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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

“How do you know it is him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is his name? You never said?”

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

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

“And start running?” suggested Roberta.

“This could open the case right up.”

“That is our aim is it not?”

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

---

The technical people did their thing and produced still images of the two suspects ready for their visit from the SIO the next morning. A DVD with the whole tape saved on it plus another one with the relevant parts of the tape were produced.

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

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

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

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

Roberta smiled at the Sergeant.

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

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

“Are you going to give me a hint?”

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

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

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

“I guess that was it then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know they do but…?”

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

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

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

“Sir, I understand.”

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

---

Late that afternoon, DS Mitchell and DC Galbraith were ushered into the office of DCI Saunders

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

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

The DCI smiled and nodded at Roberta.

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

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

“Ok, lets’ see the action?”

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

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

“Very intact sir,” said Sergeant Mitchell.

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

The sergeant looked at Roberta.

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

“How do you know this?”

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

“Do you see that scar above his eye?”

“Yes. What about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Roberta’s home or rather the place she stayed while she was in London was a bedsit on the eastern edge of Leytonstone. It was a huge step up from couch surfing. She could have easily stayed with her father at his apartment that was close to Lambeth Palace, but explaining that away would be hard and her relationship to a peer of the realm would be exposed for all to see.

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

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

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

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

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

[to be continued]