Driving Miss Debbie

by Caroline Bradley
© August 2002

 

Part 4

 

The front door slammed for a second time, Debbie jumped awake. Totally disoriented she looked in the mirror, she was disheveled and her forehead gleamed with sweat; what, where…

Slowly it dawned on her, last evening she and Tor had a lot to drink and Debbie was severely stressed after her day of revelations and emotional swings. She had gone up to bed to get ready for Tor, the rest must have been a dream!! Or a nightmare!! Oh God, the dream of Tor acting like a sadistic lesbian was still vivid but Debbie knew she had not been violated. Forcing her eyes to focus, she saw a note on the bedside table.

"Debs, you looked so sweet and vulnerable I didn’t have the heart to disturb you after your day. No-one could ever guess your true sex, maybe you really are a full time girl in your mind and maybe you should just go out and get Paul. I love you, Tor."

Debbie’s tears tasted salty in her dry mouth as she read Tor’s note, Tor was so good and kind and, well yes, perceptive. Debbie was dressed as a girl almost full time now and, why not go the whole hog and follow her heart’s desire?? The musings were interrupted by the shrill ring of the bedside ‘phone,

"Hi sleepyhead,"

"Tor, my love, thank you for your note",

"no probs babe, listen the investigation is hotting up so I cannot be seen fraternising with the witnesses so to speak and, well, I guess you’re thinking about someone else anyway aren’t you?" Debbie sighed and whispered, "Yes, you’re right, sorry."

"Listen, we need to move to the next phase, my Superintendent wants to interview you to see if your up to it, can you cope with that?"

"Depends on what he wants me to do I suppose,"

"Probably to wear a wire and meet with Paul,"

"Not sure I want to get Paul into any trouble," Debbie felt defensive of her newly admitted lover,

"OK, why don’t you come in and talk to him, he’s OK if a bit of a dinosaur?"

They chatted for a few moments longer and, after Tor had checked diaries, Debbie reluctantly agreed to come down to the Police station at 4pm that day.

"You can come dressed how you want, if that will make it easier," Tor offered.

"Thanks, I’ll come as Debbie, in fact I have decided that David has ceased to exist anyway."

"Good on you girl, see you later." Tor rang off. It was 10 in the morning, so Debbie had a good amount of time, to do what though? She mused over her thoughts and her conviction that becoming Debbie full time was the right thing to do, so what next?

After an invigourating shower, Debbie dressed quickly and simply in loose jeans and a fitted T-shirt over her bra and panties. Brushing her favourite auburn wig until the curls shone, she then applied a light foundation and a simple dash of very pale blue eyeshadow before applying blue mascara and a light dusting of sheer powder. Bare feet into flat loafers, she went into her study and opened the large filing cabinet, pulling out a number of files she proceeded to call her bank, building society and credit card companies.

The procedure was the same, a bright voiced man or woman would answer and take some details before saying; "And how may I help you?" After the first call, her answers were off pat, for the bank she simply said that she wanted a second account in the name of Debbie Berry, that was very easy and after agreeing to fill in a form they would send all was set up. The same routine for the credit card company. The building society was more circumspect and wanted proof of Debbie’s ID before they would initially add her name to the savings and mortgage accounts, that was easily solved when they agreed to accept credit card and bank details.

The task of creating Debbie seemed easier than she had ever expected. She then called the local council and asked to talk with someone about changing your name by deed poll. Again, a very helpful young lady seemed totally unfazed with Debbie’s answers to her probing questions and agreed to provide all the forms, but that Debbie would need to come to the council offices with her birth certificate and proof of ID as David Berry before they would agree to start the process of changing her name. They agreed a meeting in one weeks’ time.

Like a woman on a mission, Debbie moved to do the things she had always dreamed of. She called a local beauty parlour and asked to speak with the manageress, a very efficient lady called Anita came to the ‘phone. Debbie explained who, and what, she was in a matter of fact voice and asked Anita’s willingness to help with the interim processes of transformation.

