A Suitable Lie Page 7

  ‘Malcolm, what aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘I’ve looked back at the people working on the cash each time there was a difference,’ he paused and picked at a nail. ‘Sheila Hunter was present during all but one of them. The last big one. She’s been off on the sick.’ He stopped speaking, but continued to pick at the nail.

  ‘And?’ I asked.

  A deep breath, ‘I’ll be the other chief suspect. I’m the one present during most of the cash shortages. I missed two.’

  ‘You’re no thief, Malcolm.’ I chewed at the inside of my mouth. ‘Mind you, it doesn’t look good.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’

  ‘Malcolm, I’m your mate and if there is anything you want to tell me then I will listen. But as far as this goes, I’ve a job to do and if it comes down to it our friendship may have to suffer. So don’t put me in an awkward position and don’t expect any favours.’

  Malcolm narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it without saying anything.

  ‘That may have been a shitty thing to say, Malcolm…’

  ‘It was,’ he interrupted quietly.

  ‘… but it had to be said. In here I’m your boss. I knew a situation would happen where it might prove … awkward. Best to get it over with in the early days.’

  Back at my desk, I tried to concentrate on the report that I would have to email to Head Office. Shock stilled my pen. Ten thousand pounds. Who could it be? Malcolm I’d known since I started work. We’d worked apart for a few years when I was on the accelerated management scheme, but we’d kept in touch and he was the last person that I would have suspected of theft. What about Sheila? I turned to one of the other people in the room: Carol Bunting, one of my management team. She was thick-set, had the fashion awareness of an aging vicar and a take-no-prisoners attitude. I loved working with her.

  ‘Carol, what’s up with Sheila Hunter?’

  ‘Accident, Andy.’ Her expression soured as she paused in the decimation of her carrot stick. ‘Broken ribs, broken nose, face black and blue.’ I’d noticed that Carol often spoke in bullet points.

  ‘How’d it happen?

  ‘Walked into a door.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I said, understanding immediately what she was getting at. ‘That’s awful. I had no idea.’

  Carol raised the dark brown fur of her eyebrows in agreement.

  ‘Has her husband been taken in for questioning?’

  ‘Don’t know. But I hope the bastard rots in hell.’ Almost a full sentence before Carol started on carrot stick number two. Her version of a diet distraction.

  Although we’d grown up in the same town, I barely knew Ken. I supposed I had him to thank for bringing Anna to the club the night I met her. But I’d always avoided him. The last time I encountered him was at the wedding reception of one of the younger members of the team.

  I’d said hello to him at the bar, where all the males had congregated while the women danced The Slosh. His long, lean frame was bent over the bar, as if his elbows were glued there. He barely gave me a glance. Grunted something in return. I was half-cut.

  ‘Your patter’s amazing, pal,’ I remember saying. ‘Who are you here with?’

  ‘Sheila,’ he said and looked over towards the dancefloor. There was something calculating about the way he searched the women on the dancefloor.

  I studied him some more, wondering if he had changed from the teen who threw stones at the swans on the river. Small, dark eyes under the shelf of jutting eyebrows. He wore the look of a man at war with himself while everyone within touching distance was collateral damage.

  I remember a brief shiver came over me before I excused myself and joined a more collegiate companion.

  ‘What kind of worker is Sheila?’ I asked, knowing what the answer would be, but hoping for a different one.

  ‘No nonsense. Gets the job done. Good with customers. I like her. Takes a lot of time off work though.’

  I drummed my pen on the desk. Were Malcolm and Sheila the only two possible suspects? Was Steve Munro, the previous manager, involved? It seemed strange that he had done nothing about the earlier differences. Maybe they had been too small to notice, after all there was no definite pattern. Could Malcolm steal?

  Would he? I dropped my pen and leaned my head on my hands and one further question occurred to me. Was I going to be able to handle this job?

