The news of a suspicious dead body spread around Tottenham ‘nick’ and well beyond like wildfire thanks to loose-lipped people and social media. The forensic team had hardly arrived on site when the first TV News crew mobile broadcast unit arrived on the scene and immediately began broadcasting live.

That was the signal for Roberta to step back into the shadows. Sergeant Mitchell saw her reaction to the TV crew.

“Is there something I need to know?”

“Sarge?”

“I don’t need to impersonate Sherlock Holmes or any other TV detective, to observe your clear reluctance to appear on TV. Care to explain why?”

Roberta closed her eyes and counted down from 10. She knew that this was going to happen the moment she smelt the dead body.

“Sarge, there is something that you need to know but this is neither the time nor the place for that discussion but you are right, I want to keep out of the public eye as much as possible.”

The Sergeant smiled,
“Yet… fate seems to have a knack of shining the limelight on you?”

Roberta was about to answer but he raised his hand to stop her.
“If you can try to get one of the SOCO’s white suits, I’ll get the TV crews to stop filming us when the coroner removes the body out of respect or something like that. I’ll talk to the coroner’s people and get them to let you ride along with them, but your excuse had better be a good one. Ok?”

Roberta was under no illusion about how serious he was.

“Thanks Sarge…”

He sighed,
“I’d better call for reinforcements. Sergeant Tomlinson is not going to like this. Spurs are playing at Wembley tonight and he was hoping to get off duty to go to the match.”

Roberta was about to answer him with a quip about the Sergeant’s bit on the side but she refrained from doing so. Roberta was normally the subject of police station gossip and was not going to start spreading rumours. That was just not her style.

Roberta managed to get away from the crime scene a few hours later while DCI Major, the nominated SIO, was giving a press conference. He was flanked by an official from the Home Office. The death of a foreign national was the reason for their involvement. Because Mr Velasquez was a citizen of another country, the diplomats of that country would be involved along with the Home Office but DCI Major was deliberately circumspect about which nation that was despite several questions about it from the media. He trotted out the stock phrase, ‘Investigations are continuing and until any possible next of kin are informed, it would be wrong of me to speculate on the identity of the deceased let alone their nationality’.

Back at the station, Roberta started writing up the day's events and what she thought should happen next. ‘Should’ was the worrying word in her mind. The appearance of the National Crime Agency had thrown a huge spanner into her thought processes.

She was making herself a cup of tea when Sgt Mitchell arrived back with a smile on his face.
“Is there enough water in the kettle for another cup?”

Roberta smiled.
“As long as you have it in a normal sized cup and not your usual builders’ mug?”

Chris laughed.
“Ok. Ok, I’ll take a normal sized mug.”

“Thanks.”

“Sarge? You seem to be in a good mood? How did the meeting with the DCI and the NCA go? Are we going to be given the elbow?”

He chuckled.
“You can read my mind Constable Galbraith. No, we aren’t going to be given the elbow for the time being at least and we are to be the lead in this. The DCI will be moving here from Islington on a temporary basis. The NCA are quite happy to give us whatever technical support we need but that does not include bodies on the ground. They will keep the diplomats and the civil service jerks at the FCO[3] at bay. That is the situation right now but… they are subject to change at any time.”

Roberta looked a bit puzzled so the Sergeant carried on.
“I got the distinct impression that the people at Met HQ and the NCA, have a lot more on their plate at the moment. That attack on the MP from Belfast at their London home last week is still the lead item on the news as you well know.”

Roberta did know all about it. Her father’s House of Lords committee had that very MP give evidence about his claims of corruption in the PSNI, to them the day before the attack.

She sat down and composed herself mentally for the inevitable conversation with the Sergeant.

He saw her nervousness and decided to try to defuse it.

“I know that I said that you’d have to tell me why you were not keen on being on camera but this is not the place to have that discussion. Perhaps we could meet later away from this rumour factory?”

Roberta’s relief was palpable. She nodded her head.

“How about the car park next to the river Lea that is behind the depot at Northumberland Park?”

“That sounds as good a place as any. What time?”

He looked at the clock on the wall.
“Give me an hour to write up my report on the day and then we can head off.”

“Thanks Sarge.”

“Sarge…” began Roberta.
“I don’t bite so just give it to me straight,” he said interrupting her before she’d really started.

“I want to keep a low profile for a number of reasons. All of them have to do with who I am.”

“My father is Lord Regis. I don’t need to tell you who he is.”

“Shit…” muttered the Sergeant.

“I am by birth, his son.”

“Fuck. I never saw that one coming.”

“Only a few people in the force know the truth about me. Can you… can you understand why I didn’t want to appear on TV?”

“I can… and thanks for being honest with me.”
Then he sat gently shaking his head.
“I would never have believed that you could have ever been a… a boy or man.”

“Thanks Sarge. I was never really a boy. Mum and Dad knew about Roberta from when I was five years old.”

“Don’t worry Roberta I’m not one to spread rumours. Besides, you are far too good a cop for that. But it all begins to make sense.”

“Sense?”

“Yeah. The inspector gave me the lowdown on your background. You know… how you deliberately didn’t come top of your class at Hendon. Naturally, he didn’t include your gender. It all makes sense now.”

Roberta looked a bit shocked.
“In case you don’t know it, the top brass, have had their eye on you because of that. A few of them were tipping you for great things and a place on the fast-track stream. Not coming in the top 10% put more than a few noses out of joint. My guess is that they don’t know about your history.”

“I know. That’s why I messed up my exam. I don’t want to ride on my father’s coat tails or anything like that. With… with me being trans anything I did would be front page news. Some people might like their fifteen nanoseconds of fame, but that is not me. I want to achieve something on my own merit before my history inevitably comes out in the public domain.”

“I think I get you on that. The DCI does as well if I can read what he told me about you.”

There was silence between the two of them for well over a minute.

“Now that I know about you, I can take your wishes into consideration when we are working.”

“Sarge… stop right there. I don’t want any special treatment because of who I am. That’s the whole reason for me… well everything that I am trying to do with my life.”

He looked at her for several seconds before replying.

“Sorry Roberta. I didn’t say that very well. What I meant to say that because of your desire to not be in the limelight, I will make allowances for that and only that. Is that better?”

She smiled.
“Thanks Sarge.”

He smiled at her.
“Roberta, from the short time that I have worked with you it is perfectly clear to me that you have what it takes to be a great detective. I’ve already seen that you mind works in ways that others can’t even grasp. You are also like a Mountie. They are reputed not to give up. That, is you down to a ‘T’. I saw your report on your visits to those wine retailers. You got everything we needed out of them without even can I ‘Call my lawyer’ from the retailers. That takes skill, a lot of skill and as far as I know, they don’t teach that at Hendon.”

Roberta managed a small smile. She'd sussed the retailers right away and talked to them as an equal. As they were all former public school ‘inmates’, she knew how to deal with them besides, her knowledge of Bordeaux wines was probably better than any of them thanks to the vineyards owned by her family. She could talk to them as business equals. Once they concluded that she was no threat to them from a business point of view, they opened up and told her everything that she needed to know.

“There is a long way to go on this case. Go for it, Roberta. This is your chance to shine and shine on your own merits.”

“And fall flat on my face?”

He smiled.
“Too late for that. Discovering the dead body makes that an impossibility. The only way from here is up!” he said jokingly.

Roberta went home happy that she had at least one ally on the ground at Tottenham nick.

“Penny for them?” said a voice that ended her pondering.
She looked up and saw Sergeant Mitchell. She was sure that he hadn’t been there a minute before.

“Oh sorry. The autopsy report arrived. The crossbow bolt penetrated the heart. He must have died within seconds. The lack of blood at the scene pretty much told us that.”