"Sure," Anita said, "we have helped a few, er, people in your position, but I would like to see you first. I am sure that you realise I have my existing clientelle to think of. Anyway, what were you thinking of at first?"

Debbie reeled off a list of ear piercing, leg waxing, nail extensions, manicures and pedicures before launching into makeup and beauty and hair.

"Wow, hold on a minute, that lot would take days. Let’s start simply, how about you come round this afternoon, hold on, say at 2.00 and we can chat. If I am happy, the ear piercing is the simplest and then we can agree further dates, how’s that?" Debbie agreed rapidly, her heart racing as things started to fall into place.

The phone calls had taken over an hour and Debbie was ravenous. She grabbed a small brown shoulder bag and her tan blouson top, picked up her mobile phone, car keys and house keys and closed the front door behind her. Once again, she ran into her nosy neighbour,

"Oh hello, er, is David in?" the neighbour’s eyes glistened in anticipation,

"No, David has gone away, I’m Debbie, pleased to meet you, I live here now." Nonplussed and confused, he shook hands and then stared at her fast retreating rear.

The drive to the small parade of shops in the nearby town was uneventful and, heart racing, Debbie glanced in the rear-view mirror to check her hair and makeup and then swung her long legs out of the car, picking up her small handbag at the same time. She walked into Anita’s Hair and Beauty salon and spoke to a bored-looking young blonde receptionist who, when Debbie mentioned her name and her wish to see Anita, quickly looked up and appraised Debbie.

One minute later, Anita came over, hand outstretched,

"Debbie, hi, come with me." Anita was small, about 5’ 2", aged roughly 35 with wavy copper and black hair. She was very business like and, once they had sat down in a small office and Debbie had declined a coffee, got down to the matter in hand.

"So, I must say you look good for a guy. I’ve seen a few trannies in my time and often it’s the makeup and the hands that give them away. Let me see your hands," Debbie held out her hands which were devoid of nail extensions, "mmm, you need a manicure, guy or girl. Tell me about yourself."

Hesitatingly, Debbie told Anita of her early life as David and his experiments with his mother’s clothes and the times he was nearly discovered. "I bet she knew, most do you know, most women can tell if their underwear or make-up drawers have been rifled, despite the mess most are in," she smiled, "go on."

Life at home was difficult as an only child and with David’s father being a domineering sort. University was a welcome release, but the cramped accommodation meant that Debbie only appeared very briefly during David’s stay at Manchester. Debbie recounted the frequent denials of David’s desires to dress as female and the binges of throwing everything out and then the painstaking rebuilding of a wardrobe. Debbie had really started to appear more frequently in the last year or so. David’s job in an office had been made redundant and the company had asked him to stay on as a consultant, working from home and occasionally in the office, to assist in their IT needs.

"The redundancy cheque was good enough to help me settle some bills and to splash out on a few nice things, like this wig and a few skirts and dresses. I guess it was then that I realised I could be Debbie when working at home and I felt a great burden had been lifted from me. Since then, I have been Debbie almost 75% of the time, only reverting to David on the essential food shopping trips and for the occasional meeting with the client company."

"So, why take the next steps, do you intend to have a sex change?" Anita seemed to be warming to her subject, "that’s one hell of a step, are you sure, have you taken counseling, have you spoken to anyone, your GP??"

"Hold on," Debbie smiled, Anita grinned widely and mouthed "Sorry", "one step at a time, no, no and no really. I just, well, I think it’s right and now is right, I just feel it. I haven’t really spoken to anyone – except you."

"I am flattered and you hardly know me!" They both smiled and Anita brushed Debbie’s hand, "don’t worry love, I am a busybody, you get to be in my line of work." They both laughed, "OK, enough chat, I like you already, where do you want to start then?"

"Start?" "Yes, this is a beauty parlour you know, can I see your natural hair first?"

