Double Identity

by Alison Morton

  She jerked back and twisted round, ready to run again.

  ‘Wait. Please.’

  She hesitated and glanced round.

  ‘No, I’m alone,’ he said. The expression on his face was neutral. ‘I’ve been hoping we’d bump into each other.’

  In the middle of London? What planet was he on?

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A few minutes of your time,’ he replied. ‘The park is quite deserted this morning. Or we could have a coffee.’ He pointed towards the Ritz.

  ‘The park,’ Mel replied. She could escape more easily if it came to trouble. Fennington shrugged and pulled the pale blue cashmere scarf under his coat tighter into his neck. After twenty metres in silence, he stopped.

  ‘You’re very elusive, Miss des Pittones. But I thought you’d turn up at your friend’s flat at some time.’

  ‘Have you been stalking her?’

  ‘We could hardly pressurise a highly connected diplomat, could we? My team drive by every now and again and by fluke saw you there last night. Poor Gregory, he watched Madame de Villiers’s windows until one o’clock, passed a very cold night in the car and will now be limping for days.’

  ‘Fuck Gregory. I presume he was one of those two monkeys who just tried to abduct me.’

  ‘A trifle heavy-handed, I admit.’

  ‘A SIG Sauer in my neck? Understatement.’

  ‘Would you have heard me out otherwise?’

  ‘I don’t want to have anything to do with you. You tried to have me killed.’ She made a show of looking at her watch. ‘I have to be somewhere. You have five minutes.’

  ‘Dear me, so abrupt. When you came to my office, that was just a little test. I wanted to see how far you’d go.’ He raised his eyebrows for an instant. ‘I didn’t anticipate one of my best bodyguards being put in hospital and repairs needed to the building.’

  ‘Not my problem. I didn’t anticipate fighting for my life.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have come to that, you know.’

  ‘No, I don’t know. And what the hell do you mean by “little test”?’

  ‘I wanted to offer you a job. I still do.’

  Mel looked at him, utterly stupefied. She searched his face for signs of insanity but could see none. Then she burst out laughing.

  ‘A job? You must be joking. You’re the last person in the world I’d work for.’

  ‘You need something to do, to occupy you.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘I know your contract wasn’t renewed with the French Army. You must have done something fairly reprehensible after being in the elite GAOS. I wonder if you upset somebody.’ He cast her a speculative look.

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘And the Met hasn’t pinned your fiancé’s death on you although that would be neat for them.’

  Mel jabbed her finger at him. She knew it was rude, but she’d had enough.

  ‘Listen, who I see and what I do is my affair. Keep away from Aimée and keep out of my life.’ She turned on her heel and strode back up the slope towards Piccadilly and the Tube.

  25

  ‘Afternoon,’ McCracken said as she slid into her seat just after 9.15.

  ‘You’ll have to start without me. I have to write up a contact report.’ She opened her account, selected a new Word document and started typing fast.

  ‘What happened to your hand?’ McCracken asked.

  Mel pulled the shirt cuff down over her bruised hand, but it fell back as her fingers flew over the keyboard.

  ‘Accident,’ she mumbled, her eyes on the screen. She worked in silence for another ten minutes, then messaged her document to Patrick Stevenson.

  ‘Tell me what really happened,’ McCracken said.

  ‘I have to discuss it with Mr Stevenson first.’

  ‘Oh, excuse me. I’m just the lead on this case.’

  She stared him out in silence.

  ‘Let’s get some work done, then, if you can spare the time,’ he grumped. ‘By the way, Evans emailed her report through last night about Rohlbert’s flat. She and the CSI didn’t find anything wonderful, but they’re bringing some documents back. They’ll be at St Pancras around midday.’

  Mel scanned Joanna Evans’s email. Much of it was couched in the stilted language of a formal report, but Mel gathered there was domestic paperwork rather than commercial. She’d talk to Joanna in private to see if there was anything personal she should collect; she was sure she’d only left a few clothes and toiletries on the few times she’d been there.