“Just what we surmised. Anything else?”

“I think… that I’d like to go back to the warehouse. We didn’t get much chance to examine the contents of it once we discovered the body. His habit of flying abroad and coming back by road is puzzling. It just does not make sense to me. SOCO are good but seeing the whole scene in person is far better than photographs. He ran the business from there. I want to try to get into his mind and get a feel of how it operated. For starters, I want to look at the wines he has in stock. The people he sold too down in the city were very satisfied with the wines he sold them. That does not even begin to explain why he was killed like that.”

“Go with the flow DC Galbraith. Let your mind take you into his mind.”

She smiled.
“Thanks Sarge.”

He hesitated for a moment.
“I’ve got a report to finish. Then I’ll join you… if you don’t mind that is?”

“I don’t mind Sarge. The more the merrier.”

“Sergeant Phelps at the front desk has the keys. Don’t forget to sign them out.”

She smiled.
“I know about the rules pertaining to evidence. I will be careful to do things by the book.”

Roberta was starting to go through the stack of invoices and shipping documents that were in the filing cabinet. She’d started with the last shipment of wine that had come from France. The shipment was a mixture of Bordeaux and Loire Valley wines. She cross-referenced the wine that had been imported against what had been shipped to resellers. Then she went through the stock that remained in the store. That proved to be a bust. It all checked out as did four other separate shipments. That almost made her give up when she remembered a word that the Sergeant had said about her…’Mountie’.

Roberta decided to take a break and after locking up the warehouse, she walked to the supermarket and used their Café for a Coffee and a slice of cake.

When she returned, she carried on working backwards with the shipments.

The sixth oldest shipment was when things started to get interesting. The stock of Bordeaux wine that remained should have been ordinary St Emillion and Entre Deux Mer appellations. She could not find them anywhere in the stock. The records had them coming into stock but not going out.

What wine that was labelled as coming from the Bordeaux Appellation, was from the Medoc and Paulliac regions. Neither of these were shown on the inventory but the numbers of bottles tallied exactly. It was clear in her mind that he’d been smuggling wine, very good wine. Then another thought crossed her mind. The dates on the cases were not recent. The newest vintage was more than ten years in the past.

She used her phone to look on the internet for the quoted wines and found that they retailed for between £10 and £15 per bottle. The better quality wines would retail for around £30 per bottle.

That presented a problem in its own right. She estimated that each ‘dodgy’ shipment would net the seller an extra £4,000 to £5,000 in revenue. In her opinion, it was not worth the trouble to smuggle such a small volume of wine for so little extra return. If the shipments were say, the size of even a 20ft container the venture would have been a lot more profitable.

She was contemplating this when her phone rang. It was Sgt Mitchell.

“Hello Sarge.”

“Yes, I’m still there.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise. I’ll lock up and head home after I clear up here.”

“I’m not finished by any means but I did find another problem. I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

She hung up and shook her head. She’d been so engrossed in what she was doing that she’d not realised that it was well after eight in the evening.

Roberta recorded her findings on her phone and put everything away where she’d found them. Twenty minutes later she locked up the premises and headed home. The increasing complexity of the case weighed heavily on her mind. It was even later in the evening when she decided that talking things over with the Sarge was the best way forward.

“That’s all I can think of at the moment. What do you think?”

Roberta had explained her findings to Sergeant Mitchell. He’d listened without comment.

“Well done for bringing that to light but I think that you are right… The returns for the wine smuggling are hardly worth the trouble and that you are correct when you say that there has to be something else to justify his murder especially with something like a crossbow.”

“Thanks Sarge…” replied an unconvinced Roberta.
“The only thing I can think of as regards the smuggling was that the profit covered the costs of going abroad and renting the vans used to transport the goods back here.”

“What other leads do we have?”

"Very few. We are waiting on a response from Interpol about possible crossbow-wielding hitmen as well as ownership details for several of the artifacts we found at the house. The solicitors that handled the sale are being very reluctant to release the details of the deal other than what is already available on the Land Registry website.

“Then I had better escalate it a bit, hadn’t I?”

“If you could that would be great.”

“I sense a but coming?”

“I just get the feeling in my stomach that we are missing something. By we, I mean me.”

The Sergeant smiled back at Roberta.
“That… DC Galbraith is all part and parcel of being a detective. It happens to all of us most of the time in this line of work. It is very, very rare for everything to fall into place just as it should. Most of the time we get many pieces of evidence that at first glance, appear to be totally unrelated. Then… something else happens that links it all together. All part of the crime jigsaw. Like with a conventional jigsaw, there is no single right or wrong way to complete it. Some start at the edges. Others, just put together the pieces that are to hand.”

She sat there trying to get her mind working at least semi-coherently.

“What have you got on your mind map that needs work?” suggested DS Mitchell.

“There are a lot of loose ends but… none of them seem important or significant.”

“Why not go back over them and make sure that they are not important. Then at least they have been closed down…”

“Thanks Sarge, I’ll do that.”

“Good. I’ll get the DCI to give those solicitors a good talking to. They can’t talk about client confidentiality when the client is in the morgue.”

“Thanks Sarge.”

Once again, she worked late into the night. One significant thread remained unsolved other that the threads where they were still waiting on answers from other agencies such as Interpol.

Roberta kicked herself for not picking this thread up sooner. It had been staring everyone in the face for days. She chuckled when she grasped that 'everyone' was just her. No one in CID apart from the Sergeant had shown even the slightest interest in mind mapping.

One of them had even called it a ‘glorified list taker’, much to her angst.

Roberta’s outstanding issue was, where was the van or vans that had been used to bring the wine in from France, Spain and Italy. Mr Velasquez's car, a 2015 White Audi A3 was registered to him and was nowhere to be found. She prepared a request to check the location of the car on the nationwide network of ANPR[2] cameras. That was a wild shot and she knew it. She added the registration numbers for the vans. She’d located them in the paperwork from the ferry bookings. There were six different vans, two Renaults, two Citroens and two Fords, all with French registrations. If they had returned to France then the search would show that.

It was then that Roberta swore at the French Government for doing away with the old registration plates. The old ones included the issuing department in the number whereas the new ones only had it as a label on the plate. She’d have to go through official channels with the French Authorities to get the ownership details and that could take weeks if not months. The old plates would have allowed her to go directly to the departments without involving the Government in Paris.

She finally called it a day just before 23:00. It had been a long day without a lot of progress. While she was travelling home, she reflected that the sort of day that she’d just experienced was typical for her future in CID.

It made her only more determined to solve this case.

“Morning Sarge. Isn’t this a bit early for you?”

“Now, now Constable… I’m being kind to you.”

“Thanks Sarge but…?”

He smiled back at her.
“There has to be a reason for my early appearance?”

“Something like that.”

“We now know who the elusive Mr Velasquez really is. Interpol has finally come through with the goods.”

All the time, DS Mitchell was stirring the pot of tea. He poured them both a small mug, added some milk and gave her one of the mugs. Roberta knew better than to interrupt the solemn process of tea making. DS Mitchell would impart the news once that ritual was finished.

“The real name of Mr Velasquez is Lambret, Diego Lambret. He is Argentinian by birth and migrated to Italy in 2003 where he obtained citizenship. He moved to Greece in 2005 and then was arrested and convicted for robbery in Hamburg in 2006. He served three years and skipped the country before he could be extradited. He disappeared until 2012 when Mr Velasquez appeared with an Italian Passport and moved to London just before the Olympics. Mr Lambret has a criminal record in Argentina and Paraguay as well as Germany, but no outstanding warrants. The crimes in South America were fairly minor in nature and were committed when he was a child,” said the Sergeant as he summed up the information that had come in overnight.

