It was raining at Gatwick, and once I had said goodbye to all the clients and Miranda, Paul and I drove home. To his home that is. I called my parents to let them know I was back in the country.

My mother was very worried, as lots of strange men had been looking for me. Or, rather, they had been looking for Joseph.

My mother had no idea where I was, and had started to panic. Jessica, in the Caribbean, and unaware of everything, had simply told her that I was fine, and was getting away from the hassle of my condition, and I was probably on a beach somewhere.

Dad had found my passport, so that story went out the window.

He contacted Martin, who spoke to Stewart, who started to panic, and I suddenly received hundreds of texts as soon I was back with my mobile on.

It was late, and we simply went to bed after a light supper.

We snuggled together, and he started to caress my nipples. They had grown some since I started my new prescription, and even the breasts had swollen. I still used the breast forms, but could see that I would no longer need to if they continued at this rate.

"You are so lovely," he said, as we made love. He made me feel so much the woman, and I adored being that for him. In fact, we each took our pleasure from pleasing the other, and it was superb.

The next morning, Monday, Paul had to submit his first part of his article, and dashed off to London. I went home, and walked in to find a strange man in the kitchen with my mother.

I simply kissed mother, and looked at him. She was clearly flustered.

"Hello, I'm Josie. Who are you?" I said.

I was dressed in a dark grey skirt and roll-neck matching sweater, with black high heel boots on. I had a string of pearls on the outside of the sweater, and a gold chain link belt loosely round my waist. My sun-bleached blonde hair was the longest it had ever been, and I knew my makeup was very good.

"My name is Detective Superintendent Michael Hutchings. I am with the Metropolitan Police Special Branch, and I am in charge of an investigation that appears to implicate a senior government figure. I was hoping to find Joseph Fortune. Now, you are his sister?"

The man was confused, and mother was wringing her hands again. Not a good sign. I turned to her.

"I'll sort this out, mother. Let me speak to him alone. Superintendent, please come with me, we will be more private in the sitting room."

I took him through to the sitting room, and he sat down, looking unsure and a little nervous.

"Now this is to do with the man that was shot, isn't it?"

"Yes Miss Fortune. I understand your brother may have somehow dealt with the deceased somewhere along the line?"

"May I see your identification, I've always wanted to ask that?"

He smiled and produced a black leather wallet, and opened it up, showing me an enamelled badge and a plastic card with his photograph.

"I'm sorry, even I could make a card like that on my computer. Which office do you work from?"

"Special Branch, New Scotland Yard."

I went to the phone, and dialled directory enquiries, and asked for Special Branch. Once through I asked about the man I had with me, and a detective chief inspector seemed to think it was hilarious.

Once I was satisfied I had the right man, I gave him the card back, and sat down.

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

"You don't understand. I need to talk to Joseph Fortune."

"Superintendent, you don't understand. I am Jo Fortune. Josephine Fortune. I was the person who the dead man came to get the photograph of George Lambert."

His confusion was complete, and his expression was so wonderful, that I wished I had a camera. I had to smile.

"Let me be honest with you. I was born a boy, but am in transition to what I obviously should be. Legally, I suppose I am still male, but I hope you will forgive me if I don't actually think of myself as a boy."

Once he got over his embarrassment, we had a full and frank discussion. He even had the CD I had given to the police. I took him upstairs, and on my computer, I managed to use the CD to show him the short film I had worked with.

"All I can tell you is that it is somewhere in Oxfordshire, and it is in the 1970's."

"How do you know?"

I enhanced the number plate again, showing FUD.

"See, an Oxford plate."

"Yes, I accept that, but the date?"

I showed the film slowed down, and a Hillman Hunter and a Mark One Ford Cortina drove past.

"See, that makes it early 1970s. Unless there is a classic car show on nearby."

He nodded.

"Is there any way to find out where that cottage is?"

"Short of searching through newspaper records of suspicious deaths, and working that angle, not really."

I frowned.

"Wait a minute." I said.

