UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 01     Winter in Kernow

 

The girls' original intention had been to travel from London the previous evening on the Night Riviera sleeper service, giving them almost the whole of Saturday back in Redruth, deepest Cornwall. Fate had intervened, resulting in their semi-regular Friday meeting at Thames House running an hour late.

As Heather and Sophie stepped onto the platform at Redruth, it looked like they were the only ones getting off the Great Western service from London Paddington. The iced station sign announced “Welcome to Redruth” but Heather wasn’t feeling very welcomed.

“It’s bloody freezing, Sophie!”

“At least it’s not snowing?”

“Thanks, Sophie, it's still too bloody cold, I thought Cornwall was supposed to be a warm county?"

"Maybe we should have moved to Scotland? At least they expect the cold weather whilst you assume it'll be a warm sunny day even in the middle of winter."

The platform had been gritted, as had the paved area outside the station entrance so Heather guessed that someone had anticipated the weather; although she wasn’t feeling any better for knowing this. Their home wasn’t far from the station but it was uphill and they were carrying several pieces of luggage each. Heather had hoped to find a cab on the station rank but there wasn’t a single vehicle, or anyone else, in sight. The cab office across the road looked deserted and most of the lights were out.

She shivered and dropped her cases on the ground before stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets. They’d spent that morning in a mild London and had dressed appropriately, the sudden drop in temperature had not been expected. Heather now had her phone out but her hands were starting to shake, her phone and hands were stuffed back into pockets.

“Can't you go home and get the car, Sophie?” Heather realised that the station booking hall would give her shelter while she waited.

“And I presume you'd like me to bring you a hot water bottle and a mug of tea as well?”

“Well ….”

“Get stuffed! If I am having to walk, so can you.”

It was nearly twenty minutes later they closed the front door on their cottage, Heather was cold, tired and a little irritated.

At least the heating had come on automatically and the cottage was warm, but Heather reached for the controls regardless and raised the temperature before heading to the loo. Sophie, meanwhile, put the kettle on.

Heather dozed off in the lounge. She’d been awake when Sophie brought her tea, and had managed a few sips, but it was now cooling in the mug, wasted. Sophie retreated to the kitchen, as Heather was snoring, so she could make a call to one of the Estate Agencies in Redruth.

“Hello, it's Sophie Grieve, do you have an update about the cottage next to us?”

“Oh, hello Miss Grieve, it's Jane. We were hoping you were available to see us today?”

“Sorry, just back from London. Was our offer accepted?”

“It was, but only because of the quick sale you promised. I’m sorry to have to ask but do you have the cash available?”

“We do, I or Heather will get our solicitor moving on Monday morning, but I guess we’re still talking about weeks?”

“That'll be fine, the seller is just keen to settle this before the end of the month and be on the move in early February.”

“It's only the tenth so that shouldn't be a problem. Thanks Jane.”

Sophie put the phone down. They'd only been living in Redruth for a few months now but were already a part of the town's fabric, mostly accepted as residents and not just weekend visitors. There was a reticence, indeed suspicion, amongst the locals that anyone from outside the county buying property would be just another emmet and it had taken some convincing that the girls were there to stay, all year around.

The regional press, however, had given Heather a little unwanted publicity as the story from St Marys Chandlers had become better known, as well as Heather’s involvement in uncovering malfeasance in community groups finances. There weren’t many accountants of her type in Cornwall and that brought a regular flow of local queries, further establishing her.

Naturally, their regular jaunts to London hadn’t helped until they explained that both Heather and Sophie worked from home but had to attend face-to-face meetings a few times a month. Although they had secured a fibre internet connection to their premises that would support video conferencing, most broadband connections in Cornwall weren’t up to that task.

Their cottage wasn't small but one of the bedrooms was now a tiny secure office packed with communications equipment, a desk, a large safe and not much else. That left the main bedroom and a small guest room. If they wanted to host a meeting then it was a logistical nightmare to secure accommodation for the guests.

Given that they were about five hours by road or rail from London, doing a day trip wasn’t sensible if you wanted to get any work done as well. If proof were needed then that day’s travel had proved the point, travelling was exhausting. Flying was an option but the flights weren’t necessarily convenient, and only about an hour was gained after taking transfers and airport security into account.

One option was to use local Bed & Breakfast places for guests but between April and October these establishments were heavily pre-booked with visiting tourists. A last minute booking was next to impossible.

Heather and Sophie's plan was to expand in situ, cementing their plan to settle in Cornwall for the long-term. Redruth may have been a good distance from London but that had positive as well as negatives points, with the weather and the friendly locals in Cornwall easily outweighing the remoteness.

When the elderly next-door neighbour decided to move to her daughter's house in Truro, the opportunity to expand their accommodation was there for the taking. The two properties were built a hundred years earlier as a single residence but had been converted and sold separately twenty years ago to maximise profit Their agent believed that rejoining the two halves wouldn't be a problem for the local authority planners, so long as the frontage remained largely untouched. She had warned, however, that the resale value of the whole would be less than the sum of the two halves.

Heather woke just after five. “What's for dinner?”

“Probably whatever is left in the freezer, we were supposed to go shopping today.”

“I think there's a pizza, can we do something with that?”

“Sure, but one of us could hit the supermarket in the morning for the essentials as soon as they open. However, I don't like the idea of wasting valuable hours battling other shoppers in a store on a Sunday. Can’t you do an internet grocery order for later tomorrow if possible and then today we just go out to collect the essentials?”

“If you'll organise the pizza, Sophie, I'll do the order.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Salad and fries too?”

“Don't chance it! I think the salad is going mushy and I don’t remember seeing any potato products in the freezer?”

Heather let herself into their office then absent mindedly kicked the waste basket as her legs swung under the desk. They'd moved into the cottage on the tenth of October and, just two full months later, they had realised there really wasn't enough room for them, or their work.

As Sophie was often out of town, that left Heather working on her own in the office. Unfortunately Sophie did need to write reports and frequently these required the security of the office. The inadequacy of their arrangements was very clear at those times.

Working in the kitchen or the lounge was frowned upon, not least because the Security Service had installed CCTV in those spaces, but because an unexpected visitor could cause a major issue.

The term ‘keeping up appearances’ most definitely applied to the girls, so they coped. Their expansion plans would solve the problems and Heather prayed that they wouldn’t be faced with new issues.

Heather booted up her personal laptop and accessed the shopping website for the nearby superstore. She logged in and started to compile the order. Unfortunately the secure phone started to ring.

She already had the safe open, so was able to insert the encryption key quickly. The display identified the call was coming from the Counter Terrorism department of the Met Police.

“Hello?”

“Hi Heather, it's Emily.”

“Oh, did we forget anything? We've only just arrived home.”

“No, something new has come up. Is Sophie available?”

“She's cooking dinner, sorry but we’re tired so can it wait until the morning?”

“It probably involves you as well, I'll put an email together with some background, it'll go to Jenny and she can forward it on.”

“Can you give me a clue as to what it's about?”

“Drugs.”

“And?”

“Sorry, nothing more until Jenny’s seen it, but I think you’ll want to drop any other investigations you are doing?”

“That’s not how my work goes, Emily, plus I only answer to Jenny these days. As for Sophie, you’ll have to speak to her directly.”

“Indeed, but keep an eye out for that email.”

“Of course.”

Heather finished the online order just as Sophie called to say dinner was ready and the good news was that she’d rescued just enough salad for a garnish.

Overnight the town of Redruth turned white, and whilst it looked great in photos, or oil paintings, the weather was causing havoc.

Firstly, it never snows in Cornwall, well, almost never. Snow is so rare that many locals have only seen it that bad once in their lifetimes and can't be certain it was a genuine memory, so everyone claims it never really snows.

Secondly, because it never snows, almost no-one has any experience driving on snow, or ice. That meant a few hours of snow caused a flurry of accidents on the roads. Pedestrians are in danger from themselves, other walkers or misdirected vehicles. All together quite a hazardous winter pursuit in the warmest UK county.

Sophie told Heather to stay put, as she pulled on her military grade boots.

“Let's assume the delivery gets here by one, but we'll need fresh milk before then. Anything else?”

“The papers and a fresh loaf of bread?”

“Okay. Perhaps you find out what this job is whilst I'm out?”

“I'll try, but there was no sign of an email from anyone just now.”

Sophie headed out, she had no intention of going to Tesco and would only walk as far as the nearby newsagents which also stocked some groceries. Despite her request to Heather, the walk would allow her to make any phone calls away from Heather's ears.

Regardless of their relationship, neither of them could share every morsel of information or intelligence they read or heard. Heather was dealing in financial intelligence whereas Sophie was concerned with terrorists and major criminal behaviour. They dealt with different agencies, different people and had separate operational methodologies.

Sophie also needed to protect Heather, from herself as well as would-be assassins.

“Emily, what's this job really about?”

“Drugs, primarily coke. Mostly small boats into East coast ports.”

“Then why involve us down here?”

“We became aware of the imports late last year when Customs finally asked for our help. So far we’ve been able to either stop or at least identify most of the imports, but it’s stopped.”

“So Customs have nothing new and you’re stumped?”

“”Yes. There was little at first to even identify it as a single cartel, the product used a different route each time.”

“How much are we talking?”

“Lowest captured import was fifty kilos, others are believed to be possibly a hundred kilos or more.”

“Damn! How much has been stopped?”

“We have two hundred kilos, but reckon there’s another two or three tonnes somewhere in the country from this gang alone. It’s high quality too.”

“Damn, that’s enough to make it cheaper than a decent lager in Mevagissey! I foresee lots of folk getting hooked right across the country?”

“Exactly, and every police force is looking for the storage locations, but right now it’s gone quiet, too quiet.”

“So what’s needed?”

“Heather needs to use her special touch, find the money, find the people.”

“I hope you have something for her to use?”

“Check the email.”

“Okay, okay. Could this simply be a pause over Christmas and New Year, perhaps they’ll restart any day?”

“Possibly, in which case I want to find them before they poison the country any more?”

“Valid point.”

“Look, Sophie, how much do you know about port ops?”

“Very little.”

“Get yourself a visit to a ferry port and talk to the local Special Branch unit.”

“Has Plymouth been identified as a port the cartel used?”

“Not yet, but the folk there should have had the same intel as the East Coast ports.”

“Okay, I’ll prime Heather and see what I can do. When do you want a report back?”

“Initial report in a week please.”

“I’ll do my best, Emily, but I can’t promise replying in a week?”

“It's Detective Inspector Keane, if you are going to start complaining.”

“Okay, now, I've had another think after our meeting on Friday about having an intern down here. Is it wise to use this girl from Scotland, Tammy Smart? I'm not sure we're ready to nurture anyone; why can't she be adopted by the security service when she’s older?”

“You heard what Jenny said, she wants to keep the girl at arm's length from Thames House and the Security Service. So far the girl's only involvement has been through Caithness CID and my office. She's still at school for another few months but is predicted excellent grades and my information is that she'll probably follow her father into international banking. We have an opportunity to get her on-board before the spooks get their way."

"Okay, but we're not babysitting?"

"No, in the first instance just make contact. We have an opening, there's a death in custody inquest in Wick on the second of February and Miss Smart is a witness, it concerns the late George Small who was a teacher at her school. Be discrete and make an offer, that’s all. Heather doesn't need to disclose her role at this point. Kevin Edmunds wants to go as well so keep in touch with him, he can introduce you as he knows the girl from earlier enquiries. Ultimately you have nothing to lose and a good deal to gain.”
 
 

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 02     Snowed Out

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jenny

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Muddle through.”

“But what about dinner?”

“Adapt!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I reckon so.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, when?”

“Four weeks ago, into Exeter I think.”

“How?”

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

“Why university towns?”

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

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

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

“What name?”

“Dimitris Dēmētríou.”

“That's not very Russian?”

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

“How long after the previous suspected importation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a big ask, Heather?”

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

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

Jenny was on the phone only ten minutes later.

“How certain are you Heather?”

“Right now, not very.”

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

“No, the account is registered in Nicosia.”

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

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

“Don’t tell me my job, Ms Young.”

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

Tap, tap.

Their regular postman was outside, Sophie handled it.

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

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

“Are you planning to go away again soon?”

“Not that we know, thank you.”

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

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

“What is it, dear?”

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

H. Young
Fuchsia Cottage
Blights Row
Redruth

The postmark was Torquay, across the border in Devon.

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

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

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

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

“Get out!”

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

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

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

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

“Where are you?”

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

Heather coughed. “Paramedics too.”

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

“What happened?”

“White powder in an envelope.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not appreciate being called stupid.”

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

“DS?”

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

“Sir?”

“Go!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm fine.”

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

“I need to lock up first.”

“We'll need access.”

“No, sorry but absolutely no!”

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

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

“We're the most qualified.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 03     Nurse Sophie

 

Sophie was released the following morning with no after affects and no ongoing medical concerns but she hadn't any clean clothes to wear. One of the nurses queried her arrangements.

“Until I can get indoors I won't have access to any clothes. I don't know if the cottage has been cleared yet either, as my phone had died. How's Heather today?”

“She has a nasty viral strain, the powder didn’t help but she was already quite weak. She'll be with us for another day or so as she remains under observation. I’m afraid you can’t visit her yet.”

“Fair enough, can we do anything about this, though?” She pointed at her hospital gown.

“Give me a moment.”

The nurse returned a few minutes later carrying a set of scrubs for Sophie, the DS did not like hospital gowns and had refused the offer of an NHS nightie.

“Can't someone pick you up?”

“There is no-one else.”

There was a cough, DI Willis had arrived with DC Garston. “Are you the cavalry?” Asked the nurse.

“No, but we need to speak to Miss Grieve and can provide her with transportation.”

“Excellent.” The nurse walked away.

“Don't you have anything to wear?”

“No. Let's go!”

The three officers walked down to the marked Police car that was parked by the hospital entrance, right where the 'Absolutely No Parking' sign was. Sophie carefully slid in the back with Bob Willis.

“Right, what's the latest?”

“Your DI asked me to update you, the powder was talc, plainly intended to frighten you.”

“Terrorise, don't you mean?”

“I'm not sure throwing the Terrorism Act around is appropriate.”

“Not even for that toad Smythe?”

“It wasn't him.”

“No?”

“No, it was the grandson, Jeremy Smythe. Did you see the letter that was in the envelope?”

“Not a chance.”

“His grandfather is allegedly unwell and it's all Miss Young's fault, that's the gist of it.”

“Well …?”

“He's due in front of a magistrate later this morning. Unfortunately he's also due for a disciplinary today.”

“Hasn't that already been dealt with? Are you telling me he's still a Police Constable?”

“He's been suspended since November but various reports needed to be done plus there was the small matter of Christmas and New Year, our civilian complaints team took the time off.”

“That’s inconsiderate. Can I go home now?”

“Yes, I contacted your DI, she confirms a team has declared the property safe.”

“Good, let's go.”

DC Garston drove from the hospital, pulling up as close to the door as possible. Thankfully the snow was clearing the streets and there was rain in the air. She invited Bob into the cottage but left the DC outside.

“I'll only be a minute.”

She dived into the kitchen to empty any water out of the kettle, flush it then refill it before putting it on. The powder was benign but that didn’t stop her from being thorough.

Leaving Bob in the lounge she went upstairs and quickly threw on a recently cleaned spare uniform, except there was no cap, jacket or epaulettes. She was comfortable and it felt appropriate to make others know her occupation at this time. Back in the kitchen her phone was put on charge.

“Coffee?”

She went to the fridge for milk, it seemed that the Security Service clean-up crew had either made use of the facilities or else disposed of it.

“No milk, I'm afraid.”

"Thanks, Sophie, but not for me."

There was a knock on the door, DI Willis was nearest.

“Are you expecting a Tesco delivery?”

“Timely!”

Sophie put the kettle on then checked each of the bags as they were deposited just inside the door. Satisfied there were no foreign objects she signed the driver's tablet.

