by Angus McLean
Mike had been here only a couple of times before, even though they’d been in business there for nearly three years. Dan was his oldest friend from school, but with him being in the Army for fifteen years at various bases around the country and on deployment to the less touristy spots round the globe, their time together had not been as frequent as either of them would have liked.
He knew that Dan’s Police career had come to an abrupt end after an enquiry into an assault allegation and that he’d then worked for a private investigation firm before setting up on his own. He seemed to be doing alright. Molly had quit her own job to help out as an administrator, and he had another guy working for him.
‘And now me,’ Mike muttered to himself, getting out of the car to the roar of the motorway. ‘Hopefully, anyway.’
He trotted up the stairs and through the door with Chase Investigations on it. Molly looked up from her desk and her face split into a wide smile when she saw him. She stood and he came round the desk and hugged her warmly.
‘So I hear you got sacked for working too hard.’
‘Yeah.’ He grimaced. ‘Something like that. I shoulda just decked him.’
‘Probably a good thing you didn’t. Dan tells me he got some work out of it?’
‘Yeah. I’m not sure what exactly he wants me to help with or whatever, but if it means clearing my name, then I’ll do it. Especially if it means I can ram it-’
‘Cuppa tea?’ she interrupted and he paused.
‘Na, a water’ll be fine thanks Mol.’
He glanced round the office while she went to the kitchenette. It had large
windows with Venetian blinds on two sides, behind Dan’s desk and on the road front by a third desk. The walls were blue with white borders and the carpet was grey. The furniture was modern and it pretty much looked like any other office he’d been in. There were a couple of framed licenses behind Molly’s desk, certificates and photos on the wall above the bookcase, and a coat rack by the door.
The open cupboard behind Molly’s desk contained stationary, and the photo on her desk was of their wedding day. Mike and his now ex-wife were mugging it up for the camera with them. He glanced away.
‘You may as well park yourself over there.’ Molly passed him a glass of water and nodded towards the desk by the window. ‘Neil won’t be needing it anymore.’
She caught his look.
‘He resigned this morning. Going off to Tauranga to retire.’
‘Good for him.’ He perched on the corner of her desk. ‘So where do we start? Did Dan tell you what the story is? He told me he wants me to do surveillance on the depot, but we need to do some background stuff first. He said you’d walk me through it.’
‘I will.’
‘Cool.’ Mike nodded and drained his glass in a single gulp. ‘Let’s get to work.’
Parker and Philips was one of the last genuine men’s tailors in the city, if not the country. The proprietors were a couple of elderly English gents, gayer than Christmas and camper than a row of tents. They took great pride in their craftsmanship, making beautiful handmade suits and coats and practically anything else you asked for. They stood strong in the face of the suit-off-the-rack production line and the lure of cheap Asian markets, and managed to still have a decent turnover of stock.
Unfortunately they weren’t as skilled as businessmen as they were craftsmen, and someone had been diddling them. They’d noticed a large number of refunds coming through with no corresponding returned stock, which meant one of the staff was making a sale, and someone-maybe the same person-was putting through a refund and removing the money from the till. Sometimes it was a cash refund and sometimes it was a card. The same couple of card numbers were always used.
Dan didn’t have a contact at the bank that had issued the card, so had to fly blind on it as far as ID-ing a suspect went.
Neil had obtained the till rolls and the card receipts and the staff roster. Parker and Philips had four store staff, all men. One worked Saturdays only. The other three worked a shift pattern covering Monday to Saturday. The store was closed on Sundays, in respect to retail traditions.
Dan had dropped Mike off at his car then headed into Newmarket and parked at The Warehouse. He went through the roster and compared the transactions against it. A clear pattern showed of all the transactions being made when two staff were on.
Simon Williams and Alan Boland. Simon had been there the longest, nine years, and was the Store Manager. Alan was a Sales Assistant and had been there for two years. Dan knew who he would put his money on.
They’d offered Parker and Philips the chance to put covert CCTV in and film someone in the act, but they’d declined. They wanted a result fast, they had their own suspicions about who it was but they wanted it done independently as they just couldn’t bear the thought of confronting a friend like that.
Fair enough, Dan figured. He made his way into the shop, was greeted by Mr Parker as he entered, and asked for a private room. Parker showed him to the office. The staff watched curiously. Mr Philips came and greeted him as well. Both men were very nervous and he sympathised with their predicament. Philips even had red-rimmed eyes as if he’d been crying.
Dan set himself up at the table and went back into the shop. He walked over to where Simon Williams was standing behind the till rearranging handmade handkerchiefs. He was a tall balding man in an immaculate pinstriped suit and purple tie.
‘Simon, I’m Dan Crowley.’ He shook Simon’s hand firmly and made direct eye contact. ‘I need to speak to you.’
‘Well I’m-’
‘It won’t take long.’ He held Simon’s gaze. ‘I think you know what this is about, don’t you. Let’s get it sorted out.’
Simon visibly slumped and allowed himself to be escorted to the office. Dan closed the door and sat across the table from him. Simon stared at the table top. The pile of rosters and receipts and till rolls sat in the middle of the table.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Dan asked quietly.
