The Borough

by Steve Dockray

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The days leading up to Christmas were melting away fast. Christmas day itself fell on a Saturday this year, so Winner counted himself lucky that he had been able to get Sally transferred to the accounting office for the odd week before the holiday.

  They had worked late together on Monday and Tuesday, using the quiet time towards the end of the day for a fresh thorough search of Stewart's papers, but it turned up nothing. By Wednesday morning, Sally had run the computer queries to extract unmatched records and was in early, waiting for Winner to arrive. She saw his lights go on, but before she could get her papers together, Peter Vaughan went in through the glazed door.

  "Morning Dave."

  "Hello Peter. What's up?"

  "Just to say that Christine Tucker called in sick. From the echo in her voice, I'd say she was calling on a cordless phone from the bathroom."

  "Stomach upset, you mean?" asked Winner.

  "Self inflicted, I'm afraid. While you were out yesterday afternoon they started on the annual satsuma eating contest. I think a few of the others were winding her up about how many they'd eaten, and she was determined to beat them. Mind you, she got up to forty four. I think that's a new record."

  Winner smiled. "Plenty of roughage in forty four satsumas, I should think. Try to encourage a little work out there for the rest of the week, could you Peter? At least until Friday."

  As soon as she saw Vaughan come out of the office, Sally grabbed the printouts and photocopies and made sure nobody else got there before her.

  "This is it, then," he said, as she dropped the papers on his desk.

  "Most of what I can tell you, I already knew, but now I've got all the details and documents."

  "Does it all demonstrate theft? I might as well call Barry Freeman in if it does."

  Sally nodded and Winner picked up the phone.

  "He'll be up in a moment," he said, when he had finished his call. "Before he gets here, tell me, does the evidence point to Nigel?"

  "No, which is why he must have been so confident. I can't say what Barry or the police might turn up, though."

  Sally picked up the papers and moved them to the office table while Winner moved over to the seat with the best window view. The shortest day of the year and only now getting light enough to see out. Dark days for Sharmouth Borough Council, as well.

  Within a few minutes, Freeman had joined them.

  "I'll just give you the background to this," started Winner, "and then Sally can give us both the details. She's only given me the barest outline so far, but if what she says is true, you might as well get the full facts at the same time as me."

  "Fair enough," said Freeman, "but what's it all about?"

  "I saw Westerman last week, and he said that Linda Price had told him there was something wrong with the accounts, but he didn't have any details. In the meantime Councillor Avery had come to me with a computer print-out that didn't add up. I've got it here. I did some preliminary work on the ledger with a spreadsheet, but without Nigel I had to wait until Sally was available to do the computer analysis. Westerman said not to bother you, because it was probably just a bug in the program. We're talking to you now, because on the face of it, someone's cheated the Council out of fifty thousand pounds."

  Freeman sat quietly, thinking to himself that the day had finally come. Might as well hear the awful details. "Go on," he said.

  Sally took over from Winner. "When you get the computer to total all the transaction records, they don't add up to the control totals. I ran a big matching query to pin down the missing records. Basically it's a new twist on an old fraud. We've all heard about frauds where the thief slips fake invoices into the payments system and sets up a dummy company at an accommodation address to bank the cheques. That sort of fraud always relied on the payments not being noticed in the accounts. Maybe they were small invoices lost amongst the sheer volume of transactions on a busy ledger heading or perhaps they were put through on a ledger heading that nobody took responsibility for checking. Either way, they just got lost in the overall quantity of the Council's business."

  "So what's the new twist?" asked Freeman.

  "These days everyone's much more careful about budgetary control. For one thing, they can easily scan through the details on screen. They're much more likely to spot an overspending that they hadn't authorised. There just isn't the leeway that there used to be. What the fraudster has done is put through dummy payments. They appear on the payments schedule, and the overall total of the payments schedule is included in the ledger, but the individual transactions have been wiped out. On top of that, the sub totals in the ledger have been corrupted to match up with the control totals, so that if you use the totals you can prove that the ledger balances against the bank account. I've taken copies of the payment vouchers for the missing transactions."

  "What about the official order numbers? The spending officers would have noticed if any orders had been removed from their order pads."

  "Whoever did this must have got hold of one of the Engineers' order pads that wasn't in use yet. The payments staff must have assumed it had accidentally been started out of order. Of course, this sort of fraud would be much more difficult when we've introduced the computerised ordering system that I've been pressing for."

  "Let's see the documents," said Freeman, wearily.

  Sally handed over a small sheaf of papers. Five invoices with the a duplicate copy official order stapled to the back of the first.