“Okay, let's see what's missing.” She grabbed the invoice. “Nothing, there's nothing missing. That must be a first!”

“I'd best be going, can't have DC Garston sat there with nothing to do!”

“Okay Bob, thanks for the help. I've one hell of a report to write.”

“I don't doubt it, Sophie.”

She put most of the shopping away then took her coffee up to the office, the cottage felt strangely empty as she sat on the chair. She first made contact with her boss.

“Hi Emily, what can you tell me?”

“Jenny organised the clean up. I just acted as a go-between for DI Willis.”

“Okay, this is now being treated as a criminal matter locally and, as you probably know, the locals have a man in custody.”

“We could escalate it, Sophie?”

“Too much attention, no, I'll let Bob handle it.”

“How's Heather?”

“She has the flu, a bad strain. She'll be in hospital for another day or so, I'll go visit her later.”

“Do pass on my regards, I think Jenny organised some flowers?”

“I don't know, she was in CCU until this morning and then I won’t be allowed to see her until she has been moved to a normal ward.”

“Okay, when do I get your report?”

“When I've written it, sorry but there's other priorities right now.”

“By tomorrow lunchtime please.”

“Sure, DI Keane.”

Sophie made herself some lunch, but she had no idea what to do for dinner despite a fridge full of fresh food. Sophie gave up with that and went back to something she could do in her sleep.

She'd finished the multi-page report by two that afternoon and sent it to the Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard, copied to Jenny Osborne at the Security Service. She finally felt ready to phone the Royal Cornwall Hospital.

“Hello, I'm calling about Heather Young.”

“What ward is she on?”

“I don't know, she was in Critical Care until this morning.”

“Ah, she's been moved onto Looe Ward in the past hour.”

“What time can I visit?”

“Between six and eight.”

It didn't take long for Sophie to become bored. She didn't want to leave the cottage, in case of calls, but did not care for books or magazines. Within the hour she was working on her investigation, returning to the research she was doing the previous day. Unfortunately the clean-up crew had also destroyed the paperwork that was loose on the kitchen table so Sophie had to start again.

She guessed Heather would also need clothing so gathered a few nighties, undies and a frock to wear out – Heather was definitely the more feminine of the pair. She added a body spray and picked up Heather's bag in readiness, dropping the cleansed and charged mobile phone into it.

Sophie drove, carefully, to the Hospital in Treliske and at five to six she was in the lift up to Looe Ward.

Heather was in a side room half dozing, although it didn't take long for her to work out someone was there.

“Oh, hello my love, they let you out?”

“A few hours ago, what about you?”

“I lost another armful of blood just before they moved me here and I'll find out in the morning if they want to keep me. That powder wasn't anything dangerous?”

“No it was talc, so it was just a co-incidence that you went down with flu like that?”

“I'd been feeling grotty all morning, since Saturday afternoon even, the paramedics found I had a fever and a slight reaction to the powder as I breathed some in. That, it seems, was responsible for my cough. Once I was in here my fever got worst, it was a fast acting strain of flu. I seem to remember an article on the BBC about a number of similar cases in South London.”

She reached for water, knowing that she'd spoken too much whilst her throat was supposed to be recovering.

“Was Colonel Smythe responsible?” She whispered.

Sophie checked that the door was closed. “No, Constable Smythe, soon to be former Constable Smythe”

“Oh.”

“I've brought you a few bits, and I picked up a puzzle book downstairs.”

“Thanks.”

“The Tesco delivery arrived, so we have plenty of food.”

“Good.” Heather was down to monosyllabic answers. A yawn confirmed that she had exhausted the conversational topics. Sophie kissed her forehead before slipping out of the room. She sought the charge nurse.

“I'm Heather Young's partner, are you aware that she was assaulted?”

“The notes include she was exposed to an unknown powder, since identified as talcum powder. The police haven't been in to see her and there's no note of their involvement.”

Sophie put a Met Police business card on the counter then showed her warrant card. “Please call me if there are any other visitors, before they go in.”

“I see.”

“There is a criminal investigation, and the sooner I can take Heather home the easier it will be to manage her security.”

“Well, the earliest is tomorrow, but Thursday is more likely.”

“I understand. Please can you get her out of that awful thing and into one of her own nighties? I brought two and she’ll be more comfortable.”

Sophie was back in Redruth and hungry but still had little idea, or energy, so ignored the fresh ingredients that were in the fridge. She pulled up outside one of the Indian Takeaways and ordered a hot curry. Twenty minutes later she was indoors, secure and settling. She’d bought a bottle of lager from the off licence and drank this with the curry. She rarely drank and wasn’t anticipating any calls so the booze would help her sleep.

Sophie slept through the night but hadn’t set an alarm. She was awoken to the sound of her mobile.

“DS Grieve? This is Looe Ward at Treliske Hospital, I’m Charge Nurse Evans.”

“Oh, is there a problem?” She looked at the time, it was eight o’clock.

“Not as such, we’re discharging Miss Young back to her GP, she’ll be ready to collect within an hour.”

“I thought she needed to be kept under supervision?”

“The duty Registrar believes she’s fit to go home, plus we need the bed.”

“So maybe you would have kept her another day if the bed wasn’t needed?”

“I’d be grateful if you could arrange transport.”

Sophie did as asked, even though that meant she couldn’t achieve anything that morning. She arrived at the hospital just after nine and was back in the car with Heather barely fifteen minutes later for the twenty minutes drive home.

Of course, Heather went straight to bed.

Sophie dived back into the investigation and fired off a few requests to Exeter Police HQ. Emily had also asked her to familiarise herself with port operations, and Plymouth was as good as anywhere for that.

Unfortunately she felt she couldn’t, under the circumstances, leave Heather and visit the officers working in the port but her phone calls weren’t getting anywhere either. It seemed that most of the Special Branch Ports Unit were apparently on leave.

She looked for a reason and it was quickly obvious, there were zero Roll On/Roll Off sailings from Plymouth's ferry terminal to Santander, Spain, or to Roscoff, France, during January and February. The intel had suggested Plymouth could be the port for the next drug import but if there were no ferries, that wouldn’t be correct. This frustrated Sophie as she really wanted to visit the docks but couldn't, given Heather’s condition. She reported all this to Emily, emphasising that she would indeed travel to Plymouth as soon as possible, but hadn’t yet made contact with local officers.

At one o’clock she checked on Heather then offered to make lunch, but her partner’s appetite wasn’t any good. Sophie heated up a can of soup for each of them and managed to help Heather eat half of it.

Mid afternoon Sophie made contact with Customs and Excise at Plymouth but they were reticent at dealing with her over the phone.

“Very sorry, but we can’t verify who you are?”

“You can phone the Met, I’m in SO15 but I’m based in Cornwall.”

“In which case I suggest you call our national intel unit and talk to them first. Sorry, but we can’t just accept any random calls at face value.”

“Okay, I’ll visit, but I’m not sure when.”

Sophie rationalised that the National Intelligence Unit of HMRC was the very same unit that hadn’t asked the police or other intelligence agencies for help until they were stuck? Under those circumstances she felt she would gain nothing by waiting for an in-person port visit.

Dinner was a non-event as Heather just slept. Sophie made a sandwich and finished off Heather’s re-warmed soup.

Sophie managed to get Heather into a shower on Thursday morning but after tea and toast she was back in bed, although Sophie had managed to change the bedding in the short time Heather was sat at the kitchen table. The Detective Sergeant was operating outside of her comfort zone and she wasn’t keen on continuing for too long.

Heather, meanwhile, hadn’t dozed off but was a little more lucent which included spending an hour or so with the wordsearch book that Sophie had bought.

Sophie assessed the situation. “I need to do some shopping, will you be alright?”

“Of course I will be, but I’ll sit in bed.”

Outside the recent rain had washed the snow and ice away but the streets were still coated in grit which flew when driven over. Sophie walked down Green Lane and first went into the pharmacy for paracetamol as Heather was using up their supply. She also picked up a few boxes of man-size tissues, hoping that her partner wouldn’t throw a tizz. Other shops provided some chocolate and a copy of Plymouth’s daily newspaper the Western Morning News, which on Thursdays included the West Country Business supplement.

She made her last stop at the bakery on Fore St before turning to head home. All told Sophie had been out for just twenty minutes but Heather was already fast asleep, with the wordsearch laying on the floor.

Sophie took the newspaper back downstairs and skimmed through it. One story looked interesting, a second world war sea fort, really a gunnery platform, was up for sale. It was just outside Mounts Bay and in the 60s had achieved notoriety as a base for a pirate radio station, beaming a poptastic signal towards London and across the Southern counties in defiance of the authorities and the BBC monopoly at the time.

This was the last such fort on the South coast and was one of a very few that was still accessible. The 60s radio station had been closed down well before the Marine Offences Act and several of the DJs were picked up by other stations only to be back out of a job in August 1967 when they were threatened with arrest when the government decided that pop radio was subversive!

In recent years the fort hadn’t come to anyone’s notice and was believed to be abandoned. She returned the paper to Heather’s bedside cabinet, in case she fancied a gander at the news.

***

The newspaper was still there on Friday morning when Heather finally moved from her bed into the lounge, but given the hour was served another bowl of soup for lunch.

Sophie had put Jenny off but late on Friday afternoon, but Heather dragged herself to a ringing phone.

“How are you feeling, Heather?”

“Lousy Jenny, aren't I entitled to some peace and quiet?”

“I'm waiting for your report.”

“Get lost, Sophie tells me that she did one for Emily but she wasn't dying in a hospital bed for as long as I was.”

“Security Unit have demanded it, your security needs reviewing.”

“It was one item in the post, we couldn’t employ a team to scan all the mail.”

“We'll could ask the Royal Mail to do it instead.”

“Locally?”

“No, at one of their distribution centres. Your post could take a few days extra to arrive.”

“I think this was a one-off event, Jenny, totally unconnected to our work here.”

“It's up to Security Unit to decide that, but first they need your report.”

“Fine, I'll send Sophie's and just change the name. I'm going back to bed, bye.”

Heather had told Sophie that she’d prepare dinner but by six she was fast sleep, without needing any medication.
 
 

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 04     Chasing Shadows

 

It was Sunday 18th Jan before Heather was ready to go back into the office to continue her investigations. She’d showered but had redressed in a clean nightie and dressing gown as she had no intentions of going outside, least not in her fluffy slippers which had now been laundered, just to be safe. She was not bothered one jot if the security folk checked on the camera who was in the room, she was dressed for comfort and not for their benefit.

Sophie headed out of the door having ensured Heather had breakfast.

Heather now had a copy of Sophie’s report so edited it and forwarded it to Jenny, considering the mater closed. There were some responses to her Russian queries but they could wait.

The phone rang, the display claimed that SO15 from New Scotland Yard was calling - Heather reluctantly answered it.

“It's Kevin Edmunds, I understand you've been unwell?”

“Indeed, is this a courtesy call?”

“No, I hope you don't mind but I've booked us flights from Heathrow to Inverness for the first of February and return flights on the third. “

“To attend this inquest in the Highlands?”

“Correct, I'd suggest you overnight in London on the way.”

“I guess you'll want to brief us?”

“That's correct.”

“Okay, can you email me and Sophie the information, we'll sort out the transport from here.”

“Will do, get well soon!”

Heather spent the next few hours assessing the information she had so far, but still was chasing just a few shadows. As yet there was no concrete intelligence.

She took a break at lunchtime and closed the office, taking the time to attend to some housework before starting a roast dinner. Whilst Sophie was out of town she had to guess what time her partner would return, but worked on sitting down at half past five.

Sophie returned from Plymouth just in time to see the table being set.

“How was it, dear?”

“That was hard work getting information, at first, but I have a clearer picture now of port operations.”

“Great, dinner's in ten minutes.”

“How have you been?”

“About 75%, you get the job of loading the dishwasher after dinner as I'm having a shower before going to bed. I'm knackered.”

By the time Sophie had the dishwasher underway Heather was finishing in the shower. The DS let herself into their office to compile her own findings from the day into a meaningful report. Much of this she could have got from the local officers in Plymouth, if they'd been there, or even if they’d answered their phone. It transpired that, the team had been depleted by half taking leave and a further two had been tasked with investigating Constable Smythe. That left two running their port office at about twenty five percent cover, with occasional support from the city centre police station at Charles Cross.

Sophie, instead, had found the Customs office and, once she presented her warrant, managed to speak to one of the local intel officers. They were aware of the drug import information but hadn't reported anything back as yet.

Sophie was treated to a tour of the Millbay Docks where she saw a yard full of trailers, which confused her as the ferries weren’t running.

“The Santa Helena has a weekly unaccompanied service into Bilbao in Spain. That lot is ready to go out on Wednesday. It certainly brings us a few interesting loads.”

“No drivers?”

“Trailers only, sixty of them, but you’re correct, no drivers at all. There’s hook ups for the refrigeration units and space for one hazchem on the ship, plus loose pallets so it’s multi-purpose. The trailers that arrive on Wednesday are collected once we’ve cleared them, which could be anything from ten minutes to three days!”

Her customs escort had explained that they could not search every trailer so they used profiling. This wasn't perfect but it did have a good strike rate.

“We do our best to get to know the regular drivers who come here to pick up and drop off. They hear things and will pass it on, especially if they think it means an easier time when they next come down here.”

Sophie was then shown the general cargo sheds, the port could handle most traffic but looked quite underused that cold January day.

Sophie, and the Customs officer both knew that the suspected imports were unlikely to arrive into Plymouth given the presence of Customs Officers and Police. Small harbours like Topsham and Brixham did fall under their jurisdiction, however.

“But we can’t spare the staff to pay regular visits to the small ports and airports, there’s over forty of them, so we rely on co-operation from the locals.”

She'd also considered asking the Royal Navy if she could have a tour of Devonport Dockyard, two miles from Millbay Docks, but that would require some planning and wasn't essential to the enquiries.

Sophie wrote everything into an email and sent it to Emily, by the time she locked up the office all she could hear was gentle snoring; Heather was already fast asleep.

By Monday morning it was clear that the accountant had over-exerted herself the previous day so Sophie sent her back to bed. She called their GP, Dr Rachel Wilson.

“Heather's still not back to normal, it's been a week now.”

“There's no quick fix for a viral infection, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, but I had the flu jab in London a few months ago.”

“There's no record that Heather had it?”

“I don't remember her going for it. I was always offered it as a serving police officer.”

“Well, she'll build up some immunity but it might take another week. Rest and fluids are always the advice I give.”

So, no prescription was offered. Sophie was left feeling a little guilty about being out from eight to five the previous day, just so she could visit the port, but it took time to get to Plymouth and a quick visit was pointless if she couldn’t learn from it.

Sophie was, however a realist. It was only because of Heather that the police officer had firstly ended up working with the MI5 accountant and most recently jointly buying a home. Under different circumstances Sophie would be stuck in London.

Before this started, Sophie had just finished a five year stint with the Royal and Diplomatic Protection Squad and was looking forward to counter-terrorist operations in London, but without the freedom she currently had.

Without Heather she would have to return to London but, because of her changed circumstances, would not necessarily have a say where she was posted The possible postings could include a stint of uniformed duty in one of London's worst boroughs, or even being promoted to a desk job.

The day's post arrived, courtesy of the usual mail man: the only item of note was a copy of the property completion contract from their solicitor. It required signatures from both of them; the amount of money required to buy the adjacent property was high but they could afford it.

Sophie had sold her London flat and half of that had been put into the existing property, she'd now use the other half. Heather had sold her North London office with the hidden bedsit plus had been entitled to numerous cash awards for uncovering the Fourani case. With her Security Service salary and the fees from private work she could also afford to do the expansion.

The Redhill house they had previously used was owned by the Security Service and had been intended as a temporary home. It was no longer being occupied often enough and wasn't considered fully secure. Whilst they still kept an emergency change of clothes at that house it was due to be handed back as soon as possible.