I played the piece again, and there was a very distinctive tall chimney on the cottage. I had seen it recently.

"One of the Courtneys." I said.

"What?"

"Either Sutton Courtney or Nuneham Courtney. They have cottages like that. I came past one this morning."

"Can you show me?"

"If you want, but I have a doctor's appointment in an hour or so."

He had a Ford Mondeo, and we drove to Nuneham Courtney. The chimneys were similar, but none were as close to the road as in the film. We then went to Sutton Courtney, and there, still looking remarkably similar, was the cottage in question.

We parked the car near where the film was shot, and the scene was still the same. There were decent kerbstones and road markings now, but essentially, it was recognisable.

I felt very pleased with myself.

The Superintendent drove back in silence. He parked outside my parent's home, and looked solemn.

"You have been exceptionally helpful, particularly when one considers your rather difficult personal circumstances. I must warn you that you may be in danger. There are parties who would seek to frustrate this investigation. It seems that considerable business interests are dependant upon certain individuals, and these parties would like to see the status quo maintained."

"You mean Global Technics Ltd?" "That is a false company, but I am sure they are representatives of the people concerned, yes."

"How much danger?"

"Anyone with knowledge is a threat to them, and you have knowledge."

"They think I am a boy, don't they?"

He smiled, "Yes, and so do we, or rather, we did."

"Then who's to know? You don't need to tell them what I am now, you could just say you saw Joe, and he was helpful. You needn't tell anyone I am a girl, it would be safer for both of us that way."

He nodded. He handed me a card with a mobile number on it. I was to call it if ever I felt threatened.

"You are a very brave girl, and I am not in any doubt that you are a girl. If I was twenty years younger, I should ask you out."

"If I was ten years older, I'd accept," I said, and he laughed.

"Good luck, Josephine."

I got out of the car.

"Thanks."

"I'll see if I can get someone to watch your back," he said.

"Only if he is hunky."

He laughed and drove off.

I went in and managed to bring mother down from 50,000 feet. Once she was back on planet Earth, I went off for my first appointment with the psychiatrist.

I wandered into the hospital, and saw the receptionist.

"Hi, I'm Josie Fortune for Doctor Ruth Carradine."

The receptionist did a double take, and smiled nervously.

"If you'd like to take a seat, Miss. I'll let her know you are here."

I sat down and opened a copy of Cosmopolitan. I was reading a stunning article of erogenous zones when I was called for. I left rather reluctantly.

Ruth was a tall woman, of indeterminate years, at a guess I'd have to say forty six to fifty. She was rather severe in appearance, by virtue of her grey short hair.

She looked at me, and smiled, I noticed her eyes widen in surprise.

"Hello, Josie, is it?"

"Yup, Jo, Josie, Josephine, or hey you," I said.

"Come in, and please sit," she said, and shook my hand. She took in my slender hands and well manicured varnished nails.

I sat, and put my knees together.

She looked at her notes, and then at me.

"Well, I have to admit, your appearance surprises me a little. I was expecting someone a little less convincing."

"Thanks, I try."

"You succeed. How long have you been living as a female?"

"All my life, but openly for a few months."

"I take it you are on hormones, how long for?"

"Illegally, since I was sixteen, so two and a half years. Legally, just three months. Since I saw Dr Simpson."

"Illegally?"

"I acquired some hormones, when I knew I would never get them through the doctor at my age."

"That was very risky."

"Perhaps, but I am now almost where I want to be."

"And where is that?"

"Look, you are psychiatrist. I have to come and see you, and that pisses me off, because all I have ever wanted to be is a girl. I know I am a girl, and so it is relatively straightforward to make the physiology match the psychology and the emotional. You need to be sure that I am well adjusted enough to cope, and I ask you, are you well adjusted to cope with your life?"

She stared at me, blinking and saying nothing.

"Why do you want to be a girl?"

"You don't get it, do you? I don't want to be a girl any more. I am a girl, it is just that my body is a little slow in catching up."

