Acts & Monuments

by Alan Kane Fraser

  “And she needed money for that?” asked Hope.

  “Well, it was more complicated than that. It was all a bit of a mess, to be honest. She thought she’d got the money, but then it turned out that she hadn’t.”

  “So she did need some money? She actually said that to you?” Ruth pressed.

  Barry paused for a moment before continuing, but he’d already said so much it seemed implausible to deny the obvious fact now. And, besides, it was the truth.

  “Yes, she said she needed some money.”

  “Did she say how much?” Hope asked.

  Barry paused again. Three pairs of eyes stared at him intently. “About £42,000.”

  Langley slammed his pen down on the desk and pushed his chair back. Ruth slumped slightly forward in her seat and buried her head in her hands. If he hadn’t known her better, Barry could have sworn he’d heard her mutter, “Oh shit,” under her breath. Only Hope remained impassive.

  “Thank you for being so honest, Barry. I know it isn’t easy to betray confidences, but you’ve done the right thing,” she said. “That really has been incredibly useful in helping me to understand what’s happened here.”

  Barry blinked. Was that it? An awkward silence descended on the room. Finally, Langley spoke.

  “Well, that’s just brilliant! Our own staff member has nicked our money – and we’ve paid them for the privilege!”

  Barry wanted to say, “I am here, you know.” It was perhaps all he’d ever really wanted to say.

  But before he could do so, Ruth snapped at Langley. “Langley!” She said, shooting her colleague a ferocious stare and then indicated toward Barry with a glare. “Now is not the appropriate time.”

  Langley was duly admonished. “Sorry, Barry. Just forget that I said that.”

  “Right,” said Ruth, trying to regain her composure. “Thank you for your cooperation, Barry. It’s been very helpful. I think we’ve managed to fill in a few of the blanks.”

  “Absolutely,” Hope agreed. “I’m going to be writing a report for the chair of the audit committee to detail what I’ve found and what seems to have gone wrong. Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

  “Errr… Not really, if I’m honest,” Barry replied. He felt as though he’d said enough.

  “Well, thanks for your time,” Hope concluded. “I’ll come back to you if I need anything else.”

  And without further ado, Barry was ushered from the room.

  He didn’t understand it. They hadn’t mentioned the cash machine withdrawals – or the bank details Barry had nefariously removed from Chris Malford’s flat. They weren’t questioning him about his involvement in the amendment of the invoice or even its transit route from Saleema’s desk to Sally’s. All their attention seemed focused on Saleema. The possibility of Barry being involved – even if only as Saleema’s accomplice – genuinely didn’t appear to have occurred to them.

  Back in Ruth’s office conclusions were being drawn – and nothing could have been further from anyone’s mind than the fate of Barry Todd.

  “So, given what we know now, where does that leave us?” Ruth asked.

  “I’m not going to kid you, from our perspective things aren’t looking good,” Hope replied. “Everything points toward this being a fairly standard mandate fraud. The police very rarely investigate frauds like that for amounts like this. But I think we’re beginning to build up a pretty clear picture of where the money’s most probably ended up. Unfortunately, if, as Mrs Hedges claims, it’s the Bhattis’ account in Pakistan then our options are… limited, I’m afraid.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Ruth asked.

  “Well, I’m interested in this Christian Malford link. That’s probably your best chance of getting the police to do something. These frauds generally work because there’s a sap at the end of the line whose bank account is the one that gets used. They get paid a couple of grand for their trouble, and the mastermind keeps the rest.”

  “And Malford was set up to be that sap?”

  “Looks like it, but maybe he got nervous and threatened to go to the police. At any rate, you need to pass this information on to them. It may help them with their other investigation, which might help them to track down anyone involved. Unfortunately, if they’re out of the country – particularly if it’s Pakistan – they’ll generally end matters there. But at least we’ll know.”

  “So that’s it? We just have to write the money off?” asked Langley, barely concealing his annoyance.

  “Well, obviously, I’m not suggesting you can’t get your money back.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “The fact is, you’ve asked The SHYPP for money and you haven’t received it. It’s their job to take all reasonable care to make sure you get the money they owe you. But they have admitted – and Barry has just confirmed – that they didn’t actually check the payment details properly with you. They assumed that the fact the details had changed meant they’d changed to the ones on the invoice. Their systems have failed too, so a degree of fault lies with them.”

  “So we can still demand payment from The SHYPP?” asked Langley. “And then start cancelling the management agreement when they can’t pay?”

  “Well, you can, but that’s not without its risks. If The SHYPP can prove that there was some involvement from someone here, then that does weaken your case. And the evidence so far does seem to be pointing in that direction. Of course, it could be that Mrs Hedges is bluffing and the money’s ended up with someone connected to The SHYPP, which would obviously strengthen your case. Ultimately, it all depends on where the bank says the money’s ended up.”

  “I see,” said Ruth. “And how do we find that out? Clearly, that’s what’s going to show who’s stolen it.”