Sophie made a pot of tea, added some biscuits and loaded these onto a tray, the solicitor's paperwork was folded under her arm.

“Thanks, Sophie, I was about to ask but I wasn't sure you were still here?”

“I'm going nowhere today, and neither are you.”

“That sounds like Nurse Sophie?”

“Yes, and you should really get a flu jab for next winter.”

“No argument there. What's that?” She pointed at the papers.

“If you're up to it, it's the contract for next door.”

“If you take it back down to the kitchen I'll have a shower then come down.”

“Okay, but don't overexert yourself.”

“Okay, Boss.”

Heather was back in the office Wednesday morning, catching up with the usual general notices, intelligence reports and the responses to enquiries she'd submitted ten days earlier.

One such report was from First Nation Bank in Exeter and she now had a photograph of the person who had used a Bank of Cyprus card there. The picture was of a woman, but the age was difficult to judge.

For the cashpoints that included a camera, they had included images for each transaction, and clearly the quality was variable. What she did notice, however, was that half the images appeared to be male and half female. She did an analysis by date and the images captured since November were all female.

One other query she’d submitted had been to check the name Dimitris Dēmētríou against the passenger databases for the airlines, ferries and trains that operated internationally to and from the UK. She was still waiting for a few of the results so went down to make a coffee.

Sophie had left early to visit Exeter and find the local Police Officer who covered Topsham, that was a three hour drive away and at times Heather wished they had access to a helicopter for such days.

On the monitor she could see the local postman go past, so she knew she wouldn’t be disturbed by him once back in her office. The kettle boiled and she made her mug of go-go juice. What was clear from her illness was that Heather had lost weight, but she wasn’t hungry given her lack of activity – she hadn’t been out of the cottage since her return from hospital.

Nevertheless, she picked up an oaten cookie and headed back upstairs with her coffee; her laptop pinged as she sat down, announcing the arrival of new information.

“Damn.”

There was a hit, but not as she expected. The previous June, Dimitris Dēmētríou had bought a single ticket from Brussels on Eurostar for a Belgian woman, Bernice Hollande. The ticket had been bought online using the same Bank of Cyprus card.

The date of travel was 28th June 2014, six months earlier, about a month before the first suspected shipment.

Heather fired off a request to Jenny for information from the Cypriot authorities, plus a search for the woman on the Belgian document. Her money was now on Dēmētríou entering the country dressed as a female.

She next ran a search for any bank accounts in Hollande's name and found one in Reading, to the West of London. She identified Hollande's debit card and searched for that in the various databases.

Bingo! She quickly typed up the latest and added it to the pool of information.

The secure phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Heather, it's Bob, how are you feeling?”

“Great, I've just identi…...sorry, scrub that!”

Bob laughed, “that's okay. I have some news for you.”

“About the Constable?”

“Indeed, former Constable Jeremy Smythe has been convicted of assault. He's been sent to Exeter Prison for six months.”

“I don't want to sound cruel but he did deserve this.”

“The magistrates agreed. They heard his mitigation and dismissed it immediately, the video of him in your living room was also shown, I don't think he'd seen it before.”

“Was our address given out in court?”

“No, and you were given anonymity following an order from the High Court.”

“I didn't know that had been arranged, Sophie probably forgot to tell me. What about Albert Smythe?”

“He's been moved into a residential home. He'd signed his home over to the grandson but Jeremy had to pay for his defence and, without a salary, that had to come out of the house.”

“So a serious fall from grace for both of them. Are there any other Smythes who I should be aware of?”

“No.”

“Good.”

That was the end of the call but the phone rang immediately.

“Hi Jenny.”

“Heather, that was brilliant thinking. Emily's organising a visit to Hollande's address in Reading.”

“Woah, hold on. It's only an account address and if it's raided then that identity will be ditched.”

“It's okay, Heather, Emily is not talking about a raid, simply a walk past at first, then monitoring who goes there.”

“Good, have you had anything back from Belgium yet?”

“The request only went off two minutes ago, so don't expect a response before tomorrow young lady! That reminds me, it's your birthday soon?”

“Friday, next week.”

“If you're going to Scotland that weekend then I think the briefing can be at the house in Hertfordshire?”

“Fine. I guess the house is all fixed now?”

“Yes, and it’s been renamed as Abigail Adams House. What's the latest from your solicitor or the estate agent?”

“We should exchange next Thursday but we won't be able to do anything until we get back.”

“Do you have contractors ready?”

“No, I've not been well, as you know, and until we exchange we aren't guaranteed anything.”

“Well, I suggest we run this through the security team and get an approved contractor down to you.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“Several weeks, at the very least.”

“Damn.”

“Sorry Heather, but that's the speed these things work.”

“You said Abigail Adams? That was one of my aliases?”

“Indeed, she was listed as one of the deceased from the terrorist attack. Didn’t we tell you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

She locked the office and went down to grab some lunch, unsure whether to be sad about the passing of one of her own identities.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there was a backlog of domestic jobs partly caused by the weather, Heather's health issues and Sophie’s regular day-long, or week-long, work away from home.

Whilst she should continue looking for the people behind these drug imports, the laundry came first. The weather had now returned to the standard sunny state, for Cornwall at least, and the recently washed clothes needed to be dried. Whilst a tumbler would do the job, Heather preferred to use a line and the prevailing south-westerly breeze.

Next, she pulled on her yellow rubber gloves, the bathrooms were on her hit list.

By the evening, Heather was worn out but was happy that she'd achieved a full day of work, even if some of it was on her knees. The laundry was now folded in a basket whilst the next load was timed to be washed the following morning.

She bet 007 never washed his own lingerie.

Sophie returned at eight that evening.

“The local officer for Topsham didn’t come on duty until three, so I only got away at five.”

“Get anything?”

“Possibly, there was an intel report of a vessel on Christmas Eve but it wasn’t submitted until a few days later. Now he knows there’s interest from London maybe he’ll come up with some more info.”

“What was the name of the boat?”

“That’s one of the problems, nobody included it in the report.”

“Great!”

 
 

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 05     Woman

 

By the weekend, Heather had responses to most of her queries and was putting a picture together of the gang. The great unknowns remained, where were they and were they all just one person?

She was still waiting for a full report on Hollande’s bank card, including any Belgian accounts, and updated Sophie with her progress. Sophie, in turn, had managed to finalise her enquiries in Plymouth.

“It’s taking time, I’m pretty sure we’re only dealing with one person but two identities and maybe more besides. Oh, how did your chat with Customs go?”

“Good, it seems they have an issue with the local Special Branch but are happy to talk to me.”

“What's their issue?”

“Apparently the SB officers are all desk jockeys, they like to stay in the office and ask everyone to do their work for them, then take the glory when something juicy comes their way.”

“Not a good way to work.”

“No, Customs Intel in Plymouth send all their reports to their national intel centre so SB are often out of the loop.”

“Okay, are we going to get the same treatment?”

“No, I've given them enough background information that they can use, better profiling and so on. It’s a quid pro quo arrangement.”

“Did you ask them about the dogs?”

“Yes, the drugs detection dogs are all spaniels apparently. During January and February they spend more time at the local airports as there's no RORO services.”

“There's a rumour that they can't detect drugs when it's freezing outside?”

“Yeah, I put that one to them. The officer said they started that rumour to tempt the drug traffickers into making a mistake.”

“Right, what are they planning to do?”

“The dogs team are planning to visit the small harbours and airports regularly, but that means only one visit every three weeks to each location.

“That's good news, but it’s really only flag waving for now?”

“Yes, but they’ll pick up intel; I think Customs will make these visits for the intel alone, especially if places virtually under their noses are being used for drug imports!”

“Good, but how much will you report back to Emily?”

“Given that I didn't learn very much, I won't be able to say much, will I?”

“Maybe, I suspect the local SB will be rather pissed if Customs have a big find based on Met intel?”

“The National Crime Agency is now running the operation and collating the intel, Emily told me, so each of the regional Special Branch units will get an updated intel package. Whether or not they liaise with Customs is their problem, not ours!”

“Do we let Bob know?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“He should be briefed from within the Devon & Cornwall Constabulary, we should only pass on what is needed if it is relevant and pressing.”

“Okay, Sophie, what's the plan for next week?”

“Well, we're both on the 0605 into London on Friday.”

“Packing for five days?”

“Make it six, I bet we don't get straight back here.”

“What are your plans?”

“I'll be in Plymouth on Wednesday, What about you?”

“I'm seeing my GP on the same day.”

“Okay.”

“The rest of the time I'll be in here. I'm getting closer to locating the gang.”

As the new week started, new intelligence dried up. Of the two known debit cards, neither was currently active anywhere in the UK. Heather stared at her screen, trying to make sense of the data; it was a shame that the existing technology could easily track vehicles but not individuals.

She lodged a request with the DVSA for any vehicles registered under any of the gang's identities. The response took an hour.

“Bloody hell, Sophie, Dimitris Dēmētríou bought a van last July in Clapton. The registered address is one of Fourani's houses on Northwold Road.”

“Damn, when was Hamiz Fourani killed?”

“26th July.”

“When was the van bought?”

“The registration date is the 14th, so he could have bought it any day between the first and fourteenth of July.”

“What about previous owners?”

“I didn't get that information, can you find it out?”

Sophie called the Met's Counter Terrorism unit and asked the duty officer to look up the data. Heather meanwhile tried to make sense of the latest information.

David Jones had been the accountant for Hamiz Fourani, an Iranian, who had been murdered in Germany on 26th July 2014. David's apartment in Hackney had been torched the same day and Fourani's brother, Hamed, was found deceased inside.

Those incidents had put a price on David's head as well as connecting him to the Security Service and SO15 at New Scotland Yard. It also prompted David's transition to Heather Young, firstly as a disguise and then as a concious decision.

Her copy of the Fourani accounts, however, only ran to the end of May of the previous year, 2014.

“You're not going to like this, Heather.”

“Go on.”

“Fourani sold the van.”

“I guessed as much. Bugger.”

This connected the drugs gang to Fourani, who had a hand in properties, weapons, extortion and drugs.

“Is it possible, Heather, that Dēmētríou was working for Fourani, handling his drugs imports, then went freelance?”

“Seems reasonable, in which case he should feature in the older accounts.”

“Although he only arrived in the UK at the end of June?”

“Perhaps that was just the latest arrival?”

“Did you search for any more tickets under the name of Bernice Hollande?”

“No, that's an oversight.”

“Then I suggest you send that request off before you look in the Fourani accounts.”

“Can you search on PNC for her?”

“Sure.”

Heather submitted her search to each of the ferry companies, airlines and the Tunnel. How well did Dēmētríou pass as a woman? Were there any photos?

Sophie was back off the phone, “no trace.”

The secure phone rang a minute later, neither were surprised to see SO15 on the display.

“Hi Emily.”

“Hi, what's up with these searches Sophie has just done?”

“We've opened a new line of inquiry, Dēmētríou is connected to Fourani.”

“Shit!”

“Exactly.” Heather quickly briefed Detective Inspector Keane.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Heather's laptop pinged, her search had generated a few responses.

“Bernice Hollande left the UK by car several times, using Eurotunnel, if I send you the relevant info, can we get dates, times and images?”

“Kent SB have access to that information. What's the car reg?”

“It's an old one, KKE289L, a red Ford Fiesta.”

Emily tapped away. “That's supposed to be a yellow Renault 12 from the 70s and it’s been scrapped! I'll also request a search on the London ANPR databases for the registration, but that will take a while.”

“Cheers.”

“Does Jenny know any of this?”

“Not yet, I'm still compiling information.”

“Let her know as soon as possible, could I have a copy of your notes?”

“Sure, Emily.”

By the end of Tuesday, Heather had a clearer idea of Dēmētríou’s involvement. Looking through the Fourani accounts, she could see large sums being spent, apparently, on properties in Cyprus and Germany. These purchases had generated substantial income nearly immediately, labelled as rental income.

Whilst the UK properties had been extensively researched, overseas properties hadn't and Heather, however, suspected that the buildings didn't exist. It was also clear that the drugs brokers had to hand over the profit before the next job was financed; Fourani didn't trust anyone.

At the time, just before his death, Fourani had shown some trust in only one person, his accountant. Had he kept David Jones alive, but how much longer would that have lasted? Heather shuddered, she could have been fired at any point, figuratively and physically.

Now everyone wanted David dead, he knew too much and he’d betrayed a trust. Some wanted the data and his demise, others just wanted his demise.

For David it was a less than ideal situation but he had to die. The moment, on the 27th of July the previous year, David had handed over the data to the Police, he was a dead man walking.

That was the reason why David Jones had ceased to exist, firstly becoming Gail Jones and ending up as Heather Young. The assassination attempts had also seemingly drawn to an end, for now, although Heather still held a Glock 26 handbag pistol for self-protection; it was currently in the safe by her right foot.

Sophie was originally Heather's close protection officer, but was now her police liaison and lover.

At nine on Wednesday morning Heather found herself in her GP’s surgery.

“How are you feeling, Heather?”

“Fine, I seem to be over it.”

“That’s not what I meant, how are you with yourself?”

“Busy, but I feel okay.”

“The Royal Cornwall Hospital noted that you were run down and your iron count was low.”

“I ran out of the iron tablets a few weeks ago.”

“And the HRT?”

“I took the last one just over a week ago, the day we last went to London, make that two weeks ago.”

“Okay, but you should have made an appointment to see me?”

“The first day we were back it snowed and on the second day I ended up in hospital!”

“Okay, but you don’t have to wait for the prescription to run out! Now, I was concerned last time you saw me that you were over-doing it?”

“Since I work from home most of the time and we only go into London once a fortnight, I can’t see that I’m over doing anything?”

“Who looks after your home?”

“I guess I’m the housewife.”

“So you work from home and have a full-time homemaker role?”

“Yes.”

“Any time to unwind, maybe relax?”

“Rarely.”

“Can you swim?”

“Yes,”

“Okay, I’m prescribing you an hour a week in the pool.”

“I’m not sure?”

“Do you have a problem wearing a swim suit?”

“No.” She cupped her breasts. “And I could hardly wear trunks!”

“So what’s the issue, Heather?”

“Time?”

“I think you’ve just proved my point. Get yourself down to Carn Brea Leisure Centre, I recommend the Aqua Aerobics on a Monday morning or a Tuesday evening.”

“I’ll see how I am next week.”

“Okay, but I’ll be checking up on you!”

“Am I out of time?”

“I put you in for a double appointment, seeing how you only see me when your prescription needs to be re-issued.”

“Oh, why?”

“I like to keep in touch with all of my patients who have additional needs.”

“Not special needs?”

“Those as well, but there are also patients who deserve a little extra time because of their medical history.”

“Like me?”

“Correct. I can’t see that you’re under a gender counsellor or any of the gender clinics?”

“My management aren’t keen on a random health professional digging into my past.”

“Even though it’s the usual route to gender affirmative surgery?”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for surgery.”

“Given the time-scale so far, I’d agree but that’s not a decision that rests on my shoulders. I can give you a referral to the local gender identity outreach clinic, it’s in Exeter.”

“And what could they do?”

“Monitor your progress and recommend surgery when it’s appropriate, although that’s not all they do.”

“I’m sorry Rachel, but I think I’d be wasting my time and taking the place of someone who really needs their help. I’ll find my own way, and avoid the wrath of my managers at the same time.”

Rachel Wilson looked confused. “Aren’t your management supportive?”

“Completely, that’s how I was given the HRT only two weeks after my transition. My problem is that any shrink would like to know the circumstances of my transition and that is not for discussion under any circumstances. My guess is that I would be refused treatment and my HRT would be stopped on the basis of non cooperation?”

“That’s entirely possible, seeing how the reason for your transition is key to confirming and advancing your dysphoria diagnosis.”

“So you see my dilemma?”

“I do, so how do you see your future?”

