadn’t been used in Exeter before but had popped up before Christmas near the East Coast ports.”

“What name?”

“Dimitris Dēmētríou.”

“That's not very Russian?”

“No, but the debit card has been used near many of the known and suspected ports in the past six months, plus, most recently, Exeter on Christmas eve.”

“How long after the previous suspected importation?”

“That one was intercepted, it was at Lowestoft in the first week of December, so it fits the suspected time-scale?”

“Plainly, but Exeter isn’t a seaport and only has a small airport, my guess is they wouldn’t risk a plane?”

“Maybe not, but isn’t the River Exe navigable all the way to Exeter?”

That led the pair to go over maps, deciding that the furthest a sea worthy boat could reach with ease was Topsham.

They agreed that such an approach was most likely around High Tide. An internet search determined the tides were at nine in the morning and half-past nine in the evening on Christmas Eve

“Heather, are we chasing a shadow? None of this would stand up in court.”

“I think it’s worth following if the facts fit? I agree though, we’d have to get more evidence tying this person, through their debit card, to the ports and then link it to the drugs?”

“Agreed, there’s not enough for Emily yet.

“Okay, I’ll write up what I have so far, perhaps I can ask the local Constabulary if they have anything we can use?”

“Is there a Boat Watch operation for Topsham, perhaps someone noticed a visitor? Did anyone book a taxi from Exeter to harbour or the other way around? How did this guy arrive in Exeter and how did he leave?”

“That’s a big ask, Heather?”

“I know. I’ll submit a request to the banks for a full history of this card, the queries are taking an hour each so I’ll grab the lot in one go!”

It took an hour to write this up into a formal report, but even Heather was losing confidence in her work as she typed it.

Jenny was on the phone only ten minutes later.

“How certain are you Heather?”

“Right now, not very.”

“It's an awful lot of co-incidences? But no address?”

“No, the account is registered in Nicosia.”

“So not enough to find him? A UK account would be better, Heather?”

“I know, one step at a time? I’ve asked Sophie to make some enquiries and she’ll update Emily, but you can send this on if you want?”

“Don’t tell me my job, Ms Young.”

Outside it had started snowing again, but lightly this time.

Tap, tap.

Their regular postman was outside, Sophie handled it.

“Ah, hello again, I have several days of mail here, mostly junk unfortunately.”

For security reasons they didn't have a letter box, or an external mailbox, so if no-one was at home the mail returned to the local delivery office and remained undelivered for the time being.

“Are you planning to go away again soon?”

“Not that we know, thank you.”

The postman had been friendly and didn't appear to be fishing for information, that was the nature of most Cornish folk. Sophie, however, considered everyone a threat. She closed the door and sorted through the bundle.

There was a mixture of domestic bills, membership renewals, charity requests and one envelope that immediately looked suspicious. Sophie put it down and went in search of gloves.

“What is it, dear?”

“I don't know.” She gently felt around the envelope but there were no obvious wires or lumps. The address was simple:

H. Young
Fuchsia Cottage
Blights Row
Redruth

The postmark was Torquay, across the border in Devon.

“This has the hallmarks of the self-appointed Colonel Smythe, he moved to Torquay didn't he?”

“That's what I heard. What are we going to do?”

“I'll open it but lets get some photos first, for evidence, then we can decide how to deal with it.”

Heather used her phone to photo the envelope whilst Sophie fetched a sharp knife. With Heather looking over the envelope Sophie carefully cut along one edge, very quickly there was a cloud of white powder, Heather was immediately covered in it, but Sophie had dropped it and stood back so avoided most of the powder.

“Get out!”

They dashed out into the garden, closing the door behind them; and leaving everything behind Sophie made a 999 call.

“This is DS Grieve, I've received a suspicious package in the post and it contained a white powder. I need a hazmat team.”

The civilian operator asked her for the address and then to repeat, was she sure that the powder wasn't snow?

“Bloody hell, why would I call? Make sure Inspector Willis is informed.”

“Where are you?”

“In the garden of Fuchsia Cottage, Blights Row, Redruth. The property is secure from the street but we do have an access from the garden.”

Heather coughed. “Paramedics too.”

The call ended with an assurance that help was on the way. “Sorry Heather, I should have opened it out here.”