‘Who are you?’ Simon made a feeble effort at stalling.
‘My name’s Dan Crowley and I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired by your employers to find out who’s been stealing money from them. I’m here to sort it out today, this is all coming to an end and it’s going to be done one of two ways, either the easy way or the hard way. But whichever way, it ends now.’
He sat perfectly still. His voice was calm and level but there was no mistaking the authority behind it.
‘Simon, you’ve been a very trusted employee here for a long time. You’ve worked your way up from a sales assistant to the manager and your bosses speak very highly of you.’ He paused, letting it sink in.
Simon’s lip trembled.
‘Unfortunately, something’s gone wrong for you hasn’t it?’
Simon nodded slowly.
‘I understand that. It looks to me like you got yourself into a spot of bother, tried to get out of it by being clever, but just got yourself in deeper. That put you in the difficult position of having easy money on one hand but your bosses’ trust and your self respect on the other hand. That’s right isn’t it?’
Simon nodded again slowly and his head sank lower. He sniffed. He was a kid in the principal’s office.
‘This is your opportunity to clear this up now Simon. I’m not the Police, I’m not arresting you. In fact Mr Parker and Mr Philips don’t want to involve the Police if they don’t have to. They just want it sorted out.’
‘Okay.’
‘This all depends on you now Simon. I’ve got a stack of paper here showing exactly what’s been happening-bearing in mind we’re talking about more than fifteen grand here-and we can go to and fro all day if you want it that way, but that’s just wasting everyone’s time isn’t it?’
Simon nodded again and still refused to make eye contact.
‘Look at me Simon. Look me in the eye.’
Simon lifted his head and looked at him weakly.
‘I’m not going to insult your intelligence mate, and I don’t expect you to insult mine, okay? Let’s sort this out now. What is it-gambling, drugs, booze, women?’ He hiked his shoulders. ‘Men?’
Simon cried as he made a statement, admitting to the thefts and fraudulent transactions. He had a gambling problem and didn’t earn enough to sustain it. He also dabbled in drugs and had trouble at home. Everything built up and he got himself in deeper and deeper. It was almost a relief to be confronted and have it all come out. An hour later he signed his statement and asked what was going to happen now.
Dan called in the two proprietors and told them about Simon’s admission. He cried some more and Philips shed a few tears as well. Parker maintained a stiff upper lip but his anguish was etched all over his face. They asked Dan what they had to do. Under his guidance they issued a suspension notice-he carried blank template documents like that with him for just such occasions-and told Simon they would be in touch.
Dan escorted him from the premises, shook his hand and wished him well, then watched him walk off up the street. He returned to the office to find Parker consoling Philips, who was in bits.
‘I guess you must see this all the time?’ Philips asked, wiping away his tears on an embroidered hankie.
‘More than you would hope.’ He nodded solemnly. ‘There are a lot of dishonest people around unfortunately.’
‘I just feel such a fool,’ Parker said bitterly, shaking his head and rubbing his partner’s back at the same time.
‘Don’t be too hard on yourselves,’ Dan told them soothingly, ‘it’s sorted now, your other staff will get the message, and you can get on with your business.’
‘You don’t think the rest of them are doing it too?’
Philips looked horrified, and Dan hoped he wasn’t going to cry again. He didn’t like men crying.
‘Probably not, probably not. But if you think they are let me know and we’ll come back.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Okay?’
‘Of course, of course.’ Parker stuck out his hand and they shook. ‘Thank you so much for doing this, Mr Crowley. You’re a lifesaver.’
‘You are; you truly are.’ Philips shook his hand with a wet dead fish. Dan let go quickly and smiled instead.
‘No problem gents,’ he said, ‘I’ll leave you to it and forward you a report in a couple of days.’
He saw himself out and the staff watched him go in silence.
He took a deep breath of fresh air when he walked out and let the sun warm his face for a moment. Then he crossed over to The Warehouse, went in and bought $2 worth of chocolate, and showed the receipt to the guard as he exited the car park-it was cheaper than paying for parking. Newmarket was busy but he took the side roads and circumvented the congestion, making his way up through the millionaire suburb of Remuera and down into the cheaper-but-still-not-cheap suburb of Ellerslie, home to Auckland’s racing scene and the city’s best investigation agency-or so he liked to tell himself.
He was excited about the prospect of helping his old mate out, relieved that it filled the gap left by Neil’s sudden departure-at least temporarily-but also full of nervous anticipation about how it would pan out. Mike had no investigative background. He was a soldier with combat experience and numerous skills learned the hard way, but unfortunately many of those skills didn’t translate easily into civilian life.
On the other hand he was a top bloke and solidly reliable, and if he said he was going to do something he’d do it. He’d been Dan’s mate for more than half a lifetime now, and they’d been through some tough times together. Some crazy adventures and some growing pains.
Dan wasn’t sure how they would go working together, but he’d thought the same about him and Molly and that had panned out okay. What the hell, it was worth a shot.