"Why are you a girl, as opposed to a boy with female traits?"

"Where would you like me to start? The physical, the emotional, the psychological or the simple feeling of where I belong?"

"Tell me about your childhood?"

So, we were off, and as pointless as I thought it was, I played her game. I didn't make it easy for her, and when she tried to deliberately upset me, I laughed at her, and took the piss. She didn't like that, but couldn't say anything.

"If you could become a genetically perfect woman, what would you do?"

"Go to the medical profession, and make a fortune out of the miracle. But, as it is a hypothetical question, I would offer a private thanks to whatever power was responsible, and get on and live my life."

"Do you believe in God?"

"Someone or something has to exist with a sense of humour to have created us."

"What about evolution?"

"Sorry, more far fetched than creation, particularly as there is no evidence of any of the evolutionary links for any species, either extinct or in existence."

She frowned, she wasn't prepared for that one.

"Why were you made as you are?"

"The same reason you are you, and Tony Blair is a complete dick," I said, and she stifled a smile.

"Which is?"

"The lottery of life. Once those little cells start to form, it is all in the making, some connections are fine, and some aren't. Take me, I am bright and relatively intelligent. I make a good-looking girl, yet was a real geek as a bloke. My sister is a real cracker. She is a seriously good-looking girl. However, she has the brains of a rocking horse, and the sexual appetite of a rodent.

"Why? Who knows, just someone somewhere has a really wicked sense of humour. We are dealt a hand of cards at birth, and occasionally we get to throw one card and pick another. Some are good and many aren't. The trick is to get a peek at the next card, and deal a few from the bottom of the pack when no one is looking."

"So, are you a product of genetics or your environment and upbringing?"

"The total 'me' is a product of my life to date, including my genetics. The transsexual element is wholly in my genetic make up, aggravated by circumstances possibly. But as my parents manage to love me as much now as when I was in the male form, I know it was nothing they did or didn't do to or for me."

"Do you feel bitter?"

"What about?"

"What you are?"

"Why should I be?"

"Well, you could have been born without the urge to change physical gender."

"I could also have been autistic or downs syndrome. Instead I am reasonably presentable, intelligent, have some wonderful parents and a smashing patient loving partner. Why the hell should I be bitter? The only thing that could make me bitter would be if some egotistical medic decides to get difficult and prevent me following through with what I feel is right."

"Is that a reference to me?"

"I don't know, is it?"

She smiled.

"You are very determined, aren't you?"

"Determination is a word. It denotes a frame of mind, and a set goal. So in a way, yes, but don't forget that I also have patience and a degree of forbearance."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, if I get no further than this point, then for whatever reason, I will make the best of it. But if I can continue, my best will be better."

She smiled again.

"What about sex?"

"What about it?"

"Can you see yourself having sex with a man?"

"Only if the mirror is in the right place."

"I'm sorry?"

"I've been having sex with a man for some weeks now, and it can only see SRS as an improvement in the equipment stakes."

"So, is your partner a gay man?"

"No, as far as he's concerned, I am a girl, who needs some extra surgery."

"How certain are you that he isn't gay?"

I smiled.

"I am very certain." I said.

"What is your dream?"

"I have many."

"Your favourite, then?"

"My favourite. That will be the one where I can conceive and bear a child of my own."

"Would you like to be a mother?"

"Of course, wouldn't you?"

She flushed at this, and seemed put off.

"I apologise, but seriously, surely one of the core functions of being female is the miracle of conception and birth?" I said.

"Isn't that a matter of choice?"

"Forget personal fears and preferences, think about genetic and organic functions. As a woman, your potential was always to be a mother. Sometimes it isn't possible, so that is fate, and other times the individual refuses to accept that destiny. That is choice. What is your excuse?"

"I'm not in that chair."

"No, but I'm still interested, otherwise, what credibility does that piece of paper you have stuck on the wall have?"

She turned and looked at her qualifications.

"With me it was personal choice."