  ‘Mélisende. A moment, if you please.’ Patrick Stevenson stood in the doorway. He hadn’t shouted. He didn’t need to, but everybody stopped and looked at him. It wasn’t the terse voice, but the hard stare that had Mel scrambling up out of her chair and hurrying to the door. But Stevenson was already down the corridor and pushing the door open to his office.

  ‘Close the door.’ He picked up his phone, tapped the radio app and switched on a light music radio station. ‘You never know who’s listening, do you?’ He waved her to the second chair. ‘Now tell me about this encounter with Fennington.’

  ‘It’s all in my report, sir.’

  ‘Yes, but I want to know what’s not there. How did he seem?’

  ‘Perfectly calm. He’s very relaxed in his authority, very sure of himself.’

  ‘And why do you think he’s so keen to hire you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘He knows what I did in the army, and that I can get myself out of a tight corner. His two bodyguards have direct experience of my skills.’

  Stevenson smiled in the friendly way he had when she’d first walked into the Brussels office. ‘Yes, I rather think you haven’t made any friends there.’

  ‘I really don’t know why he wants me. The only connection I can see is that it was one of his ASG vans that shone that searchlight into our hotel room in London. Perhaps he thinks I know something, something that Gérard told me. But Gérard had no connection with Fennington. Well, he never mentioned him.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘But now I’m not sure I knew anything about Gérard.’

  ‘I realise this is awkward for you. Are you able to carry on with being part of the investigation?’

  Mel snapped her head up.

  ‘Do you doubt my commitment?’

  ‘No, but I wondered if there was too much of a conflict.’

  ‘Mr Stevenson, the ground has been cut from under me. I have to find out why and how deep this instability goes. Do you have any specific complaint or anxiety about my ability to contribute?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied, smoothly. ‘On the contrary. You even seem to have impressed Jeff McCracken.’

  Mel said nothing.

  ‘I am concerned by this squabble between the local Romeo and you. It seems to have grown out of proportion. This is the sort of thing Klara would have sorted out.’ He took in a deep breath. ‘We desperately need somebody to handle our admin. Anyway, this Robbins and his charge of assault—’

  Mel went to speak, but Stevenson held up his hand.

  ‘You are completely right. I asked Superintendent Fredericks to exert pressure on this Officer Robbins, and the federation representative, but they won’t withdraw the complaint. Personally, I fully support you with your counterclaim, but it is making the atmosphere sour.’

  ‘I’m sorry if it’s causing you professional problems, but I won’t withdraw either. He was wrong, and I won’t be bullied.’ Her eyes blazed.

  ‘Well, the hearings are in five weeks’ time. The police internal affairs department have asked me for a character statement which I will be happy to provide. I suggest you keep a low profile vis-à-vis our hosts until then.’

  She nodded. Nothing would give her greater pleasure.

  ‘Returning to Fennington,’ Stevenson said. ‘Do you think he might have anything to do with the bombing?’

  ‘We don’t know who gave Billy Duchamps his orders,’ Mel replied. ‘Fennington is a possibility, b
ut McCracken and I haven’t seen him or those two bodyguards on the video. I’ll check again, but I would definitely have recognised them.’ She looked at him steadily. She gripped her hands together. She knew what was coming.

  ‘Then I suggest you think about accepting his job offer.’

  She closed her eyes for an instant. Stevenson was looking steadily at her.

  ‘But won’t he know I’ve been working for the EIRS?’ she said.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Contrary to the impression conveyed by the cinema and television, even he wouldn’t have the resources to track you for weeks in France, Brussels and all over the UK. His only real link is with Madame de Villiers which is why he was watching her. Obviously, we’d make sure you have a watertight legend with several layers just in case he decides to dig more deeply into what you’ve been doing since his little test. We haven’t anything concrete to go on, but the opportunity seems too good to miss. It also keeps you away from any further antagonism here. It’s up to you.’