  If Lloyd Webber was ever to make a musical about weasels, he could do worse than look for inspiration from our Operations Manager. Roy Campbell was a small, wiry man with pointed features. He was hard of hearing and had an unfortunate habit of jerking his head about as if trying to catch words with his good ear. Of course, this lent to the overall weasel impression. Just as I was faxing him a copy of my report, which I had already transmitted to Head Office, his head appeared at the door. He devoured the contents in seconds.

  ‘Kay. I knew he was no good,’ his nose twitched with satisfaction, ‘and a shirt-lifter if ever I saw one.’

  ‘Roy,’ I assumed my diplomatic role, badly, but I wanted to help my friend, regardless of what I said to him. ‘I’ve known Malcolm all my career and not only is he honest but he’s been with more women than…’

  ‘Proves nothing,’ he interrupted, which was a good job as I was struggling to come up with a comparison, ‘If he’s not gay then I’m six foot six.’

  ‘Instead of four feet four,’ I turned my head to the side and pretended to look through my drawer for something. I caught a grin from Carol.

  ‘What was that, Andrew?’

  ‘What was what, Roy?’

  ‘Oh, never mind.’ He smoothed his lapels, ‘So have you suspended Kay yet?’

  ‘Pleasing as that thought may be to you, Roy, we have to go through the correct channels. I’ve contacted Head Office and I’m sure that the hit squad will be here shortly.’

  ‘Hrrmmm,’ he issued with a bored expression. ‘You’ve been on holiday. Have you checked the cash yourself?’ Roy was being his usual warm and fuzzy self, not even a mention of my honeymoon.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been on holiday. No I haven’t checked the cash.’

  ‘Well, why not? Let’s go and do it now.’ He led the way to the safe and barked for Malcolm and I to open the safe door.

  ‘Right, stay there and watch, Kay, while Andrew and I show you how to check your cash.’

  Malcolm crossed his arms and leant against the side of the door. His eyes betrayed nothing of his worry but his lips were closed tight.

  This’ll be fun, I groaned inwardly. First day back and a major cash check; I was well out of practice. To my disappointment Roy was not. He hefted a bundle of tens onto one hand and flicked through them with the first three fingers of the other hand as if he had done nothing else for the last twenty years.

  ‘No counting machines for me,’ he sneered. ‘Far better to do it the old fashioned way.’ For the next three hours he counted every note in the safe while I took the details on a form. Finally we agreed with Malcolm’s figures. Exactly. Roy’s lips curved into a smile.

  ‘Right. What about the transactions for that day?’ he asked Malcolm.

  ‘Checked.’

  ‘By yourself?’

  ‘No, one of the machinists did that.’

  ‘Why didn’t you do it yourself?’

  ‘Well, I would assume that…’

  ‘Speak up, Kay.’ If I didn’t know better I would have thought that Roy was trying to wind him up.

  ‘I would assume…’

  ‘Spell assume, Kay.’

  ‘What?’ Malcolm looked puzzled.

  ‘Spell assume,’ he answered, a spider laying out the silk of his trap.

  ‘A.S.S…’

  ‘Stop there.’ Roy Campbell was wearing an expression that told us he thought this was the wittiest use of language ever. Trouble was the delivery had been completely humourless and meant to wound, and both Malcolm and I knew it. The ensuing smile was a weak attempt to show that really, he was joking. />
  ‘I like your tie, Roy,’ said Malcolm, taking us both completely by surprise.

  ‘Wha…?’

  ‘Nice colour, navy blue is it?’

  ‘Eh, think so.’

  ‘What are those letters?’ Malcolm moved closer peering at the tie. Roy picked up the bottom of the tie and read the two letters that were peppered all over the tie in a lighter colour of blue.

  ‘F.W.’ said Roy as he squinted.

  ‘Fucking Wanker,’ Malcolm barely moved his lips, not easy, given the words he was saying, and spoken in a tone that only I could hear.

  I thrust the most horrible thought I could into my mind to keep me from losing the straight face I had quickly manufactured. Pat and Anna going over a cliff in a car. That should do it.

  ‘There’s no F in wanker.’ Malcolm spoke slightly louder now.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Roy, suspicion narrowing his eyes.

  ‘Just thinking aloud, something to do with bankers,’ Malcolm answered easily.