"Which you now bitterly regret." I said.

She almost smiled.

"I made my decisions for the best of reasons at the time."

"Which you now bitterly regret."

This time she did smile.

"Do you always turn the tables?" she asked.

"Only when I know where you are going."

"And where is that?"

"Round in circles. You want me to jump through hoops, and you are beginning to realise that I won't play by the rules. So we will end this session, and you will attempt to start afresh next time, and find that strategy will fail also."

"What am I trying to do?"

"If you don't know, then you are collecting your salary by deception," I told her.

This time the smile broke through properly.

"Josie, you should be a psychiatrist. You are amazingly quick. But it doesn't tell me what I want to know."

"You want to know, am I really a girl, or just another screwed up kid with a gender identity problem? Well, what do you really think?"

She smiled.

"There you have done it again."

"What do you think?"

"Really?"

"Really."

"You don't have a gender identity problem, your identity is actually very fixed; it is your physical body which needs adjusting to bring it in line."

"You took an hour to get that? I told you that in the first four minutes."

"There is a difference in telling it and meaning it."

"True, but now you know, I always mean what I say, otherwise it is just a waste of words."

She looked at her note pad. There was nothing on it, apart from my name.

She asked me a few more questions, but I felt her heart wasn't in it any more.

"So doctor, do we do this again, or what?"

She looked at me, her half smile fixed in place, then she wrote a few lines on her headed note paper.

"I am recommending full SRS for you at the earliest opportunity. The sooner we get you sorted, the sooner the medical profession can deal with people who actually need our help."

I grinned and she shook her head.

"Good luck, Josie. Somehow I think you will make your own."

"Thanks doc. If I offended you, I apologise. I still think your life would have been better if you'd had kids."

She nodded.

"Now, I think you are right, why weren't you around when I made the decision?" she asked.

"Would you have listened?"

"Probably not."

"Then make the best of what you have. That's what I do."

We shook hands, and I left.

The next day, Tuesday, I went back to my GP who read the recommendation from the psychiatrist. He was a bit surprised, as normally it took several months to get to that point.

"Well, I will now send you to the specialist. Your father has contacted me, and we are going privately from now on. Mr Boyle is the best, and I have made an appointment for you on Friday. He has a clinic near Brighton, and will see you there at 2 p.m."

He also completed several official letters that I was to use for the applications to change my name and gender on my passport, drivers licence, National Insurance, Inland Revenue, College and for the bank.

I was really excited, and went home to find Dad looking glum.

"What's up Daddy?" I asked, and he looked sharply at me. Of course. Jezzy was the only one to call him that. Not any more.

"It is your sister. She is staying in America a bit longer. It seems she has got herself engaged."

I grinned.

"So why the long face?"

"To an American."

"Paul is Canadian."

"You are not engaged."

"Not yet."

He looked at me.

"There are legal ramifications," he muttered.

"Oh, we can get round them," I said.

Mother came in, at least she was happy with the news.

"Have you heard about your sister, dear?"

"Yes, and I understand he is a multi-millionaire."

"He's a what?" asked Dad.

"He is a Texan, and into oil in a big way. Jezzy said he was worth several billion dollars."

The frown deepened, and I had to walk out, otherwise my laughter would offend.

I went and rang Paul. He was still in London, and had found a taker for his article on the ski resort. He also had a possible contract to do a series on various hotels up and down the country. Anyway he was in a brilliant mood, which got better when I told him my news.

"Do you want me to take you?"

"Only if you are free. It is not as if I am going in yet."

"No, I'd like to come with you."

"Fine."

He said he would be back tomorrow, and I missed him awfully.

I drove to the shop and walked in.

Martin was in the front talking to a client, and I saw Stewart in the back, working on the PC.

"I won't be a moment, Miss," said Martin, glancing my way.

Stewart popped his head round the door, looked at me and almost fell off his stool. He was grinning for all he was worth, but he was in the middle of a job and couldn't leave the process.

Martin finished with the customer, and turned to me.