“Not a nice guy but hardly a master criminal then?”

“That sums it up pretty well. The HMRC have come through with the records of his wine business. They are being couriered here as we speak.”

All of that information would help them build up a picture of the normal part of Mr Lambret’s life.

“If he has operated at least a semi-legit business for since 2012, then we have to find the links to the crime or crimes that resulted in his death. From what the HMRC said over the phone he filed his accounts well before the due dates and paid all taxes due to them almost by return of post. There was nothing out of the ordinary at all with his legit business.”

“A perfect cover then?”

“That’s what the DCI is thinking,” said the Sergeant.

The mention of the DCI made Robert feel as if things were being taken away from her. The Sergeant saw this.

“Don’t worry Roberta. He is very pleased with what we… or rather you have uncovered. We all had to start somewhere when it comes to working in CID. This case is giving you a great insight into how we work and also the resources that are available to us. Things don’t happen in seconds like it does on TV. What they show in an hour or 45 minutes takes us days, if not weeks.”

“I know that but… The DCI?”

“He is watching what you and to a lesser extent I do on this case. If we get to a point where we need extra resources then he’ll make the decision. That’s why I like him. Other DCI’s don’t keep themselves up to date on all the cases on their patch and then they swoop in and take over in the hope of getting in front of the TV camera and making a name for themselves. Our DCI plays fair and that’s all I can… we can hope for.”

“But… Sarge, the role of the SIO as explained to us at Hendon is not like what he is doing.”

The Sarge smiled.
“That is because we are the team, the whole team and nothing but the team. We don’t need all the others that a large-scale murder investigation would require. We can thank the attacks on the MP for that. That is more political and newsworthy than our little crime. That said, if we need more bodies then the DCI will make sure that we get it. In that event, the DCI will formally assume the role of SIO for the case.”

Roberta drank her tea in silence. Thanks to the information from the HMRC she was even more certain that she’d missed something back at the industrial unit.

“Sarge? I’m going back to the warehouse. There has to be something that we’ve all missed that will give us a lead. Without a new address for Mr Lambret this is the only place that we can look.”

“Those solicitors are still baulking at releasing the details where the money came from and went of his purchase and sale of the property. I discussed this with the DCI before you arrived. He’s going to get a court order to force them to release the data. The head of the practice is well known for being very obstructive to the police. A good number of his clients are of the criminal fraternity. It would not do their credibility with the rest of their clients to be seen to be too keen on helping us.”

Roberta smiled.
“In other words, they are as bent as a paper clip?”

“You said it not me…” joked the Sergeant.
“But, yes they are.”

She didn’t go into the office as she had done the last time that she had visited the building. This time, she went straight into the warehouse section.

The hundreds of cases of wine were very tempting. They reminded her of the cellars back at her home in Dorset and their home in France. No one in the Police knew that her family business owned twelve vineyards in six countries. The vineyards were managed by her cousin Felicity who was based at their home just outside Duras, to the east of Bordeaux. The wholesale side of the business was run by her cousin Jack from Paris. He’d grown the company into a serious player in the European Wine Wholesale Business over the past fifteen years. Roberta had spent many summers as a child at their Duras estate 50km from Bordeaux. Those were the days when with her mother at her side, Roberta was allowed to blossom. She missed her mother each and every day.

After mentally chastising herself for daydreaming, she began her work in earnest. The place was very neat and tidy. For a moment, the words 'too neat and tidy' crossed her mind. Once again, she chastised herself for assuming that Mr Lambret was not such a person. The organisation of papers in the office told her that he was almost OCD with things being in their proper place.

The only thing in the warehouse that was out of place was a pile of used wooden pallets. Compared to the rest of the property, this stuck out like a sore thumb but only if you were looking for abnormalities. She could see three distinct types of pallets.

Who would think to look at a pile of pallets? They had served their purpose and the next step for them was probably the recycler. There were several large recyclers in East London. She made a mental note to give them a call to see if the wine business was a client of theirs.

Roberta began to move each one, and in the process, sort them into types. The majority were painted blue. A smaller number were green and four were bare wood. It was then that she saw one difference apart from the colour. The ones that were painted green were 4cm thicker than the others.

She soon saw the reason why those pallets were thicker than the other ones. Each one had a hidden compartment. The space was almost 3cm deep. That was more than enough to provide a very nice compartment for smuggling contraband, stolen goods or drugs.

Feeling elated, Roberta called the Sergeant.

“Sarge, I think that you should get over here pronto. I have found something significant.”

“Yes, and the SOCO team needs to be here as well.”

“How about hidden compartments in shipping pallets? Is that good enough for you?”

[to be continued]

[1] NCA: The UK National Crime Agency. Sort of like the British version of the FBI.
[2] ANPR: Automated Number Plate Recognition
https://www.police.uk/advice/advice-and-information/rs/road-...
[3] FCO: Foreign and Commonwealth Office

Sergeant Mitchell stood looking at the pile of pallets while scratching his head.

“This is a great find. All the time, they were sitting right there in plain sight.”

He bent over and inspected the pallets being careful not to get his fingerprints on them.
“They are fully usable as a pallet. You would not think to look at a common pallet as a place to smuggle stuff. Customs would look for suspect items in the load on the pallet but rarely at the pallet itself.

He stood up and said,
“What do you think they were used for? Drugs?”

Roberta shook her head.
"I don't think so. Packing them full of class-A drugs would make them quite heavy and would more than likely attract the attention of the Customs people. No, I think that they were used to smuggle art, in particular paintings. If they were removed from their frames, the vertical space is a lot less than the size of the typical package used for hard drugs. Currency is also a possibility.

The Sergeant nodded his head.
“I’d better call the Art Squad again. They need to know about this development.”

“It gives us more of a reason for his murder and explains the cover as a wine importer.”

That seemed to prompt the Sergeant.
“I nearly forgot. The lab came back with the blood results on the crossbow bolt that was not that of the deceased. They sent the DNA readout to Interpol who soon came back with a name, Marie Andropov. It is the alias of a Russian hit-woman. Apparently, she chose the name Andropov as it is the name of a former leader of the USSR. Interpol have been after her for years. She is a person of interest in no less than fifteen murders and she has been known to use a crossbow in at least five of them. It is deadly and silent.”

“Sarge, In Russian, Andropov is a male name. Typically, Russian women use female genders for their family names. It should have been Andropova.”

“You know this how?”

“I have an A-Level in Russian. I had a nanny who came from a place called Yekaterinburg.”

The sergeant just shook his head.

Roberta didn’t look very happy with the news about Interpol. Sgt Mitchell saw how uncomfortable she was with this news.

“What’s the problem?”

She sighed.
“It had to happen but I didn’t think that it would happen so soon.”

“What had to happen?”

“The name of the assassin. Using the male surname leads me to think that this Marie Andropov is like me.”

It took a second or so for the Sergeant to understand what Roberta was hinting at.

“Shit. Really?”

She nodded her head.

“Ok, apart from the name thing what else do you have to support your theory?”

“Just one thing. The Crossbow needs a good deal of strength to cock unlike a conventional bow. Those come in all sizes and the modern compound bow can and is shot by men and women. Crossbows are generally only used by men. Even for a man, the rate of fire is a lot slower than a conventional bow. From memory, I think that the bow that the English archers used at Agincourt could fire more than ten rounds a minute. A crossbow? I’d say four or five.”

“Sorry Sarge, I was rambling.”

He thought for almost a minute before replying.

“Roberta, do you know what you are saying?”

“Sarge, I do and I understand the possible implications and ramifications if I am wrong.”

He nodded his head.
“Does Interpol have a photo of Marie Andropov?”