  ‘Right. Anyway, enough about my tie. Let’s get on with this shall we?’ Roy appeared less sure of himself now. He had shrunk in stature, not quite as sure of his position and puzzled as to how he had lost control.

  The paperwork took another two hours to check. The three of us were sitting with ties to the side and top shirt buttons undone, sleeves rolled up and, if my appearance mirrored the other two, thoroughly pissed-off expressions on our faces.

  ‘Kay, you’ve done all you can do at the moment. Go and speak to Fiona Meldrum, see if she needs any help,’ ordered Roy. Fiona was in charge of Personal Accounts.

  ‘But…’ began Malcolm.

  I could see the sense of what Roy was saying and I thought that I should explain why this might be the more sensible action.

  ‘The auditors will be here soon, Malcolm,’ I explained. ‘As the Head Teller they’ll want to talk to you, go through more figures. So it’s better that you go and help Fiona with some filing, or something not too long term, rather than going back to your normal duties.’

  The truth was that Roy and his auditors would not be happy with one of the more likely suspects still being in a position where more money could be obtained. They tended to work on a basis of guilty until proven innocent, or at least, remove the suspect from the position of further temptation.

  Happily, that was sufficient explanation for Malcolm and he went off to find Fiona.

  ‘You’re learning the art of diplomacy,’ said Roy. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

  Or you wouldn’t, I thought.

  ‘Still,’ he continued. ‘I know you two are mates, but I don’t trust that guy.’

  11

  The office was a quiet place to work for the week of the investigation. Even the customers, who were told nothing, were uncannily subdued as they did their business. The staff went about their duties with faces as long as a salary print-out for South Ayrshire Council. This was proving to be a major challenge for my budding managerial skills. To make matters worse, the atmosphere at home was less than appealing.

  Every other night, since we’d returned from honeymoon, we either had a visit or a phone call from Mum or Jim. Not being used to a close family, I think Anna saw this as a threat. At the end of each visit or phone call, she would give me a look, sigh loudly or, once she made sure of my attention, march out of the room. I made several attempts to air the subject but each one was met with a blank stare or a complete denial.

  One night, I gathered her into my arms. I was a little torn. We’d always been a close family, but I didn’t want that closeness to feel like a challenge to my new wife.

  ‘Does it all feel like a bit much?’ I asked, looking down into her eyes.

  ‘No, Andy. It’s fine,’ she answered with a weak smile. ‘It’s just…’

  ‘They’re a bit full-on?’

  She laughed, looking pleased that I understood.

  ‘They were like this before we got married and it didn’t bother you then.’

  ‘It didn’t. No.’

  Or maybe it did and you hid it better, I thought, and instantly felt a pang of guilt.

  She stretched up on her toes and kissed me. Managed to reach my chin. ‘It’s fine. Really. To be honest it reminds me I never had that, any of that, with my own family. Jealous, I guess.’

  At work however, there was no room for doubt. Someone was responsible for stealing a large amount of money and that someone had to be caught. To his credit, Malcolm let the auditors know about his theory of the differences going back a few months. They would have found this out in the course of their investigation anyway.

  Computer entries were checked in triplicate. Credit and debit slips going back a year were cross-checked and every corner of the business cash was scoured for the missing money. Meanwhile my staff attempted to continue with their work, but I couldn’t fail to notice their change in attitude to Malcolm. Rooms went silent when he entered, and from being one of the more popular members of staff, he became somewhat of an outcast. Bravely, whenever he noticed this he would sniff at each armpit theatrically and do whatever he had come in the room to do. Quite how it became widely known about the cash shortages and Malcolm’s possible recrimination, I wasn’t sure, but I had my suspicions.

  ‘Roy Campbell is an utter bastard,’ Malcolm rounded on me in the men’s toilet. ‘He’s been giving me hell.’

  ‘What’s he been doing?’ I was concerned. If he was overstepping his remit, I would have to do something about it.