“My management will find me an appropriate shrink, meanwhile I’ll get on with my life.”

“So how would you describe yourself?”

“I’m a housewife with a sideline in accountancy.”

Simply that?”

“Yes, did you expect me to affirm myself as a woman?”

“To be honest, yes.”

“Why? I know it, you know it, and the rest of the bloody world knows it. I don’t need to shout it because I am a woman, a living breathing woman with a minor defect, but still a woman.”

Heather paused but raised her hand, she wasn’t finished.

“As I said, I’m a housewife and an accountant. It’s boring but it’s true. Now, can I have those repeat prescriptions?”

“Yes, but I want you to see the nurse before you leave the building. I want blood.”

“A ruddy vampire, I knew it!”

Heather walked home fifteen minutes later with a sticking plaster on her left arm and an appointment to return there for another blood test a few weeks hence. Sophie was working in the office.

“Heather, did Fourani only have properties in London?”

“No, he had places right across the UK – especially university towns. He’d buy a run down building and convert it to flats, students always needed flats and didn’t ask too many questions.”

Heather spent the rest of Wednesday, and all day Thursday, going over the Fourani data, now stored on the Security Services servers, looking for the addresses outside London that had hadn't warranted investigation previously.

The properties were owned by Fourani through a holding company and half were then passed to local letting agents in return for a percentage and a legitimate income. The rest were directly managed by Fourani’s people through the holding company, most appeared to be used as safe houses or storage locations. Heather wondered if the houses were used for regional distribution of Columbia's major product, or perhaps even the refinement of such a product?

It wasn't a surprise when the existing address for Bernice Hollande matched one on the Fourani files, or that several properties in the database were even in Devon and Cornwall. She figured that most letting agencies use a website for listings so searched for each address on Google, noting which agency had most recently advertised an apartment. Two properties didn't have any recorded lettings listed.

Heather pulled up the Land Registry entries for both, both had adjacent garages and rear access to the sites. One, in Swindon, also had a cellar and she suspected that had an escape route? Maps and satellite images didn't help.

She contemplated asking Wiltshire police to get a street view look at the properties but she wasn't in a position to do that. Heather wrote up her notes into a report and filed that at teatime on Thursday.

Her searches had brought more information but that would have to wait until the following week as they had an early start the following day.

 
 

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 06     Tammy Smart

 

Despite leaving home just after half five in the morning they hadn't reached London Paddington until almost eleven. The Circle Line would have taken them to striking distance of their destination but it seemed easier, considering their baggage, to take a cab off the rank.

“Where to ladies?”

“Millbank.” The driver pulled away as soon as they were settled.

“Where on Millbank do you need?”

“Thames House.”

“Ah.” The usual banter ended there.

Their route took them first around the edge of Hyde Park and then alongside Green Park. Despite having lived in London for almost all of her life, this area was still an unknown quantity for Heather, usually seen only on TV. Sophie, on the other hand knew the streets, and the parks, well. This area was popular for embassies, whilst Buckingham Palace was one of the many recognisable landmarks, and a huge security problem in waiting.

Their journey was one of constant stop/start as their taxi moved through the many junctions, one set of lights at a time. This did give Heather plenty of time to stare at their surroundings, whilst Sophie closed her eyes.

Just under twenty minutes after setting off, they pulled up outside the main entrance of the MI5 building. Sophie paid the fare and they headed up the stairs, cases in hand.

Of course that attracted attention but one of the security team recognised Heather.

“Good morning Miss Young, do you have your pass with you?”

“Hello, yes, somewhere.” She rummaged in her bag whilst Sophie already had her lanyard around her neck. “Here it is. I think we need to book our cases in?”

“Indeed, can I assist?”

It took a few minutes but finally they were through the security cordon and inside the building properly. First stop was the Finance Investigations Team office to check in

Whilst Heather was an integral, albeit remote, member of the team, Sophie wasn’t. The Detective Sergeant was treated with a degree of suspicion despite having contributed valuable intelligence to the unit. She took a seat out of the way and out of sight of the team’s computer monitors.

After ten minutes Heather found her. “Our meeting’s at one thirty so we have time for lunch.”

That meant a trek down a level, or two, where they joined a short queue that was shuffling forward at an acceptable rate. Heather picked up a ready made salad, a pot of tea and a dessert whilst Sophie was headed for the hot servery. They reconvened a few minutes later and Heather glanced at Sophie’s choice, although given it was Friday there really was no surprise at the battered item on her plate.

A few familiar faces greeted them as they passed by but the chatter level was low, reminiscent of a school refectory. One of the traits of any intelligence agency is that you might not ever know whether a colleague was cleared to know about your own work, and vice-versa. Home life discussions were also frowned upon, as were political or social matters. It didn’t leave much to talk about, except the weather and major sporting events.

By the time everyone was assembled in the meeting room it was nearing two pm. Jenny Osborne, the head of the Financial Investigations unit, was chairing the multi-agency meeting although more senior offers were present. Heather knew just about everyone in the room.

“Welcome everyone and thank you for attending. We’re here to discuss the drug importations under operation Caspian Trader, so I’m especially grateful to the member of the Customs and Excise National Intel unit who have joined us, as well as officers from SO15 and SIS.”

A round of introductions was done and Heather realised this was no longer a small enquiry, her involvement was minor in many respects. As the discussions progressed, however, she recognised that their progress had stalled, the other players were grasping for concrete facts where none existed.

“Earlier today, an address in East London was searched, the only person on the premises was a deceased young man, identity unknown, and it seems he’d only been dead for twenty four hours. Otherwise the place was empty and had been cleaned.”

Heather had identified that premises but hadn’t been told about the raid, she guessed there was now no point in going after the Swindon address.

A couple of hours in Jenny called a break and Heather was grateful, very grateful. She’d used this room before so knew exactly where the closest loos were located. She picked up two cups of water on the way back, one for immediate rehydration and the other to keep her mouth moist if she was called upon.

“Welcome back. Now an importation has recently been identified into Devon that hadn’t shown up previously. That information came from a financial investigation by one of my team. Heather?”

“Yes, as you know we have established that the imports are being brought into minor harbours by small boats, so we were finding it difficult to isolate who paid for it. I have taken a different approach and I now have identified possibly two persons of interest and a number of bank accounts. Full details will be supplied where we have verified the data.

“One link to an existing investigation has recently arisen, it would appear that premises are being used in the UK for distribution that are formerly part of the Fourani portfolio. Hamiz Fourani was murdered in July last year and it is not currently known who is running the business.”

That generated cross examination of Heather who had to declare herself as the expert on the Fourani data.

The meeting broke up at five thirty amidst several grumbles, the first being the time and the second being that much of Heather’s new intel had not been verified. She’d left out any mention of Bernice Hollande as she didn’t want to send anyone off in the wrong direction.

A car collected the girls, and their luggage, for a ride to Abigail Adams House. They entered via the underground carpark and a member of staff directed Heather to the same room she had used before, expect this time it was to be shared.

“Shower first. What time is dinner, Sophie?”

“Seven, you have under an hour to get ready.”

They just made it into the dining room at seven, Kevin was waiting.

“Happy birthday Heather.”

“Thank you.”

“No, where have you been? I’ve been waiting an hour for you?”

“Do you honestly think I would come to dinner in the outfit I’ve been wearing since before dawn?”

Kevin gave up and they sat to eat.

Sophie suggested they relocated into the study for the briefing, but Kevin declined.

“I’m now tired, we’ll talk in the morning.”

A cake had been produced at the end of the meal, only Sophie had taken a slice and Heather was starting to fall asleep at the table. Sophie helped her into the lift and then into bed.

-o-

The girls had a swim before breakfast in the basement pool, and returned to their room for a quick shower and just enough clothing to be decent in the dining room.

"Where were you? I called your room but there was no answer?"

"And good morning to you too, Kevin. We went for a swim."

"Oh."

"You should have joined us?"

"I didn't pack any trunks."

"I'm sure the staff could have found a swimsuit or bikini for you?"

That killed the conversation but Kevin Edmunds made it clear he still wanted a private chat with Heather and Sophie that morning.

The briefing was quick, Kevin gave them background on the Smarts.

"That Tammy is quick, she'll second guess you."

"I guess she had you nailed quickly?"

"Yes, unfortunately. The main thing is be gentle, she's new to this and, frankly, she's only just become a girl."

"I doubt it was that quick, Kevin?"

"She transitioned in November, so it was only a few months ago. I did a diversity course a week ago, so I'm trying not to get the pronouns wrong."

"What about George Small?"

"He took his own life whilst in a police cell, after attempting to attack Miss Smart. He had been taunting her for a few days and had assaulted his wife, prompting divorce proceedings. Mr Small had been a history teacher at Miss Smart's school but had been suspended and seemed to blame Miss Smart for his issues."

Sophie was puzzled. "It doesn’t sound like there’s a counter-terrorism angle to this?"

"Not as such, but Emily and Jenny thought it was best I introduce you to her as I’m known."

"I see, so it's just a few days on expenses for you?"

"No, I'll also keep my eyes and ears open for any useful intelligence. Given the time of year it’s hardly a pleasure ride or a sight-seeing trip."

They were out of the house by ten and drove to Heathrow terminal 5 for their 1320 flight to Scotland.

"There are no direct flights on a Saturday this time of the year so we'll fly to Inverness and pick up a hire car."

They had deposited their weapons with the armourer at Abigail Adams House and Sophie wasn't comfortable, but it meant they weren't marked out during check-in.

They landed at three in the afternoon but the light was already fading and a stiff breeze that hit them as the walked from the plane into the terminal. Their car wasn't anything special, but had room for three sets of luggage. Kevin drove and Sophie sat up front, leaving Heather in the back, next to her suitcase.

They were booked into the Mackay Hotel in Wick, a short walk from the Court, for the next two nights. They were clocked when they checked in.

"Ahh, you must be here for the inquiry on Monday?"

Sophie thought it best to be honest. "Yes, it's a sad time?"

"It is indeed, do enjoy your stay."

This was the first time the girls had been to Scotland so they hadn't understood the nature of the cold, it was quite different to the cold air of wintry London and very different to wintry Cornwall. One thing was certain, Heather needed a better hat, scarf and gloves. She asked the barman in the hotel which shops were best.

"On Sunday, tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"They're all closed."

"Oh."

"Tesco is open, but you won't find any of the Shetland wool there."

On Sunday Heather would have sat in front of the hotel bar's fire all day, but Sophie dragged her out for a walk, they traipsed around the streets of Wick looking into the shop windows that were closed until Monday. They identified the courthouse easily, it was only a few hundred metres from the hotel, and on their return they ascertained that a group from Thurso were booked for lunch at the hotel the following lunchtime.

"What name is that under?"

"McPherson."

"I guess that's a common name around here?"

"I suggest you don't call the Lady McPherson common."

Kevin was trying desperately not to laugh as Heather extricated herself from her faux-pas.

"How was I to know?"

"The lady McPherson is Elsie McPherson and Miss Tammy Smart has lived with her since November. That was in my report, I suggest you acquaint yourself with it!"

Lunch was the next problem but they’d not found any restaurants open on their walk, although a few were due to open for the evening. They ate in the hotel, having decided it was the least worst option.

Back upstairs Heather took out her laptop and started to research the area, using only publicly available data. Although she was using the hotel wifi she protected her location by using a VPN connection, so that even the hotel’s internet provider wouldn't know which sites she'd visited.

Heather also looked into the McPherson clan and discovered that Elsie McPherson was very well known locally. She also saw that Tammy Smart had been on the stage in a production of Westside Story just before Christmas and that George Small had attacked on the opening night, injuring one of the co-stars. That moment of madness had apparently destroyed any good name the man had and Heather wondered if that would be identified as the cause of his death?

She hadn't been to an inquest before, so didn't really know what to expect; Heather spent the next hour going through the the Scottish Courts website looking for information whilst Kevin and Sophie drove over to Thurso to conduct surveillance, although Heather couldn't see the point.

"If we're looking to recruit this girl, why are you going to spy on her?"

"In case we've missed anything, or maybe she's a target and we don't know it yet?"

"Oh."

"She won't know we've been there and they weren't told we'd be up here."

-o-

The trio arrived at the Sheriff's Court fifteen minutes before the allotted time but kept out of the way of the Smart and McPherson contingent. Once in the court they took seats in the public gallery to observe the proceedings.

At lunchtime the hearing adjourned and a large number of those present headed across the river to the Mackay hotel. Kevin was doing his best to maintain a low profile but was spotted by several of those present, although he talked to none. Heather didn't like the idea of speaking to Tammy Smart in the company of others so waited for her to make her way to the loo. Heather stood by the vanity and waited for the girl.

"Hello Miss Smart, Kevin apologises but he's working and doesn't want to be identified."

"Right, more cloak and dagger stuff is it?" Tammy wasn't entirely certain she was safe.

"I couldn't possible say!" Heather laughed, "I happen to know you're planning to do a Business Studies degree but if you fancy some forensic accountancy experience during the summer, give me a call or drop me an email, here's my card." She handed the girl a business card then exited.

They had arranged with the hotel to keep their rooms until Tuesday so gathered in Kevin's room five minutes later.

"What's your impression, Heather?"

"She accused me of cloaks and daggers, Kevin."

"I had the same treatment, I did warn you that she's a clever one."

"Well, I'd like to speak to her further before we head back, but not in the ladies loo again."

Sophie suggested they used a public venue and invited Richard Smart, her father, to the meeting. "As they know you, Kevin, we'll do this ourselves. I'd like to avoid any more preconceived ideas."

Sophie and Kevin made their way back to the court, leaving Heather who returned to her room. She clearly wasn't fully recovered from her recent illness as she fell asleep whilst attempting to read a book.

Heather woke when Sophie returned.

"I guess it was boring?"

"Quite the contrary, Heather, there was a claim that Miss Smart was to blame for the death, a new will was produced and one of the witnesses, Yvonne Stewart, was arrested. Kevin's gone to Inverness with the prisoner as there's a terrorism angle."

"Woah, at an inquest?"

"Yes, the procurator fiscal has reserved judgement so it would be weeks or longer before that's finalised."

"Was there anything that could affect what we've been asked to do?"

"No."

"Fine, we'll proceed. Let's give the Smarts enough time to get back to Thurso before I call them. There’s enough time for a shower."

Heather was drying her hair when her mobile rang.

"Hello?"

"Is that Heather Young?" The voice was male.

"It is, I guess that's Richard Smart and Tammy gave you my business card?"

"Yes, now, how do you know us?"

"I'm afraid I can't say too much, especially not over the phone. Can you and Tammy meet us the Castletown Hotel this evening for dinner? Six thirty?"

"Who'll be there?"

"Just myself and my partner."

They only had an hour to reach their dinner location and that included a simple drive from Wick into Thurso. Sophie was still in the shower although she wouldn't take long to get ready, she rarely wore much face paint and usually went out with a clean, barely moisturised, face. Heather meanwhile pulled out a dress and started to make herself up.

They arrived at the hotel and found the bar quiet, opting for a table at the back of the restaurant which they took immediately, preferring not to be seen in the bar.

It was relatively easy to identify their dinner guests when they arrived, the girls rose to greet them.

"Good evening, I'm Heather and this is my partner Sophie."

"As you will already know, I'm Richard and this of course is my daughter Tammy."

Richard and Tammy sat, the duty manager than supplied a menu to them, waiting to take drink and food orders. After a minute or two they were free to talk.

"I'm sure you have many questions, Richard, and we'll do our best to answer them but please don't think I'm being awkward or evasive if I can't give you a straight answer."

"Okay, are you both accountants?"

"I am but Sophie is a serving police officer on secondment to another agency and working with me."

"Are you a genuine accountant?"

"Oh yes, I qualified ten or so years ago and used to do my trade from a small office in North London."

"Under what business name?"

"Sorry, but that's not one I can answer, but do not infer anything!"