Embarrassed, Debbie pulled off her shoulder-length wig and removed the hair cap, revealing a short crop of mousey coloured hair. "Mmmm, not much I can do with that, yet," she ran her hands through Debbie’s hair, "needs body and shine, I’ll get you shampoos and conditioners to help thicken it but we’ll need a few months before it has grown enough to be workable. Any male baldness in your family?"

"Not that I know of, I never knew my father and my uncles all seem OK"

"Fine, listen, I have another appointment in 20 minutes, so I’ll ask Lesley to help you, she’s my right hand here and is great with customers. Let’s go for a manicure, pedicure and, if you want, ear piercing. Then we can book a longer session for the more, Er, intimate things like waxing and make-up. How’s that?"

Debbie was on cloud 9, she shook Anti’s hand and a few minutes later was sat in the salon with Lesley chatting away as she shaped and filed nails. Once buffed to a shine, Lesley and Debbie selected a medium-length set of acrylic nails which were checked, shaped, checked again and, with that familiar smell of adhesive, held firmly in place. More filing and shaping as followed by a base lacquer and two layers of a deep red varnish which was also applied to her toes.

"Don’t touch, we’ll let them dry naturally whilst I do your ears. Don’t worry it won’t hurt." Lesley smiled. They chose a pair of simple gold studs, Lesley prepped each lobe and with a click Debbie’s ears glistened with their new jewellery – she was right, aside from some initial pressure, they did not hurt indeed Debbie could not feel anything. Normally clip-ons started to hurt after a few minutes.

Lesley explained the process of regular swabbing to ensure no infection and the need to keep the rings in, twisting them occasionally, for at least 2 weeks so that the skin did not grow over.

"You can get yourself some dangly earrings in a couple of weeks, they’ll look lovely with your long hair. Now for the final touch on your nails, this is a new top coat, it is very hard and dries almost instantaneously so it should keep your nails looking good for a few days. But remember, you can’t keep acrylic nails on forever, your own nails need to be able to grow and breathe. So, I recommend that you take them off in a week or so and use this lotion on your hands to encourage growth of healthy nails, I a few weeks we can use your natural nails."

Debbie thanked Lesley and they returned to the front desk whilst the bill was prepared. Lesley said nothing as Debbie signed "David Berry", she just smiled as Anita came over;

"Right, your nails and earrings look nice, Lesley looked after you?"

"Yes, thanks." "OK, well, can you come back same time next week for a longer session, say a couple of hours and we can start the rest of the process then." Debbie agreed readily and Anita handed her a small bag, labeled with Clarins and containing a host of beauty samplers , shampoo and conditioner. Debbie thanked her profusely and left the salon feeling like a million dollars, her long shapely nails already fiddling with the ear studs as she walked to her car.

She checked her watch once she had settled in the car, taking care not to smudge the expensive manicure. Hell, she would have to step on it t o be in time for the meeting with the Police inspector.

She smiled at herself as she pulled out into traffic, better not get caught for speeding, the excuse of being late for a police interview had a certain irony!!

Twenty minutes later, a fashionably 5 minutes late, she announced herself at the reception desk of the local police HQ and, a few moments later, saw Tor open the electronic door and beckon her inside.

"You look nice, wow, new earrings and a manicure, you have been pampering yourself girl", she whispered.

Tor knocked on an imposing wooden door and opened it on hearing a brusque "Yes", from inside.

"Sir, your interviewee is here." She stepped aside and motioned for Debbie to enter the small office with a cramped desk overflowing with papers behind which sat a rumpled man in a shirt which once might have been crisp and white, but had clearly seen better days. He stood, but it was hardly worth the effort as he could not have been more than 5’ 5" or so,

" Miss, er," he came around the desk, almost tripping over a pile of files, Debbie could not help but smile,

"Please, er, sit down, sit down – excuse the mess." He bustled around a side table piled high with papers, old plastic coffee cups and sandwich wrappers of questionable provenance.