Chapter Six
Mike had been having similar thoughts as Molly did a basic induction with him. She’d set up a file for him, showed him how they did background checks through a credit reference agency and what they were looking for. Signs of debt or financial troubles, or someone with more money than you would expect for their position. She called a contact at the power company and verified the addresses supplied by Marcus. She made small talk with the person she spoke to there and asked about the family and the holiday.
‘I thought you’d do checks like that through the cops,’ Mike said when she rang off.
‘You can do but they’re so paranoid now about improper use of information that it’s getting harder and harder. We’ve got contacts in the power and phone companies. They have better info a lot of the time anyway.’ She smiled as she made notes on the file. ‘Dan gets rugby tickets or concert tickets for some people as a thank you.’
‘Not as dodgy as giving money?’
‘Exactly. You have to be very careful these days.’
‘So where do I go from here?’ He scanned through the file. ‘Surveillance on the depot? I can’t see them stealing loads during the day though.’
‘No,’ Molly agreed. ‘I would suggest doing physical checks on each of their houses. You can see if there’s anything obvious-’
‘Like a couple of pallet loads of microwaves on their front door step?’ he cut in.
She laughed.
‘Yeah, something like that. Looking at the stock list there’s a lot of stuff there in a fairly short space of time, so they must be storing it somewhere.’
‘Wouldn’t they be getting rid of it straight to a fence or whatever?’
‘I doubt they’d be driving it straight there though, there must be a halfway house somewhere, like a garage or something.’
‘So that means checking every single house of each of these guys?’ Mike groaned. ‘They’re scattered all over the show.’
Molly gave him a withering look.
‘It’s called investigating, Michael.’ She waved him away. ‘Now go investigate.’
Mike made a stop at the café and bought himself a roast beef filled roll, a banana and a large bottle of water. He sat in the car and started on the roll, compiling a suspect list of the staff. He put Hooch, Gabe and Luther at the top. There were a couple of others he hadn’t taken to who he put next. Nobody else really stood out to him, so they formed the last part in no particular order. He checked the addresses against his map book, finished the roll, and hit the motorway. He headed south first to start at Papakura and work his way back north, figuring it would take some time and he could avoid most of the rush hour that way.
The Subaru had some serious grunt and he made good time down the motorway, staying in the outside lane all the way and only using the brakes when a knucklehead got in the way-accompanied by flashing headlights and an angry glare. It felt good to be out and doing something worthwhile. Trucking had been okay as a stop-gap but it had never been a long term prospect for him. He’d needed something when he’d got out of the service and that had done the job, but now that it had come to an end it was time to look ahead.
Mike reached Papakura and checked out the addresses there, cruising past and looking for anything obvious. He moved on to Takanini and checked one there, then Manurewa. Some of the places were normal family homes with gardens and kids bikes out the front; some were dingy run down dives. Some had garages, some didn’t. None of them had a big sign on the front lawn with ‘Master Criminal Lives Here’ on it.
The ones with garages or sheds that he could see demanded closer attention. He cruised past and walked back for another look, and quickly learned just how much a six foot three blonde white guy stood out in some neighbourhoods. One little kid on a trike with a dirty face and scabby knees asked him if he was the Police. He said he wasn’t but the kid didn’t seem to believe him. He rode off down the road making siren noises and glancing back at Mike.
A group of hoodied teens strolled down the middle of one street giving him the hard eye. They moved slowly out of the way once he’d slowed down enough to show them some respect-his instinct was to keep going and let them get out of his way
, but he figured that would mean either denting his car or his knuckles, and neither was a good option on his first day in a new job.
But it still made his blood boil and he returned their insolent stares to make sure they knew he wasn’t backing down. They nudged each other and laughed, and he felt his shoulder muscles tighten.
He continued and checked the next address, then turned round to come back the way he’d come. The group of teens were back in the street again, strung across it in a loose line, facing him. Watching him as he approached.
Nobody moved this time. They stood their ground and waited as he eased to a full stop in the street. It was a rough area, cars up on blocks on the overgrown front yards, paint peeling from the houses, dogs running loose. These kids were all in their mid teens, the apparent leader a bigger kid of about nineteen, solid and wide. They had wispy teen moustaches and baggy clothes and gang colours.
Mike undid his seatbelt and slipped into neutral. He buzzed the window down. The leader approached his window. He stared down at Mike from beneath his hoody.
‘Get these fullas to move mate,’ Mike told him firmly, ‘I wanna get through.’
‘What’re you doing here? This is our street.’
‘None of your business what I’m doing here, pal. Just move it and I’ll leave you to your street.’
‘You’re not Po-lice,’ the leader said, dragging the word out. ‘Po-lice don’t drive Rex’s’
‘That’s right. I’m not Police.’
‘So who are you? Bailiff? Or is you lost?’
‘I ain’t a bailiff and I ain’t lost. I’m just a man driving round looking at the beautiful city. Okay?’
‘You got a big mouth, mister.’ The leader’s eyes were dangerous beneath the hoody.
‘Mate, just clear outta the way and let me get past. Then I can get on with what I’m doing and you can do whatever it is you’re doing, alright?’
