12.

Wednesday 9 November. Two weeks and two days before Buzz and I fly out to Miami. I get a call from Jackson.

‘Do you have a minute?’ he says. He speaks with an unusual gentleness, the way he might if I actually had a choice.

I go up. His office: a large, black leatherette sofa, a couple of art prints on the wall, one of those pointless office plants – a stringy palmate thing, that sits in a ceramic pot full of what looks like ceramic gravel.

On the sofa, Brattenbury, wearing a dark jacket over a plum-colored V-neck. He looks cooler than coppers are meant to look. Makes Jackson look older and tireder than he really is.

I sit down.

‘Fiona, you remember Adrian Brattenbury. He’s the Senior Investigating Officer on Operation Tinker.’

‘Tinker?’

Brattenbury says, ‘The computer allocates names. We don’t pick ‘em.’

‘Adrian, if you want to give Fiona a quick overview.’

There’s a smoked glass coffee table in front of the sofa. Papers on it, including some six by ten photo sheets, but turned so I can’t see them.

Brattenbury nods, but first looks straight at me and says, ‘Nice to meet you properly. I understand Dennis here has a lot of faith in you.’

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just sit. When Brattenbury figures out that I’m not going to say anything, he continues, ‘Tinker. It’s turning into a biggie. Thanks to your work in identifying Kureishi, we’ve been able to trace nine different frauds, eight of those payroll-related. One of them an expense-based thing: the same, but different. Total monthly amount stolen is in excess of a quarter of a million pounds. At the current rate, about three point eight million a year.’

Perhaps I look surprised, because he adds, ‘We haven’t closed anything down. Not yet. If we do, our chances of securing convictions on the perpetrators fall to about zero. These are big companies for the most part and most of them have an existing policy of cooperating with police investigation. Those that don’t – well, they’re on board for now. How long that goes on for, I don’t know. But for the time being, we’re OK.’

He waits to see if I want to say something, but I still don’t, so he continues, ‘It looks like the basic mechanics of the fraud were initially set up by Kureishi. He installed software that gave external access to payroll. We’re confident he was not the ultimate beneficiary of the fraud. We simply can’t find enough money or signs of heavy spending. And the set-up looks remarkably professional. The fraud involves over a hundred and fifty dummy UK bank accounts. The money siphons via Spain, Portugal or Jersey to Belize. The Belize bank account is fronted by nominees and owned by a shell company in the British Virgin Islands. That shell company in turn is owned by a foundation in Panama. We’ve got the best investigators we have trying to crack that little nut open, but frankly our chances are very low. And even if we peel things back to Panama, they’ll quite likely just pull the money back through a whole lot of anonymous shell companies, through difficult or corrupt jurisdictions, and we’ll get nowhere at all.’

It occurs to me that Jersey and the British Virgin Islands are both under the jurisdiction of the British government, and that the Queen is head of state in Belize. It also occurs to me that making these places world centers for shell companies, nominee accounts, loosely controlled money and zero corporate taxation is not necessarily consistent with what our government is there to do.

I don’t say this, though. Just sit there and try to look intelligent.

Brattenbury continues. ‘Our assumption is that even if Kureishi originated the fraud, he lost control of it to criminals with far more extensive resources and experience. Kureishi got greedy or had some falling-out with his employers. They handled that the way these guys tend to do. Our primary investigative goal is therefore to find the ultimate controllers of this fraud and to bring them to justice. Charges of fraud and murder.’

I nod. I still don’t know why I’m here, except that I think I do.

I keep looking at the six by tens.

I am feeling something. A cold distance that comes between me and my body, a band of December fog. I normally like to pursue these feelings, to see if I can understand and name them, but the time and place for that exercise is not now. Not now and not here.

‘Your furniture superstore,’ says Brattenbury. ‘That was the smallest fraud, the earliest, and the least sophisticated. I think you’d call it a proof of concept test. They’ve been building from there. The current frauds, the larger ones, are built on a much larger scale and need more … more care and attention.’