  ‘You don’t think he was behind the people following me to Strasbourg after Gérard’s funeral or who attacked me at the motorway hotel?’

  ‘Strasbourg, I don’t know, but the two at the services area turned out to be Russians, ex-FSB freelancers. I had a little chat with them myself.’

  Mel remembered what Aimée had told her about the younger Stevenson. Of course, he would have spoken Russian. She wondered how robust Stevenson’s ‘little chat’ had been. Probably in some darkened room in a bleak facility in the wilds of nowhere.

  ‘For all Mr Fennington’s dubious activities,’ Stevenson continued, ‘I don’t think he has contract killers like those two on his payroll.’

  ‘You really think they were sent to terminate me?’

  ‘Well, they weren’t there to invite you to a party.’

  * * *

  Westway was relatively quiet as McCracken drove along. So was Mel, thinking about what Stevenson was suggesting. It would be a fishing expedition, nothing else. Perhaps he did want her out of his hair for a while.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’ McCracken said, but keeping his eyes on the road.

  ‘No, just thinking about things.’

  ‘What did the old man want?’

  ‘Just a chat about my contact report.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Look, McCracken, I can’t say anything. Okay?’

  ‘A right Little Miss Secrets, aren’t you?’

  She shrugged and looked out of her window.

  He snorted, then veered sharply into the gateway of the secure location. Just before the gatehouse, he jammed on the brakes. Mel’s seat belt locked and she shot her hand out to the dashboard.

  ‘Was that really necessary?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Dieu, you are so childish at times.’

  It would almost be worth going undercover with Fennington to get away from McCracken. Inside the warehouse, Joanna and Holzmann were talking animatedly across a new smaller table at the back of the cavernous hall.

  ‘Mélisende.’ Andreas Holzmann stood and kissed her on both cheeks and greeted her with a smile which spread to his blue eyes. He really was rather nice, Mel thought. Joanna was as pleased to see her and drew her towards the table.

  ‘Look, look. Andreas has found a link.’ Joanna had never seemed so animated apart from when she’d come with the police helicopter team to collect Mel from Newport Pagnell.

  ‘Hey, calm down, Joanna. Show me.’ Mel drew up another chair and started reading the papers. McCracken hovered to one side.

  ‘Joanna is right to be excited,’ Holzmann said. ‘I am drafting a preliminary report for Director Stevenson, but I thought you might want to see this for yourself. Your Mr Duchamps is a clever man, but even he hasn’t been able to entirely disguise his tracks.’

  ‘Cover his tracks, you mean,’ chipped in McCracken.

  ‘Of course. Excuse me.’ Holzmann nodded to McCracken. Mel rolled her eyes and Joanna grinned at her.

  ‘So what have you found?’ McCracken shot back.

  Holzmann pointed to a spreadsheet on his laptop and then to five printed schedules. ‘I logged a sample week’s trading just to get a feel for his operation at Gander Moore Associates. These daily printed reports which they have to send in to the financial authority are almost an exact reflection, but not quite.’

  ‘How so?’ McCracken peered at the sheets.

  ‘See these ringed transaction numbers? They are only on three out of the five reports for the week, and they are one digit different.’

  ‘Which means they are counted as different deals,’ Mel said. All three looked at her. ‘I once had a dispute on my e-money service. They swore blind I was in default and were going to blacklist me then report me to the army authorities and God knows what. It took me ages, but I was able to show them that one of the digits was wrong and it wasn’t me. They gave me a whole fifty euros in compensation,’ she added. ‘I wasn’t impressed.’

  ‘You have it exactly,’ Holzmann said. ‘I took a chance and logged into one of the databases at the Bundeskriminalamt and cross-checked those numbers.’ He exchanged a glance with Joanna. ‘The different transaction numbers on the spreadsheet I compiled from Gander Moore internal records appear in the trades in ASG Schweiz, based in Zurich.’

  ‘Bloody hell, is this some kind of tax fiddle?’ McCracken said.

