Since Kotsev’s arrival seemed to be causing some distraction for her senior officers, she decided to take the opportunity to check their website. Yes, Europol was looking for employees who were creative, self-reliant, energetic and willing to take up challenges. It wanted candidates who were able to work in a dynamic, fast-moving environment that required a high level of flexibility.

Fry nodded. She could do that, couldn’t she?

The bad news was that job opportunities were now open to nationals of twenty-five EU states, including all the new members, such as the Czech Republic, Poland, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. And probably Bulgaria and Romania too, before long. The good news was that balanced gender representation was a priority, so Europol particularly encouraged applications from women.

She found half a dozen jobs currently available for law enforcement personnel. Counter Terrorism and Serious Crime. If interested, contact your Europol National Unit.

Fry felt an almost physical surge of excitement. It was one of those rare moments when a vista of future possibilities seemed to open up; opportunities to change her life, to make it better.

She remembered what Georgi had said about working for Europol: I could live in The Hague. The idea seemed both astonishingly unlikely and perfectly feasible. She’d never been to Holland. In fact, the only places she’d been to on the Continent were Calais, Paris and Naxos. But she could live in The Hague. She was as European as anyone else, wasn’t she?

Where were those Europol job descriptions again? Fry was sure she must meet all the criteria for potential applicants. And now, thanks to Georgi Kotsev, she even knew something about cross-border organized crime.

‘Anybody know where the Europol National Unit is based?’

‘Yes, at the NCIS in London,’ said Cooper, without looking up. ‘Their HQ is in Vauxhall Bridge, near MI6. I think you can see it in some of the James Bond films.’

‘Thanks.’

Fry waited to see if anyone enquired why she was interested in Europol. But there wasn’t a murmur. Well, that didn’t surprise her. No one cared what she did, or where she went.

There was a seminar she’d attended recently on the use of Sirene, a new data system linked to the Police National Computer. The system was designed to give access to information from all the Schengen countries, and get an alert placed against the details of anyone suspected of involvement in organized crime. That would be useful – when it came in. It had been mentioned during the seminar that the British part of the system would be administered by the Sirene UK Bureau. Based at the NCIS. Fancy that.

‘We’re still not up to speed on organized crime, are we?’ said Fry, when Cooper got to his feet and passed her desk.

‘That’s one of the reasons we’re going to end up being merged, isn’t it? That, and our neighbours’ problems.’

‘We can’t blame it on Nottinghamshire.’

‘We can try.’

Fry sighed. ‘You’re so parochial,’ she said. ‘You’re all so parochial.’

 On the DI’s desk, the plastic wallet was now labelled as evidence examined by the documents section at the forensics laboratory.

‘The passport has been confirmed as a forgery,’ said Hitchens. ‘Likewise Rose Shepherd’s driving licence. With those two items, you can build an identity for yourself in no time.’

‘Pity there was no sign of a birth certificate,’ said Fry.

‘You don’t need a birth certificate unless you’re applying for a genuine passport. People who supply forged identity documents don’t care where or when your birth was registered. So the person called Rose Shepherd won’t have a birth certificate.’

‘What about her DNA and fingerprints?’ said Fry.

‘We’re running them through the database.’

‘No wonder she got that shredder installed. If you had a fraudulent identity yourself, you’d know about taking precautions. But, despite her East European connections, she’s not your typical terrorist suspect, is she?’

‘True. But she’d need the right contacts to change her identity so effectively. Nikolov looks likely. But there are plenty of possibilities, given her links to organized crime. When we discover her real identity, we’ll find the motive for her murder. There must be something she did in the past that she was trying to conceal.’

Cooper nodded, but he was doubtful. He found he couldn’t reconcile the picture he’d built up of Miss Shepherd with the idea of her being a criminal with a background full of sordid secrets. If she liked cats, she can’t have been all that bad.

Of course, when this woman took on a new identity, she’d done a pretty good job of it. But it was never going to be perfect. It wasn’t really possible to start life all over again with the totally blank slate Rose Shepherd seemed to have craved. There were always a few threads that remained unbroken somewhere in any person’s life. No matter who she was, or where she came from, this woman was a product of all the experiences she’d gone through in sixty years of existence.

And in Miss Shepherd’s case, there must have been people in her life who she couldn’t entirely leave behind. Despite her change of identity, one of them had been bound to catch up with her some day. It was just a question of finding the right thread – the one that remained unbroken.

‘Did I tell you?’ said Cooper. ‘I think I might have found where the wooden dinosaur came from.’

During the briefing, Gavin Murfin had seemed fascinated by the shine on Kotsev’s shoes. He’d sat with his eyes permanently directed downwards, as if he’d been hypnotized.

‘What do you think of him, Gavin?’ asked Fry.

‘His shoes are very shiny.’

‘Are they?’

‘Yes, very military-looking. I bet he feels much more at home in uniform.’

‘All part of his professional manner, wouldn’t you say?’

Murfin sniffed, but didn’t take the bait. ‘By the way, West Yorkshire Police have no record of John Lowther on their local intelligence systems. But I tracked down a former colleague from the building society where he worked – a Mr Barrington. Apparently, the word around the office was that after Lowther left the company he was in hospital for quite some time.’

‘What for?’

‘Nobody ever knew. It was only a rumour that went round. Lowther’s resignation had come as a bit of a surprise, so there was some speculation about a mystery illness. You know the sort of thing. In those circumstances, people tend to assume cancer. In fact, Mr Barrington was surprised to hear that John Lowther was still alive.’

‘See if you can find out what was wrong with him, will you?’

‘That’s going to be difficult,’ said Murfin. ‘Even if the rumours are true, I don’t know what hospital he was in. I might be able to get the name of his GP in Leeds from the company’s personnel records, but you know what doctors are like …’

‘The rumour must have come from somewhere, though.’

‘Office rumours? That’s like catching feathers. People put two and two together and make them add up to whatever they want. It’s the same round here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ Murfin shook his head. ‘There was one person Mr Barrington mentioned. Not a friend exactly, but someone John Lowther might have talked to a bit more than his other colleagues.’

‘Does he still work there?’

‘It’s a she. And she moved to a rival firm a few months ago.’

‘But you could find her, though, if you tried.’

‘I suppose so.’ Murfin paused. ‘Diane, surely we could ask Lowther’s parents? They must know about his hospital stay.’

‘Yes, I’m going to ask them,’ said Fry. ‘But I don’t trust them to tell me the truth. I want to make sure I have an independent account.’

‘I can’t promise anything. There’s such a lot on right now.’

‘OK, Gavin. Just try, will you?’

Fry seemed to have heard herself saying that far too often recently. Was she the only one these things occurred to? Or was she obsessing too much over irrelevant details?