The young forensic analyst leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses; he rubbed at the bridge of his nose where his glasses had left small red marks. He just needed a moment. The tiredness was becoming a hindrance. He had been so tired overnight he had begun to hallucinate.

He had a dream that he was sitting at his computer as lines of text zoomed up past his eyes so quickly they were a blur. When he woke up he was indeed at his keyboard, and his sleeping hand had been resting on the down arrow, scrolling through pages of research at increasing speed.

He was sure that coffee would help, but it wasn’t an option. Simon’s blood stream was probably already more caffeinated than was wise and so he sipped a glass of chilled water and refreshed his face with a handy wipe. The printer in the background hummed as each page of his report printed. He had gathered, ordered and summarised over eighty pages of text relating to the life history of Gillian Davis.

Simon knew he was a bit of a geek. He also knew that, despite his best efforts, he tended to look like a geek, too. He was almost six feet tall, with short fair hair that refused to accept a parting. His skin was fair and prone to sunburn and freckles. Skinny to the point of malnutrition, he did not wear clothes; he hung them on his shoulders and let gravity take care of the rest. Even the smallest waisted trousers would be cinched at his midriff with a belt. Women like Gillian Davis rarely paid him any heed, until their computers failed; and then their wide bovine eyes pleaded for his help. The printer stopped churning out paper, and Simon reached over and gathered the printed sheets of A4 which almost filled the tray.

Skimming through the summary before he clipped the pages into a folder, he read:

Gillian Davis was born to a single Mother by the name of Andrea Jane Bailey, father unknown, appearing on her birth certificate. When just a few months old her mother died and she was adopted by her Mother’s employers, the Davis’s. At the time of the adoption the Social Workers attempted to contact Gillian’s potential father, Denton Miles III, but were unsuccessful.

Gillian had grown to maturity on the Tallgarth Manor Estate at Stratfield Turgis, near Basingstoke in Hampshire. She had enjoyed a healthy adolescence but had been admitted to hospital as a young teenager when an overzealous doctor treating a suspected case of strep throat reported to social workers that the infection was actually gonococcal pharyngitis. The doctor was concerned because the main cause of this type of infection was oral sex and Gillian was so young. During an uncomfortable investigation male family members were both suspected and quizzed, but eventually the girl admitted to her case worker that she had been assaulted by a local man who had later taken his own life.

Simon’s quick search of the Newbury Weekly News archive revealed that Leslie Barnett Vaughan, aged 35 years, took his own life in the same year in the woods surrounding Tallgarth Manor. He was not well liked or respected and his own wife and children did not attend his funeral.

“Harsh,” Simon thought to himself. He continued reading.

An exceptional student at some very expensive, but very ordinary, minor public schools, Gillian Davis excelled at shooting, archery and orienteering. Gillian was Junior National Rifle Shooting Champion - Field, twice, and Junior National Rifle Shooting Champion – Target, three times. Called up to the National team on six occasions, she missed what would have been the highlight of her amateur career when she missed the Commonwealth Games with a dislocated shoulder.

With the award of a First Class Honours Degree in Combined Sciences, she was able to go on to achieve a Masters in Biological Chemistry.

Because Simon hadn’t immediately known what Biological Chemistry was, and because being a geek makes one thorough, he included a footnote for his readers;

¹ Biological Chemistry combines studies in Organic Chemistry with Biochemistry and Molecular Biology. These are combined with fundamental Chemistry and Biology and may also contain elements of Analytical Chemistry, Medicinal Chemistry, Ecology and Developmental Biology.

Gillian Davis was reading for a Doctorate when she was recruited by the MOD as an intelligence analyst (more likely as a special operations field officer/ sniper).

After a distinguished period of service she was pensioned off, and completed her Doctorate before using an inheritance to buy a failing greetings card company [Celebrato] and turning it into a commercial success.

NB: Whilst Ms Davis clearly was in receipt of an inheritance, probate records at Winchester indicate that she was the heir to Nicholas Barnaby Davis and not the heir of Harold Graham Davis, the owner of Tallgarth Manor. It was assumed that upon the sale of Tallgarth Manor to an international computer company, Gillian was gifted a proportion of the £7m sale price by her cousin. No records exist to verify this transaction but Ms Davis did invest £2.5m cash into Celebrato Greeting Cards shortly thereafter.

As recently as yesterday morning, the Clayton Card Chain announced the purchase of Celebrato Greeting Cards, and its assets, by a mix of shares and cash.

Satisfied with his work Simon sat down and bound the document before walking along the corridor to speak to Dee Hammond, his gorgeous – but married – boss.

***

The mobile phone on the desk vibrated and then rang with a tinny rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever” that the composer, John Philip Sousa, would not have appreciated.

“Dee Hammond,” the phone’s owner announced to the caller from the Vastrick head office in the USA.

“Dee, this is George Templeton, Vice President of Operations in New York.”

“Hi, George. I haven’t seen those wobbly jowls of yours for an age. How are you doing?” Dee enjoyed bursting the bubble of the American contingent at Vastrick whose grand titles were beloved of their clients but anathema to Tom Vastrick, the American owner and President.

“Oh, I’m good. I’d be back in the field if it wasn’t for this damn arthritis, you know.”

“There’d be no holding you back, George. I tell you, if I wasn’t already married....” Dee teased the sixty three year old executive mercilessly. She knew very well that if George was ever let out on fieldwork it would be bladder control that let him down, not arthritis.

“Dee, I need you to meet Flight AAM 46 from Los Angeles when it lands at Heathrow. It’s due to arrive at sixteen hundred hours UK time. It’s an Air America A380 and Katie Norman is on board.” He paused before emphasising the word, “alone.” The American sounded vaguely panicked.

“OK George, I’ll do it. Why is she alone, though? We have a base to base contract with personal protection and close residential protection.” Dee was genuinely puzzled, and for good reason. Katie should never have been on an aeroplane alone. It was a blatant breach of procedure.

In plain English, Vastrick had a contract to protect Katie at all times, with personal protection – a bodyguard, base to base cover – a protection team during travel, and, close residential protection – an agent eats, drinks, sleeps and attends University, parties and any other event with the client.

Normally such protection would be seen as overkill or tawdry fee generation, but when the client is very young, very vulnerable or under threat, it was occasionally necessary. This client met all of those criteria.

Katie Norman was one of Vastrick’s youngest clients. She was still only twenty years old, but her film career had taken off when she was only twelve years old and she landed the role of Clara Campbell, a schoolgirl who attends a mystical school for spiritually gifted children. The books were a publishing sensation, and it was always accepted that the subsequent films would be box office hits if they were directed and produced with care and with respect for the author’s characters and plots.