  ‘Unfortunately, we are unable to get anything except that single detail, and I had to push through a couple of fences to get that. However, the Swiss banking and finance confidentiality laws have been relaxed over the last year or two. If we can supply a good case, we might be able to access a full record. But it will take time. I have a contact in the Fedpol, the Swiss Federal Police, who deals with financial crime. She’ll be able to accelerate a request from me, but it will still have to go through various stages of bureaucracy.’ His eyes shone. ‘A small start, but now we know where to look.’

  26

  ‘I assure you, madam, nobody is destroying or hiding anything. All the documents are being carefully looked after as they may be used as evidence. You’ve given me your address and phone number, so we’ll get in touch if we need anything from you.’

  Mel heard the desk sergeant’s soothing tones as she and McCracken came up the stairs from the garages.

  ‘That’s completely inadequate, young woman,’ came the reply. ‘I insist on speaking to your senior officer.’

  ‘He would give you the same reply, Miss Winters,’ the sergeant replied in her customer-friendly voice.

  Mel and McCracken emerged at the top of the stairs behind the desk sergeant. The office manager from Gander Moore Associates, now dressed in a maroon tweed suit under a taupe raincoat, and sensible brogues, was standing on the public side and arguing in that politely determined manner of middle-aged Englishwomen. She caught sight of first McCracken, then Mel.

  ‘You. You, the man who hasn’t shaved. And the woman. You came to my office and vandalised it. That was Monday. This is Thursday. I demand you return our paperwork and our computers.’

  McCracken half turned.

  ‘It’s an ongoing criminal case, so no.’

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘DI McCracken.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re this woman’s superior. You can tell me when you are going to return our property.’

  ‘Like I said before. No. It’s part of an ongoing investigation.’ He frowned. ‘Now please leave us to do our job.’

  ‘But how can we carry on our business? All my people are worried stiff about their jobs.’

  ‘I’d start dishing out the P45s if I were you.’

  Mel wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but the desk sergeant blinked and looked at McCracken. Barbara Winters looked as if she’d been given a mouthful of grit to swallow. Mel touched McCracken’s arm.

  ‘I’ll try and calm her down,’ she whispered. ‘You go and report to Mr Stevenson.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ he muttered b
ack, and stalked off down the corridor.

  Mel smiled at the desk sergeant, then turned to the affronted woman who looked baffled and determined all at once. She was in a strange environment and looked at a loss what to do next.

  ‘Would you come with me, Miss Winters?’ Mel walked round to the front and held the door to the corridor open. The woman hesitated for a moment, then drew herself up and strode through. In the side room, Mel invited her to sit.

  ‘I do understand your concerns, but we can’t give you your files or computers back. We’re searching through them for financial irregularities. You’ll have them back as soon as possible.’

  ‘Nothing in my files is irregular. Everything was recorded properly, and all the returns were made regularly and in good time. All the employee and finance matters were completely up to date.’

  ‘Not quite all, I think,’ Mel said.

  ‘I-I think the partners may have made some confidential trades they didn’t want to share with every office junior,’ Barbara Winters replied, less assured than before. She rubbed her forehead with the tip of her index finger. ‘It’s all closed. Gone. They’ve all gone.’ She looked up, her face a picture of misery. ‘I thought if I could recover the files, we could rebuild.’

  ‘You’ve all been dismissed, haven’t you?’ Mel said, as gently as possible.

  Miss Winters nodded and blinked hard.

  ‘I’ve been there twenty years starting with old Mr Gander. They all think I’m a silly old bat, but I loved it and wanted it to flourish even after his death.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue, my dear. Nobody will want to take on a woman in her fifties with old-fashioned ideas like punctuality and efficiency.’ She got to her feet. ‘Thank you for listening to me.’ She brushed back some fine hairs that had escaped from her schoolmarm bun. ‘Let me know if you are puzzled by anything in our papers. I may be able to help.’