  “I can’t help you with that, I’m afraid,” Hope replied. “The bank isn’t allowed to divulge that information. They certainly won’t tell me. Once the money hit Malford’s account it became his, and the bank can’t tell anyone except him where it’s gone from there.”

  Langley could hardly contain his rage. “But he’s dead! How are we supposed to find out where our money’s gone if they won’t tell anyone? Hold a séance?”

  Hope remained calm. “Well, obviously, they can tell the police as well, but only if they believe that money comes from the proceeds of a crime. And, even then, the police will need to go to court and convince a judge. Of course, given the sums involved they may not bother. But if it is linked to a murder investigation, I suspect they’ll at least try to find out what’s gone on. My point is that their priority will be the murder investigation, not getting your money back. You just need to understand that.”

  “For goodness’ sake!” Langley said, slamming his pen down again.

  “What I suggest you do now is report the fraud to the police and make them aware of the potential link with their Malford investigation.”

  “Shouldn’t The SHYPP be reporting the crime? After all, it’s their payment that’s gone missing,” Ruth asked.

  “Normally, yes, but, the fact is, the police only have a duty to update the organisation that reported the crime. The other party will have no knowledge of how things are progressing or the leads that are being followed, so it’s in your interests to make sure the organisation being updated is you and not The SHYPP – particularly given the circumstances.”

  “Understood. I’ll phone the police right away,” Ruth said.

  “OK. Are you done with me?” asked Langley.

  “Yes. Thanks,” Ruth replied.

  Langley left the two women and returned to his office. Hope began packing up her tablet before turning to Ruth. “I hate to ask this, but…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s just a thought, but Barry said that only he, Langley and Saleema knew when the invoice was being issued. I just wondered if you t
hought it was possible that maybe… Langley was involved in some way? Have you had any suspicions?”

  Ruth narrowed her eyes and looked at Hope intently. “And why would you say that?”

  “Well, he was the one who started the whole invoicing process off, wasn’t he? By his own admission, he brought the usual invoicing timescale forward, and that meant it clashed with the exact week that you were changing your accounts – which was, of course, the week of maximum confusion. And then he was apparently phoning Marilyn chasing the payment only a couple of days after the invoice had been issued. It just seems a bit… odd.”

  Ruth paused for a moment. “He also invited himself along to our meeting just now.”

  “I wondered about that. I didn’t like to say anything when he turned up, but I wasn’t expecting him. And, I have to admit, there were one or two questions I wanted to ask Barry about Langley’s involvement in the whole process, but I felt a bit uncomfortable asking them with Langley sitting there next to me. And you could tell that Barry was uncomfortable having him there too.”

  “And – I’m sure it’s nothing – but I thought Langley seemed awfully keen to make sure all the attention was diverted on to Saleema,” Ruth said.

  “Yes, it was quite embarrassing at one point… But, as you say, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it is.”

  “Of course, I also ought to ask you about this guy,” Hope said, indicating the seat where Barry had been sitting. “Any suspicions about him?”

  Ruth let out a hollow laugh. “Barry? Are you joking? Worked with us over twenty years. Lovely guy, but not the sharpest tool in the box. Wouldn’t know how to steal fifty quid, never mind fifty grand.”

  “No, I thought not,” Hope smiled. “He did seem rather bemused by the whole thing. I just didn’t want you to think I was ignoring anyone.”

  “No, no, I understand. You’re just doing your job. But it doesn’t seem very likely. Like he said, in the fifteen years he’s been involved, we’ve never had a problem with The SHYPP’s payments before.”

  “But then you suddenly get one in Langley’s first month in post. Coincidence?”

  “I guess we’ll find that out when the police trace where the money went to.”

  “It’s the first rule of auditing: follow the money.”

  Thirty-Seven

  The next day, following a call from Ruth, Lindsey Norton appeared at Monument’s offices – where there was much speculation as to the precise reason for her long interview with the finance director. Langley hovered by her office all afternoon, desperate – Barry suspected – to find out whether he was any closer to being able to terminate the management agreement with The SHYPP. Barry, in contrast, waited to be called in for an interview, but the invitation never came, so he felt no particular guilt in deciding at 5pm that he might as well go home.

  As attention still seemed to be focused squarely on Saleema, there seemed no reason for him to panic yet. It was, rather, the issue of how to purchase a car using Monument’s money without creating a clear trail back to himself that was vexing Barry as he arrived home that evening. Given that the police were now involved, just transferring the money into his own account seemed fraught with risk.

  He had been used to quickly shooting upstairs as soon as he entered the house to hide his latest cash withdrawal. Tonight, however, his wife was waiting for him and the moment she heard him come through the front door she leapt from the sofa to accost him.

  “Barry! Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been trying to call you!” She fixed him with an accusing stare.

  “Oh, I’ve been in meetings. Sorry.”

  “Have you heard about Lauren?”

  “No. What’s the matter?”

  “It’s all over social media – haven’t you seen?” She held her tablet up to Barry’s face.

  “What is? I’ve not seen anything.”

  “She’s got a boyfriend! Look!”

