“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 blame on you instead.”