“As far as I know, they don’t. Why?”

“Being able to pass as a man or a woman is a great way to avoid capture. If the Police are after a woman assassin, how thoroughly do you think that they’ll check men?”

“Gotcha. There is a lot more to this LGBTQ stuff that we get told.”

“Sarge, it isn’t your fault. Most of the LGBTQ people are ‘L’ or ‘G’ with the ‘B’ next on the list. Those who are ‘T’ or ‘Q’ make up a very small percentage of the community and most of us keep so far under the radar that we are walking along the bottom of the sea. One to two percent of the population at large is one estimate and that does not include Transvestites.”

He chuckled at Roberta’s explanation.

“Roberta, working with you is going to be a huge learning experience and will never be dull…”

“Sarge, stop that. Remember our deal?”

“I can hardly forget it. I’m not going to betray your trust. That is not how I am.”

“What do we do now?”

“I think that you should give this update to DCI Saunders directly.”

She looked a bit distraught.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come with you. I’ll clear it with the Inspector. This is too important to keep to ourselves.”

When the Sarge contacted the DCI, they found that he was not available until the following day when he would be attending a briefing at the NCA HQ.

“Ok, Sergeant Mitchell, what is it that is so important that you can’t tell me over the phone or via email?” asked a slightly impatient Detective Chief Inspector Gavin Saunders.

“Sir, some of what DC Galbraith is about to say is for your ears only. It is a matter of personal safety which I am sure that you will understand when you hear it.”

“Ok, I’m listening.”

“Sir,” said Roberta.
“The alleged assassin, Marie Andropov is of Russian origin I am given to understand?”

“Correct. Why?”

“Sir, in Russian, no woman would use the surname Andropov. It is of the wrong gender. They’d use Andropova. For example, the tennis player Maria Sharapova was the daughter of a Mr Sharapov.”

“Could this be a mistake by someone in Interpol?”

“I doubt it, but it is possible. I have reason to think that she is playing a little game with us and it would also explain why there are no photos of her crossing borders etc.”

“Game? I don’t understand?”

“I think that Maria Andropov is transgendered or is someone who can easily pass for a man or a woman.”

“How do you come that conclusion?”

“Sir, I’m one of those. I’m transgendered and was born male.”

The DCI looked Roberta up and down. Then he shook his head.

“I get why this could be a personal threat to you. There are still a good number of anti LGBTQ officers on the force despite a lot of work to get them out. I need to think about what you have said before passing this on to Interpol.”

“Sir,” said Roberta looking at the DCI and the Sergeant.
“That is correct and none of us wants the Met looking like idiots. Perhaps if you asked Interpol to forward records of anyone male or female with that general description?”

“Have you any idea how many that would be?”

“We do sir, but in my opinion, she is around my age. If she was much older than me, then she would not be able to have carried out many of the crimes that would put her on the Interpol 'most wanted' list and not have made a mistake that leads to their demise. That should eliminate many of the potential suspects. I also think that she does not have a criminal record. If the murder on our patch is anything to go by then the crossbow may be a sort of signature plus there are models that fold up nice and small and as they are not a firearm… Checks at what few borders remain will be a lot less.

Then Sergeant Mitchell added.

“From what the forensic people have said, the weapon used for the murder of the wine importer is a heavy weapon when it comes to power. Many women would simply not have the physical strength to cock the weapon. If the user was a man or had been born a male then that would less of a problem even with a compound crossbow. One of the prime objections to Transwomen competing in female sports is their innate strength. To my mind, that add credence to the transgender theory.”

The Sergeant’s reasoning surprised Roberta but pleased her in that he had at least done some research into the subject. Many other officers would not have done that.

“Sir, I know from my time at Hendon that even though I take female hormones every day, I am stronger than well over half the male cadets in my class.”

The DCI looked at his two visitors. Normally, he would have sent them away with a flea in their ears for presenting such a story but a long and sometimes animated phone conversation that had taken place the previous evening with a high-ranking officer in Interpol was leading him to believe that there might be something in what they were saying.

“DC Galbraith. Thank you for explaining your theory and the background to it. As I said, I will have to think about this but rest assured your gender status will not go beyond this office. Frankly, my team are at a loss on this case. DC Galbraith seems to be applying a different sort of logic to the case from anyone else and that is good. Sometimes we get blinkered by procedure and how things have panned out in the past.”

“Sergeant, you were right to bring these ideas to my attention. I will give this a lot more thought before going back to Interpol.”

He saw the look of concern on their faces.

“Don’t worry. I will report back to you before I take any action. If you are correct then it could be the key that forces all over Europe need to solve a number of high-profile murders. OTOH, we don’t want to look like numpties if we are wrong. At the moment, I’m on the side of going to them, but the caveats on anything we will have to say are worrying.”

That was it, their audience with the DCI was over.

“Well done, Roberta. You put your case perfectly.”

She looked at the Sergeant before saying,
“Cut the crap Sarge, he didn’t believe a word of it, did he?”

“I don’t know. I was watching his reaction. My guess is that there is a lot more going on in the background than he’s letting on but mostly, I think that you are right. What did the people at Hendon say about the role of the SIO?”

Roberta smiled.
“One of the instructors was a former SIO in West Midlands Police. He said that the role was like juggling six balls at once when a seventh suddenly appears.”

“That sums it up very well. We are just one or two of those balls. Only he knows the big picture, we don’t.”

Then after a sigh, he said,
“Come on, we have some sleuthing to do. If you solve this without those numpties then more power to you and lots of egg on their collective faces.”

“Sarge, that is a great idea if I only knew where to start?”

“You will get there. I have every confidence in you.”

Roberta smiled at her Sergeant but at that moment, her mind was blank.

After a couple of fruitless hours in the office, Roberta returned to the warehouse unit more in the hope of finding some inspiration than anything else.

She went through the office and its contents once more. As she was bending down to get access to the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet, she noticed a cable running along the skirting board. It looked more like a co-axial cable than one used for power. It wasn’t easy to see as it had been painted the same colour as the walls. From the dirt/dust on the top of the cable, it appeared to have been there at least a couple of years. That fact helped it blend in and not be out of the ordinary, piqued her interest straight away.

With her inquisitiveness working overtime, she followed the cable out of the office and into the unit until it disappeared onto the roof of the office which was in reality, a small portable office cabin rather than one that had been built into the unit itself.

For a brief moment, Roberta was at a loss as to what to do next. She could not access the roof without a ladder, so she followed the cable in the other direction. It led into the cubicle that contained a portable toilet and disappeared behind a mirror that was secured to the wall by four screws. That was not going to defeat Roberta. She went back to her backpack, found her Swiss Army Knife and returned to the cubicle.

The four screws were soon removed which allowed her to see what was behind the mirror.

A huge smile broke out on her face when she saw what looked like a camera that viewed the main part of the office through a hole in the wall. Everything that went on in the office was on camera.

She went back into the office and saw how the hole with the camera had been disguised. It was almost hidden by a calendar that showed pictures of Vineyards in France. Her hopes were rising with every minute.

She knew that there had been no sign of a ladder in the warehouse from her previous visits but she had an idea. The stack of normal pallets might do the job instead.

Roberta stacked two pallets up against the side of the office building. She added a third on top of the other two and began t climb up. The slats of the pallets worked just like the rungs of a ladder.

She poked her head over the top of the cabin and smiled. The winking light of a Video Recorder told her that she was onto something.

Before going any further, she took several photos of the setup with her phone. Then she crawled onto the roof of the cabin and over to the recorder. Her heart stopped for a moment as she pressed ‘open’. A mechanism clicked and a panel in the front of the machine opened and a tape cartridge popped out. This wasn’t the conventional VHS type of cartridge but more like the ones used in a modern digital Video Camera.