  Freeman shook his head. "Look at the name," he said. "Westake Contractors. No doubt short for 'take Westerman for a ride'. The latest cheque payment looks to be three weeks ago. Have you checked to see if there are any more in the system?"

  "Yes, but there aren't. The other thing I did was ring up Nichols, who's supposed to have signed the vouchers, but he's never heard of Westake Contractors."

  "Anything to suggest who might have done this?" asked Freeman.

  Nothing specific. Perhaps the bank will be able to describe the person who paid in cheques and so on. It would have to have been an inside job. Someone who had access to the computer and knew enough about programming to zap the records and fudge the totals."

  "Which narrows it down to twenty people, possibly more," said Winner.

  Freeman sat back in his chair, looking first at Winner, then at Sally. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table.

  "Well, I can't say I'm surprised," he said eventually. "I think I said to you the other day that something like this might be happening. It's just a relief the figure isn't any larger. Do you know, we're not even insured against this sort of thing? I'll have to tell Westerman and then call the police. I take it you'll both be available to speak to them?"

  Sally and Winner nodded their agreement as Freeman got up.

  "Oh, just one more thing Barry," said Winner, as Freeman opened the door. "Merry Christmas!"

  The door clicked shut.

  "Surely the bank will be able to describe Nigel to the police?" said Winner, as soon as Freeman had disappeared behind the Christmas tree.

  "From what he told me he's done a lot of amateur dramatics and he had great fun getting himself ready for the bank. You know, wig, glasses, cheek padding, skin colouring."

  "They're sure to try and match up the deposits and withdrawals with the staff records to see who was on holiday. An alibi for every visit to the bank."

  "Well, I don't know. That would be all rather circumstantial. It's not too hard to slip out of the office for an hour or two without anyone noticing. Some of the other staff who could have done it are out of the office most of the time anyway."

  Winner looked out through the glass door. It was quite true. Peter Vaughan and Mary Hatton were both out of the office, but who could say whether they were at a meeting somewhere in the Town Hall, or had slipped out for an hour? Maybe they would never be able to pin it on Stewart. One thing was for sure. A dead man couldn't give himself away under questioning
.

  "How about coming to my place this evening?" said Winner. "We don't need to stay on here today. I could make us my famous chicken curry and we could be a bit festive and try and work out what Nigel was up to."

  "OK, if you let me bring some dessert."

  Sally arrive at Winner's flat at six thirty, which was just about late enough for the chocolate gateau in the bag she was carrying to have thawed out. The flat was on the third floor, or more strictly the second if the bottom level was described as the ground floor, and Sally was curious to see what it was like. She could see now how he kept slim, as there was no lift. He opened the door wearing jeans and an open necked shirt. Apparently the heating was just as effective as he had said. He helped her out of her coat and told her to take her time and look around. He had to get back to the kitchen.

  She opened the first door on her right and found a small single bedroom. There were some children's books and a cassette player on the bedside table and a large package wrapped in Christmas paper at the foot of the bed. The next door revealed a small bathroom with a grey suite. A rubber duck sat in the empty tub. The main bedroom was large enough for a double bed and a complete run of wardrobe down the far side. All warm and comfortable.

  There was one more door apart from the one into the living room, which Winner had left open. Just an airing cupboard with a big jacketed cylinder and a couple of slatted shelves with clothes and towels on.

  The living room was surprisingly large for the size of the flat. There was a middle-aged sofa and an armchair, a small dining table and a low table at one side with a computer on it. All around there were piles of books waiting for some shelves. A spicy aroma was coming from the doorway that let through to the kitchen. She stood in the entrance and held out the gateau box.

  "You're putting me to shame," she said. "I didn't have time to make anything myself."

  Winner had put on a seagull print apron. He turned the heat down under the saucepan and put the lid on for it to simmer.

  "Don't be embarrassed. The curry sauce came out of a tin. It'll be about half an hour. How about a glass of wine?"

  Sally went back into the living room and took off her sweater. The heating in her own house was just too expensive to run at a really comfortable level, so she was used to spending the winter months in multiple layers of clothing. Perhaps that would change now. With Nigel dead there was no way they could tie her in with the money. It might be safe to spend a little, if she was reasonably discreet. Winner must have guessed that she had some of it, but it looked as though he had some too. Surely not all of it? Nigel must have tucked it away somewhere safe. Perhaps his widow would find it one day, if the burglars hadn't already. She really ought to think about putting hers somewhere safer. Under the floorboards in the spare bedroom wasn't an ideal place to keep twenty thousand pounds on a long term basis.

  "Here we are," said Winner, handing her a glass of white wine and sitting down beside her on the sofa. "Only vino da tavola, I'm afraid."

  She took a sip and looked at him. "What do you suppose Nigel might have done with the cash?"