"Yes Miss, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you would consider giving me twenty thousand pounds?"

He stared at me, and blinked a couple of times.

"I'm sorry?"

"Martin, it's me, Jo. Remember, Jo Fortune."

He shook his head and a light bulb went on somewhere between his ears.

"Joe? Why the fuck are you dressed like that?"

"Because Martin, I am a girl, and us girls dress like this."

His brain had difficulty taking it in.

He looked at my breasts, and then my legs and then at my face again. His eyes kept dipping to my breasts.

"Ask yourself, does Jo look like a boy or a girl?"

"Huh?"

"Martin. I need out, and I figure for twenty grand, you can have my share."

"Why?"

"Because I have other things to do with my life, and this shop is not one of them."

"I don't have twenty grand right now. I have invested in a new machine. It comes next week."

"Then, I'll take my twenty percent when it comes free. But I reckon you missed out on the cheapest chance. If things go well, it could be a hundred grand this time next year."

"Or it could be twenty per cent of nothing," said Stewart. "Hello tosspot," I said.

"Hi Barbie doll."

"You two, cut it out, and will someone please tell me why Joe is dressed as a girl?"

"Jo is a girl, Martin. Didn't you know?" Stewart said.

"Jo was not a girl. But she, no he, no she, oh shit. What the fuck happened?"

"Martin, I have always been a girl, but my body said otherwise. Now it is almost there."

"Almost?"

"One little bit of excess flesh to go, and I will be all woman."

"You are having a sex change?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"Two for one at Tescos," I said, and Stewart chuckled.

"What?"

"Duh. Because I am a transsexual, and want to be a girl."

"You never told me."

"I never told anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because it is not the best way of starting a conversation."

"I never even guessed."

"Good, neither did my parents. It shows I am discrete."

"She's even got a boyfriend," said Stewart.

"Shut up, tosspot."

"Bugger off, Barbie doll."

We grinned at each other, and Martin looked completely confused.

At that moment two men walked in. They were not the same as the last two, but they looked much rougher. They stood behind me, and waited for me to go.

"Look, I have to go. I'll pick up the order after I've had my hair done. If you need me, you have my mobile, just ask for Jessica," I said.

Stewart, bless him, was more switched on than Martin.

"Okay Miss Carter, do you want them in the usual format?"

"That would be fine. I'll see you later." I turned and walked out. I saw Stewart drag Martin into the back room.

I dug out my mobile and rang the Superintendent's number.

"Two men at the shop now. I have a bad feeling about them. I am outside, in an alleyway opposite."

"Good, stay there. If they come out and get into a car, then give me the number."

"Do you want me to follow them?"

"Do you have your car with you?"

"Yes. Just along the street."

"They might have your car number and registered details. Is it registered to Joseph Fortune?"

"Yes."

"Then don't go near it."

At that moment a cab came along the road, and I waved it to stop.

"Yes luv?"

"Hang on, I want to play a surprise on a friend."

"It's your cash, darling, the meter is running."

The two men came out of the shop and looked up and down the street. Then they walked to my car and peered into it. I loved that mini.

The got into a Vauxhall Vectra and took of quite fast.

"Follow the Vauxhall."

"For real?" he asked.

"For real."

"Fucking hell. I never thought it really happened."

I was on the phone to the Superintendent, and gave a commentary to him.

The car was not keeping to the speed limit, but equally, seemed unaware we were following. I was worried that if they were nasty men, they would become aware of the cab quickly.

"Don't get too close," I said.

"I may have to, these lights are bloody quick," said the driver.

We just made it on the amber, and we dropped back a bit.

"How long for, luv?"

"Until the blue lights arrive."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Fuck me. They'll never believe this in the pub."

We left Oxford, and were soon heading towards Wallingford and Henley on Thames. I asked him to drop back so as to put a bit of distance between us. The Superintendent was still on the other end of the phone, and he had alerted the local police. Because it was a different force area, there was a problem in communications.