"Can I offer you a drink, tea, coffee??" Debbie demurred, beginning to wonder whether this guy could really be a senior police officer. He seemed so shambolic and uncoordinated but, as they sat and organised a small space in the clutter of his desk, she saw a steely glint behind his glasses.

"Let me tell you why I wanted to talk to you, Sergeant has given you some of the background I assume?"

"Some, yes."

He turned to Tor, "And this, er, Ms, er, she, er is reliable you think?" Tor confirmed her thoughts that Debbie was the best lead yet and that, in her opinion, she was totally reliable; this brought a smile from Debbie.

"OK, to business. I understand that your friend Paul works for Noonan Russo? Well we have been keeping an eye on for some time. At this stage I cannot tell you the basis of our investigations, except that we believe that some form of corporate criminal activity takes place there, or in one of their subsidiary offices. The sergeant there has been doing all the leg work to try to uncover what they are doing, which resulted in our following you once we knew you had a contact in the company; the fact that you have agreed to come here to meet me is greatly appreciated because, frankly, we need a break in this investigation."

"What do you need from me?" Debbie asked,

"That depends. Ideally we would like you to try to gain Paul’s confidence such that he might tell you what they are up to." The inspector looked directly into Debbie’s eyes,

"I will not deceive him, but you should know that he has told me that he is worried about some of the things going on in that company."

"I see, did he tell you the basis for his concerns?"

"No"

"Would he talk to us do you think?" "I don’t know, he seemed agitated last time we spoke, although a personal matter was also upsetting him at the time."

They continued to spar for some time, the inspector, who eventually introduced himself as Sean Rowlands, was firm in trying to find ways that Debbie could assist them. They finally agreed that Debbie should meet with Paul and broach the subject of him going to the police with his concerns; Debbie refused to wear a "wire", insisting that she would not do anything to compromise Paul.

After the interview, Tor took Debbie downstairs to a poorly-lit canteen area where they drank appalling coffee and chatted briefly.

"Sean may look like a tramp, but he has a mind like a steel trap and one of the best arrest records in the force for corporate misdeeds, do not underestimate him but he is straight as a die and will not stitch you, or anyone else up." Tor confided and squeezed Debbie’s hand, turning them over to admire the nails,.

"Nice nails, a professional job eh?" Debbie told her of her visit to Anita’s and her decision to live full time as Debbie. "Good on you girl, your more of a woman than many of my female friends and colleagues."

They parted at the steps of the police station and Debbie drove home to change for her meeting with Paul. She chose a light summery dress from Laura Ashley in pale yellow with swirls of red, orange and green; nearly nude hold-ups and a pair of red court shoes to match her red clutch handbag. A quick repair of her light makeup with a hint of light blue on the eyelids and a bright red lipstick finished the transformation from casual to smart and she tripped out of the house, driving fast but carefully to the pub to meet with Paul.

When she got to the village pub, his car was not there, which was most unusual. She called his cellphone, but just got the answering service. Nervously, she got out of the car and went into the pub; it was early evening and a group of businessmen were enjoying a drink at the bar after work, they all turned in unison and Debbie felt their eyes appraising her, a feeling she both enjoyed and found slightly unsettling.

There was no sign of Paul in either of the bars, so she ordered and paid for a white wine spritzer before taking a seat in the garden to enjoy the setting sun and to keep an eye out for Paul. Half an hour later there was no sign of him, she tried his mobile again but no luck – where was he?? Another fifteen minutes passed and Debbie began to fear that something had happened, had his wife intervened or was there a problem at work, had he been in an accident?? She decided that he would have called her whatever the outcome, unless there was a serious problem. The one thing to do was not to sit here like a silly girl and worry, but to do something. She left the pub and drove over to the Noonan Russo offices, Paul’s car was still there!!

It was now after 8.00pm and few lights were on, determined to find out what was happening, she walked up to the reception and asked the security guard to call Paul.