Her heart was pounding as she climbed down from the roof and headed for the door fully intending to return to the Station but something held her back.

She smiled to herself and muttered, ‘why not’.

Robert went into the office and rummaged in the bottom of the filing cabinet. She pulled out a pack of five similar tapes. One of the five tapes was missing. That one was safely in her pocket. She afforded herself another smile as she climbed back up onto the roof and put the new tape into the machine.

Then, she screwed the mirror back onto the wall of the toilet cubicle and checked the position of the calendar on the other side. Finally, she put the three pallets back where they’d come from. Apart from the dust and dirt on her shirt from the roof, you would never have known what she’d been doing.

Satisfied that she had put everything back in its proper place, she locked up the property and returned to the station.

Once again, she’d lost all track of time and the normal work day was long over so she had the custody officer put the tape into the property safe after ‘bagging and tagging’ it. Then she went home hoping that her urge to watch the tape ASAP would not stop her from sleeping. It didn’t.

“Morning Sarge,” said Roberta as DS Mitchell arrived for work.

He took one look at her smiling face and said,
“Ok, Cheshire Cat, what did you find in your saucer of milk?”

“I don’t know… yet.”

“Yet?”

“I found a hidden camera and a video recorder in the office.”

He smiled.
“Remind me to give SOCO a bollocking. Where was the camera?”

“Hidden in the wall and it was disguised by the calendar of French Vineyards.”

“I remember that. Where was the recorder? Our people went through that office pretty thoroughly after the body was removed.”

“I doubt that they looked on the roof of the portacabin that doubles up as an office.”

“Probably not. So? Where is the tape now?”

“In the property safe or at least that was where I put it last night. I bagged and tagged it and made the entry in the evidence log before I went home.”

“Good…. For following procedure.”

“Sarge?”

He smiled back at Roberta.
“If this is a blank tape then I don’t know where to go next.”

He smiled again.
“Then it might be time to look at another case for a day or do. Then come back with fresh eyes? Or even go away for a few days and do something completely different just to take your mind off things. It happens to all of us on difficult cases.”

She smiled.
“Thanks Sarge.”

“Why don’t you go find the video tape player? I’ll get the tape from the safe.”

“I’ve rewound the tape to the beginning. From the label on the box of tapes in the filing cabinet, each one can contain three hours of 4K video.” Said Roberta.
“The camera was not 4K so my guess is that there could be about five hours of recording.”

Sergeant Mitchell groaned.
“Don’t worry sarge, I expect most of it is of our boys faffing around after the discovery of the body.”

“I hope so. I have a habit of falling asleep in these things.”

Roberta chuckled and pressed play.

The first half hour was of shots of the victim going intermittently about his business from timestamps, for three months. The gaps in the recordings coincided with his most recent trips abroad.

Then the scene changed. The timestamp on the screen showed the date that it was estimated that he was murdered. The first ten minutes show him going in and out of the warehouse carrying a clipboard.
“He’s preparing the order that we saw in the loading bay,” said the Sergeant.
“That’s my guess as well.”

The scene showed the victim sitting at his desk. Out of range of the camera, something happened to disturb him. Then they saw the crossbow bolt hit home and he collapsed back into his chair just as they had found him more than a week later.

Then they saw a character come into view and check the victim's pulse on his neck. They left the cabin without us being able to see their face.

“That’s it then?” suggested the Sergeant.

“We should see it through to when the body is discovered. Just for completeness.”

He sighed and sat back.

The next scene is fifteen minutes later when the assassin or suspected assassin returned to the cabin and checked his pulse again. This time they turned and the two officers got a view of the suspect's face.

“Gotcha!” exclaimed Roberta.

“Well done DS Galbraith.”

“Sorry Sarge, I’m not a DS.”

“Yet! It is only a matter of time DC Galbraith. But what we have just seen for ourselves could crack this case wide open.”

The sudden seriousness of the Sergeant's voice worried her. It must have shown on her face.
“Don’t get worried Roberta. This is hot evidence and may be a crucial part of us being able to solve this case.”

“Thanks Sarge. I’d better get my report written up before we send the tape to the NCA.”

She went and sat down at her desk and began to write up the report on how she’d discovered the camera and the tapes. The sergeant made a phone call to the DCI and the NCA wondering how many more aces Roberta had up her sleeve. She was going to be a great asset to the force. It was only a matter of time before she was moved on to bigger and better things. That would help her but not the clear-up rate for Tottenham nick. He wondered if the Super and Chief Super at the station knew what an asset they had in Roberta. Making her clear up old cases was not a very good use of her time.

[to be continued]

It was late in the evening before Roberta had finished writing up her latest discoveries. As the printer burst into life, she yawned.

The Sergeant laughed and said,
“Now, now Detective Constable Galbraith… That is no way for a proper detective to behave.”

Roberta looked at him. She saw that he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. He went to the printer and read her report. She’d grown to like the Sergeant. He was a good person to work with.

“Well done, Roberta. We need to get this off to the SIO ASAP.”

She’d been reviewing the tape and writing up her notes at the same time.

“Sarge, there is some more. We haven’t reached the point where you go into the cabin and find the body.”

“True. I’m sure that will be a let-down after the last act. Roll it!”

Roberta pressed 'Play' once more and in silence, they watched the last three minutes of the action.
The assassin returned to view carrying a bottle of wine. Roberta scribbled down the details of the wine. Then they disappeared only to be replaced by a new figure.

“Who the hell is that?” muttered the Sergeant.

Roberta remained silent as she watched the character rifle through the contents of the deceased's briefcase. It appeared that he didn't find anything and soon left the cabin. A good view of his face was there for them both to see.

Roberta stopped the tape as the next scene showed the Sergeant entering the cabin some ten days later.

“What’s up? You look as if you have seen a ghost?” asked the Sergeant as she sat there motionless.

“I know the last person we saw on the tape.”

The Sergeant who had been on the verge of getting up from his chair sat back down.
“Ok, start from the beginning. How do you know this man?”

“He and I used to play together in the summer holidays when I was a child. My family owns a number of vineyards. Most of them are in France and I used to visit one that is near the town of Duras, as part of my summer holidays. His family owned the next-door estate and we used to go for rides on our bikes together.”

“Was this the old you or the new you?”

“The old. I hadn’t fully transitioned when…”
Her voice tailed off.

“When what?”
“One November, the car carrying him and his mother went off the road and into the Dordogne during a thunderstorm. They found her body, but his was never found. I got special dispensation from my school so that I could go to her funeral.”

“Fuck.”

“Sorry Roberta. I didn’t mean to swear like that.”

“That’s ok Sarge. I said about fifty similar words to myself when I saw his face.”

“How do you know it is him?”

Roberta rewound the recording and froze it at the point where his face was clearly seen.

“Two things. See that scar above his eye. I did that when we were playing at swordfighting. I was d'Artagnan and he was Athos… like kids do. Then his nose. He broke it the next summer when we were out on our bikes. We’d gone into Duras for some afternoon bake baguettes as we were having a celebration of my Father’s birthday that evening. Duras is an old hill town and the way we left was down a steep hill. When we left, we zoomed down the road pretending to be racing car drivers. I made it around a corner and he didn’t. He broke his nose when he collided with a stone wall.”

“That is about as good an ID as I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks Sarge. Following that accident, I was deemed a bad influence on their dear son and forbidden from playing with him ever again. It was the next year that he and his mother were in the accident.”

“You need to write all this up in excruciating detail. The French Police can obviously back up what you are saying but we need the backstory for context.”

