Heather was at a loose end. Sophie was on a course somewhere near Exeter and had opted to stay there during the week, whilst Heather’s work had dried up. She’d cleared everything that had been outstanding or had transferred her cases back to the teams in MI5’s Thames House.

Heather was notionally in the Financial Unit but helped wherever was needed as her forensic accountancy skills were legendary in spook circles. That way she and her wife could live in a delightful cottage in Redruth, Cornwall, which was nowhere near the hustle and bustle of Central London.

No-one would turn up at their door and claim they were just passing by, and Heather enjoyed the isolation as that made numerical analysis an easier chore. So Heather had spent several days cleaning, taking advantage of the good, dry, autumnal weather to get the curtains washed – a time consuming task!

Sophie was due back on October the 30th but the day before Heather took a call from her team leader, Jenny.

“We have a problem, Heather?”

“You have a whole team to handle things? No-one’s off sick for once!”

“Quite, but none of them are trained in field work.”

“Oh? Please don’t tell me you have something planned for me, something I won’t like?”

“Heather, I wouldn’t bring you up to London unless there was an absolute need?”

“I guessed correct, then. What’s up, Jenny?”

“I don’t think you’ll remember one of our former premises, before Thames House brought all the various Security Service units in-house?”

“No, that’s before my time.”

“One of our buildings was ostensibly a Royal Navy building in the West End, behind Bond Street.”

“That’s hardy a quiet area?”

“Strangely enough it was, nestled between specialist travel agencies.”

“So what went on at this building?”

“Training was the main purpose, both internal and external. We had a small on-site team and then the specialist trainers would take the place over for the duration of their training sessions. It was all very convivial.”

“That reminds me of the scenes that John Le Carré painted in his spy novels, Jenny?”

“He was allegedly an operative half a century ago, Heather.”

“Okay, I have the scene, what’s the issue?”

“The senior caretaker passed away in service a month ago so an audit was ordered before we appointed a new caretaker.”

“And there were anomalies?”

“Yes, Heather, but we’ve had trouble finding them.”

“Oh?”

“His monthly returns were punctual and were easily signed off but his ledgers may have borne no resemblance.”

“Ledgers? Hardbound books?”

“Yes, complete with spidery handwriting.”

“Is that all?”

“No, there was a note near the last entry that said you needed to see this.”

“Me, by name?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, can you book me into a hotel and I’ll be on the next train I can.”

“We’ll have lost a whole day by then. Can you drive over to Newquay airport and I’ll get a helicopter organised.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Yes, Heather. Look I’ll send you the exact address, just get there.”

Heather already knew she wouldn’t be back before the next day, or maybe even by the 31st. She gathered the last batch of damp curtains off the outside line, brushing a few insects aside, then found an airer in the kitchen. That meant one set of windows on the upper floor, to the rear weren’t visually secure but she had no time to waste.

Heather packed a case for three nights but rapidly ran out of room by the time she added the essentials that she might need, including weaponry, spare shoes and a few frocks. Somehow she was at Newquay airport only forty-five minutes after Jenny’s call.

Heather made her way into the terminal and was intercepted by the duty Special Branch officer, who clearly hadn’t recognised Heather.

Excuse me, but all flights have been cancelled due to a plane fault, and everyone was notified. Where do you think you are going?”

“London, and my transport just landed. I suggest you don’t get in my way.”

“Madam, I’m going to have to search your bags.”

“No you will not, and for information I am armed and have a Met Police licence. My wife is Detective Inspector Sophie Grieve who, I believe, is one of your new commanders?”

“Wife?”

A man entered the lobby. “Ms Young?”

“Yes?”

“I’m your pilot, Jim from Smart Air.”

“Tammy’s firm?”

“Her dad’s, but yes.”

“I’ll be with you in a minute, whilst I deal with this idiot.”

“I’ll wait, Ms Young. Sir, I don’t know what your beef is but please leave Ms Young alone, I am collecting her on behalf of the Crown and she is urgently needed in London.”

The officer had ignored Jim, Heather thought she could hear a request for backup as SB officer was on his phone. Heather gave up and started to drag her cases towards Jim.

He made towards Heather seemingly to arrest her when he stopped dead, the phone still clamped to his ear. He turned and walked away, defeated.

Jim called “aren’t you going to apologise to Ms Young?” but received no response. He took Heathers larger case and they trundled out to the waiting aircraft. Jim loaded her bags and helped Heather into a rear seat.

“You’ve flown before?”

“Yes, thank you. What brings you down here?”

“Circumstance. I was at London City when the call came in, so I’ll drop you back there then get to my next job.”

They were in the air a few minutes later so Heather sat back to enjoy the scenery.