"Sorry Madam, no reply from his extension. I’ll put a call out for him." The tannoy boomed with the guard’s voice and then they waited, there was no call or any response. Debbie remonstrated with the guard, trying to persuade him to let her into the office to see where Paul was, he refused, she asked again for him to tannoy, again no response.

"Maybe he had to go on a business trip at short notice," the guard suggested but withdrew from the baleful glare that this suggestion generated from Debbie. "I cannot leave my desk, sorry, why don’t you just wait here for him?" Debbie demurred and sat quietly in one of the plush chairs in the reception area, pretending to read one of the company brochures. Eventually, the guard stood up as another guard appeared to relieve him, Debbie took the opportunity of the changeover to talk to the replacement,

"I am sorry, I am waiting for someone but I just have to use the loo, women’s things I am afraid." She grimaced and the guard stammered before quickly pointing out the ladies toilet down a corridor off the reception area. This was her cue, in the loo she took off her shoes and quickly exited the room and ran in stockinged feet up the stairs to where Paul had told her his office was situated. The offices were empty and she soon found one marked with Paul’s name. It was empty, but there were papers on his desk, his briefcase was open on the floor and the computer was still running. Debbie moved the mouse to disable the screensaver and saw a series of spreadsheets against which there were telltale marks indicating comments had been added. Floating the cursor over one, she saw a comment from Paul; "This cannot be right, we only billed £200k, not £20million".

Thinking quickly, she used the computer to email a copy of the spreadsheet to her old personal hotmail account. But where was Paul? She did not have much time before the guard would become suspicious, so she trotted around the offices and ran up to the top floor where she guessed the directors’ suites were. Light spilled out from one room and she heard raised voices from within, including Paul’s!!

There seemed to be at least 2 other voices as well as Paul, they seemed to be having a fierce argument over finances. Thinking quickly, Debbie rifled through the desk in a nearby office and found a Dictaphone. She positioned it close to the closed door and activated the record button, after 10 minutes she felt she had enough and she quickly returned to the downstairs ladies loo, retrieved her shoes and handbag and returned to the reception, clutching her lower stomach and grimacing in pain.

"You alright love?" The guard seemed genuinely concerned, Debbie smiled wanly and replied,

"So, so. A bad one I am afraid, I’ll have to go home." With that she left the building and got into her car, thank God for women’s complaints and men’s queasiness she thought. But what about Paul, it seemed to be a heated argument, was he alright, what should she do??

She called Tor’s mobile, and was forced to leave a message on the answering service. She called the police station but was advised that inspector Rowlands was unavailable, so again she left an urgent message. God, now what??

Her hesitation dissipated when she saw a large black MPV screech to a halt in front of the offices and a burly man and a woman, both dressed in black, entered the building. She determined to stay put and watch, sure enough about 10 minutes later they re-appeared with Paul walking closely in front of the man and the woman chatting to another grey suited man. She saw Paul look up and recognise the Merc; then she saw the guard talking to the man in the grey suit and pointing to her car; all eyes looked towards the Mercedes. The guard went back to the offices and the grey suit and the woman started to walk over to the Merc, the other man bundled Paul into the MPV and slammed the door. "Oh shit," thought Debbie – now what do I do? Before she could do anything, the woman broke into a run and she saw what looked like a pistol in her right hand, she held the gun in front of her and was gesturing to Debbie to get out of the car.

Debbie thought quickly, she could try to drive away, but she might get shot and what would happen to Paul. If they caught her, what then?? She realised that to get caught would not help anyone, so she gunned the engine and flattened her right foot on the accelerator as the powerful sportscar leapt forward. The woman held her ground and lifted the gun into both hands, crouching to get a better shot, Debbie slewed the car to avoid her and felt, rather than heard a bump; the car span wildly there was another bump as she fought to gain control and the car executed a perfect 360 degree turn before slamming hard against the wall of the car park. Before she could gain her bearings, the driver’s door had been wrenched open and the woman had a gun pointing at Debbie’s head. "Out" she said. Debbie had no choice but to comply, but had the presence of mind to pick up her handbag whilst dropping the Dictaphone into the passenger footwell.