The barman was approaching with drinks so again they paused.

"Now, how come you know about us, and what brings you to Thurso?"

"Ah, the easy questions? I was involved in a major investigation that had links up here and to your ex wife."

"The kidnap attempt?"

"Yes, but no-one else up here knows the connection and we'd like to keep is that way. Anyway, there was a development and Kevin felt he needed to come back here so he suggested we spent a few days in the town."

"It's a long way from Redruth."

"It is Tammy, but we live close to Newquay airport, with links to London, so the three of us flew into Wick and were picked up from there." Heather muddied their travel arrangements, just in case.

"Right, Heather, why are you telling us this?"

"Richard, I would like to offer Tammy work experience in an area of work that varies between very boring, very challenging and very rewarding. It's about finding clues in numbers to prove or disprove a theory."

"When and where?" Tammy showing interest.

"In Redruth and Central London mainly, how about July?"

"I finish school in June so that's fine, what's the weather like in Cornwall in the summer?"

"I don't know, we've not been there that long."

"Dad, remember you said I might be needed for Mum's trial? When was that?"

"August, you'll be back here by then, won't you?"

"I reckon so."

"Tammy, Richard, there's no set times here, it's whatever suits, but unless Tammy spends a few weeks with us you won't get a flavour of the rewards."

"Okay, but can we have something in writing?"

"Sure we'll ask Jenny to sort that out. She'll send you the security clearance forms too."

"Now I know it's genuine, if you start talking about clearance!"

"A sad but necessary evil, Richard, we arranged for your own clearance to be renewed before we came up here." Sophie spoke.

"My own?"

"You handled the investments on behalf of some government agencies about five years ago."

"I did, it was an overseas investment quango with millions to play with, is it still around?"

"It's been closed down as it served its' purpose but you had to be cleared for that. If you weren't cleared then we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I guess so. Doesn't Tammy get clearance automatically because of me?"

"Not exactly, but close enough."

"Richard, we'll arrange for a special phone to be delivered to your new house, do you have a safe?"

"Not yet."

"You'll need one and it has to be fitted with an anti-tamper alarm."

"I'll order one tonight, the alarm company can connect it when the system goes live on Friday."

"Could you ask them about alarming your study separately?

"It was already a consideration."

"Good, the phone should be with you by Friday."

Other diners were now sat uncomfortably close to the four of them so discussion turned to tourist sight. It wasn't long after that when their meals were brought to the table.

It was nine that evening before Sophie drove Heather back to the Mackay Hotel. Sophie had received a text from DI Edmunds that he wouldn't have time to return to the hotel, could they collect him in Inverness the following morning?

 
 

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 07     The Fan Spins

 

It was the Thursday 5th of February before they arrived back in Redruth, the girls having caught the Night Riviera sleeper service after a final debrief at Abigail Adams House.

The train was a couple of minutes adrift of the scheduled arrival but they were back indoors just after seven thirty that morning. Heather decided to get straight into her work, having lost four days to what, effectively, could be termed a fishing expedition. Her first stop however was the shower and fresh clothes.

When she reached their bedroom to dress there was a steaming cup of tea and hot toast waiting for her, so she finished that before making herself decent. There was a grocery delivery scheduled for that lunchtime and very little in the fridge, they had purchased a chilled two pint carton of fresh milk and a bag of ice in London, double wrapped in carrier bags for insulation. That had worked and their milk was still chilled, so at least tea and coffee was possible until the van arrived with fresh produce.

Heather made a hot drink and took it upstairs. She entered the office with trepidation, she already knew there was a veritable ton of emails awaiting her attention, but it had been six days since she’d been able to do any real work.

Downstairs she heard the front door close, when she opened the safe for the secure phone’s encryption key, she noted that Sophie’s Glock 19 was missing, although her own Glock 26 was present.

Sophie had concluded her reports in London so now returned to her favourite pastime, visiting places and making enquiries. This was much more rewarding than sitting in front of a screen and usually more productive, at least that’s how DS Sophie Grieve saw things. Her enquiries sometimes took her to less salubrious locations, hence she was prepared to defend and protect herself.

The DS didn’t always let her partner know where she was going, and any stated timings had to be taken with a pinch of salt, especially where dinner was concerned. Heather was used to Sophie’s vagueness but she was sometimes infuriated by her partner’s irresponsible and totally unavoidable timings.

Most days, planning a candlelit dinner was pointless, Sophie could not guarantee what time she’d be home. Heather therefore arranged for dinners that were easy to keep warm, reheat, or just pull from the fridge. It meant there was a restricted list of meals but the alternative was to visit a take-away late evening with no promises that anywhere was still open.

Heather finished logging in and found a stream of responses to the feelers she’d put out a week earlier.

The photo she was looking at was a tenanted three storey building in Corporation St, Swindon. From the front it could well have been apartments but a faded sign on the building simply said “To Let”. The quoted telephone number on the sign went to an answering machine but when an enquiry had been made, no reply was forthcoming.

She accessed the building plans and saw immediately it was a phased fit out internally and, so far, only phase one had been completed. At present the only apartments were on the middle floor. The building documents lodged with the local council planning department stated that the property would be used September to June for students, and that in July and August building work would add additional apartments., allowing it to open in time for the new academic year. That had been in 2005 and Heather believed the apartments had never been let to students.

Apart from the street entrance, which she suspected had never been used, there was a service entrance at the rear in a sheltered courtyard. She needed sight of that and sent a request for imagery.

She summarised the building.

28 Corporation St is on the books as a Fourani student apartments asset but has not passed to a management company. Does not appear to have had any tenants and no guarantee that the three apartments exist within the building shell. Possible uses include arms storage, drugs storage/production or all of these. Building is very close to centre and mainline station. Need current photographs of all sides including overheads.

Another site was just a building site, it had been razed to the ground and nothing of the earlier premises remained. Heather noted this in her files and moved on to the next message.

Kent Police had now responded to the requests for details of Bernice Hollande’s travels. She was pleased that there were three images in each set: a close photo of the number plate, from which the number had been extracted, a frontal image of the plate and the driver/passenger, and a third image taken from the side as the vehicle was stopped at a barrier. This was the one that Heather had hoped existed as she now had a face for Ms Hollande, as the woman handed over her documents.

She’s also received a passport image of Dimiitris Dēmētríou and compared the pair, side by side. There was more than a passing resemblance and a forensic examination of the photographs should prove they were the same. To Heather it was clear the Ms Hollande identity was more than a weekend excursion for Mr Dēmētríou.

Two more crossings of the Channel were recorded for 2014 one out in December and a return a week later. The last entry was a departure a week ago but no corresponding return.

She looked at the captured images and, although they were taken at night, it looked as if Ms Hollande had undertaken some cosmetic surgery. The alternative was that she was better with cosmetics, but Heather wasn’t convinced of her second theory. Regardless, she wondered whether anyone else would have made the connection?

She updated that enquiry with a request to check for any NHS or National Insurance records in Hollande’s or Dēmētríou’s names.

There were a number of bank transactions that had been flagged for Heather but none seemed to relate to any shipping, transportation or anything other than a domestic existence and occasional public travel.

It seemed as if the drugs importation had ground to a halt. It was the end of the first week of February and, apart from the suspect Topsham arrival, the last known import had been in December, she wondered if the gang had been spooked and were now laying low? It was too early to know for sure but she offered that thought into the system and logged off.

She had a fresh coffee in her hand when the doorbell sounded, out of the window she could see a familiar blue van. A few minutes later the grocery delivery was on the floor just inside the door.

As the van drove onto its next customer she picked up the frozen items where they’d been dropped and methodically worked through the rest until it was all stowed. Her coffee was now cool so she drank a mouthful but tipped the rest away.

Lunch would normally have followed, but the original choice for dinner wasn’t available in the store that morning so hadn’t been delivered. Some rethinking meant the slow cooker was employed. Heather yawned, she hadn’t had much sleep on the train and was beginning to feel her lack of fitness, perhaps the Doc had been right?

Once the lid was on the pot, dinner was only four hours away, or maybe five? It didn’t matter, it would cook for as long as needed.

She gave up trying to do anything more complicated and took a tin of tomato and red pepper soup out of the cupboard. Whilst that heated she cut a couple of slices of fresh crusty bread. Simple but effective food.

She cleaned up the kitchen then headed upstairs, falling asleep on the bed within minutes.

She woke to the sound of a ringing phone but was disorientated for a while before she realised it was her mobile. It took a few more seconds to remember she’d left it on charge in the office.

The phone had rung off when she reached it but the house phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Don’t you answer your mobile?”

“Sorry Sophie, I fell asleep and I’m not fully awake. What time is it?”

“It’s four. I’m in Exeter with a Met prisoner, Emily asked me to handle this end.”

“So will you be home for dinner?”

“Looks like I’m going to Paddington Green tonight with this one.”

“Oh, it has to be you?”

“Sorry, but I was the only asset who could handle this.”

Heather had heard that reasoning before; Sophie was, in theory, a counter terrorism officer, and had to be available if such a case turned up. Given that Paddington Green was the highest security police station in London , Heather could guess most of the rest, but needed to know if it linked into anything she was doing.

“Is it a case I’m familiar with?”

“No, not this time. I’ll call you later.”

The accountant walked down to the kitchen, taking her charged mobile with her, and checked the pot with her dinner, turning the power down to the minimum.

Heather’s appetite was escaping her and it wasn’t long before she turned the slow cooker off completely. The lid hadn’t been touched for several hours so would be effectively sealed.

She made a sandwich and ate it at the kitchen table, feeling isolated. A bath improved her mood, a little, but she was back in bed by seven and turned the ringer off on her mobile.

Heather woke just before seven and showered before grabbing her first coffee of the day. While her toast burned she quickly filled the washing machine and put that on. Within half an hour she was in the office to pick up any emails.

When she retrieved her phone she found a few texts from Sophie, the latest saying she was on the 0637 from Paddington. Heather estimated the train was probably well past Reading, assuming it was on time, but she stopped short of tracking it.

She caught up with her personal and business emails, including a few offers of private work. The work looked like it would take a week or more and she didn’t know if she could spare that time so declined both offers, although her initial research had already cost her an hour.

A few emails had made it past the spam filter, but Heather didn’t need investment advice, or sunglasses, or a good web developer. One stood out as interesting, she ran it through the anti-virus before printing the missive. The originating email address told her nothing and could have been sent from anywhere on the planet. She put it to one side whilst she checked her official emails.

There was a group email from Jenny confirming that Suzie Small was joining their team in a few weeks as well as weekend duty officer allocations. Heather was pleased that her status meant she didn’t have to provide any out of hours coverage for the team, something that a few found odd.

So far as her searches were going, none of the international requests had been returned so she decided not to pursue anything more until Monday.

Heather spent the next hour, with fresh hot beverage, sorting through her paperwork. As she worked she’d picked up the email from “Si” and put it back down in a different place. After doing this three times she decided to spend a little time on it.

A quick google search identified a Western Morning News article from a few weeks earlier and that confirmed the name of the reclusive owner was a John Tinker, so probably a relative of Julian.

Out of curiosity alone she called the number from the email but the call went straight to voicemail, she left her name and business number before dropping the annotated email in her ‘outstanding’ tray for future reference.

She took a break to empty the washing machine and hang the damp laundry outside. There was a good breeze and the sky was blue even if it was a little chilly, so she assumed the towels would dry quickly.

The meal from the previous day was still in the slow-cooker so she turned it back on to warm it through. She was just making her way back up to the office when she heard a noise outside, followed by Sophie walking indoors.

“I found the postman along the road and persuaded him to give me the letters, apparently he didn’t get an answer?”

“Oh, I was out the back and had the kitchen door closed.”

“Is the kettle hot?”

“Err, it’s been a while, did you want a coffee now?”

“That’s fine, I’ll have a shower first.”

Heather went back to the office and tidied up, not really doing any work, whilst Sophie freshened up. It was near half twelve when she walked back into the kitchen to find lunch had been prepared.

“What was the job last night?”

“A toad who told the wrong folk he had access to weapons.”

“Oh. Will I read about it in the paper?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it.”

“What were Devon & Cornwall doing with him?”

“Just babysitting, he came from military custody.”

The conversation ended there. Heather was naturally curious but equally there was a limit to how much Sophie could say, indeed Sophie probably wouldn’t know the full story.

The mail was still on the table and one envelope marked ‘Court Service’ was addressed to Heather. She opened it with trepidation whilst Sophie looked on. Inside was a proforma latter from the Cornish Courts informing Heather that she had been awarded £500 compensation in the case of R vs Smythe. A cheque was attached to the bottom of the letter.

“Compensation? I never asked for anything.”

“It’s fairly standard now, where there’s a clear victim. The money comes from the guilty party usually so I guess that came from the sale of his grandfather’s home?”

“But we don’t need it?”

“That’s not the point, he was found guilty of verbally assaulting you and has been punished for it, the compensation was a part of the punishment.”

“Well, what do we do?”

“Bank it first.”

“And then decide?”

“Yes. Right now it’s not achieving anything and you can’t give away the cheque.”

“True.”

“Are you doing any work that can’t wait?”

“No, what do you suggest?”

“We go into Truro for the afternoon?”

“To the bank?”

“Yes, but let’s have some ‘us’ time?”

“Can we stop at the swimming pool on the way? I need to get some info.”

“At Carn Brea?”

“That’s the one, it’s Doctor’s orders.”

Heather gathered her paperwork, her business account was at a bank in Truro and she couldn’t pay cheques into that account in Redruth. A visit to the County Town was therefore useful.

They were on the road just after one, but first headed West, stopping at the leisure centre so Heather could pick up the information for the fitness group on Mondays. There was a membership requirement so she had to complete a form.

“What brought you to us, Miss Young?”

“My Doctor suggested it, apparently I need ‘me’ time and regain some fitness?”

“Is there any medical condition we need to be aware of?”

“No.”

“Okay, we’ll see you on Monday for the Aqua Aerobics.”

Heather rejoined Sophie in the car.

“You took your time?”

“I had to join up.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Aerobics in the pool each Monday.”

“What time?”

“Oh, nine to ten. I can just delay my work day for an hour.”

Sophie put the car in gear and set off back towards Truro.

“Heather, how are you getting here?”

“I’ll drive, it’s only ten minutes?”

“Yes, but don’t expect to be back in your office until at least half past ten, or even eleven. I know you, you’ll want to put your towel and cossie in the washing machine, then make a coffee before you climb those stairs!”

“Oh, you know me too well!”

Twenty minutes later they were parked up. It was a dry day with crisp air in blue sunshine.

“Okay, where are we going?”

Sophie led Heather to a café, they sat outside at a small circular table and waited for the waitress. Sophie reached over to take Heather’s hand.

“Heather dear, will you be my wife?”

Heather looked Sophie in the eye. “I will.” She then burst into tears, just as the waitress arrived.

“Oh, I can come back?”

“No, no, I’m going to be married!”

“Oh, congratulations, to both of you. What can I get you?”

“Two coffees please, what cakes do you have?”

“New today are coffee or date and walnut. We also have apple and cinnamon plus a simple iced sponge.”

Heather had found a tissue in her bag and was busy dabbing her eyes so Sophie ordered two slices of date and walnut.

“Sophie reached for Heather’s hand again. “I’m sorry if I surprised you?”

“No, just startled. I have been thinking how I couldn’t have managed without you, how we were thrown together and yet fit together? I couldn’t imagine being without you!”

They sat in silence but Sophie hadn’t let go until their drinks and cakes arrived.

“How much?”

“No charge, we never charge for happy couples. All we ask is if we can take your photo?”

“Agreed, but no names please.”

Thankfully Sophie had chosen plain clothes, although that meant reverting to her standard black attire. Heather was in a long floral frock, covered by a lilac cardigan. Their waitress quickly took a photo and thanked them.

“Where will you use it?” Heather asked.