Great. I thought.

At Nuneham Courtney, the Vauxhall suddenly stopped, and reversed rapidly up the road towards us.

"Fuck. Back up, quick!" I shouted, but the cabbie had already stuck it in reverse, and so the pair of cars were going backwards really fast. A truck came over the hill behind us and cut off our retreat.

"Now what?" he asked, and I froze. It was a very good question, and I had to admit the answer was not immediately forthcoming. At that moment two Police Vauxhall Omega estate cars, with fluorescent stripes and blacked out windows overtook us and flanked the Vectra. Blue lights and sirens going. Two armed officers deployed and pointed their MP5 carbines at the occupants of the car.

It was over.

The two men were carefully extracted from the car, and I watched two handguns being taken from them. I stayed in the cab, and watched as they were each handcuffed and placed into two more police cars, which had since arrived.

"Bloody hell. Them's shooters!" said my driver.

"Yes, I rather think they are," I said, sounding a lot calmer than I felt.

"Are you a copper?" he asked.

"No. Secret service. My name is Bond, Jane Bond."

I got out of the cab, and a plain car pulled up. A young fit guy in a suit got out and approached me.

"Miss Fortune?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"I'm Detective Sergeant Gillett. Mr Hutchings sends his regards, I'm to take you home," he said.

"Could someone pay the cabbie?" I asked, and someone did, much to the cabbie's relief. Still, he had a tale for the pub that no one would ever believe.

Pete Gillett was a Sergeant in the Thames Valley Police's Special Branch. He had received the call through the Headquarters, and hotfooted it out to my location. He took a quick statement from me about the incident, and went to speak to one of the uniform officers supervising the recovery of the Vectra.

"Does anyone know what the hell is going on?" I asked, as he started to drive me home.

"I don't, I just got a call to go and pick you up. It seems that you may have upset some very influential people."

"Lucky me", I said, and he smiled.

"Seriously, all I was told was you assisted the Met's SB into identifying a highly placed individual with a possible crime scene. And, that it relates to a drive by shooting which occurred in Headington a few weeks ago."

He looked at me for reaction and confirmation. I gave neither.

"Oh," I said, and he grinned.

As we turned into my road, I saw a Mondeo parked outside my parents' home. It was the Superintendent.

He thanked the Sergeant, who handed over my statement, and we watched him leave.

"So, how did you recognise them?" he asked.

"I didn't. Not as such. They just didn't look like normal shop customers."

"How did you get past them?"

"Ah, they didn't recognise me. In my masterful disguise as a female spy, I was able to pretend to be a customer and walk out. I waited for them up the alley opposite, called you, and then jumped into a cab. It was all rather exciting really. The cabbie will dine out on it forever. He nearly wet himself when all the guns appeared."

He smiled, and gave me a funny look.

"You are a remarkable girl."

"I have to confess to being somewhat unique."

He laughed.

"Look, they probably know they are dealing with a girl now, so I have arranged for you to be protected. A team will be allocated to you for the foreseeable future. They will be covert, as I am afraid, we want to use you as a sacrificial goat."

"Thanks a bunch," I said.

"If you think it is too dangerous, then we won't," he said, believing that I was afraid.

"I'm not bothered about that, I object to being called a goat. I'll have you know I take a hell of a lot of trouble on my appearance."

He chuckled again.

"Now, do you live permanently with your parents, or somewhere else?"

"I live here, but sometimes I stay with my friend in his cottage."

"Okay, now, you are going back to college next week, yes?"

"I suppose so, but that might be awkward."

"How?"

I opened my arms up, to show off my obvious female appearance.

"The last they knew I was a bloke."

"Hmm, we might be able to assist there. The last thing we want is you in an open college every day. You would be particularly vulnerable. What does your college attendance amount to?"

"Not a lot. I have 'A' levels soon, and some course work to complete. I am ahead by a long way, so really I could get by with just attending the exams."

He took out a notebook and started to write down some notes.

