David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good

by Andrew Grant

  I waited two minutes, then followed. There was no sign of Melissa near the bottom of the spiral staircase, or in the church’s gift shop. That left two options: the bathroom; or the cafe, which filled the crypt itself. There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for visiting either place. And both would be ideal locations for a covert rendezvous.

  It would have been impossible for me to go into either area without being seen, so I made my way over to a woman who was taking photographs of a set of brass plaques that were leaning against the base of the left hand wall.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a real problem. I was wondering if you could help me?”

  “I can’t spare any money,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “Money? No. It’s more awkward that. I’m here with my girlfriend. She loves this place – the vaulted ceiling, the golden light, all those kind of things, and...”

  “I don’t see any girlfriend.”

  “Well, no. She’s hiding in the bathroom. Because what happened is, when we arrived just now, she thought she saw her ex husband go into the cafe. He’s – well, bad news. There’ve been some stalking issues. The police have been involved. There’ve been court orders. I won’t bore you with the details. But the thing is, I need to know if he’s in there. If he is, we’ll just leave. Avoid any trouble. But I can’t go and look myself. He’d see me. And obviously Marie can’t.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Well, I was thinking, if I show you his picture, would you mind just popping your head round the door, and seeing if you recognise him?”

  “That’s a little weird. But I suppose I could.”

  “Thank you,” I said, pulling my phone out my pocket and opening the photograph folder. “I really appreciate it. Now, let’s try and find a recent one.”

  I fiddled with the phone for another thirty seconds, then threw up my hands.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous,” I said. “Of course. After the last incident, Marie made me delete them all. There are none left. Not even old ones. This isn’t going to work.”

  “Oh well,” the woman said. “Sorry I can’t help.”

  “No, wait. Here’s an idea. How about this? How about I give you my phone, and you take a couple of pictures inside the crypt? Just a few random shots. Tourists are always taking photos in there.”

  “No way. I can’t do that. It’s too weird.”

  “Why not? Please. You’ve already been taking pictures. You’re obviously good at it. It’ll only take a minute. And if I can’t convince Marie that John’s not here, she might never come out of the bathroom. We could be here for days.”

  “Well, OK. I’ll take two pictures for you. I’ll give it thirty seconds, max.”

  “That’s great. Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’ll wait here in case Marie panics and tries to make a run for it.”

  In the end, the woman was in the cafe for three minutes. She took seven pictures. She told me she thought the single men in two of them looked dangerous. But it was the shot of a couple sitting at a high table against a pillar at the far side of the room that interested me. One of the people was Melissa. The other was a woman I’d never seen before. She was dressed more smartly and was older, maybe in her fifties. And even though it was a still photo, you could see they were arguing.

  Melissa was the first of the pair to leave. She paused in the doorway of the entrance cylinder and scanned the area, then walked a little stiffly back to the Land Rover. She started the engine, but didn’t pull away. She just sat until the other woman appeared, five minutes later, and watched as she lit a cigarette then turned left and headed towards The Strand.

  It was interesting that Melissa waited, I thought. And also inconvenient. Because it meant I couldn’t follow her lunch companion.

  I had to be content with emailing the picture of the two women to my control in the hope that the stranger could be identified, and was weighing up whether to walk to St Joseph’s or take a cab when my phone rang. It was Melissa.

  “How’s the rest of your morning been?” she said. “Find anything out?”

  “Nothing concrete,” I said. “I thought I might be onto something, but I hit a block in the road. How about you?”

  “Up and down. I’ve come up with something that might help us, though. The name of a woman at the hospital I think we should talk to. I’m on my way over, now. Where should I meet you?”

  “I’m not actually at the hospital yet.”

  “You’re not? Where are you, then?”

  “Well, what you said about working on the background got me thinking. About the detail of some of those old fraud cases I claimed to know all about. I realised I was little rusty. I thought it might be an idea to brush up a little before diving in the deep end.”

  “That’s smart. You’re not still at Thames House, are you?”

  “No. I needed some old notes I’d made.”

  “So you’re at Tottenham Court Road?”

  I had to think before I replied. There are entry and exit logs at all Navy buildings. They’d show I hadn’t set foot in the place, and if she was getting access to information about me in the same way I was about her, she’d know if I lied about being there.

  “No,” I said. “I’m at home. The notes I’m taking about aren’t exactly official copies, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do know,” she said. “And that’s no problem. I’ll swing by and pick you up. What’s your address?”

  “What do you mean, ‘swing by?’”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I’ve got my hands on a vehicle.”

  “You didn’t. What do you need one for?”

  “Well, I figured if we’re going to question this woman, we’ll need some privacy. I’d hoped we could steal a room at the local nick for half an hour or so, but they knocked me back. I don’t want to drag her all the way to Millbank, so I had an inspiration. Borrow a surveillance vehicle. We have ones with built-in cameras and recorders.”