“On our website and on our social media outlets, it helps publicity.”

“Hmmm, okay.”

Neither of the pair used any social media applications or sites and had a policy of purging their browsing history regularly, although that did not mean they had escaped the data gathering employed by the global corporations.

A man who had been in the café left and gave the pair a look of disdain as he shuffled towards a nearby public park. The girls finished their gratis cakes and coffee but Heather left a tip on the table regardless. The pair walked, wandered, away holding hands.

“Are you in a hurry, Sophie?”

“No.”

“I need to get something fixed first, but I would love a summer wedding?”

“How about having your operation this year?”

“Probably not until the winter, or even next spring. I spoke to our GP about it last week.”

“You know that doesn’t worry me, and I don’t think we should worry about time, not yet.”

“Okay, but how about some rings?”

That took them into a High Street jewellery store for a pair of simple engagement rings, to be worn next to the eternity rings they’d bought at Christmas.

They didn’t splash out, there wasn’t any need as normally Sophie didn’t wear any jewellery.

They finally reached the bank so Heather could deposit the various cheques into her accounts, Sophie positioned herself by the street door, looking out.

Heather was done after a few minutes and joined her partner on the bank’s steps. “Seen anything interesting?”

There was a standing joke that Sophie was never, ever, off duty. “Not really.”

They started back towards the car, hand in hand, but found their way blocked by a middle aged man. Heather recognised him from the café, and thought she detected bad breath.

“Two birds getting married? We don’t do that down ‘ere.”

“Not interested, get out of the way and climb back into your hole.” Heather was quite forceful

“I think I’d do a better job than her!” He jabbed towards Sophie.

Heather moved between them. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. Walk away now, while you can.”

“Or what?”

Heather was getting tired. “Just piss off, will you.”

“For a kiss?” He leant forward, Heather could now smell alcohol in amongst the rest of his halitosis

A crowd had gathered, one or two were filming the evolving incident. Sophie pulled Heather back. “We’re going the other way around.”

The guy wasn’t finished and made a grab for Sophie as Heather was inaccessible. A moment later he was on the paving.

“Ooofff.”

“You’re under arrest for assault.”

She pulled a set of cuffs out of her shoulder bag and secured him.

“Up, you and I are going to have a little chat in the local nick.”

Their audience had now realised that Sophie was very serious, but her prisoner was now using crude Anglo Saxon terms. It wasn’t long before the local officers found them.

“Who do you think you are?”

“DS Grieve. I’ve arrested him for assault and I think there’s a hate crime available as well.”

Her name obviously rang a bell. “Ah, we’ll get some transport for him and then a statement?”

“Sure.”

The prisoner was given transport in a van but Sophie and Heather walked around to the police station, a short distance away and presented themselves at the front counter.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to interview a prisoner, my prisoner.”

“Which firm are you with?”

“Firm?”

“You’re a solicitor?”

“No, I’m DS Grieve.” Sophie retrieved her Met ID.

“I wasn’t aware …”

A familiar face was on the far side of the glass. “Leave this with me Constable.”

“Sir?”

Sophie and Heather were admitted into the inner sanctum. “Good afternoon Bob.”

“Hello, now what have the two of you been doing?”

“Taking a toerag off the street.”

“That’s our job.”

“We were assaulted and you weren’t there. Can we get down to custody?”

“No, the pair of you can give a statement then get out of here, leave it with us. Please.”

“Hmmm, why do I get the feeling we’re not wanted, Sophie?”

“On this, Heather, I’ll agree. Bob, We were having a good afternoon before that excuse for a man spoiled it. Anyone else would probably have suffered the abuse but I could do something about it and that seems to have upset a few in this building? How many members of the public has he harassed, bullied or assaulted? How many are too frightened to put in a complaint?”

Sophie turned and headed back towards the main door, with Heather close behind. They made it back to the car before Heather sobbed her heart out.

“Why, why?”

“I don’t know, my dear, but I thought Inspector Bob Willis was above that?”

“Take me home, please.”
 
 

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 08     Nuclear Options

 

On Saturday Sophie suggested they went further afield for the day, perhaps West to Penzance or East to Plymouth, but Heather wasn’t having it.

“No, there’ll be just another prick who will spoil the day. I’ll go and catch up with some work, it’ll take my mind off everything.”

Her emails included responses from the previous afternoon that showed an NHS record for Bernice Hollande, as well as a National Insurance number. The address given for both data records was 25 Tudor Road, Newbury RG14 7PU. She checked on maps and found it was a simple semi-detached house in a quiet lane but close to major roads and the mainline railway station.

Her National Insurance account reported that she was a self-employed person and was paying minimal NI contributions but hadn’t been required by the taxman to submit any accounts as yet. That much told Heather that this was an identity that was becoming well established, a ‘legend’ in certain circles had been created, but it was still a young identity.

The National Health record gave the same bio information but added that she had been prescribed the contraceptive pill Microgynon a few months earlier. A little research by Heather established that this pill could also used for HRT, although it wasn’t prescribed regularly for that purpose.

Heather went a little further down her emails and found a response to her enquiry about Hollande’s Belgian identity – Beatrice Hollande had died whilst an infant.

Heather thumped the desk. “Yes!”

She wrote up her findings but pondered when it came to considering what action to take next. Was she certain that Hollande was really, formerly, the Cypriot Dēmētríou; had she fully established that? Or even that Dēmētríou was actually Russian? It would likely be a problem for many of the intelligence community to accept the theory, but then most didn’t know about Heather’s background.

Her mobile rang, with a secure call.

“Heather, I’m down in Mevagissey and I’ve just seen that red Fiesta, KKE289L.”

“You’re sure, Sophie?”

“Yes, it was in the harbour when I arrived but left soon after. I’m on my way to my car now.”

“Well, are you going to get it stopped?”

“I’ll have to put that through Emily’s unit, somehow I don’t think Devon and Cornwall will accept my request?”

“Well, there’s only the A30 and the A38, or the ferry to St Marys.”

“I know. Bye.”

Part of Heather wanted to drive up to the A30 and start towards Mevagissey looking for the vehicle, but this was so far outside her training; she was firstly an accountant and secondly an intelligence gatherer and analyst. It was best to leave the task of stopping the car to the professionals.

She went into the Tesco website and booked a delivery for Monday morning before heading down to the kitchen to make lunch. She’d finished her sandwich and sat in the garden, enjoying a few rays, when her phone rang.

“I’m at Liskeard, we stopped it.”

“I sense a ‘but’, Sophie?”

“The driver is a nineteen year old student, he says he bought it a couple of days ago.”

“Genuine?”

“I’m told he turned white when the armed response unit stopped him, the car will need a clean too.”

“Okay, are you done?”

“No, we’ll take the car to Plymouth to search it, in case it’s been used for drug importation. The boy’s under arrest until we are satisfied he’s an innocent.”

“Okay.” Heather guessed that would mean Sophie wouldn’t be back until late, very late. She went back into the kitchen and started to fill the slow cooker with whatever was to hand.

Heather had swum in a women’s swim suit many times before, but that had mostly been in the private pool at the Hertfordshire house used by the Security Service. She was having second thoughts as she changed ready for her GP-ordered aerobics session at the Carn Brea leisure centre.

“Good morning ladies, I can see that we have a few new members joining us today, welcome. Apologies but the music system is broken so we’ll have to do this without.”

The instructor had the group on matting beside the pool for a warm up and stretching session, although it was clear that Heather couldn’t do some of the movements. They broke after fifteen minutes.

“I noticed you were having difficulty?”

“I haven’t done exercising like that since I was at school.”

“What’s your work?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“So feet under your desk all day?”

“More or less.”

“It’ll get easier, we’ll have you doing the splits in no time!”

Heather looked alarmed. “Err, no.”

“Oh, sorry, it’s just a joke. This isn’t a gymnastic class.”

They did another few stretches then one at a time dived into the water. When they were all treading water, the session continued.

The instructor stopped Heather as everyone was leaving the pool.

“Sorry about that, earlier.”

“My GP suggested I took this class, but I don’t remember her telling me that physical harm was a part of the treatment?”

“To be honest, half of the people in this session don’t need to be here, they’re fit and supple with excellent breathing and stamina. Of the rest many want to lose weight and have an idea they’ll do that by just being here, but this is only one aspect of weight control. As for you, Heather, you’re perhaps a little under weight and definitely unfit. Have you been ill recently?”

“I spent a few days in Treliske hospital with a virus. I’m recovered, otherwise I doubt I would be here?”

“Well, I think we can help you develop better lung capacity, improve your stamina and maybe convert a little fat into muscle. You need to eat healthily too. Consider using herbal and mineral supplements too.”

“I ‘ll look at them, my GP has me on iron tablets.”

”I see. Anyway, will I see you next Monday?”

“I hope so.”

By the time she was showered and dressed it was gone half past ten. Heather drove back into Redruth, getting caught in traffic. She pulled into the street to see the Tesco driver knocking on her door. She left the car in the road and ran towards the delivery driver with her keys.

“I’m here!”

“Sorry Miss Young, I’m a bit early.”

She unlocked the door and reached for the security panel to disable the alarm as the driver unloaded her shopping onto the lounge floor .

Half an hour later she had everything put away, her swimsuit and towel were in the washing machine, but she added the rest of her clothes before padding upstairs to shower again.

There were six missed calls on her mobile, including duplicates, when she next looked at it. In the office she could hear the secure phone ringing but she wasn’t decent and definitely wouldn’t give the CCTV operators at the Security Service a cheap thrill; she threw a frock over herself, brushed her hair out and applied a little lippy. Finally she made it into the office, the clock ticked past midday. She was opening the safe when the secure phone started to ring again.

“Yes …. give me a moment.”

She managed to open the safe at the second attempt, then inserted the encryption key into the phone.

“Okay, we’re secure.”

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, hello Jenny, nice to speak with you as well.”

“Don’t be facetious.”

“Well, my GP insisted I went to an aerobics class, that’ll be every Monday morning.”

“Put the request in writing.”

“And if you say no, I’ll have my GP sign me off.”

“We’ll get a second opinion and you can work somewhere else. Don’t try to be clever, Heather.”

“Are we going to trade bickering or do you have something for me, Jenny?”

“Jimmy Ruddle is in Thurso this morning installing a secure phone.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll be called?”

“Yes, Jimmy only left your number, we don’t want her calling Thames House yet.”

“Fair enough.”

“What happened yesterday?”

“It wasn’t my job, ask Emily.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Sophie spotted the suspect car, she asked for it to be intercepted by an armed unit. That was her decision, not mine.”

“Will you submit a report?”

“No, it’s a police matter, in any case the guy was apparently telling the truth, he had been sold the car for a ridiculously low price and wanted to give it a long run out.”

“Where’s the car now?”

“Still in the pound, there were traces of cocaine. He was completely clean.”

“So the suspect ditched the car, when?”

“He bought it this time last week. Oh.”

“Indeed, that was only four days after our meeting when the car information was shared amongst the agencies. I want a report.”

“You’ll get it, Jenny. Is there anything else?

“Have you exchanged yet for the house purchase?”

“That’s today, I had an email late Saturday. We complete on Friday.”

“Fine, the contractors are due with you four weeks today.”

“That’s the ninth of March?

“Correct. Now, I need that report!”

“In case there’s a mole?”

“Get moving!”

Heather looked at her phone, one of the calls was from Jimmy Ruddle so she guessed she didn’t need to call him back now. She called one of the other numbers in the list.

“What’s the latest, Sophie?”

“The car is being dismantled, we’re looking for fingerprints, DNA, anything.”

“Are you still needed?”

“I’m liaising with National Crime Unit and the Met, it’s not that I don’t trust the team here …”

“…. but you don’t want to hear of any mistakes?”

“Yes, plus they don’t know the background to the case, so might not realise the relevance of some evidence.”

“When are you back?”

“Tonight maybe, probably tomorrow afternoon.”

“Take care, my love.”

Heather was sleeping alone again.

On Tuesday Heather was in her office from eight, hoping to clear a little of the backlog. She’d submitted her report the previous afternoon and already knew that was causing trouble, but right now another report was being compiled.

She’d turned her interest back to the property in Newbury and was checking her earlier finds, but very quickly she found it listed for sale and that it was marked as ‘vacant possession’.

“Damn, she’s done a runner.”

The listing was down as Saturday. On a whim she called the agent.

“Hello, what can you tell me about the property in Tudor Lane?”

“Oh, I visited it last week, it’s very well appointed. Have you seen the photos on our site?”

“I have, but I’m surprised Miss Hollande has already gone?”

“You knew her? It was a family emergency, apparently, and she was leaving the country.”

“That’s a shame, you don’t have her forwarding details?”

“I’m afraid such information is confidential.”

“That’s understandable.”

She wrote this up, the trail was going cold – had someone warned their only suspect? Heather decided to leave it a week then search again, if Hollande was still in the UK then there should be a trace? Of course, would she use another identity? Heather doubted the her suspect could again appear as a male, assuming that Bernice Hollande had previously used the Dimitris Dēmētríou identity.

Meanwhile she could anticipate contact from the young Tammy Smart in Thurso. Heather recalled that their last conversation had concerned a fashion show that Tammy was involved with, both as a model and a liaison, given that the show was at her school.

Heather was very aware that Tammy was transgendered, like herself, and had only presented herself as a girl since the previous November, four months earlier. For the security service both of them were an odd catch, but Tammy appeared to have several qualities and would fill an intelligence role that was badly absent in the Scottish Highlands.

A message came back from Jenny that instructed her to discontinue work on the Hollande/ Dēmētríou case and not to discuss the case with anyone. She added that Detective. Inspector Emily Keane had been informed.

“Great, a mole hunt is under way. And I can’t even discuss it with Sophie!” Said Heather out loud.

“Discuss what?”

“Oh!”

“Sorry, but you were miles away, you didn’t hear me come in?”

“No, Sophie, I’ve missed you.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I can’t say.”

“Orders?”

“Yes. Damn this intelligence game.”

“It’s not a game, Heather.”

“I know, I need a cuddle, they can’t stop that!”

It was sometime later and Heather was filling up the washing machine when Sophie called for her. “That girl’s calling on the secure phone.”

Tammy started to tell Heather about the fashion show and how the account spreadsheet didn’t make much sense. As Heather had never been involved in running a fashion show, or any public event, she couldn’t offer an opinion. One item on the spreadsheet piqued her interest though.

"And a dozen dosimeters? What local sources of radiation do you know, Tammy?"

"Radiation? I thought we were talking about a fashion show?"

"We are, are there any radiation sources near Thurso?"

"Well Dounreay nuclear power station is just past Scrabster, but that's not operational and is being decommissioned, there's even a visitors' centre."

"Dounreay is well documented too, anything else?"

"Not that I know of."

"Okay, thanks for what you've done so far but can you send me those documents?"

"By email?"

"No, nothing like this is to go to the email address on my business card. Do you have your laptop available?"

"It's here."

"Go to this website." Heather read out the site's address. "You'll need a login and a password, write these down but you need to keep them in the safe."

Tammy logged into the website which simply asked her to upload any documents, which she did.

"All done. Oh, hang on."

"What is it?"

"It's an email from Penelope Lane, I was sent the wrong data, I'm to delete it and wait for the correct set."

"Do as she asks then, assuming it's all uploaded?"

"Yes, the last one has finished."

"Good, when you received the new set of data, upload that as well."

"Will do."

"Well done Tammy, we'll speak in a few days."

"Okay Heather, what can I say to Sarah about this?"
Heather knew that Sarah was the owner of a clothing store in Thurso, a part of the fashion show and one of the reasons for Tammy’s transition.
"Say nothing, I have a feeling things will sort themselves out. You might like to look for a new venue for the show, however, I have a feeling the Golf Club's going to be unavailable."

Heather was thinking on her feet, if the event was on a neutral premises then it would be difficult to monitor or infiltrate, especially given the nuclear issue. How she would achieve this was another matter, and definitely outside of her job description.