I nod. Keep looking at the pictures. Keep feeling that December fog.

‘With the bigger companies, backdoor access to a single computer terminal doesn’t give the fraudsters what they need. They need someone onsite as well. Basically, they use that initial opening to design the fraud. To figure out the company’s systems, how to get around the safeguards. Then, when they’ve figured out a scam that will work, they recruit a mole within the company. The mole executes the plan and monitors it.’

I say, or try to say, ‘A payroll clerk, someone like that,’ but no words seem to come out, so I clear my throat and try again.

‘Yes, exactly,’ he says when he understands me. ‘Exactly.’

He goes on talking. The current plan is to terminate most of the frauds in what Brattenbury calls a ‘natural’ way. Basically, he intends to nudge the companies’ internal auditors to make the checks that will expose the fraud, seemingly as part of the company’s regular audit process.

‘We do, however, want to leave two or three of the bigger scams running. We don’t want the perpetrators to feel they’ve been found out. Luckily, the two biggest scams affect insurance companies, both of whom pay out tens of millions of pounds annually as a result of organized crime, so they’re particularly keen to be helpful. They’ve given us as much systems access as we need. We can see literally every single keystroke, every mouse click on the relevant computers.’

I nod. I’m not particularly good with computers, but I know these things aren’t particularly difficult. You can get remote monitoring software for twenty or thirty pounds online. If the corporate’s IT staff are being helpful, you can probably achieve the same effect by tweaking a few settings on some admin panel.

I also know, though, that you don’t break organized crime syndicates by computer monitoring alone.

‘We have identified the local moles. That’s not hard, as you know. But we don’t want the moles, we want the people controlling them. And the people profiting from them. And we’ve got nowhere. Nowhere at all. We haven’t closed with the enemy because, the truth is, we’ve no idea who the enemy is.’

I nod. I don’t seem to have a working voice box, so I stop trying to use it.

‘Infiltration,’ says Brattenbury. ‘We want to plant an operative in their camp. Make some identifications. Get some surveillance going.’

Nod.

Stare down at the six by tens.

Brattenbury has, I’m sure, noticed the direction of my gaze before now, but this is the first time he responds directly. He flips the photos over one by one, leaving just a singleton still face down on the table.

The photos are of people. Mugshots and full length profiles. One of them is of me. I’m wearing something from Next. Pale blue blouse, cardigan, grey skirt, dark court shoes. Bland, safe, officey.

There are four other photos, all of men. Men in their thirties or younger forties. Short hair. Muscular, or at least tough-looking. Narrow eyes, strong jaws. The men are all wearing jeans. Dark shirts or T-shirts. Casual jackets, one leather, one denim, the two others not far removed from the same denim-leather school of couture. Four men with a whiff of the macho.

I recognize three of the men: my colleagues. One I don’t, but I assume he’s a copper too, just one I haven’t met. The three men I recognize have all worked undercover.

I know where this is going.

‘I understand you’ve just completed your undercover course.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did very well. An unusually strong performance, I’m told.’

I shrug. ‘It was a training thing, not a real thing.’ That’s not wonderful English, but at least my voice seems to be working again.

‘That’s perfectly true. There’s a huge difference and yet the training is designed for real life. By people who have lived that life.’

Nod.

‘Fiona, we need a payroll clerk. Someone who looks like a payroll clerk. Someone who could do the job of a payroll clerk. We need an outstanding investigator and someone with nerve. Preferably also someone local. We could bring in someone from Birmingham, say, but then they look like someone being brought in for a reason. They’ll be the first person our targets will suspect.’

Nod.

There’s a glance between Jackson and Brattenbury. Jackson reaches out and flips the last photo. It’s of Kureishi. His corpse. Not a shot I’ve seen before. This one is full frontal. It takes a moment to notice that he has stumps in place of hands. There’s blood all over his legs. From this angle, the look on his face isn’t one of astonishment, but of anguish. Either that, or I’m just viewing it differently.