  ‘Oh nothing, really,’ Malcolm rubbed at his forehead. ‘But seeing as you are asking…’ He looked pointedly at me, his eyes saying ‘at last’. ‘…The prick made sure that I was watching him while he walked away from a computer that had my bank accounts up on the screen.’

  I raised my eyebrows in response. ‘What is one of the first things you would do if you were him?’

  ‘Check the suspect’s bank accounts for any unusual pay-ins,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But, it’s the way he’s doing it. Rubbing my nose in it. And I swear, if I hear one more snide comment from my supposed friends and colleagues I’m going to punch somebody.’ His whole body was rigid with tension.

  ‘Malcolm, don’t you think you should take some time off?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Go see your doctor, get a line, you’re in a state.’

  ‘And really look guilty? No. No way.’

  I took a deep breath, ashamed of what I was about to ask him.

  ‘Malcolm,’ I looked him in the eye. ‘I need to ask you this, for myself. Please don’t be offended, but did you take the money?’

  Without a pause, he returned my look. ‘No, I did not take the money.’ Each word was spoken slowly and clearly.

  I gripped his shoulder with relief. ‘Fine, I just needed to hear you say it. Go on Malcolm, take some time off.’

  ‘No, Andy. I’ll not give that wee prick the satisfaction.’

  As I walked into the house that night, one hour late, Anna took one look at my face and silently went off to pour me a whisky. Pat’s remedy was much more holistic; he jumped into my arms. A smile softened my expression. I kissed his forehead.

  ‘How’s my best boy?’

  ‘Dad, Dad, Dad, I watched Barney today. Daniel stole my juice.’ Daniel was his friend at the nursery. It was cutely titled ‘Us’n Kids’.

  ‘Oh, and what did you do?’

  ‘I drank his and it was nicer than mine.’

  ‘Pat, let your Dad have a seat and relax a minute.’ Anna put a glass in my hand.

  ‘It’s okay, Anna. This is better than whisky any day.’

  ‘Oh fine. Sorry I couldn’t help you as much as your son.’ Her tone was jocular, but I could tell there was a slight edge to the comment.

  I was about to try and reassure her when Pat tugged at my tie, distracting me. ‘Take this off, Dad. Can I have a drink of your juice?’

  ‘No you cannot. Besides it tastes horrible.’

  ‘Why do you
drink it then?’ His face was about a foot from mine and cocked to the side.

  ‘That’s because adults do some very strange things, son.’ I kissed his nose.

  The phone began to ring. Pat raced to answer it. He listened, then answered.

  ‘Hello, Uncle Big Nose.’

  Jim said something.

  ‘Bye, Uncle Big Nose,’ Pat said before handing me the receiver.

  ‘How’s it hangin’, bro?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Och, not bad,’ I rubbed at my eyes.

  ‘You sound like you need a drink.’

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ I took a loud sip. ‘I could meet you in Billy Bridges at nine, once I’ve got Pat bathed and in bed.’

  ‘Why don’t you meet him earlier? How about straight after your tea?’ said Anna, loud enough for me to hear over the voice of Jim in my ear. ‘I’ll see to Pat.’

  ‘Ok, thanks, Anna,’ I said; then wondered, was there an edge to her tone? Or perhaps tiredness was making my imagination work in the wrong direction.

  I arranged to meet Jim at seven-thirty and hung up.

  Over dinner, conversation consisted mostly of a monologue from Pat, detailing his day at the nursery. Then even he grew quiet, perhaps sensing an awkwardness between Anna and myself.

  Just as I was slipping my arm into a sleeve of my jacket in the hallway, Anna approached me.

  ‘Do you have to go, honey?’ She put her hand on my waist. A light touch of promise.

  ‘I won’t be long, sweetheart.’ I moved closer to her and kissed her cheek. Lingered at the press of our skin, but then with reluctance moved away.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, her expression downcast. ‘Have fun.’

  She turned and made her way back into the living room. Feeling guilty, I followed her.

  ‘When was the last time I went out for a drink with Jim?’ I asked. ‘The stag night, and that was weeks ago.’

  She sat on the sofa, pulled her feet under her and crossed her arms.