They passed to the South of London, avoiding Heathrow, just over ninety minutes later then swung towards the Thames, following that to London City Airport in the Docklands.

- o -

A car was waiting for her, which took her to Thames House on Millbank in Westminster, home to the Security Service. She checked in her weapon, spare ammunition and baggage before heading to Jenny’s unit.

“Ah, Heather, you’re a little later than I wanted.”

“Blame Devon & Cornwall Special Branch and air traffic control.”

“I’ll expect a report if you had trouble with the police?”

“I’ll expect an officer to be sacked for misogyny and an inability to apologise. My wife can handle it. Now, why did you need me?”

“There were too many coincidences that kept leading to yourself. Firstly, the note on the ledger apologised to you, by name, and said you would understand.”

“Okay, and you suggested there was more?”

“One of your business cards was in his jacket pocket, which was over the back of a chair. His body was on the floor next to the chair.”

“Murder?”

“Yes. What was odd, was that the victim’s fingerprints weren’t on the card, no-one’s were.”

“So placed there? Are you suggesting I’m at risk?”

“No, but your mobile number was in his phone.”

“Where are the ledgers?”

“Still in the building as it’s a crime scene. SO15 and the Royal Navy Provost are both investigating.”

“Great, I can see the squabbling already. I think I’ll be wasting my time?”

“It won’t be that bad?”

“Jenny, when you’ve dealt with as many police forces and agencies as myself you have to be a cynic if anyone ever suggests co-operating and interworking!”

“I have their promise.”

“Whose?”

“SO15.”

“And the Provost?”

“I couldn’t get an answer.”

“I might as well check in at my hotel before I start anything, where did you book me?”

“I didn’t, that’s down to you.”

“Fantastic, Jenny. I think I’m going to regret agreeing to drop everything so that I can appreciate my department head’s appreciation first hand?”

“That’s insubordination, Heather.”

“Do I really care, Jenny? I can afford to retire or one of the other agencies could take me on. Oh, and I hope you have someone else who fully understands the Fourani data, why it exists and why it’s still causing problems? If I walk then I will destroy my copies of that data, my notes, and you won’t be able to answer those difficult questions. I think I’ll head to Paddington and get the sleeper home.”

Heather turned so she was pointed at the stairwell.

“Why are you being so difficult today, Heather?”

“Because you want everything, absolutely everything, but won’t give anything in return. Today you needed a numbers specialist who was trained in fieldwork, then you admitted you had no-one else? That’s before my name became part of the evidence. By rights I shouldn’t investigate that in case of a conflict of interests, but you can’t afford little issues like credibility?”

“That’s just wrong.”

“Then allocate someone else to this case? After all, you are field trained yourself?”

“Yes, but …”

“Then you don’t need me.”

“I’m a manager not an analyst. You know where I was before I took over this unit?”

“Yes, what is now Abigail Adams House. I tell you what, get me a room at that house and have the ledgers moved there, into my custody. I can work in the library as that’s secure? “

“They won’t agree?”

“SO15 or the Royal Navy police? Give them my name, respect does exist in some places. I now need transport.”

“What about the site?”

“I’ll go there when I understand the accounts better, and that depends on how quick you can get those ledgers to me.”

Heather returned to the Thames House reception and asked for a car to the Security Services country house, which was sometimes used for interviews of espionage agents, group research or training. On Heather’s first visit there the building was attacked, but that’s how she had met her partner Sophie.

It took ten minutes and a car was brought round to the front of the building for her. Only now did Heather retrieve her weapon and ammunition, plus her luggage.

Now that it was mid afternoon, on a Thursday, the road traffic was building so progress out of the City of Westminster was slow, but the roads loosened as they left London and passed into Hertfordshire.

- o -

It was gone four when Heather arrived in the entrance hall.

“Welcome, Ms Young.”

Heather smiled at the housekeeper. “Mrs Young now.”

“You kept your name, excellent! You can have your usual room and I understand that you would like use of the library?”

“Thank you. I’m hoping that some evidence will be delivered, but as it’s involved in a live case I will only have it for a few days and it must be secured.”

“Of course, how long do you think you’ll stay?”

“My guess is two nights, but anything is possible.”

“Of course. Would you like us to take your luggage upstairs?”

“Please, and I’ll take tea in the conservatory.”

“Of course, but please could you deposit your firearm with the armourer.”

Heather nodded and made her way outside then turned left into the site security office, using her pass to open the exterior door. By now her Glock was in her hand but no-one flinched as she walked past, then down to the armoury.

“Good afternoon Mrs Young, do you have any spare clips or ammunition with you?”

Heather handed those over.

“Excellent, I believe you are due to re-qualify soon? Would you like to do that on the range here during your stay?”