The woman held Debbie’s arm roughly whilst the grey suit was calming the security guard down. Moments later they were in the back of the MPV speeding away from the building, Debbie wanted to reach out and comfort Paul, but something in his eyes told her to keep calm and stay away.

"Well, who are you then?" The woman said in a threatening tone, "little Miss in your pretty dress, Paul’s girlfriend are we. Why were you snooping around?" "Tell me, NOW" the last word was shouted right into Debbie’s face and she blinked back unexpected tears. Debbie realised that playing the dumb weak girlfriend might just work,

"I’m sorry, " she simpered in her best small girly voice, "I was worried for Paul and when I saw you with him and saw that gun I just panicked. What are you doing with him, why have you got him, what’s going on?" She allowed her voice to get louder, but was very conscious of controlling the timbre of her voice lest it get too deep.

"Never you mind, my pretty one." The grey suit said, "nobody’s going to be hurt, we just want to try to persuade your beau that he needs to see sense. Having you along may just help our cause." He leered at her.

She reached for her handbag and the woman grabbed it and checked the contents before handing it back, Debbie removed a tissue and dabbed away moisture from beneath her eyes. She felt the tiny mobile phone vibrate gently, the woman must have missed it – it was still switched on, maybe the police could get a fix on the position. Deftly with unfamiliar nails she pressed the receive key as she returned it to her bag, snapping the closure shut to muffle any sounds. At the same time the MPV heeled over heavily as it took a turn at speed and seemed to jump about as they sped along what was obviously an unmade road.

Moments later they squealed to a halt and Debbie and Paul were bundled out into what seemed like a farmyard and, heels sticking in the mud, they were unceremoniously pushed into a large barn. Debbie was told to sit on a hay bale whilst the two men tied Paul’s hands behind his back around a pole supporting the roof structure; the woman pocketed her gun and smiled at Debbie before lighting a cigarette.

The man in the grey suit spoke, "You know, Paul, you had a good career ahead of you and could have earned significant sums of money. But no, you had to poke your nose into affairs which were not yours. I am sorry it had to come to this, but you have a choice, Steven and Rachel here are, shall I say, friends of our benefactors. They have a reputation of being thorough and completing their assignments. So, I’ll make you this one offer, you and your lady friend can go now providing that you agree not to try to leave the company or to go to the police. Otherwise, well, we will have to protect our investment."

Paul grunted, "Leave her out of this, Stuart,"

"Too late, mate, she stumbled into this it is up to you to get her out."

"What do you want me to do? Just forget everything then?" Paul seemed almost defeated.

"That’s a start, but we need some guarantees that you won’t blow the whistle. We’re not thugs you know, but we must protect our investment. So, what we want is your agreement that you’ll say nothing and we want to be with you when you wipe everything off your computer. Then we’ll give you a one year sabbatical to explore the world with Missy here after which anything you say will be unsubstantiated and well buried. One year’s pay – Christ man, you’d be nuts to walk away from that and for what, so we are cooking the books a bit but who’s harmed, just the Tax man."

"If it’s just a tax scam, why the heavy mob, Stuart, and why the firearms. Don’t take me for a fool, it’s much more than that isn’t it?" Paul was getting redder and redder.

"Look, mate, I like you. Shut up and go away and all will be OK. Otherwise, well these two heavies here are just representatives of our friends, you wouldn’t want to meet the rest of their clan." Stuart smiled wanly, turned and walked out of the barn, "think about it, I’ll be back in a tick – John – a second please."

The large black clad man checked Paul’s bindings and then left, closing the barn door and leaving Debbie and Paul alone with the woman. Debbie looked at her, she seemed lithe and athletic, quite petite but carried herself well; Debbie though for a moment and then burst into deep racking sobs.