  Melissa said she could be outside my building in ten minutes, which made me realise two things. I’d have to hurry, to get there before her. And either I was barking up the wrong tree, or she was better at covering her tracks than I’d given her credit for.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Melissa guided the Land Rover into a service bay on Silk Street - the closest point to my apartment in the Barbican you can easily reach by car - and slid across into the passenger seat.

  “I think you better drive, David,” she said, as I climbed on board. “No offense, but if you walk up to a strange woman in the middle of the street and ask her to get in a car with you, she’s more likely to call the police or run away screaming.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said.

  “Sorry. Look, I know my attitude’s not where it should be. I know I shouldn’t feel like this. I know I sound like a child, but it’s just not fair. Look at what the others were assigned to. Security of the parliament buildings. Liaison with the Royal Protection Duty. I feel like I’m being sidelined. I don’t deserve it, and I don’t like it.”

  “I know exactly how you feel.”

  “And there’s researching the group Leckie’s informer belonged to. I stayed up half the night pulling all that material together, and now I have to hand it over and deal with yesterday’s news.”

  “What did you find out about them?”

  “They’re based in Yemen, and mostly operate in the Middle East. Their organisation is small, but very professional. In Leckie’s day they had a threat assessment of alpha, but this needs to be updated. Although it doesn’t sound like it’s diminished, any.”

  “What are they called?”

  “al-Aqsaba’a.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “That’s because of how they work. They don’t typically go in for big, eye catching stunts. Another 9/11 wouldn’t be their style. They’ve always been much more subtle operators. They aim to get what they want indirect
ly, by influencing and pressurising others - governments, businesses, charities and so on.”

  After this morning I was making a renewed effort to focus on my control’s instructions and concentrate on Melissa’s loyalty, and not to interfere with the case.

  “What?” Melissa said, when I didn’t answer.

  “Blowing up the State Opening of Parliament?” I said, relapsing once again. “Maybe killing the Queen? The PM? The Cabinet? If it’s true, it’s a major change of direction for a group that’s supposed to be publicity-shy.”

  “It’s like I told you - the threat assessment needs updating. That means they could have changed, not gone away.”

  “Have they done anything in the UK before?”

  “Yes. A few things. Several assassinations. Particularly creative, yet brutal, I’m told. And a strong line in blackmail. That’s why Leckie was involved, originally.”

  “Did he have any success against them?”

  “He did. His last case was a good example. They were planning to kill the infant son of an Arab diplomat as punishment for their government having too close ties with the Great Satan. Leckie stopped them and saved the kid.”

  “And after that he was kicked out for brutality?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was the same informant involved?”

  “Yes.”

  I tried to go quiet again.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “What?”

  “This has all the hallmarks of a set up. This group caused Leckie’s downfall, in his mind? And remember what he said about the using the caesium theft as a smokescreen for settling scores? It gives you another explanation for why his old mate suddenly resurfaced at such a convenient moment.”

  “Revenge as a motive? Of course I’ve considered it. But someone shot that informant, yesterday, and it wasn’t Leckie cause he was standing right next to me, and we both nearly caught bullets, too. So, one way or another, something’s going on.”

  “How does it relate to this woman we’re going to see, now?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. But the DDG wants us to look into the caesium theft you say that was done on paper, and of all the people in the hospital, she’s the most likely candidate to start spilling the beans.”

  “Why?”

  “Several reasons. But mostly because she’s a loner, and has a terrible HR record. That suggests she has no loyalty to either the place or her co-workers. So even if her hands are clean, hopefully her tongue will be loose enough to dish the dirt on enough others to give us some good leads.”

  “What do we know about her?”

  “Well, her name’s Amany Shakran. She’s twenty-nine years old. Born in Cairo. Trained as a teacher in Egypt. Moved to London six years ago after marrying a UK citizen. Couldn’t get work as a teacher cause her qualifications aren’t recognised here, so worked a variety of temporary office jobs before settling at St Joseph’s four years ago.”

  “That could explain her bad HR record, if she never really wanted to work there. I’d be pretty resentful, if I couldn’t do what I was trained for because of some bureaucratic nonsense.”

  “It’s possible. And it could also be personal. She got divorced three years ago. I don’t know the circumstances, but you know what divorce can do to people. It brings out their true colours, I always think.”

  “How will we recognise her? Do you know what she looks like?”

  Melissa rummaged in her purse, pulled out a grainy eight by ten photograph, and handed it to me.

  “It’s copied from her immigration file, so it’s a little out of date,” she said.

  I studied the picture for a moment, and allowing for six years of aging, I was sure enough.

  “We know this woman,” I said. “She was the younger one who was arguing in the canteen just before you showed me the axe marks in the door.”

  Melissa took the photograph back.

  “I thought it was,” she said. “I wasn’t certain, though, so I wanted to see if it hit you the same way.”

  “It did,” I said. “And If she shows the same spirit she did that day, our afternoon could be quite fun after all.”