“That might be a good idea.”

“I have slots available at nine and eleven tomorrow.”

“Nine, after my swim, run and breakfast.”

Heather retraced her steps to the conservatory where a pot of tea and cake were waiting. It was now that she realised that lunch hadn’t happened, but she couldn’t remember if she had taken anything out of the fridge in readiness?

The cake was good, and definitely filled a hole. From her experience, Heather knew that dinner wouldn’t happen until about seven and it was probably onto then that she would meet whoever else was guesting at the house.

She took herself to her room and promptly fell asleep.

Her mobile rang.

“Hello?”

“Heather? Have you just woken?”

“Sorry Sophie, yes.”

“I tried the house number?”

“I’ve been called up to London at zero notice and I’ve fallen out with Jenny. Oh, find out who is the misogynist pig who was on duty at Newquay this lunchtime?”

“Where are you staying?”

“AA House. I asked Jenny to book me a hotel and she didn’t. Sorry, but I probably won’t be there when you get home tomorrow evening?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been asked to help an operational unit as duty Inspector. It’s overtime!”

“Okay, but don’t do too much overtime! That’s one reason you left the Met!”

“Indeed, Heather, love you.”

“Love you too, Sophie.”

Heather gave herself a wash and made herself presentable as it was approaching seven in the evening. She made her way to the dining room, finding a few strangers. There was no dinnertime chat and Heather felt quite lonely.

- o -

Heather had a run around the garden shortly after seven the following day, one day before Halloween, and took to the pool for a dozen lengths. It wasn’t much but she wasn’t in shape so couldn’t push herself too hard without a trainer to guide her. She showered in her room and was down for breakfast shortly after eight. Joining her was Dave Brown.

“A friendly face? What are you doing here, Dave?”

“You upset Jenny yesterday.”

“So? She deserved a few home truths.”

“No argument from me, but she’s quite stressed and doesn’t need to be reminded how stretched her resources are.”

“That team didn’t seem to be overworked yesterday afternoon. So what brings you to me?”

“Jenny, or more precisely her manager, decided you needed supervision.”

Heather laughed. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Jenny wrote a report about you being insubordinate and how you claimed you were the only one in the department who could have done this.”

“Which is probably true, but I bet she left out the bit about conflict of interest and the danger to the evidence? I shouldn’t have been brought here, but since I am I’ll do the job.”

“Conflict of interest? I hadn’t heard that?”

“When the evidence arrived I’ll show you.”

“It’s here.”

“It’ll have to wait, I have a nine o’clock appointment on the range to re-qualify.”

“I doubt she’s happy with your firearms licence?”

Heather shrugged. “Has anyone ever tried to kill her?”

“Hey, I know the full story, Jenny carries grudges even when she knows she’s inadequate or untrained. Let’s leave it there, I’d best not get you stressed before your test!”

“Can you get coffee supplied to the study for nine thirty?”

“Yes, Heather.”

Dave left the table after they’d eaten but Heather stayed on to relax. Then, just before nine she walked into the range.

- o -

Heather walked to the study holding her pass slip, knowing that a copy would be fixed to her personal file back at Thames House.

“Judging by your face you did well?”

“Yes Dave.”

“Good, can you please slip gloves on before you handle anything and sign the evidence receipt. You are responsible whilst it’s here.”

“Yes, Dave.”

“Good, I did have a look and completely agree that you shouldn’t be anywhere near these ledgers or any of the other evidence?”

“I hope you put that in the report you wrote whilst I was hitting the targets?”

“Of course, Heather.”

“Now that we have that out of the way, what do we have, Dave?”

“A total misunderstanding by whoever wrote the first report.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Let me guess, our victim maintained scrupulous records but someone in Thames House demanded a spreadsheet, so they got a heavily simplified account that could be cross referenced. Do we know who in Thames House had sight of the accounts?”

“Jenny.”

“Oh. I think I should just walk away from this and ask someone else to take over?”

“Who, Heather?”

“SO15? Special Branch?”

“And who will they call to check the ledgers? They don’t have forensic accountants on their staff.”

“No, they come to us, and me.”

“Correct, so you’re stuck with this until you can write a report that everyone will accept.”

“Cheers, Dave, you clearly know how to cheer someone up? This is a bloody mess!”

It took them to lunchtime to confirm that the accounts were correct, almost correct.

There was a weekly payment that came back a few days later, until the final week when the caretaker had died. It wasn’t much, just £45, and every week was shown as outgoing and incoming payments, cancelling each other, until that last week.

But there was no evidence in the petty cash register nor the banking logs that indicated where the £45 went or from whence it returned?