"How would you .... never mind."
"Good girl, question everything but say nothing."
"I've got to go, bye."
Heather reminded the girl to take the encryption card out of the phone and to lock it away before finishing the call.

The rest of the week passed quickly and Heather received some private work to keep her occupied, including a trip into Truro on Friday.

She was mindful of the encounter with her harasser a week or so earlier, but the client was next to the cathedral so that had placed her in the middle of town. She took the opportunity to window shop in the bridal-wear stores.

She needed a wee and didn’t fancy using the public loos, that left cafés and pubs as options. She had ended up outside the same café that she and Sophie had used and initially took a seat inside.

“Oh, welcome back.”

“A skinny latté plus a slice of the coffee and walnut cake please.”

“Of course.”

Heather left her jacket on the seat and took herself, plus her bag into the ladies. She returned a few minutes later and found her order was already on the table. It was unseasonably warm so she picked up her coffee, bag and coat but couldn’t manage the small plate holding her cake. Given what was in her bag, the logistics of shifting to an outside table seemed insurmountable. She sat back down.

The café owner had arrived at the table after seeing Heather’s attempted relocation.

“Did you want a hand? Oh, I remember, you were celebrating your engagement when you were harassed by that turd, oops sorry?”

“I’d rather forget that day, he ruined it.”

“Did you hear what happened?”

“No, just that we were let down.”

“We have a customer who used to be a man and is now a woman. Anyway, he, she comes in around four on Wednesday afternoons and waits for the shops to get quiet before doing their shopping.”

“Almost like stealth shopping? For her own safety I guess?”

“Yes, I mean a marriage between two woman has been legal for a few years but still some people get issues with it. These people who don’t know who or what they are, they have a hard time.

“This woman, Julie is her name, formerly Julian, used to live on that metal fort off the coast near Helston and was forced off the place two weeks ago. We usually saw him, then her, twice a month but now it’s every week. Anyway, that man was hanging around on Wednesday and he made a grab at Julie.”

“Oh!”

“He shouted that he was going to pull her wig off, but it’s natural hair so she screamed. She managed a kick and caught him just right – he went down. A plain clothes policeman was near so they arrested him, his language was truly awful. It was right outside so we have it on CCTV.”

“Is Julie okay?”

“Upset but otherwise fine, I think she’s taken some self defence lessons. Anyway, she had been going to Boots to collect a prescription so I sent one of my staff instead, then we waited for a policeman to come for her statement. Didn’t you give a statement when he hit you?”

“No, it looks like we touched a nerve. We went home and the police never called.”

“Well, I told the policeman as well about the assault on you and the guy was in front of a magistrate on Thursday, yesterday. I’m told others came forward as well, including a fifteen year old who had been too frightened to report him. He’s been sent to Exeter Prison until he can be tried.”

“Sound like he’s dangerous, not just a total prick.”

“Indeed, I’m surprised you didn’t already know? Especially with your partner being in the police?”

“She doesn’t work for Devon and Cornwall, and I think that’s why we had trouble.”

“Oh, is she transport police?”

“Something like that, but she’s not keen on me talking about it.”

“Oh, okay. I’m Irene, by the way.”

“Heather.” She reached into her bag and retrieved a card, which she handed over.

Other customers arrived and Heather was left on her own to drink the coffee before it cooled down too much. The cake was lovely, of course, but she did wonder if the extravagance was justified when all she needed was a wee?

She needed to visit Boots for some multi-vitamins and almost immediately bumped into Inspector Bob Willis as she exited the store.

“Oh, hello Ms Young.”

“Cut it Bob, Sophie and I aren’t particularly happy with the locals right now.”

“There’s rules, and laws, to be followed.”

“So an assault victim doesn’t matter so long as your procedures are done properly?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Really?”

“Look, I’m sorry, and under normal circumstances we’d have been grateful.”

“But?”

“We were being audited by the Independent Office for Police Conduct because of recent events and I was trying to keep trouble away from them. Added to the problems was the custody sergeant refused to accept him as no-one knew who the arresting officer was.”

“You knew, or could have guessed?”

“Not at the time, Heather, but we did get him a couple of days ago.”

“He assaulted me! He also ruined my day, Sophie had proposed to me and we’d just bought our rings.”

“Oh, congratulations.”

“That doesn’t change things, it shouldn’t have made a difference and I would willingly given a statement at the time. But, Bob, if I see that prick another time I’ll leave him on the floor with a hole in his side.”

“I’m sure you’re angry, but please do not take the law into your own hands. There are colleagues in the force who would be very keen to have your firearm removed, using it for vengeance would be a good way of justifying its removal and your incarceration.”

“But you see my point?”

“Yes, and right now he’s out of the way.”

“In Exeter Prison, after Julie gave her statement. And the café provided CCTV.”

“As did the council, plus we have your assault on video too and let the magistrate see that.”

“How did you explain the lack of a statement from me and Sophie?”

“With difficulty, especially as normal citizens don’t carry handcuffs with them.”

“Who was in court?”

“Myself and DC Garston, he was arresting officer.”

“Is that overkill?”

“I wanted to make sure the toad didn’t get bail.”

“Feeling guilty, we you?”

“We both had a lousy day, Heather, and it’s made me think about my future. I’ve got another six months to go though. Can you forgive me?”

“Was it really that bad?”

“I shouldn’t say this, but Constable Smythe should have been dismissed months before he visited your cottage but some senior officers decided against following up the reports that were coming in. That caused the audit and it could result in some personnel changes.”

“Will it derail your retirement?”

“No, I wasn’t interviewed as he only came into my remit once he committed an offence in your lounge.”

“Okay, okay, you’re forgiven.”

Heather took herself into a greeting card store before driving home.

 
 

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 09     Agent Tammy?

 

Sophie was at home on Saturday, having crept in after dark, so the pair managed to get a pile of laundry, cleaning and shopping done. Although first Heather had to give her fiancée a sealed pink envelope.

“Happy Valentines Day, my dear.”

Heather wasn’t expecting anything back from Sophie and wasn’t disappointed. She did, however, get a kiss.

“Where are you next week, Sophie?”

“I have no idea, it all depends what happens.”

“It would be nice to have a predictable week?”

“Unfortunately the criminal community don’t work like that.”

The shopping was immediately after lunch and the pair hit Tesco together whilst trying to plan the following week’s meals, despite not knowing how the week would progress.

They’d been back only a few seconds when the secure phone rang. It rang off before anyone could open the office door then started again as Heather got off her knees with the encryption key.

"Hello Tammy."

"Hi Heather, I tried a minute ago."

"We heard it but were coming in the door laden with loads of bags from Tesco, by the time I had the office door open you'd rung off."

"Okay, I have some updates for you."

"Fire away, whoops mustn't say that in case Sophie's nearby!"

"Does she carry a gun?"

"Sorry, that's a 'need to know'."

"I'll take it as a yes, then. Okay, the nuclear site that looks likely is the Royal Navy nuclear submarine development base, also at Dounreay."

"Good, what else do you know about it?"

"Not much but I'll look it up when my laptop finishes updating. Oh, I've asked if I can have a look around with a school trip next month."

"That's a great idea."

"It seemed like the right thing to do, Sarah's had a call from the golf club by the way."

"Oh, we hadn't arranged anything yet, what was the problem?"

"Repairs are needed so no bookings being taken until next month."

"Have they informed Ms Lane?"

"Not yet, but I'll ask if the school can host the event."

"Anything else?"

"No, but it all sounds rather strange and there's almost a plot for a thriller there."

Heather laughed. “Are you going to the Valentine Ball tonight?"

"How do you know of that?"

"There was a poster in the Castletown Hotel bar."

"Oh, no I'm not, the Doctor's keeping me on a tight leash."

"Never mind. Any Valentine cards?"

"One."

"Who? We might need to have them vetted?"

"Don't know, can we check the envelope gum for DNA?"

"Really, Tammy! Are you that bothered?"

"No."

"Then why did you raise it?"

"I didn't, you asked!"

Heather wondered if an immaturity was showing through? "Never mind, I need to get some work done including sorting out dinner."

"I have that task today too."

"Off you go then."

"Bye."

She locked up the office and headed back down, Sophie was busy chopping vegetables into an oven-proof dish. Heather, for a second, had an image of Sophie in a frilly apron.

“Oh, you decided on a casserole?”

“It was one of the options.”

“Tell me, what do you know of that platform off Helston?”

“Not much, why?”

“Just a suspicion right now, but the person who was caretaker out there is now living in Truro.”

“That doesn’t sound odd, people change roles all the time.”

“That much is definitely true, Sophie. Would you like a hand?”

“Sure, peel some spuds please.”

Heather was back in the pool on Monday and this time started to enjoy herself. The ‘music’ wasn’t Heather’s normal genre but it was high energy designed to keep the ladies moving. Heather was feeling pain but promised herself this was temporary. She was seen by the instructor on the way to the changing rooms.

“How did you find it today?”

“I ran out of breath a few times.”

“But you pushed past that, well done.”

“I took your advice, and I’m getting out more.”

“Excellent, we’ll have you running a marathon in no time.”

“Please? Really?”

“Okay, maybe a 10K run.”

“Will a run for the bus or train count?”

Because of their weekend shopping trip Heather hadn’t booked a delivery but she decided to get into the office and shower later. She sat down, with a coffee, just after ten thirty and caught up with the daily notices. The phone rang at eleven.

“Oh, you’re there?”

“Yes, Jenny, I have been for a while.”

“Okay, have you done any more on the Hollande case?”

“No, just as you asked, I’ve dropped it.”

“Has Sophie said anything?”

“You shouldn’t ask me that, Jenny, she doesn’t work for you.”

“She is part paid by Heather Young Associates.”

“And hardly ever does work for me, but no, she’s said nothing and I have no idea what enquiries she’s making right now – best ask Emily.”

“What are you working on?”

“Tammy Smart has sent me some paperwork relating to a fashion show in Thurso.”

“Really? You’re not going to claim expenses for buying a frock in Scotland, are you?”

“Tammy’s using some of the financial details as part of her coursework, but wasn’t expecting to find radiation monitors on the paperwork.”

“I see, are the people known?”

“Not on the databases I’ve tried, but it appears there’s a Royal Navy Nuclear Research place near Thurso.”

“Can you put a report together and get it to me today?”

“Sure, I want to check my research first though.”

“Okay, by mid afternoon please, I want this with Royal Navy Intelligence this evening.”

“Understood. Oh, I’m not available on Wednesday.”

“Occupied?”

“I have a GP appointment first thing and then I’m seeing a private client in Truro in the afternoon.”

“Okay, I’ll divert your phone to me that day.”

“Fine.”

Heather now had her shower, made lunch and finally sat down to write the report. There wasn’t a great deal to say; Penny Lavoska was the fashion show organiser but once again she was ‘no trace’ on the police and intelligence databases. Heather wondered if her database searching was comprehensive, was it possible she couldn’t search everywhere?

Her mobile rang but no number was shown.

“Hello?”

“It’s DC Garston, is that Heather Young?”

“It is, how can I help you?”

“I wonder if it’s possible to take a statement from you about an alleged assault last week?”

“I thought I wasn’t needed, and I’m not sure I have the time?”

“My apologies, Miss Young, but the CPS have insisted. We’d like to speak to DS Grieve as well?”

“She’s in London, saving the country, and I have no idea when she’s back. Put your request through the Counter Terrorism Unit at New Scotland Yard.”

“So you can’t help?”

“Give me a reason?”

“The Crown Prosecution Service will only authorise charging for the other alleged assault, he’ll be released from custody within a week. Your statement, together with the Cafe’s video, will ensure CPS see a catalogue of hate crimes. He’ll get six months for that and stands a good chance of being placed on the sex offenders register once we get other offences into court.”

“The fifteen year old victim?”

“I can’t discuss that, but we have a very thin case right now without you.”

“Okay, I’ll be in Truro on Wednesday afternoon, I can see you then?”

“Three, at the police station?”

“That works for me.”

-o-

“Good morning Heather, how are you today?”

The accountant rubbed her arm. “Did your nurse really need all that blood?”

“I just want to make sure you’re fit and healthy. Are you going to the aerobics session?”

“I’m surprised, Rachel, that you don’t already know the answer to that?”

“Well, I didn’t see you at the Tuesday evening session?”

“I was there on Monday, and the week before.”

“Good, and I think you’re looking better for getting away from your desk for a few hours?”

“I’m also off today, and I am not dealing with anything before tomorrow.”

“Excellent. Let’s take your BP, weight and height.”

“I haven’t shrunk or got taller since the last time that was done?”

“In which case we’ll confirm your hypothesis, until then it’s unproven. Doesn’t your work require absolutes, getting the numbers exactly right?”

“Not always.”

A couple of minutes later GP Rachel Wilson was entering the details into her terminal.

“Your weight is up a little, but that’s good, and your blood pressure is very much in the right zone. Have you had any more thoughts about a referral?”

“To a gender clinic? No, and my manager said the same.”

“I’m not qualified to manage you and eventually I may have to suspend your HRT prescription?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Rachel, but I could obtain a supply from elsewhere without any difficulty. I might need to travel to get the prescription but I wouldn’t lose the supply. You would lose a patient and my respect, but I don’t want that to happen.”

“So, no referral?”

“Correct, but let’s not say ‘never’, just ‘not now’.”

“You do realise that if I send the referral it’ll be a year, possibly longer, before you get your first appointment?”

“Yes, but if they sent me a questionnaire asking for background, which I would have trouble answering, then I would have real issues. Add to the mess that there are some holes in my NHS record?”

“Very few adults have a perfect health record, so that’s a non-issue.”

“Even so, it’s too great a risk to my well-being and security. Maybe by this time next year my people will have found a shrink and a surgeon for me, ones that don’t ask the wrong questions.”

“Okay, Heather, but if I’m audited then someone will ask questions, it’ll be out of my hands. See me in two weeks.”

As Heather walked home she felt as if she’d just had a game of chess with her GP, and the result had been stalemate.

She stayed out of the office but stripped the bed and changed the bathroom towels, immediately causing a laundry backlog. Once the machine was on she set about lunch; being a housewife wasn’t the most exciting job on the planet but at least you were your own boss – most of the time.

She put the towels outside to dry in the breeze; for mid February it was mild with a gentle South-Westerly. Next, what to wear?

Heather decided to go down the ūber feminine route, selecting a flora dress and matching cardigan, some low heels and a fuchsia bag. Just after two she drove away from the cottage. By half past she was parked up in Truro, choosing the Edward St carpark.

She waited in the car until quarter to three, checked her lippy, then locked the car for the short walk to the police station.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see DC Garston.”

“He’s not here today.”

Heather sighed. “He phoned me on Monday and booked this, for three o’clock today.”

“Do you have a case reference?”

“No. My name is Heather Young, perhaps that will ring a bell?”

“You’re not expected today Miss Young.”

“Is everyone in Devon and Cornwall Constabulary incompetent? Never mind, goodbye.”

She turned on her heels and walked out of the building.

It was just a five minute walk along Prydar street to the café.

“Oh, hello Heather, what’s up?”

“Can I have a coffee first?”

“Sure, but you might want to to check your face?”

Heather fled to the bathroom and attempted to repair the damage, in her anger a few tears had caused her mascara to streak. It wasn’t too bad, but enough to need a tidy-up.

“Is that better?”

“Yes, Heather, now tell Irene what the problem is?”

She reiterated DC Garston’s call and then her reception at the police station.

Irene stated the obvious.“It sounds like the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing?”

Heather was testing the foam on the top of her latté so just nodded.

“So what will you do now?”

“I’d like to speak to Julie, if I can.”

“As a mutual victim?”

“Something like that.”

“Would you like some cake to go with your coffee?”

“What do you have today?”