  We arrived at St Joseph’s fifteen minutes before Amany Shakran’s shift was due to end, so I stopped the Land Rover on a double yellow with a good view of the hospital entrance.

  “What if she comes out a different way?” I said. “Do you want to divide and conquer?”

  “No,” Melissa said. “I don’t think so. We’re more effective if we stick together, and I’m pretty sure this is the way she’ll come. It’s the nearest exit to the block she works in. The tube stop she needs to get home is this way. So’s the bus stop. And most of the local shops.”

  “Look,” I said. “Heading for the gate. Is that her now?”

  “It is,” Melissa said, flicking a switch beneath the glove box to active the vehicle’s built-in surveillance camera, then reaching for the door release. “First out of the trap, obviously. It doesn’t seem like her attitude’s improved any.”

  The woman we’d spotted was about five foot ten tall. She was wearing flats, suit trousers, and a tightly buttoned wool overcoat, all in black. Her hair was pulled back from her face. She showed no signs of wearing make-up. She was scowling, and her arms were pinned tightly to her sides as she strode briskly out from under the hospital’s signature archway. Melissa stood at the side of our Land Rover and waited until she was sure the woman was heading our way. Then, when they were about six feet apart, Melissa stepped into the middle of the pavement and blocked her path. I saw her flash some kind of ID. The other woman stiffened. Worry replaced the hostility that had temporarily flickered across her face, but she didn’t attempt to run. Melissa took hold of her arm, just in case, and ushered her back a few steps. Then she opened the back door and guided her into the rear of the vehicle.

  “Am I under arrest?” the woman said, as I pulled away from the kerb.

  “No,” Melissa said. “We’re not here to arrest you. We’d just like to talk to you. We think you might be able to help us make sense of something that happened recently in the hospital. In the department where you work.”

  “Who’s that?” the woman said, pointing at me.

  “His name is David Trevellyan,” Melissa said. “He’s my colleague. Another officer. He’s here to help. David, this is Amany Shakran.”

  I adjusted the rear view mirror so that the woman knew I could see her, but I wasn’t ready to say anything yet.

  “Now, Amany, I want you listen very carefully,” Melissa said. “You’re not in any trouble. And we’re not looking to get you in any trouble. In fact, if you can help us with our problem, we’ll make sure you stay out of trouble, even if it turns out other people you know have done things that are wrong. Do you understand me?”

  The woman didn’t reply.

  “OK,” Melissa said. “Maybe that was the wrong question to ask, because I know you’re an intelligent, educated woman. In fact, I know all about you. Your early life in Egypt. Getting married. Moving to the UK. Having to work at the hospital, instead of in a school. And I also know the people you work with don’t like you very much. Do they?”

  The woman still didn’t speak, but I saw her shake her head very slightly.

  “Now, I’m sure that’s very unfair,” Melissa said. “But here’s the situation. Laws have been broken. Serious ones. Pretty soon hard-core investigators are going to be crawling all over your office. And when that happens, do you think your co-workers are going to stand up for you?”

  “Ha,” the woman said, after a moment. “Those sons of donkeys would stab me in the back sooner than look at me.”

  “That’s pretty much what I thought. I’ve had to work with people like that more times than you’d believe, so I know exactly what you’re going through. It’s a horrible experience. But if you help us with this one thing, we can make sure that when the time comes, those people get what they deserve. And, more importantly, we can stop them putting the bl
ame on you instead.”

  “What kind of help do you need? I am just a clerk. What can I do?”

  “I need some information. Just so I can understand how something works in the hospital. No one will ever know it came from you.”

  “What can I tell you? I’m a teacher, not a medical person. It’s because of your stupid Department of Education that I am where I am, surrounded with cruel, ignorant rodents. You should save your time with me, and go interrogate someone else.”

  “This isn’t an interrogation. It’s just a friendly chat. And it’s your job I’m interested in. Part of it, anyway. I just need to understand how one thing works. Then, I’ll be able to see how something else was able to happen. Something you absolutely won’t get in trouble for.”

  “I can try, if that will help keep my name out of the mud. Which thing?”

  “You don’t know what I’m going to ask you about? You don’t have any idea?”

  “No. My job is very boring. I can’t imagine how talking about it can help anyone. But I’m willing to try, if you tell me what you want to know.”

  “Well, I’m interested to know what happens when the containers of special waste arrive from the other hospitals. You helped keep the records, didn’t you?”

  “I did. But that doesn’t happen any more. Not since some of it was stolen. Now it all goes to another hospital. Someone there does all the logging in and out.”

  “I know that. But can you tell me how you used to do it, when the waste still came here?”

  “It was easy, to tell you the truth. A trained monkey could have done it. On the morning of the transfer, I got an e-mail, which was also copied to my boss. It told us the number of canisters that were coming, what was in them, and gave a code number for each one. Then, when the truck arrived, I went outside with a barcode reader. I scanned the codes, and if they matched the e-mail, everything was okay.”