"I will contact the college and arrange for you to be kept out. Any course work will delivered to you, and for the duration of the exams, we could have one of the team nearby. Will that help?"

I just smiled and nodded.

"I did a little digging. That cottage you showed me was the scene of an unsolved murder in 1974. A prominent homosexual banker was found dead, at first they thought it was natural causes, but a single syringe mark was found, and it was shown that a large bubble of air was injected into a vein, and it triggered a heart attack.

"There was no apparent motive, as no property was missing, and no suspects were ever found," he told me.

"So this Lambert, who is he?"

"Now he is a respectable man. Married, and an MP, he is a junior Minister for Industry. Has a bit to do with appointing contracts."

"Gay lover's tiff?"

"We've been through all the options, it comes down to power. George was a young man of no special background. He worked as a clerk in a city financial house, and soon after the murder, he started his own company. Did very well, and sold it for a small fortune. Then he was a consultant for various banks and financial institutions, and at thirty-eight, became an MP in Bedfordshire. Luton, or somewhere like that.

"Anyway, his business dealings always seemed straight, and he has a good track record in the house. Somewhat conservative, and a real New Labour man, he has risen along with Blair, to his current ministerial position.

"The one question mark hangs over his sudden ability to start his own business in 1976. He was only 26, and although well paid, he was not really in a position to get his hands on the capital required for an undertaking of that magnitude. So, did he get a loan? It seems not, as his company showed pre-tax profits after the first year of 15 million. So, I am looking into his possible relationship, business or otherwise, with the dead man."

"Why the heavy mob?"

"I honestly don't know. My guess would be that Mr Lambert has allies in the darker side of the financial world, and his placement is vital for certain interested parties and their shareholders. If Lambert's department is responsible for allocating government contracts, then who knows what shady deals are lurking under the surface? An awful lot of people could have an awful lot to lose if Lambert falls.

"But the key is the link to Norman Spooner, the dead banker."

"So, who actually benefited from the banker's death?"

"His partners in the bank. He had no family to speak of, and no partner."

"Could he have simply been a highly specialised hit man, paid for by the partners, and his reward was the capital to start his own company, and in return, his influence is now very useful to these people?" I asked.

He stared at me, and smiled.

"It shows that you don't need years of training to be able to think. It was one aspect we hadn't even considered."

"Really?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

He chuckled.

"You see we came up with highly complex conspiracy theories. Weird and wonderful sexual motives. It took a fresh young mind to see the potentially obvious," he said.

"Look, I hate to be rude, but I am getting chilly, do you want to continue this inside?" I asked.

He looked at his watch.

"The team will be here in half an hour, so if I could come in for a while."

I went in and found mum entertaining two ladies in the sitting room. I waved and she looked embarrassed. I took the Superintendent into the kitchen, and put the kettle on. I made some tea, and gave him a mug.

"I suppose I should pop in and tell my mother what is happening," I told him, and he nodded.

I went into the sitting room, and recognised the women as old friends of mum's. One was Jean Jackson, who used to teach English at the girl's school down the road, and the other was Hazel McKay, the wife of one of the other Dons.

"Jessica. I haven't seen you for ages," said Jean.

I kissed her cheek, and smiled.

"Actually, I'm Josie. Jessica is in America." I said, and both women frowned.

"Mum probably didn't tell you, but I had a genetic problem, and looked rather boyish. But as you can see, I am alright now."

The women stared at me, and I was well aware of what I looked like.

Hazel recovered first.

"So, all that time, you were really a girl?"

"Not entirely, but I am getting the plumbing fixed soon. I am one of those unfortunate people who wasn't put together properly, but now I am almost who I want to be."

"Well, you look very well. Doesn't she, Anne?" Hazel asked my mother.

My mother smiled.

"She looks lovely. We are so proud of her," she said, and I almost burst into tears.

"What is your sister doing in America?" Jean asked.

"Getting to know her fiancé's family. She went and got herself engaged a couple of weeks ago," I said.

