Chapter 2

“Would you show me your police credentials?” Clive asked.

The woman delved into a jacket pocket and fished them out, tossing them casually across the room to Clive as though daring him to drop them.

“Chief Superintendent Jane Watson,” he read out. “If this is fake, it’s very good quality. Mind if I check?”

“Go ahead. If it doesn’t pass scrutiny, heads will roll.”

“Okay. I’ll be a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable.”

Clive went into the kitchen and called a number pre-programmed into his work phone. Working for a company involved in such sensitive work, the security staff had access to a public official identity vetting service.

Clive completed the robot identity checks then was put through to a live human.

“How can we help you today Mr Holmes?”

“Hi, I’ve been approached by a woman outside work who claims to be a police officer. I’m worried that company security might have been compromised if she’s not who she claims to be. I’m holding her police credentials.”

“Fine. Can you read out the details for me?”

Clive read out the information requested and was asked to wait. Looking at reflections in windows, he could see the woman hadn’t moved from the sofa. That was suspicious. He expected her to at least get up and have a look around the lounge. He immediately suspected she’d already been in his house.

“Thank you for waiting,” said the voice. “I can confirm that Chief Superintendent Jane Watson works for the Investigative Services Division out of the Home Office. Hmm, that’s a new one on me - I didn’t know the Home Office had its own police division.”

“Do you have a photo you can send me?”

“One minute.”

There could be no doubt. The woman in the photo matched the woman in his lounge. “Thank you for your help. Everything seems to be in order,” said Clive.

He made his way back to the lounge and tossed the woman’s credentials back towards her, only he deliberately aimed a little off. Quick as lightning, her arm snaked out and she grabbed the credentials in mid air, confirming his suspicion she was more dangerous than appeared at first sight.

“You passed, Chief Superintendent Jane Watson, Investigative Services Division out of the Home Office.”

A slight flicker of annoyance showed in her eyes. “I have other credentials. I use the one most appropriate for any given situation. Chief Superintendent means other police officers can’t readily overrule me, but the rank isn’t too implausible for me to take an active interest in investigations.”

“At least I’ve got a name for you now. May I call you Jane?”

“Go ahead. It’s a name I’m comfortable with.”

“In that case, Jane, since your existence is complicated, I think I’d better tell you about my own complication,” said Clive. “Off the record of course.”

Jane nodded her assent. “Any chance of a refill first?” she asked, holding out her mug.

Clive smiled and nodded. He appreciated people who weren’t afraid to ask for what they wanted. After furnishing Jane with a fresh coffee, he began his story.

“I grew up in a rough neighbourhood and fell in with a bad crowd at an early age. I had to take care of myself and I was always getting into trouble. I don’t look for fights but I don’t walk away from one and I can hold my own. I still keep myself in shape.”

Jane looked him up and down and nodded. Almost a compliment in the circumstances.

“When I was in my teens, I got involved in lots of gang fights. The last one will haunt me for ever. My best friend at the time stabbed a rival young boy in the stomach. I’ve never felt so helpless as when I watched the scared boy, not even a teenager, crying for his mummy while his life-blood was gushing away.”

Clive had to pause at the memory, then he composed himself to carry on.

“That caused me to change my life. It was impossible to fully escape the gangs while living there, but I distanced myself as far as possible and cut the ties down to a minimum. Instead I took school more seriously while I looked for an escape route. I got a nice surprise when my GCSE results came through: they were good enough for me to go on for A-levels. Mum encouraged me to go as far as I could in my education and I ended up at the local sixth form college.

“Somehow my parents found enough money to send me on a fortnight’s school trip to Germany, supposedly to experience German culture. We stayed in a cheap hotel in a run-down area. The teachers told us not to go outside on our own at night but I didn’t listen because I grew up in just such an area and I knew how to take care of myself. I saw Germany’s seedy underbelly, but I also saw more of its architecture than just fairytale castles, churches and museums.

“One night I was out on my own when I came across three men attacking an old man. I didn’t stop to think, I rushed in to help. The attackers weren’t real fighters and they quickly fled, but not before gutting the old man. Someone called the police while I stayed there keeping pressure on the man’s wound to slow the bleeding. If only I’d known to do that for the young boy, I might have saved his life.”

Again Clive had to pause at the memory.

“The old man began speaking in a strange monotone. His words were quite clear and, incredibly, in English, but something stopped me from understanding a single word that he said. Then he stopped speaking. The German police arrived shortly afterwards. Nobody was happy with me. I was out alone at night against orders, I got into a fight, I couldn’t identify the perpetrators and I couldn’t even remember the dying man’s last words. If it hadn’t been close to the end of school trip, I reckon I would have been sent home early.”

Clive sipped some of his green tea and the woman drank some of her coffee, mirroring his action.

“Fast forward two years,” resumed Clive. “I was at university studying architecture, inspired partly by all the interesting buildings I saw in Germany. I thought it would be a laugh and the entrance requirements were low, but actually it turned out to be mind-numbingly boring.