‘Fiona.’ This is Jackson talking. ‘I want you to know that you do not have to accept this assignment. I want you to know that we regard it as exceptionally dangerous. If you are exposed, the likelihood is that you end up like this.’ He taps the photo of Kureishi. ‘If you say no, that will not be held against you in any way at all. Not when it comes to promotion. Not when it comes to allocating work. Not in any way at all. Do you understand?’

Nod.

‘I need you to say yes or no.’

‘Yes. I understand.’

My voice is gravel moving on sandpaper. Cinders blowing in an empty grate.

Another look passes between the two men.

Brattenbury says, ‘I’d like to offer you the job. Your task would be to infiltrate the organization and help us destroy it. You will continue to be employed here, by the South Wales CID. You’ll be seconded, on a temporary basis, to us at SOCA. I’ll be your case officer, but you’ll also have a reporting line direct to Dennis here. You’ll be able to reach either of us at any point.

‘We’ll work with your Fiona Grey legend. We’ll have you under our protection the entire time. We’ll surveille your flat and your workplace. We’ll have armed response officers ready should the situation ever call for it. But I don’t want to pretend these things are perfect. They never are. As Dennis says, this is a dangerous game. It’s OK to say no.’

‘Yes.’ Because neither of the men react, I say it again, more clearly this time. ‘I mean, yes, I’ll take the job.’

Brattenbury doesn’t move. It’s as though he doesn’t want to move in case he breaks some meniscus that is only just holding its tension.

Jackson is the opposite. He does a tiny double-take, as though checking he heard me right, then moves in quickly, forcefully, to say, ‘Fiona, you’re not to make this decision on the fly. You need to think about it. Your chap, now. Sergeant Brydon. You’ll need to talk to him. You can’t talk about this to your family or friends or other loved ones, but you need to think about them.’

‘Yes.’

‘This could be a long assignment.’ Jackson has some of my course paperwork in front of him.. Paperwork in which I stated that I only wanted short duration assignments. ‘You have to think about the consequences. Not just for you, but for those around you.’

‘Yes.’ I don’t say anything for a while and nor does anyone else. Then: ‘I’ve got a holiday coming up. In Florida.’

Brattenbury nods. ‘We don’t have to get in the way of that. It might be a good idea, actually.’ Gives me a half smile. ‘Perhaps go easy on the tan.’

‘I don’t know anything about payroll.’

Brattenbury smiles again. ‘The company we want to place you in is an outfit called Western Vale. An insurance company. They use a system called Total Payroll Solutions. TPS. It’s standard software, easy to use. As luck would have it, this office uses identical software. So do half the offices in this city. If you’re up for this, we’ll start training you tomorrow. We’ll need to do some work on your legend. Get you familiar with the duties of a payroll clerk. Start the infiltration as soon as you get back from holiday.’

His face asks, Anything else?

I nod. I can’t see that there’s much else to say.

I stand up. Or rather: two of me stand up. Fiona Griffiths, a policewoman, and Fiona Grey, a cleaner. Fiona Griffiths is comfortable enough in this environment: in a room with two senior officers and neither of them yelling at her. Fiona Grey feels out of place. As a cleaner, I was used to exiting a building before the employees turned up. I don’t know what to do under this scrutiny. Just look at the floor and wait to be dismissed.

Brattenbury says, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll get started then.’

Jackson says, ‘Think about it, Fiona. Think about it and talk it over.’

He wants to hold my gaze, but he can’t find it. Whoever hoovered the room didn’t push the cleaning head properly under the sofa, so there’s a shadow line of dust visible beneath the seat. The miniature palm tree in its ceramic pot is dropping brown leaf curls on the carpet.

Fiona Grey says, ‘Yes, sir,’ and leaves the room.