“They’ll be able to verify the details of the accident that killed his mother and that his body was never found. The people who work or worked at the two estates would be able to verify the injuries from our holiday incidents. My family still own that estate but just over year after the death of the mother, his father sold up and left the area.”

“What is his name? You never said?”

“Antoine de Scudery. Apparently, the family is related to a seventeenth century female novelist but I never believed them.”

“I’ll get the relevant bits of the tape put on the computer. When you have written this up, we can drop it all on DCI Saunders’s lap.”

“And start running?” suggested Roberta.

“This could open the case right up.”

“That is our aim is it not?”

The sergeant sat at his desk wondering how he’d come to have someone like Roberta in his department. He was sure that she’d be moving on very soon once this case was over. That annoyed him because he was learning so much from this supposed Rookie DC that he didn’t want it to end. She was bringing a whole new approach to looking at crime and solving them. She was indeed a breath of fresh air in an otherwise department of losers. No one chose to join CID at Tottenham nick unless it was a last resort. He’d only accepted the posting because his terminally ill mother-in-law lived nearby and his wife wanted to be close by when it came for her to pass. That was more than three years before and the MIL was still hanging on.

While this was happening, Roberta wrote up her report that included her reasoning behind her claims about the second man. While she did so, something came to her mind. This 'thing' troubled her until she relented and went in search of Sergeant Mitchell.

“Sarge, do you have the upload of the tape yet?”

“Did you miss something that you need for your report?”

“Sarge, I think we both missed something that could end up being very important.”

Roberta smiled at the Sergeant.

“We?” he remarked.
Then he smiled.
“Ok, you want us to view the section of the tape again?”

“Yeah. Use your ‘cop’ eyes and see if you can see something that we both missed.”

“Are you going to give me a hint?”

“Sarge…? Wouldn’t that be counterproductive? Sort of leading a witness?”

He shook his head and smiled as he called up the video on his computer.

Together, they watched the recording. Roberta tried to remain impassive but at the point where the action that bothered her happened, she flinched.

“I guess that was it then?”

“Sarge, what did you see? With your cop eyes?”

He was about to say something but rewound the recording and played the last 30 seconds again.
“They aren’t wearing gloves?”

She grinned at her Sergeant.
“Yep. When it played the first time, I was too busy noting down what wine it was to notice that fact.”

With a smile on his face, he reached for the phone. SOCO would be visiting the warehouse once more. This time Roberta was able to direct them to a specific case of wine.

SOCO found three clear prints and took them away for processing.

“Well done, Roberta. That little thing was so easily missed.”

“I know. I’d better get back to finishing off my report. I can now include the discovery of the fingerprints. But… I can’t help criticising myself for not being more observant in the beginning. SOCO will begin to hate us.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself Roberta. You have looked at the case from a very different point of view to any other officer I know and that includes me. The results speak for themselves.”

“I know they do but…?”

“You have turned this case from one that more than likely would have gone cold pretty quickly. Instead, we have an ID of someone who has been officially declared dead and a lead on an international assassin. That Detective Constable Galbraith, is all positive in my eyes.”

“But Sir? It just adds more to our list of unsolved cases. We know how the top brass love their ‘cleared case stats’?”

“DC’s should not worry about those details. That as you say, is the purview of the top brass and that’s an order got it?”

“Sir, I understand.”

Roberta went back to looking at another old case not very convinced by her Sergeant's praise. It just didn't feel right.

“I take it that you have something important to show me? The tone of your request indicated something like that.”

“Sir, thanks to the vigilance of DC Galbraith, we probably have the fingerprints of the assailant, a video of the whole event and a good image of a second person who was present at the time of the murder.”

The DCI smiled and nodded at Roberta.

“Let’s start with the video. I take it that you have a detailed report on how this was obtained? From the other reports, it seems that SOCO did a pretty thorough search of the premises the first time around.”

“It was only by accident that I discovered the camera and the recorder. I have a full set of photos of the locations of both items. They were very well hidden.”

“Ok, lets’ see the action?”

The three of them watched the events at the warehouse unfold. The DCI remained silent throughout. Roberta saw this as a sign of care and not wanting to jump to conclusions.

“That is pretty damming evidence. Is the chain of custody intact?”

“Very intact sir,” said Sergeant Mitchell.

“Who is this man? Do we have any idea who he is?”

The sergeant looked at Roberta.

“Sir, I think… no, I am almost positive that his name is Antoine de Scudery.”

“How do you know this?”

The sergeant rewound the recording to the point where his face was clear.

“Do you see that scar above his eye?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“I was the one who gave him the wound that caused the scar. His broken nose happened in a cycling accident when we were out together on our bikes.”

The DCI looked again at the image on the screen.
“We have stills taken from the video,” said the Sergeant.

“Sir,” said Roberta.
“There is one more thing that you should know and that is that he was declared missing presumed dead after a car accident about 20km from his home in 2006. His mother lost control in a thunderstorm and ended up in the river Bergerac.”

The DCI chuckled.
“Just when I thought that we had a nice neat bundle to send off to Paris…”

He thought for a moment.
“What about the fingerprints?”

“Sir,” said Roberta.
“In the video, the killer comes into view holding a bottle of wine. They are not wearing gloves. We sent SOCO back to the warehouse and they found three clear prints on the case of wine that had been opened to get to that one bottle.”

The DCI smiled.
“Well done… both of you.”

“Sir, I didn’t really do anything,” said the Sergeant.

“That’s where you are wrong Sergeant. You had and have faith in your DC. That is a heck of a lot more than most DS’s have. She trusted you and you let her investigate. DC Galbraith has shown more maturity as an investigative officer than over half of my team. Look after her Sergeant.”

“I will sir.”

After a few formalities where the DCI took control of the DVDs and other evidence, the two left.

Once outside, Sergeant Mitchell said,
“You will be mentioned in dispatches for this. Your skill and tenacity, is far too good to be held back. You have done really well! What I’ve seen so far is top quality policework.”

“Thanks Sarge. I appreciate that. As long as it is on my merits alone, and not who my family is then that is all I can hope for.”

Roberta went home that evening doubting the wisdom of her words. She could have been more positive about the role of her Sergeant to the DCI. She didn’t want the glory but it looked like that it was coming even if she didn’t want it.

The Sergeant had his own reports to write and DC Galbraith didn’t get a much of a mention in any of them. These were for the eyes of AC-12 only. The fact that they’d had to call in SOCO so many times just to process one crime scene was not right. Three times, they’d been called away from that scene on what turned out to be bogus calls. It was as if someone didn’t want that scene to reveal all its secrets.

The next few days were very quiet on the murder investigation front. They'd heard from the NCA that Interpol was very interested in the images of Marie Andropov. The DNA test showed that Marie was actually a male. Her ability to appear as either sex made Roberta admire her skill. She’d only ever wanted to be a woman right since the first day when her mother caught her in her bedroom trying to wear her mother’s high heeled shoes. She was five years old and her mind was already made up that her life was to be lived as a woman even though she had no idea of the implications at the time.

The French Police had at first refused to believe that Antoine de Scudery was alive. Their Judiciary system is in their opinion the best in the world and for someone to question an inquest verdict was out of the question.

It was only when Roberta described the family in excruciating detail including the names of their head vintner that the Police in Paris started to take notice. She made a brief visit to her family home in Dorset and returned with a photo of the young and very male Roberta with Antoine in the Vineyard pressing grapes.

It was easy to see the resemblance between the young Antoine and the one in the CCTV, the scar above his eyebrow was there for everyone to see.

Two days went past before a report came back verifying her account of Antoine’s injuries and that Antoine was now considered to be alive and a person of interest in the death of his mother.