“New on this lunchtime is my apple and cinnamon, actually it’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

“Sounds good, my GP told me I needed to put a few pounds on; only a few though pounds though, so please don’t give me too big a slice!”

“Coming right up.”

Heather sipped her cooling latte again before drinking it straight down. Irene has clearly seen this so made a second one straight away. Heather had just picked up the cup when she spotted someone coming in through the door.

“Ah, found you.”

“Sorry, DC Garston, your lot have blown their last balloon as far as I’m concerned.”

“Look, I’m sorry, and I left specific instructions on the front desk. Someone in the back office spotted you on the CCTV and let me know but you’d already left the building.”

“It’s clear someone doesn’t want me to give this bloody statement?”

“I’d agree with you, but that’s for one of the managers to deal with. Can you come back with me?”

“No, I’m staying here, if you want it then it’s here or not at all.”

“There’s no privacy?”

“Did you take Julie’s statement in here?”

“Yes, but …”

“Then get the sheets, DC Garston.”

“Yes, Miss Young.”

He left and Heather assumed he’d be back in ten minutes so she went back to the cake, expressing that she hoped she could convey her thanks to Irene’s grandmother.

“She’s in a home in St Agnes, but I’ll pass that on. If you don’t mind me saying, you were hard on the policeman?”

“I won’t be bullied, especially by provincial officers.”

“So if he wants this paperwork then he has to do the running?”

“Correct.”

Heather returned her interest to the replacement coffee and cake, but was soon interrupted by the DC.

“I’m parked next to you and had the forms in my car. I had also left a note on your windscreen before I came looking for you.”

“No doubt the Inspector gave you a clue?”

“Indeed. Can we get down to it?”

Heather quickly ran through the day for the DC’s benefit, the previous Friday, clocking that it had also been the thirteenth.

“I’m not superstitious but that might explain a few things?”

“I don’t think we’ll put that in the statement. Okay, are you ready to go, you know the format?”

“Too well.”

They were signing the sheets of paper when Heather caught sight of a nervous girl out of the corner of her eye. Heather finished her signatures as Irene intercepted the girl.

“I’d like a copy of that by email or by fax?”

“Do you have a card, I don’t have the details?”

Heather found two in her bag, once she moved her Glock out of the way. The DC spotted it.

“Is that necessary?”

“I told Bob that if I saw that nasty prick on the streets of Truro I would ensure he bothered no-one else.”

“I sincerely hope you’re making a bad joke, Miss Young?”

“Perhaps, Detective Constable. Please get that to the CPS before the day’s over., and don’t forget my copy.”

“What about your partner’s statement?”

“Speak to Bob Willis, he’ll give you her unit contact details, then speak to DI Keane.”

“I will. Thank you.”

She handed over a card, keeping the second one in her hand.

“Right, you can go now!”

The DC spoke briefly to Julie before leaving the café. Irene looked at Heather but said nothing, it was a minute later when Julie walked over to Heather’s table.

“Irene suggested I talked to you, but I’m not sure why?”

“Well, firstly, I was told that the guy who assaulted you would be released within a week or two unless I put my statement in. I suppose Irene told you what happened the previous Friday?”

“She called me, yes.”

“Well it’s done.”

“Is there a second thing?”

“Yes, is your surname Tinker?”

“It is, but?”

“Weeks ago, before any of this happened, I had an email from someone who was concerned about you and your uncle. He gave me your mobile number but it didn’t work.”

“Really, what about?”

“He was concerned about the sale of the fort you looked after.”

“That’s not public knowledge. Why would he contact you?”

“I’m an accountant.”

A penny seemed to drop. “Oh, you were on St Mary’s sorting out the Chandlers last year?”

“Yes, I helped the boat crews get their money.”

“I heard you told the tax people to keep out of the way?”

“I did, they were going down the wrong line of enquiry, everyone there was a victim one way or another.”

“So why are you interested in me?”

“I’m not, not as such, it’s just that Simon suggested you could do with my help. If you don’t want it then it ends here.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“How would we do this, where?”

“I’d need more information, details I could verify, but not here. I’d suggest my cottage in Redruth or do you have somewhere, somewhere more comfortable?”

“How do I trust you?”

“That’s up to you, but I can promise you that I’m no threat.”

Irene had been listening. “Her partner’s a police officer, in London I think.”

“They’ve just put a policeman in prison for fraud!”

Heather sighed. “I know, I effectively put him there.”

“You? I read the report in the paper but the victim was anonymous.”

“I value my privacy and asked the judge to respect that. The solicitors and jury knew who I was.”

“Do you mind if I don’t come back with you, like I really appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do?”

“Fair enough. Here’s my card if you change your mind.”

Heather picked up her bag and walked over to the counter to pay.

“No charge. I didn’t know you knew anything else about Julie’s previous life?”

“I don’t, not really, but I can sense there’s a problem that needs fixing.”

“And you just offer, like that?”

“It’s a fault of mine, yes.”

“Don’t you expect to be paid?”

“Sometimes it’s not appropriate, just like now when I wanted to settle the bill here?”

“Oh, I see, so you wouldn’t make money out of it?”

“No.”

“You don’t sound like any accountant that I know?”

“I’m a forensic accountant, I look for answers in numbers when the numbers don’t make sense.”

“So you don’t do VAT returns? I really don’t get on with the HMRC stuff.”

“Sorry, I only do my own!”

Heather drove home, but she wasn’t certain she’d actually achieved anything other than get away from her desk and computer for a few hours.

 
 

 
New Tammy soon!
 

UG3 Diminishing Returns   Chapter 10     Free Kernow

 

Heather Young settled into a routine, spending up to six days a week by herself but trying to be occupied enough that she wasn’t bored.

There hadn’t been any calls from Julie Tinker in the week since Heather’s coffee shop visit and nothing new was coming out of existing inquiries. On the one occasion she went to open the folder with her notes on the Hollande case, she found it locked. That generated a call.

“I had a notification, what were you doing?”

“Seeing if there was anything new, Jenny, but even my own stuff is locked away now.”

“I told you to drop it.”

“I’d referenced some of the Fourani addresses and I wanted to check which ones, you can’t tell me to ignore all the Fourani data?”

“We’ll just pass that responsibility over to a member of the team who hasn’t handled the Hollande case?”

“And lose my expertise? Somehow Jenny, I don’t think your manager would accept that?”

“That’s immaterial, you can’t have access, you’ll have to work without that information.”

She decided against visiting the Truro café on the following Wednesday, instead driving herself down to Helston for a look out to sea. Since Helston is set back from the water this brought her into Porthleven at ten in the morning. Under normal circumstances finding a parking space would have been a challenge but as it was late February, most definitely out of season, she had no trouble finding somewhere close to the harbour. First stop was a coffee, and a wee.

As her drink, and cake, were brought to the table, Heather asked the waitress a question.

“Are there any harbour trips today?”

“Wrong time of the year, dear.”

“I had wondered.”

“What did you want to see, St Michael’s Mount?”

“No, the old fort.”

“Oh, that. I wouldn’t bother if I were you?”

“Why?”

“There’s been some problems recently, some of the local fisherman have been threatened. They have lobster pots all around the bay and some of these are near the fort – everyone knows who owns which ones – but the new people on the fort don’t seem to care.”

“New people? I thought it was an older guy and a lad?”

“They left on the thirty-first of January, although I thought I saw a girl coming off the boat when they came along the quay.”

“Oh, so taking a boat out there isn’t a good idea?”

“I can find you a boatman, but it won’t be cheap if you’re on your own?”

“The price isn’t a problem, so long as it’s not a rip off, I just want to go out there, close enough to photograph it, then come straight back. I have an interest in this kind of industrial archaeology, did you know about the ones in the Thames Estuary.”

“I didn’t, it’s not my kind of thing. Let me give my brother a call?”

Heather smiled and waited. The Cornish, especially the older generation, were interconnected by family or kinship. A coffee or a beer, plus the appropriate question, could lead to the person you needed. It had worked that way for centuries, but for how much longer?

It was barely an hour later and Heather was the only passenger in the fishing boat although, thankfully, it didn’t smell of fish, or seaweed.

“I keep it clean or the gulls would keep visiting, and then they leave something behind. Promise me, won’t you, that you’ll never feed the gulls?”

“Not unless I don’t like the people I’m with?”

“That’s nasty, but yes, they are a pest close up, and very dangerous. They’re fine when they’re flying a few hundred yards away but not when they’re in your face.”

It was twenty minutes into their voyage across Mount’s Bay when the skipper cut the engine.

“This is as close as I’m going to go, we’ll come around the back to keep out of the way, using the current.”

Heather took her camera out and took a few photos before the boatman was having second thoughts.

“Sorry, but I think we were spotted.”
 

 
Heather looked at the images she’d taken. “Free Kernow? I thought they’d given up?”

“The lot that claim to be from the Kernow Independence Movement but no-one’s ever heard of them and they swear in English, with a strange accent. One fishing boat was shot at, that’s why I kept my distance.”

“You didn’t mention that when I said where I wanted to go?”

“No, but you might have changed your mind?”

“I think I would still have come along, okay, let’s get back.”

“Did you want to go anywhere else? To the Mount?”

“No, it’s cold and I fancy lunch.”

“I know just the place, I hope you like fish!”

Heather did enjoy her lunch and stayed in the Mounts Bay Tavern for rather longer than originally planned, whilst very deliberately staying off the alcohol.

It was definitely dusk when she parked up outside Fuchsia Cottage in Redruth. Heather was content, but tired, so she didn’t put her car away, off the road.

-o-

There was some noise outside shortly after seven the following morning, Heather looked out to see a removal truck outside the next door cottage, except they were having trouble parking. She threw on a dressing down, grabbed all of the required keys and padded outside in her faux sheepskin slippers, it wasn’t chic.

“Sorry, I’ll move it.”

Heather wasn’t planning to go anywhere so put her car away. She locked her car then went indoors to shower and dress, meanwhile the front of the truck was now parked right across the front of Fuchsia Cottage.

She was delayed starting work when she decided to make a round of tea for the two men and one woman crew who were emptying the next-door property.

“Do you know who your new neighbours are going to be?”

“Yes, and no.”

“Oh, we’ll offer a discount if you refer them to us?”

“It’s not that, we’ve bought the cottage.”

“But you live there … oh.”

“Yes, we’re putting it back into one property, so sorry, there’s no more work for you.”

“Here’s our card, for when you move next?”

Heather accepted the business card but currently had no plans to move anywhere. She gathered the empty mugs and dropped them into the dishwasher before, finally, making her way up to her office.

The first task was to upload her one good photo of her boat trip onto the system, adding some text about the take-over of the fort, although it was still unclear if funds had changed hands.

“That’s interesting, Heather, you were there on a day off?”

“Yes, and no, Jenny. I’d seen a newspaper report on the fort a month ago and something caught my attention, but I didn’t know what it was. The best way to sort that was to be a tourist for the day. It looks like there’s nothing for me though.”

“That’s how intelligence often works, Heather?”

“Yes, but right now I’m getting diminishing returns on my input, the interest rate isn’t as high as it should be!”

“Is there anything else that wasn’t in your report?”

Heather pondered a moment about whether to mention Julie Tinker and the café but decided against it, that was a personal and business matter. “Just a bit of graffiti on the fort that I saw but didn’t get a clear photo of.”

“Oh, it might be relevant?”

“It was ‘Gwir Rydhses’. I have no idea what it means yet. Google Translate can’t handle Cornish, assuming it is Cornish?”

“Write it up and someone will have a look at it.”

“Understood.”

“Well done Heather, that was a good catch.”

Sophie had been away in London with only the briefest trips back to Redruth over the past fortnight but arrived on Friday night to spend the weekend with Heather.

“Sorry, but all hell has let loose in London, and in Thurso for that matter.”

“Thurso? Do you mean Tammy Smart?”

“Yes, there was an incident at a property she’s bought. It’s been dealt with but it looks like there will be fallout. Personally I think she’s a liability.”

“You’ll have to convince Jenny of that, what did she do?”

“Nothing, nothing that would constitute a breach but she’s had no training and doesn’t know when to stop, when to step back?”

“Well that’s a management problem, giving an eighteen year old the tools but not telling her how to use them, what was the problem this time?”

“Using her privileged phone whilst the mobile networks were closed down for normal users, and being questioned about it.”

“Did she know in advance about the privileged status of her phone?”

“No.”

“When was her phone given the upgrade?”

“A month or so back, Emily authorised it.”

“Don’t blame a horse for walking out of a paddock if someone left the gate open!“

Sophie had already reported the incident to her manager, DI Emily Keane, but Heather now felt obliged to do the same, even though it hadn’t been her incident. Jenny supplied a one word response: “Noted”.

That didn’t help Heather one jot, but there was no point in arguing over the facts, Tammy’s training was slated for the summer, after she finished school, and nothing could be done before that.

Their first task on Saturday morning was to collect the keys to the next door cottage from the estate agency. It didn’t currently have a name and indeed wouldn’t need a name as the front door to that half of the building wouldn’t be in use.

Their finances had been taken care of two weeks earlier so, apart from a few signatures there was no formality.

“Please come back when you’re ready to move on, whenever that may be?”

The next stop was Tesco for the weekly shopping although, as usual, the pair had no idea about their schedule for the next seven days. What Heather did know was that a crew would start work in just over a week so make the modifications the girls had requested. Someone else was handing the little things such as building permits, or regs as they were locally known, and an architect had drawn up details of load bearing supports that would be required once a wall was taken down.

This confused Heather as there originally hadn’t been a wall dividing the ground floor of the cottage. It had been explained simply.

“Maybe not, but there’s now two dividing walls on the upper floor, so what’s to keep them from crashing through the ceiling?”

“Oh.”

“We’ll use seasoned oak, not steel, so you won’t notice it.”

“You’re the experts.”

“Indeed, Miss Young.”

They were back in the kitchen with the bulging bags when Sophie’s mobile rang, she walked into the lounge to take the call, returning a few minutes later.

“That was Miss Smart, I get the feeling that trouble follows her around?”

“This time?”

“There’s a device under her father’s car and the bomb squad are on the way. I spoke to the local Inspector and made certain he was aware that there could be a terrorist aspect. He’s known to Miss Smart.”

“What do we do?”

“Nothing, Heather. They’re over seven hundred miles away, let the local officers handle it. How about lunch?”

“Lunch?”

“Yes, food. There’s nothing we can do right now, but perhaps you can tell me why Emily asked about that fort in Mount’s Bay?”

Heather retold her report from two days earlier.

“Is that it?”

“Err, no.”

“Come on Heather, I don’t play ‘twenty questions’.”

“I have a nagging feeling the issue is much bigger than I’ve seen so far.”

“But you’re not an investigator, you’re an analyst.”

“There’s overlap, like a Venn diagram.”

“Right, but you can’t get on the fort and right now there’s no evidence of anything criminal having taken place?”

“Shots fired?”

“An air gun perhaps, or even just a noise that sounded like shots? If we responded with armed officers to every such report in London we’d need double the number of teams.”

“I suppose so.”

“Good, how about lunch?”

-o-

Heather could see Sophie was getting twitchy as the kitchen table was cleared.

“Phone her, get an update; it’s been an hour.”

Sophie stayed within earshot and dialled Tammy’s number. She spoke for a moment and Heather heard the name Trethgarwyn mentioned. She waited for Sophie to close the call.

“Trethgarwyn?”

“There’s a PC up there with that name, says he’s from Cornwall.”

“Possibly the family from the Scilly Isles?”

“I’d put money on it, it’s a rare name.”

“Especially in the Highlands of Scotland?”

“Indeed, anyway the device was a tracker and apparently the police have a journalist in custody. He was doing a story on the late George Small.”

“So not about Tammy?”

“Not directly, but you can’t assume anything. Anyway, it sounds like there’s a new problem up there but the Smarts are safe.”

“Such as?”

“Nothing for us to be concerned with. How about you walk me through your evidence about the fort?”

"Sure."