As was so characteristic of her, Effe was soon lost in the big puzzle of what was at hand, and right there it was a murderer with the codename Prodigal.
She forgot the people around her as she read his folder and fed statistics into her intelligence apps on her laptop. Over the years, she had upgraded that database with the most sensitive information and sources of extraction.
Smart software and codebreakers were stacked into that laptop, and she had feeds that went as far as the powerhouses of the intelligence agencies worldwide. She had a close-knit family of local and international people, from some of the most powerful intelligence operators to the seedy hackers and small-time crooks found in the dark alleyways of society.
Internationally, she was linked to secret associates in the FBI, CIA, KGB, Interpol and other highly-ranked organizations.
Hers was a source of information and database that the SPF would have been stunned to know. She worked fast, linking up with associates across the world, querying and analysing, putting scenarios into complex algorithms.
She paused once in a while to ask questions.
"So, there were no cameras inside the bathroom where the fight took place?"
Paul Blankson looked up from his laptop and shook his head with a sigh.
"Against human rights, Effe," he said calmly. "It is undignified to film people in their showers."
"What about the cameras on the corridors? Surely, these are allowed, right?"
"They are," Paul said with a deprecating smile. "Unfortunately, the IT guy claims he forgot to load the backup servers, so the recordings were not logged."
"I see," Effe said and returned to her programming.
Conveniently, she had codes and weird languages that she communicated with when working in open space, so those SPF agents – Paul included – who tried to pass casually behind her to see what she was up to only saw a series of weird characters and scribbles and diagrams.
When they finally arrived at the Eden Maximum Prison, she was given clearance and full access to the prison. Effe was in a frenzy as she visited the bathroom and carefully tabled it out, taking into account the coroner's sketches on the floor.
Next, she moved to the crematorium and spoke with the staff in charge. She also spoke extensively to the prison commander, Ralph Serto. After almost three hours of going from the grounds of the prison and to the mobile station van to feed new facts into her laptop, Effe finally sighed and shook her head as she sat still behind her laptop.
Her face was cold, and it was evident that she was highly agitated as she silently clicked the shutdown icon and slowly shut down the laptop. She felt strung out as she packed the machine into her bag and shut the electronic folder of Chris Bawa, and then she leaned forward and gently massaged her temples.
Paul Blankson and Sir Lance exchanged glances as they watched her. The other staff were silent too as they all focused their attention on the newcomer.
It was late, and the drive back to central KOE would take another hour.
Sir Lance, holding a disposable cup of hot coffee, stood up from the comfortable chair and approached the desk where Effe was sitting.
He sat down gingerly opposite her and took a sip from his cup.
"Well?" he asked softly.
When Effe looked up at him, there was raw fury on her beautiful face. She leaned back slowly and looked at the man she had so much respect for, and whom her fury was aimed at now.
"For starters, Sir Lancelot, I'm not a fool, and I've never been a fool!" she said coldly.
He nodded as he took another sip of coffee and set it down slowly.
"You wouldn't be here if I considered you a fool," he said gently and spread his hands with his eyebrows raised. "Let me guess, you found out the guy who fought Chris and killed him was an agent of SPF, right?"
Effe's eyes were still angry as she stared at the elderly man.
"Yes, his name on the file of the prison, David Misah, is false," Effe said quietly. "Actually, he's an SPF agent, number forty-nine, nickname Condor."
She was aware that the other field agents were looking at her with shock.
Paul Blankson stood up sharply and approached the table, and he scowled darkly down at Effe.
"How the hell did you come by that information?" he asked with an iced voice. "That operation was shadowed, with a Dark Project marker! How the hell did you come by that info?"
"Lay off, Paul," Sir Lance said sharply, and then he turned his eyes on Effe and spread his hands. "Well, my dear, that is indeed very admirable and very unflattering for us. Condor is privileged information but, hey, you got what you wanted, and that shows I wasn't wrong in drafting you into the SPF. Well, yes, I kept that information from you, and I don't apologize for it, my dear. I clear people for the information I want them to have, and so let this be the last time you question my motives. Is that clear?"
Effe leaned forward and spoke in clipped tones.
"Then I think we're done here, Sir Lance!" she said icily. "I don't want any part of this damn outfit!"
Paul Blankson cursed, but the old man only raised his eyebrows.
"Why, because I kept what I thought was pertinent information from you, young lady?"
"Yes!" Effe said angrily. "I understand the protocol, yes, I do. And I understand your motives. But, when I'm given an assignment to undertake, sir, I want all the information on it! I don't want anything kept from me. That is how I work, and that is what I demand. I decide what is important and what is not!"
"Damn it, Effe!" Paul Blankson interjected angrily and set down his coffee cup hard. "Who the hell do you think you are? You're new, and you're bloody dispensable, understand? Do not jump the gun here! We tell you what to do, and you do it!"
"It doesn't work that way with me!" Effe said and turned her scalding eyes on him. "I demand trust, Paul! That tiny information you keep could make or break the operation! It could mean life and death, do you understand? I work with principles, and my principle is access to every bit of information that would help me achieve my assignment! If you think there's information I'm not privileged to, you keep the damn assignment and give it to someone who will dance when you play the tune, sir. If you give it to me, I will tell you the kind of music I want to dance to. That's me. Take it, or bloody leave it!"