Dinning with Frogs

5. Leverage

Irene's first point of contact with Moriarty's gang had, ironically enough, been a police officer. DC Gavin Shedman was an occasional client (Though as far as that went, Irene wasn't really his type. Shedman obviously preferred his women to be young and submissive, and while Irene could play the shrinking violet if she absolutely had to, but it wasn't exactly what she was known for.) Irene hadn't needed to know him for long to figure out that Shedman had his fingers a few less-than-Kocher pies. A Detective Constable living in London shouldn't have been able to afford her services, for a start.

A few well placed questions in the right places told Irene everything she needed to know. Shedman was making some substantial cash on the side heading up an in-office blackmail ring. It was a clever thought – police officers are, after all, uniquely placed to access all kinds of information, and his client list was extensive...tabloids, organised crime syndicates, terrorist organizations... Of course, if information from confidential police files kept appearing in the public domain people would begin to ask questions but Shedman had managed set up a rather deft little information laundering service, and kept his own record more or less spotless. All in all it was a very impressive business, and since Shedman was not an intelligent man, Irene was quite sure that someone else had helped him out. Someone was standing in the shadows, pulling the strings.

It had taken Irene several long and boring hours paying tribute to Shedman's overinflated ego but eventually she had got a name out of him. It was a name that gave her an odd jolt to the stomach, a flood of fear and familiarity. Moriarty.

Now Irene is meeting with Shedman again, this time in a grubby little café in Hampstead. Sherlock had accompanied her on the train although he sat in a different carriage – it wouldn't be good for them to be seen together in public, after all. Apparently he also had business in London– so he said anyway. Possibly he was just using an excuse to keep an eye on her. Irene is still smarting slightly from the memory of the previous night.

In the café she shifts in the uncomfortable chair. She is rather nervous at being in London again, where anyone might recognise her. She has camouflaged herself in a very un-Irene like pink summer dress, and had her hair has been lightened. Surely no one will recognise her?

She notices Shedman as soon as he enters. No one could mistake overconfident strut, those piggy darting eyes. She is surprised that the supposedly sharp minds of Scotland Yard hadn't recognised him for what he is long ago.

"Gavin," Irene coos, passing a coyly appreciative glance over stodgy form under the suit.

Gavin smirks at her. "Well, hello, Blondie. Like the hair."

They order coffee.

"So. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gavin shoots her a leering grin.

"It's been too long since I saw you. I thought we could catch up." Irene plays with her earring and smiles at him.

He leans forward slightly, licks his lips. "No offense," he said. "But last I heard you were pushing up daisies."

"Do I look dead?" Irene giggles.

"Definitely not."

"Well then." Irene smiles. "And how is business?"

Shedman shrugs. "Same old, same old. Catching criminals so the lovely ladies such as yourself can sleep safe in their beds."

"My hero." Irene reaches across to run her fingers across the back of his hand."And the other business?" she asks more quietly.

Shedman raises his eyebrows. "Oh, is that why you're here?"