David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good (28 page)

       
“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 indirectly, 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 blame 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?”