With the door to the French Police now slightly ajar, they responded with details of the vans that were used to bring the wine into the UK. All of the vans returned to France within two days of their arrival in the UK. There were customs inspection reports on two of the vans as they arrived on a ferry at Dieppe from Newhaven. Both reports indicated that the vans were empty apart from two green-painted pallets and what looked like some old picture frames. No one gave them a second glance.

Roberta read the report and wondered ‘if only…’. It was likely that stolen artwork was going on during those return trips and that the small value wine smuggling was probably a red-herring. A lesser crime could lead to the more serious one going undiscovered.

This started Roberta on a new line of inquiry. She began to look into the reports of art thefts and in particular the theft of paintings that could fit into the space that was in the middle of the pallets.

It was slow going but after five and a half hours she had a pattern. Several pretty valuable paintings had been stolen within a week of the ferry trips. None of the paintings was worth less than £50,000 and more than £200,000. One had been recovered when the Italian Police raided a house near Naples that was owned by a suspected Mafia boss. The 'boss' was unable to prove legal ownership of the painting. It was matched to one that had been stolen almost seven months earlier from a home in Derbyshire. X-Ray images had been taken before the robbery and more recent ones taken after recovery proved beyond all doubt that it was the same painting.

She sat back and had to admire the choice of medium value artwork. Stealing high value works would attract international attention. None of these would make the news anywhere outside the insurers and a few art specialists who’d be told to keep an eye out for the stolen works of art.

Roberta spent another two hours writing up her report and sending it to the Sergeant and also to the Fine Art Squad. Then she went home satisfied with her day's work even if that nagging feeling of being unable to control her fate would not go away.

She wanted to make it in the Police without hanging off the family coattails and so far, that had worked but she was clear in her own mind that eventually she’d have to involve her father and his contacts in a case. As she prepared something to eat from the weekend leftovers, she sincerely hoped that this case was not the one. The Europe-wide tentacles that she'd already exposed were in her opinion making that day ever closer.

Her mind was still going over the details of the case later that evening when she emptied the bin that lived under the sink into the communal wheelie bin for collection the next day.

She’d just closed the top of the bin and turned to go back into the house when she tripped on the small step that was in front of the door. As she stumbled, Roberta felt something brush past her ear. Suddenly, there was a crossbow bolt embedded in the door less than six inches from her face.
That stumble had probably saved her life.

She ducked back inside the house and slammed the door behind her. The tip of the bolt was just visible through the door.

Someone had just tried to kill her, and there would be no prizes as to who that 'someone' was.

[to be continued]

Roberta leaned her back against the wall of the hallway. It was several seconds before she realised that she’d been holding her breath for what seemed an eternity.

She bolted the door closed on the inside and slowly let out her breath. If… if whoever it was that had just attacked her, was serious it would not hold them back for long. Her assessment of the situation was that she needed to call for reinforcements and pronto. The only problem with that was that her phone was up one flight of stairs in her home.

She dashed up the stairs and took refuge in her small bedsit, by locking the door behind her. Luckily, she’d already closed the curtains on both windows that overlooked the road below. Even so, she wasn’t taking chances and kept well away from them as she moved into the kitchen and grabbed her phone.

She dialled ‘999’.
“Police Please,” she said rapidly when it was answered.

“My name is Roberta Galbraith, Detective Constable Galbraith. I’ve just been attacked outside my home with someone using a crossbow. They missed and the bolt is in the front door of the house where I live.”

“Yes. That is where I am, flat 6. I have no idea where they are now. I am in my apartment which is on the first floor. The curtains are closed and the door is locked.

“Please send help, and can someone inform DS Mitchell from Tottenham nick?”

“Thank you. I’ll wait for the uniforms to arrive.”

She hung up and sank to the floor of the kitchen. Her heart was racing. There was nothing to do but wait for the ‘cavalry’ to arrive.

After what seemed an eternity, Roberta heard the sirens of approaching Police Cars. She began to breathe more easily. She looked at the clock on the wall. It read 22:35. It was going to be a long night.

The first office rang the bell to her home. She saw a PC in the video system that controlled the entrance. She recognised the officer as one of those she'd been at Hendon with. Feeling reasonably safe, she buzzed him in only to realise a few seconds later that she’d bolted the front door. She’d have to go downstairs and let him in herself.

“It is open now”, called out Roberta as she backed away from the door.

The front door opened and PC Lambert walked in. The crossbow bolt was still embedded in the door.

“Roberta?” called out the PC.

“I’m here Dave,” said Roberta from the shadows.

“Are you injured at all?”

“No. I’m good,” she replied as she approached him.

The PC smiled at her.
“DC Galbraith, now?”

“Only just, and very temporary,” replied Roberta.

“We all knew that you were going places, but to have someone out to top you so soon in your career is a bummer.”

“I know who it is. It is a Russian hit woman. I’ve clearly gotten too close to solving the case I’m working on for the NCA.”

The PC stiffened up when Roberta mentioned the National Crime Agency.
“We need to get you out of here ASAP, if I recall the lecture on victim safety from Hendon correctly? I’ll call into to the duty Inspector. Can you get a bag packed safely?”

“I can do that.”
Roberta made a move to go to her bedroom but stopped herself and said,
“You need to call in SOCO. I think that there is something nasty on the tip of that bolt. See the yellow colour?”

The PC looked at the bolt. He smiled.
“Gotcha on that. I’ll tell the inspector.”

Before he could make the call, another officer, this time a Sergeant appeared at the doorway.

“Constable, have you identified this young lady? We can’t have civilians impersonating Police Officers can we?”

“Sarge,” said the PC.
“This is Roberta Galbraith. We were at Hendon together.”

The sergeant visibly relaxed.
"Sorry about that. We have had several 999 calls in recent months from people pretending to be officers when they weren't.

“That’s ok Sarge. You are just doing your job. Is it ok if I go and pack a bag? I’m not staying here tonight.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?” asked the Sergeant.

“I do but please don’t ask where. The fewer people who know about this the better. I hope you can understand. It is likely that the person responsible for this has already killed one person before I became involved with the case, and that same person is wanted in several countries for murder.”

“Are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes on this?”

“Sorry Sarge, I’m not trying to do that. I’m working indirectly for the NCA on this case.”

“But… you are only a year or so out of Hendon? How can that be?”

“Sarge,” said PC Lambert
“Roberta was marked out as the one from our class who was going places.”

“Thanks David, but it was more of a case of being in the right place at the right time.”

The Sergeant shook his head. It was clear that he had his doubts but another glance at the tip of the bolt sticking out of the door convinced him that he had to act. Questions could come later.

“Go and pack a bag. I’ll make sure that SOCO are on their way. I’ll admit that when I got the call about an attack using a crossbow, I was a bit sceptical, but to see a bolt sticking out the door was a real eye opener.”

Roberta smiled at the Sergeant and headed upstairs. While she packed a bag in he bedroom, she made a brief call to her father.

“Hello Daddy. I need a place to crash tonight. Someone tried to kill me tonight.”

“No, I can’t talk about it on the phone. I’ll see you in a few hours when I’m done with the formalities.”

“I will try to keep safe. Don’t I always.”

She hung up. A bed would be waiting for her at her father's flat on the other side of the river Thames, but that would only work for a day or two. Her current place was no longer secure… that was clear. She’d either been followed home or there was a leak somewhere in the ‘force’. Roberta was more inclined to believe the latter especially if there was enough cash involved.

The ‘few hours’ that Roberta had told her father turned out to be almost six. London was coming alive when she punched in the door security code to her father's London home. She hoped that he'd given up and gone to bed, but that was dashed when she’d seen the lights on from the street. She’d been given a lift from Stratford nick in an unmarked car that was normally driven by a DCI. A call from the NCA had helped oil the wheels in that respect.