Heather was in a sleeveless top and a maxi skirt, comfortable for working indoors but hardly appropriate for standing in the snow. Her furry slippers were already sodden; she started to shiver.

The first siren could be heard, the town's fire station wasn't far but the other emergency services might have to come from the next town, if not further afield.

Sophie by now was on the line to DI Emily Keane, who was naturally concerned. Heather's phone was on the kitchen table, inaccessible for now. She asked Emily to contact Jenny and invoke a breach. She just managed to pass the message when she heard movement.

“Hello?”

Sophie shouted for the officers to come around to the rear of the cottage, she accessed the alarm panel near the garden gate to let the first firemen in.

“What happened?”

“White powder in an envelope.”

“Right.” The officer told three of the crew to suit up and radioed to their control to declare a full emergency. He also asked for oxygen for both girls.

“I'm fine, but my partner needs attention.”

The first Police car arrived a few minutes later, closely followed by paramedics. Heather was now receiving treatment. A youthful PC entered the garden, against the fire officers advice. He walked straight up to Sophie.

“Now, where's the so-called emergency?”

“There's a potential biohazard in the kitchen and you'd be stupid to go in there, as well as walking that close to me!”

“I do not appreciate being called stupid.”

He didn't see Inspector Willis arrive, who wisely kept his distance. “Constable, if the DS suggests you are stupid then I would tend to agree.”

“DS?”

“Yes, that lady is a detective sergeant but that should not have made any difference. For now go into the street and look after the traffic, oh, and let the decontamination unit know what's down here when it arrives.”

“Sir?”

“Go!”

Sophie watched the Constable leave. “Thanks Bob, he plainly doesn't know how to assess situations.”

“That's for me and his Sergeant to deal with, now, tell me what happened.”

Sophie was a little concerned as a stretcher arrived for Heather, she hurriedly told Bob what had transpired.

Three fire officers in respirators now came into the garden, they waved everyone away from the kitchen door before entering. The envelope was placed in a sealed bag and some of the powder was gathered for forensic examination. A minute later they went back in with an industrial vacuum; through the kitchen window Sophie could see they had removed most of the distributed powder.

Heather was now on a respirator of her own, covered with blankets and heading out of the garden on a stretcher. Sophie wanted to accompany her but the property was insecure.

Bob took a look at the envelope, through the sealed plastic evidence bag and used his radio, Albert Smythe of Torquay was to be detained.

One of the fire officers returned, “Miss, you are to be decontaminated.”

“I'm fine.”

“If you opened the package then then, until we know it is benign, you are considered to be contaminated.”

“I need to lock up first.”

“We'll need access.”

“No, sorry but absolutely no!”

“We'll open the door with an axe if necessary if the test is positive for a harmful substance.”

“No, a separate team from London will be here to deal with the property. They will have keys.”

“We're the most qualified.”

“With respect you aren’t the most qualified under these circumstances. The answer remains, you cannot have any further access.”

Bob Willis nodded, “I'm afraid I have to agree with the Detective Sergeant, there are some security concerns and if she says a specialist team will attend, then you’ll have to accept that.”

“Well, we’ll require that in writing. Meanwhile there's a shower unit in the street for you. The other lady has been taken to the Royal Cornwall Hospital and there’s an ambulance waiting for you.”

“Fine, but I'm locking the door and enabling the alarms before I go anywhere and that means I have to go back into the kitchen..” Regardless of the emergency, she would not allow the fire service any further unescorted access into their home, as far as she knew the office door was still open but the laptops were locked or switched off. Even if Heather had walked away from her laptop it would have self-locked by then so wasn’t a separate issue. She also guessed the office safe was shut, securing their weapons, given that the alarm wasn’t sounding.

Sophie was last one out of the garden and had a clear path around to the Fire Service's hazchem unit before being transported by ambulance to the Royal Cornwall Hospital in Treliske, near Truro, wearing a paper gown and blanket.

Despite her repeated protestations Sophie was subjected to a variety of tests as well as a further impersonal cleanse. She was instructed to remain overnight under supervision, although that included having blood tests every six hours. One solitary cough, albeit for a dry throat, meant that an oxygen mask was placed on her with instructions not to remove it.