She had been reading Freddy Forsyth's "Day of the Jackal" and had seen how comparatively easy it was to manufacture an identity. But that was just the...birth certificate - what about the National Insurance number and a hundred and one other bits of paperwork?What she desperately needed was some appropriately shady contact to perform all the necessary work. As she looked again around the dingy little room and considered the dubious antecedents of the people responsible for running this female. ‘Jimmy?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘I’m ready to get out now.’ She pulled the stopper and the water began to flow down the drain. Her eyes traveled to mine, timidly, but she did not cover her breasts, although they now showed above the water line. I understood her meaning. She wanted me to leave the room so she could dry herself and get dressed. But I ignored her silent request and she didn’t protest. I spread the towel we had used to dry her hair. ‘Step out of the tub onto this,’ I said. I went to the towel. More

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