“Dave, who else had access to the ledgers?”

“The rest of the team but only Anthony Deverill ever wrote in the ledger.”

“We need to visit, and talk to the assistant caretakers?”

“Sure, after lunch.”

- o -

It was three that afternoon when they arrived in Bruton Place, a short walk from Bond St tube. They were met at the door by a Provost, and showed their passes before being admitted.

“We’d like to see where the victim worked,” asked Heather, but the Provost seemed to look at Dave for confirmation, before turning and walking without a word. They followed through two doors to a small office with a large angled desk.

There was no natural light in the tiny room and only a single dangling lamp shone to light up the space.

“Dave, there’ no way anyone could be in here without the victim knowing, and I would bet good money that he would close the ledger at the end of every session. There’s storage under the desk where he would have locked them away.”

Dave examined the locks. “They don’t look like they’ve been forced, but these are old locks so I guess it wouldn’t be difficult to get around them.”

“So what then?”

“Let’s find the others.”

They were introduced to a pair of near identical lads, Ben and Den.

“What’s your surnames?”

“Trethgarwyn,”

Heather dragged Dave away, well out of their hearing range.

“Heather, that name is familiar?”

“It’s a bloody Cornish rogue family. They probably recognised me.”

“Tammy had trouble with them in Scotland.”

“Same family, just a different branch. My guess is that this pair applied for the Royal Navy but weren’t suitable, but were offered this gig. Our victim Anthony Deverill will have known about them and did not trust them. That £45 ledger entry is a flag, nothing more, but that was an indicator that something else is wrong.”

“Such as?”

“Let’s get the bank accounts of our twins.”

“Use a terminal in Thames House?”

“No, Jenny can do that, let’s get back to the books.”

It took them an hour but they were picked up from Enfield Town station for the final few miles by car.

They settled into the library with tea and cake.

“Look, Dave, Anthony didn’t trust that pair one little bit so he built traps into his accounts. I wonder if that was an alias?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I must have encountered him in a past life …oh ….. the tax man in the Scillies. We were there this time last year, the Trethgarwyn family were there too. I wonder if he was moved because of threats?”

“That’s a heavy leap, Heather?”

“Perhaps, but it would explain why he knew my name, knew what I did and had my card? Can we see if his name is an alias?”

“I’ll make the call.”

Heather went back to the ledger and looked again with fresh eyes. She then dug for the file that contained all the invoices, receipts and odd paper items.

In there she found one of the £45 out sheets, it was his weekly security report to his minder. The £45 return was the report receipt from the minder. That receipt was missing for the last week of his life.

“I wonder who his minder was?”

“Heather?”

“His last security report wasn’t received, that’s when he knew he’d been compromised. I bet his minder is also dead?”

“You were right, he was a tax man, a tax investigator, who had met you on St Mary’s last November.”

“He came here to avoid that Cornish family, and they found him.”

“Were they defrauding him?”

“Strangely enough, no, not whilst he was alive.”

“So why was he killed?”

“He helped break a racket that included drug and people smuggling.”

“Which the family controlled?”

“Yes. My guess is that the twins hadn’t been working at the mess very long?”

“A couple of months.”

“And they have mutual alibis?”

“Of course.”

“Plus an aunt who spoke to one or both of them just at the time of the murder?”

“Have you read the interview notes?”

“No, but I know the family, know how they operate, Dave. It’s a police matter now.”

“I have to agree.”

They locked the ledgers and paperwork away into evidence boxes and Dave promised to return it all the next morning. They walked towards the conservatory but were intercepted by the housekeeper.

“My apologies, Mrs Young, but I have been informed that a group is due here tomorrow lunchtime for a debrief. Have you concluded your business?”

“I believe so, so is it best if I leave after breakfast?”

“That would be best.”

“In which case, I’ll need to get to Paddington in the morning. I’d be grateful if you could handle that?”

“Yes, Mrs Young.”

Dave Brown walked up to Heather as the housekeeper slipped away.

“She always knows what everyone is doing, Heather.”

“So I gathered. Did we do okay, Dave?”

“Yes, Heather, there were no nasty surprises in the end.”

“So apart from remembering the deceased from a job I did a year ago there really wasn’t anything spooky about it?”

“So you have to ask, could anyone else have done this investigation?”

“No Dave, they couldn’t.”

“Then you had better tell Jenny that?”

“I’ll write my report on the train, she’ll have it for Monday morning.”

“You don’t have your laptop with you, Heather?”

“Correct, so it’ll be on paper, just like those accounts.”

“Where every mistake or alteration is visible?”

“Exactly Dave. Pen and paper means no gremlins, no bugs and nothing vanishing before your eyes.”

“But you still get spiders.”