As the lift took Roberta up to the top floor of the block, she tried to work out how she was going to explain this to her father. Lying would not work with him. He’d always know when she was not telling him the truth.

Roberta had just gotten through the door when two arms wrapped themselves around her body.

“Daddy! I need to breathe!” gasped Roberta.

Her father relaxed his grip.
“Sorry darling. I was just so worried about you.”

“I’m fine. It was a close call but you know me and steps… I tripped and the next thing I knew there was a crossbow bolt sticking out of the door.”

Her father shook his head in amazement at his daughter.
“Every day I pray that you will be safe in your life… but this is too much.”

“Daddy… I’m fine and we know who it is so it is only a matter of time until we have her locked up.”

“Her?” asked her father who was suddenly very alert.

“She’s Russian and goes by the name ‘Andropov’.”
For some unfathomable reason, Roberta decided at the last moment not to tell him that Antoine was alive.

It took her father a few seconds to grasp what she’d said.

“Are you saying that she is a he or that he is a she?”

“I don’t know but at the very least, it seems that the assassin is able to pass as either gender.”

“Something like that.”

He shook his head.

“How did they find your place? Do you think that they followed you from the station?”

“That has to be it. I wasn’t really thinking about the possibility that she’d follow me and… Well, I just wasn’t.”

“How high does this go?”

“You mean in the Force?”

“I do.”

“The NCA are involved. The Fine Art people as well.”

He smiled and shook his head at the same time.
“That’s my girl. You certainly don’t do things by halves do you?”

Roberta smiled.
“That’s not how this family of ours works as you well know.”

Once again, her father hugged his daughter.
“Now… and this is an order from your father. Go to bed and stay there until I return from the House. Then we can go out to dinner. It has been far too long since we did that.”

“You say the nicest things and I’m going to have to as the Americans say, ‘take a rain check on that’.”

“Why?”

“Because I am expected to give a statement to CID at Stratford nick to a DCI and a Chief Super, early this afternoon.”

“That’s too bad as I have some news of my own.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’ve been seeing someone from the ‘House’.”

Roberta laughed.
“Not Lady Fawcett?”

Her father laughed with his daughter.
“Not her even though she’s been trying to date me since your mother’s funeral. No, I’ve been dating a lovely lady called, Frances Dawson. She’s an assistant to the Lord Chancellor. We met in the restaurant at the House.”

“How long? Have you been dating her?”

“Five months.”

Roberta smiled.
“Good for you dad. It has been far too long. You know that you have Mum’s blessing.”

“I know but finding someone who is even close to your mother is not easy.”

“Go for it, dad. You need someone good in your life.”

Roberta didn’t wait for an answer but headed off to bed. Her father’s news had taken the edge off of what had happened earlier.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” said Roberta when she arrived at the NCA HQ in central London.

Waiting for her was DCI Gavin Saunders.
“Please take a seat DC Galbraith.”

Roberta did a small double-take. This was unduly formal for her liking.
“Sir?” she said as she sat down.

“That was quite an incident last night.”

“Sir? It was purely luck that I wasn’t hit by the bolt.”

“You were indeed very lucky. We received the report on the bolt about an hour ago. The tip of the bolt had been dipped in Batrachotoxin. In case you don’t know, it is one of the top five most deadly poisons. It is right up there with Sarin and Ricin.”

This news visibly shook Roberta.
“As a result of this attack on you, we at the NCA are taking over the investigation. It is getting too dangerous to have just one officer in effective charge of the case.”

His words made sense. She’d thought that this could happen all along.

“I can see that you are not entirely surprised by this move. Am I correct?”

“Sir…” began Roberta.
“I have considered this a distinct possibility every day since you became involved in the case. Once I’d received the text telling me to come here rather than go to Stratford to make a statement, was enough for me to guess the rest.”

She swallowed hard before continuing.
“I’d need three to four hours to finish writing up my notes if that is agreeable with you?”

The DCI shook his head. He’d been told how unflappable DC Galbraith was. He was now seeing it at first hand and was impressed. Many other officers would have protested loudly. DC Galbraith took it on the chin and accepted it. He’d been told by her Sergeant from Tottenham that this would be her reaction but had dismissed the warning as him being overly protective. Now, he regretted being mentally, so dismissive of her.

The DCI smiled back at Roberta.
“What we’d like you to do, is come and be part of the team while we work on this case. You know more about this case than anyone. Where we are today on the murder and everything else, is largely down to you and your intuition or gut feel, tenacity or whatever. What do you say?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t look so surprised. Your people at Tottenham are already on board with the idea.”

“It is just… I don’t want to appear as someone getting favourable treatment.”

That brought a grin to the face of the DCI.
“I was told that you are modest. This is just a secondment to help us with this case, not a permanent transfer even though, we could do with officers of your undoubted talent in the NCA.”

“Sorry sir. I will accept your request for a temporary assignment.”

“Good. Now, there is the little issue of your home. That is no longer viable while this case remains unsolved. Do you have a girlfriend that you can stay with for a week or so?”

Roberta’s face remained expressionless while she tried to process what he’d said.

“Sir… I stayed last night with my father, Lord Regis. The house goes into recess in a few days so I could stay there.”

The DCI shook his head.
“DC Galbraith, I am beginning to see why you don’t want your fifteen seconds of fame. As I said before you are more modest than almost any woman I have ever met inside or outside of the force.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me DC Galbraith. Even if the House goes into recess, the place can still be traced to him. Once that happens, it would not take a genius to target your father as a way of getting to you. I’ll talk to one of my DS’s. One of them is bound to have a spare room.”

Roberta’s long face told him that she was disappointed.

“Don’t be down DC Galbraith. I want you to have a long and successful career in the force. And… that means us looking after you and everyone around you. Besides, the last thing I want is to lose one of my team.”

Roberta shook her head.
“Sorry sir, but please cut the crap about me having a long and prosperous career in the force. As soon as my past is exposed, far too many of the force hierarchy won’t give me the time of day. If it is possible, then I’ll go and stay with one of your team for the duration and then I’m going back to my desk on Tottenham High Road. I’m still a rookie in the eyes of many and they aren’t that wrong. Even the Duty Sergeant and the SIO from last night had doubts about my authenticity as a police officer. It was only because one of the uniforms was in the same class at Hendon as me that I wasn’t arrested for wasting Police time.”

The DCI smiled.
“Your DS told me that you could be firm but you are quite unlike any other officer I have ever met.”

He stood up indicating, that her time with him was up.
“Roberta, make your statement about last night and then I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team. I should have an update on where you will be living for the time being by the end of the day.”

“Thanks Sir. I’ll need to go back to my fathers’ place. My overnight bag is there.”

“Sorry DC Galbraith. I’ll send a DC to meet with your father at the house. They will get your things. The less contact that you have with him the better if you get my thinking.”

“Ok Sir. I’d better give him a heads up, first though.”

“Do that but don’t forget to make the statement.”

“Thanks sir… for being so understanding.”

Roberta left his office fairly pleased with what had transpired. She was going to get a chance to see how the NCA worked from the inside. She hoped that this experience would help her to improve her powers of deduction and detection, but there was still the little matter of someone out there amongst the millions of people in London who wanted her dead.

Slowly the enormity of what happened the previous night made its way through her psychological defences. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had made the right choice when she decided to become a Police Officer. At that time, she had an offer to study for a PHD in Criminology on the table. It was a fleeting moment.

Roberta returned to writing up her reports. Pondering about what could have been was not something that she did. Life was to be lived even if someone wanted her dead.

[to be continued]

[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.