  Barry stared at the social media feed in front of him. “Lauren Todd changed her relationship status” it read, before going on to say “Lauren is now in a relationship”. And there was a photo of Lauren looking exuberantly happy – happier than Barry could remember seeing her looking at any point since her brother’s death – next to a very handsome young man with his arm around her. He looked pretty pleased with himself too.

  “Is that it?” asked Barry, incredulously. “Is that all you’re worried about? She’s at university, love; it happens.”

  “But why didn’t she tell us? What’s she trying to hide?”

  “She’s hardly trying to hide anything; it’s all over Facebook.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me, at least? Why do I only find out at the same time as everyone else?”

  “Well, maybe she knew how you’d react.”

  “It feels like a knife in the heart,” she said, collapsing on the sofa. “It’s like she’s abandoning us – abandoning me!”

  “She’s at university, love. She’s growing up – moving on with her life. She’s not our little baby anymore.”

  Out of the very long list of bad things that he could have said at that point, it transpired that that was just about the worst thing for Barry to say. She looked at Barry as though he was the most cruel and heartless husband any woman could have, before burying her head in her hands and beginning to sob.

  Barry didn’t know quite what to do. It seemed something of an overreaction – Lauren had, after all, had boyfriends before, when she was at school. His wife hadn’t got upset – or at least, not this upset – about any of them. Having utterly failed to offer appropriate comfort to her with his last utterance, Barry didn’t know what else he could say.

  “If you’re that upset about it, why don’t you give her a ring? But I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about… I’m not worried about it.”

  “If you’re going to be like that you might as well go!” she said before grabbing the phone. In light of her instruction, Barry decided to go upstairs and paint until tea was ready.

  He had set up his easel in the home office and, for the past few weeks, had been trying to get back into the discipline of painting. Recognising that it had been nearly twenty years since he’d last painted regularly, Barry had deliberately set his initial goals quite low and decided to start by copying other people’s works – just to get his hand (and, indeed, his eye) back in the knack.

  The first work he had taken it upon himself to copy was Never Morning Wore to Evening but Some Heart Did Break (Walter Langley, 1894). Barry wished he could come up with some profound reason for choosing that painting to copy, but the reality was that, even when he’d been a regular painter, he’d always struggled with faces, and Walter Langley’s picture had the advantage from that perspective of featuring a woman whose face was not in view.

  The woman had just been told that her fisherman husband would not be coming back. In despair, she sits on the shore, her face buried in her hands. What Barry liked was that the artist had managed to convey the full depth of her emotion without disclosing any of her features (although Barry knew from Walter Langley’s other works that this wasn’t because he ‘couldn’t do’ faces). It was a really difficult trick to pull off and it was one that Barry wanted to emulate, so, as he copied the print on the table in front of him, he tried to see how his illustrious predecessor had done it.

  The more he studied it, however, the more Barry wondered if there was a deeper reason why he felt so strangely attracted to the picture. There was something that moved him about the fact that the young woman was so obviously distraught at the death of her husband. It would, he felt sure, have been a comfort to the fisherman to see how much his death had distressed his wife. Yes, as the painting’s title acknowledged, these personal tragedies happened every day, but that didn’t mean that the suffering was any less keenly felt.

  Barry
couldn’t help wondering, as he tried to capture the doleful slope of the young widow’s shoulder, whether his wife would be as distraught if he didn’t come back from work one day. Judging by her recent parting shot, Barry suspected not and he rather regretted that fact. He wanted to be able to provoke that strength of emotion in someone; to know that his absence would reduce his wife, at least, to despair. But somehow, if he had ever had that knack, he certainly appeared to have lost it. Now Barry felt exhausted from all the effort it required to simply not annoy her.

  He seemed to be part of the wallpaper of so many people’s lives, but not part of the architecture. He didn’t hold anything up. He wondered if that was how the young widow had felt about her husband before he died. Maybe they’d rowed and bickered, just like Barry and his wife did. Maybe it had taken his death to make her realise what she’d lost. It made Barry think.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a raised voice coming from downstairs. He took this to mean that the telephone conversation between Lauren and her mum was not going well. He decided that the simplest thing to do was to stay out of the way until things had died down. Ten minutes later, it seemed that the call had ended, but Barry waited a further fifteen minutes before venturing downstairs.

  The first thing he noticed upon returning to the ground floor was that his tea wasn’t ready. The second thing he noticed was that his wife was still sitting on the sofa, rather than in the kitchen preparing their meal. For once, she didn’t have her tablet in her hand, nor was she watching David Attenborough. In fact, she didn’t appear to be doing anything – just sitting, staring silently into space. Barry realised that now would be a spectacularly bad time to ask her when tea was going to be ready.

  “What do you want for tea?” he asked, in a vain attempt to suggest that he was not expecting her to make it.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Barry’s pupils dilated in astonishment. Not hungry? This was uncharted conversational territory. Food and the Todds’ ability to consume it in substantial quantities whatever the situation, had been the one constant in their relationship. If even that anchor point was now gone, then Barry truly had been cast adrift in a dinghy on the great ocean of life.