"Oh God, Oh God. What are you going to do to us, Oh God, Paul I am so scared." She sobbed and reached into her handbag for more tissues, there were none so she sobbed noisily and buried her head in her arms. The woman came over to her, still keeping her distance,

"Stop sobbing you wimp, if your boyfriend sees sense all will be OK now shut up crying."

"Do, you have a tissue?" Debbie blurted out between sobs, the woman reached into her pocket and handed Debbie a large man’s handkerchief. Debbie reached out to take it, then grabbed the woman’s wrist and pulled her over. Startled by Debbie’s strength, the woman almost lost her balance and seized Debbie’s hair. That was her mistake, the tape gave way and the long auburn locks fell uselessly into the woman’s hands, she was momentarily perplexed as Debbie, now on her feet swung a powerful right cross to the woman’s jaw, she collapsed like a wet piece of cardboard.

Debbie’s fist hurt terribly, but she quickly undid Paul’s bindings, breaking most of her nails off as she did so. She pulled the mobile out of her handbag and dialed Tor’s number, it was answered immediately,

"Debbie, can you talk, we are just outside the perimeter of the farm,?"

"Yes, she said breathlessly, watching as Paul tied the prostrate woman up. There are 3 of them, we have incapacitated one of them, the other two, a man in a grey suit and a man in black are somewhere outside. Be careful, they are armed." Debbie talked rapidly, explaining the overall situation.

"You get well away from the barn door, get up into the hayloft if you can, we’ll be in immediately."

Debbie grabbed her now dirtied and ripped wig from the woman’s limp hand and pulled it back on. As she and Paul quickly clambered up into the upper floor of the barn as they heard the returning voices of the man and Stuart. Just as the door started to open, a voice, distorted and amplified by a bullhorn, broke through the farmyard sounds;

"Armed police, you are surrounded, give yourself up immediately"

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Tor explained everything once they were back at the police station. They had received Debbie’s messages and, almost immediately, got reports of a commotion at the offices. The police had only just missed the MPV leaving the office, but had secured Debbie’s car and Tor had replayed the Dictaphone, which had recorded incriminating evidence. Sean Rowlands had apprehended one of the Noonan Russo directors as we left the building, and the man had almost immediately confessed to tax evasions. Tor had called for reinforcements when Debbie’s phone was answered and she soon realised what was happening; it was easy to pinpoint the mobile and follow the MPV to the farm.

After Debbie had disarmed the woman the grey suit had immediately given himself up to the police when they stormed the farm and the man in the black outfit had tried to run for it, but was brought down by members of the police.

"I guess you are the heroine of this afternoon," Tor smiled, "but your hair and manicure need some attention!" Debbie grinned and responded passionately as Paul leant over and kissed her.

"Er, hm, we’ll need statements from both of you in the fullness of time, but I need to know what was actually going on in that company." Tor asked Paul,

"Quite simple. Really. It seems the MD and finance director had agreed to take some private finance from a source in return for, shall we say, favours. The company was short of cash and they saw it as a way of securing the company’s future. The investor gave us almost £50million over 2 or so years, but instead of the money being treated as an investment, it was treated as income to inflate the company’s valuation. I spotted it when simple bills for small amounts netted vast deposits into the company’s bank. The company then paid the directors huge bonuses based on the false income and they each made killings in the stock market with their options. The investors gained because, as I found out, the money was being laundered through the company’s books, probably from drug moneys. The company was paying a vast sum in consultancy fees back to the investors. It was all documented in a spreadsheet I had built up although I guess they deleted it from my computer."

Debbie giggled, "I saw it on your PC and emailed it to my hotmail account."

"Ooh Debbie you are so clever, I never realised how much I loved you until today. You should have seen that gunwoman’s face when Debbie’s wig came off and Debbie floored her with a right to the jaw which George Foreman would have been proud of."

They all laughed.

 

To be continued…………………..

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Caroline Bradley. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.