This started a conversation about marriage and living in sin.

"Have you a young man?" asked Jean.

"Yes, he is called Paul," I said, and this caused some eyebrows to be lifted.

"Gosh, you young girls today, you are far more liberated than we were."

"I don't know," said the busty Hazel, "I rather enjoyed my youth."

"What was his name?" I asked, and after a second or two for the penny to drop, there was much laughter.

"Mum, that detective is here again about the business with the shop. I have given him a cup of tea, and I ought to just speak to him. So, ladies, it was lovely to see you again, if you will excuse me, I will leave you."

I left the women to it, secure in the knowledge that my current condition would be circulated everywhere that mattered within a very short space of time.

I went back to the kitchen, and found that another police officer had arrived. He had been very quiet about it.

He was about twenty-five, tall and fair. He looked lean and very fit, and was wearing a black polo shirt, and black trousers, that were pulled in at the boots. He looked very paramilitary.

"Josie, this is Ed Ryan. He is a sergeant on one of our specialised firearms teams. He and his team will be watching your back for the next few days, or weeks, depending how long it takes to get sorted. You won't see them, but just trust them to be there. I will leave it for you two to sort out communications, and lets hope we get an early result on this."

I shook Ed's hand, and he grinned at me.

I went out with the Superintendent.

"By the way, I haven't told him about you. As far as he is concerned, you are just what you appear. A very pretty girl," he said.

"Thanks."

"No, thank you. You are a very brave and sensible girl, and you don't deserve this shit."

"Actually, it is quite fun. It takes away the stress of my forthcoming surgery."

"When is it?"

"I don't know yet. But it can't come soon enough."

"Well good luck. I have little knowledge about such things, but from where I am standing, there is no doubt you are what you appear."

"Bye."

He drove off, and I returned to the kitchen. Mother was frowning at the strange man in her kitchen, and I extricated Ed as quickly as I could.

We went to the study, and I closed the door.

"Your mum is very protective."

"She has reasons to be. My sister is a nymphomaniac, and all men are potential victims."

"Really?" he asked, looking worried.

"No, but your face was a picture."

He relaxed.

"Okay. I need to go over your movements and routines."

"I don't have any routines. I have an appointment with my surgeon on Friday at two, and that is near Brighton. Then, I am supposed to be going back to college on Monday, but I think the Superintendent is sorting that. I have my boyfriend I visit every now and again. He is in London at the moment, but will be back tomorrow, and will give me a lift to the clinic. I am due to have some surgery soon, but no date is set for that. So I will be hanging around here or the cottage most of the time."

"Surgery?"

"Women's problems."

"Oh."

"Oh, and then there is the shop. I guess I have given in my notice, but my car is still there. You wouldn't like to give me a lift to go and pick it up?"

"Sure."

He took me out to a blacked out Range Rover, and I jumped in the back, as there was another officer in the front.

"Mike Howard, meet our principal. Josie Fortune, this is PC Howard, my marksman."

"Hi Mike."

"Josie."

He drove well and fast. There was a blue light in a shielded box on the front dash, and several radios were all going at once. I saw that Mike was wearing a side arm in a holster on his belt.

We were there in no time, and he drove up and down the street first. Then he insisted on unlocking the car and checking it over, before letting me drive it home.

Once home, they disappeared, and I went indoors again.

Mother was in the kitchen, and I went and made myself a mug of tea.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked.

"Fine, Mum, why?"

"You seem to be rushing about so much. It isn't like you."

"What am I like, Mum?"

She smiled.

"I don't know you any more. You are so different. Jean and Hazel seemed to think you have always been a girl, and had a minor problem, you know, down below."

"Then they are right. Because that is exactly how I look at it."

"This is all very hard," she said.

I went and gave her a hug.

"Look, I'm still me. I am just your daughter now, instead of a son. The only difference is that I am really happy."

"Then I am glad for you. But I still find it all very odd."

"In time, you'll forget I was ever a boy."

"I doubt it. But maybe so."

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