  "Spent some, hidden some maybe."

  "Put it another way." By now she was gazing intently into his eyes. "If you had a substantial sum in cash, what would you do with it? You'd want to invest it if you could, or at least legitimise it in some way, so that you could spend it."

  "On a long term basis I'd start savings schemes out of my salary and use the cash to keep up my standard of living. That way the cash would gradually be turned into bona fide investments. But that's thinking like an accountant, not a con artist. Someone like Nigel was probably just going to blow it on luxury weekends, far away where he wouldn't meet anyone he knew."

  "I suppose most of us don't know how well off other people are. They might have family money or lucrative sidelines. There's more than one reason for suddenly being richer, some of them quite legitimate."

  "Just as long as the tax man doesn't start asking too many questions."

  Winner was just about to ask why all the money was in twenties, but stopped himself just in time. By the look on her face in the pub at the weekend, she had recognised the cash, although of course he couldn't be certain. There was definitely some sort of telepathy between them, though, because she answered his question, even though he hadn't asked it.

  "As far as I know," she said, "Nigel drew all the money in twenties, unless there's any still left in the bank. He told them his company was organising a promotional advertising scheme which involved sending out twenty pound notes. They didn't seem too interested."

  "A bit like the police this afternoon. Barry told me that they took some convincing that a crime had actually been committed. He thinks they understand now. They're going to see the bank involved and probably interview staff with computer skills, but they don't really know where to start."

  Winner broke away from Sally's gaze and got up to put the rice on.

  "Can I help?" Sally asked, following behind him.

  "It's all under control really. You could put some cutlery on the table. There's a box on the side here."

  "This is a nice flat. Ideal for one or two people, if you haven't got too much stuff."

  "The furniture's a bit junky, I'm afraid. Just what I could scrounge off other people until I can afford something better."

  "Nobody who works for the Council seems to have any money. It's not surprising if the odd dishonest person tries to get a bit extra."

  They went back to the sofa, Sally removing her second, thinner sweater on the way. She sat close to him, trying to sort out her feelings about him. She was sick of being alone. After a few minutes silence she made up her mind.

  "Dave, we can't keep fencing around this subject of the cash. We both of us think that the other has got some of it, don't we?"

  Winner fiddled with his wineglass, rolling the stem between his fingers. "I won't tell on you, if you don't tell on me."

  "I wasn't going to admit to having any of the cash, but I feel so vulnerable, I have to confide in someone."

  "I found mine taped to the underside of one of Nigel's desk drawers," Winner told her. "I know I shouldn't have kept it, but it means a lot more to me than it would to the Council."

  "It's going to sound bad if I tell you how much I've got."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because I've got so much, it makes it look as if I must have been instrumental in the plot."

  They paused, not knowing who was going to be the first to admit how much they had.

  "I tell you what," said Winner. "We'll write the figures on slips of paper and exchange them."

  "Don't be silly. I've got twenty thousand."

  Winner was surprised by the revelation. Nigel must have been very generous.

  "I've got ten thousand, less a few hundred I've spent. That still leaves twenty thousand unaccounted for, less what Nigel had already spent."

  "You have to believe me when I say I wasn't part of the swindle. I found out what Nigel was up to by accident and he had to pay me off. I should have gone to the police, but I explained to you before what a hold he had on me. If it seems as though he gave me a lot, that's because he really did have some scheme on the go which would have made the amount he'd given me fairly trivial."

  Their faces were close together.

  "I believe you," said Winner. "Besides, what's twenty thousand these days?"

  He swayed forward slightly and they kissed. A few seconds later there was a hissing from the kitchen and he had to break away to deal with the overboiling rice.

  "We already decided to work together on this," he said to her from the kitchen. "What you've told me doesn't change anything. It's not for me to pass any moral judgement on what you've done. It's a bit late to give the money back now anyway, even if we wanted to. Just tell me one thing. Have you honestly no idea what Nigel was going to do next?"

  "No, although I got the impression it was something in the blackmail l
ine, but who, or about what, I've no idea."

  "Come on, the food will be ready in a minute."

  Over dinner he told her about the diskette and the key, and about his efforts with Toby to get past the password.

  "We could have another go after we've finished," Winner suggested. "You know a bit more about him than me. It might just give us a few more ideas for possible passwords."

  "Are you going to try some of this chocolate cake? If it's time for confessions, I ought to come out with it and tell you right now. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a chocoholic."

  "I think I'd guessed that already. Yes, I'll have some. I'll tell you what. Now that we've both told each other everything, if we trace any more of Nigel's ill-gotten gains we should agree now to share the money equally between us."

  Sally raised her glass. "I'll drink to that."