Acts & Monuments

by Alan Kane Fraser

  “Barry, come in and take a seat. Thanks for taking the time to meet with us,” she said. “I’m sorry it’s taken us a while to get back to you, but we wanted to give proper consideration to your counterproposal before reaching a formal decision about the proposed removal of your company car.”

  The tide ebbed away as suddenly as it had risen. “Oh, that. Right. Not a problem. I thought it was something else… sorry.”

  “Well, we’ve had a lot of information to consider and a number of competing priorities to balance so, as you can imagine, we’ve had to make some very difficult judgements.”

  Barry sighed. Just give me the letter and let’s get this over with, he thought to himself. But he didn’t say anything, as usual. He felt certain it would only prolong the agony.

  *

  He had, of course, been expecting it, so it wasn’t really that much of a surprise. And for a moment he had feared that things could have been a lot worse. But Barry was still disappointed as he returned to his desk. Angela had brought in lots of calculations that showed him he really wouldn’t be much worse off at all, once the tax and enhanced mileage rate were taken into account. But if that were the case, why were they bothering to take it away? No, it wasn’t the financial impact that annoyed Barry (after all, he hardly needed to worry about that now), it was the fact that they had swatted him aside so effortlessly; that his needs clearly mattered so little to them.

  He was still ruminating on it all when he felt the mobile phone in his pocket vibrate. It was a text from Saleema.

  “Arrived safely. All good. Funds now in our account – praise God! Just let us no where CM wants us 2 send his money & it shd b with him in 24 hrs. Will top up repayment to £42k as a thank u. Many thx once again. God bless, S x”

  Barry took a deep breath and exhaled. It was as if some divine force had decided to redouble his resolve at his moment of greatest weakness. All he had to do now was think of a way to spend the money without it actually passing through his account. But, even without it, Barry still had the £6,740 that he had already withdrawn. The previous day Barry had withdrawn the final £240 from Chris Malford’s account, so even if Monument did now spot that their money was missing, and even if the bank did track the stray payment down to Chris Malford, when they came to recoup it they would soon discover that there was just £4.77 left in his account.

  Barry had done what he’d set out do.

  But somehow he wasn’t yet feeling what he’d set out to feel.

  Thirty-Four

  Sally Hedges looked at the reminder notice that had arrived in the post and sighed. This was not the start to the day she had wanted.

  “Marilyn!” she called across the office.

  “Yes, Sally?”

  “Last quarter’s payment to Monument – we paid that, didn’t we?”

  “Oh yes, we definitely paid it. I distinctly remember because we had all that kerfuffle about the changing bank details and the deadline we had to pay by. We paid by CHAPS – do you remember?”

  Indeed Sally did remember. In light of that, it was all the more incredible that Monument were chasing them for late payment. But Sally was nothing if not thorough.

  “Can you log on and check that the payment definitely went – and that it went to the right place? I want to be absolutely sure before I phone them up.”

  Marilyn did as Sally instructed. Sure enough, the payment had gone out to Monument on Monday 2nd November. Both the payment amount and the recipient account details were consistent with the invoice and the CHAPS authorisation.

  “Well, according to this, they’ve definitely had their money. It went exactly where they asked for it to go,” Marilyn reassured her boss, unaware that the first of these sentences was not as automatically consistent with the second as she supposed.

  “Well, they’ve sent us a reminder notice,” said Sally.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Sally looked at the reminder notice. Attached to it was a copy invoice. Apart from the name of the issuing officer, all the details seemed consistent between it and the reminder.

  “Get the original, would you?” Sally asked. Marilyn dutifully did so, and Sally took the copy invoice and put it next to the original. That was when she first noticed it – the payment details were different between the copy invoice and the original. The reminder notice contained the same bank details as the copy invoice, but they were different to those on the original invoice they’d received.

  “Would you believe it?” Sally said, showing Marilyn the discrepancy. “Look – someone at Monument is trying to pull a fast one on us. What do you think?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t like to say. But there’s definitely something not right. And I’m pretty sure the problem’s not at our end,” Marilyn replied, before venturing a further thought. “Of course, the original came from Saleema Bhatti. That’s the woman who got the last invoice wrong. I hear she left Monument last week – which seems very sudden. Gone abroad, apparently…” She left the sentence dangling behind her tantalisingly, like a fox-fur stole.

  “Agreed. Look, I need to make a couple of calls. Do you mind waiting outside for a bit? It’s obviously going to be a little sensitive. Make yourself a cup of tea. In fact, do me a favour and make me one too, would you?”

  Marilyn dutifully headed off to the kitchenette. Fifteen minutes later she had been to the shop to get some fresh milk and was heading back to the office with two cups of tea in her hands when Sally emerged, red-faced and looking decidedly unhappy.

  “Marilyn!” she called across the reception area. “I think you’d better come in and sit down.”

  Over at Monument’s offices, Langley had been called in to Ruth’s office to be debriefed on her recent call with Sally. “But they phoned up and told us they’d paid it. It’s even showing in our management accounts. If I’d known we’d not received it, then I’d have cancelled the agreement weeks ago.”

  “It’s called an accrual, Langley,” Ruth explained, peering at him imperiously from underneath a helmet of red hair. “We assume the money’s going to come in because we’ve invoiced for it, and it always has in the past. On this occasion, however, it seems it didn’t actually arrive in our bank account.”

  “So they’ve paid us, but we haven’t received it?”

  “No. They think that they’ve paid us, but they’ve actually paid someone else.”

  “How is that even possible? I mean, the payment details are on the invoice – all they have to do is send the payment there. They’ve been doing it for fifteen years, for God’s sake!”

  “It’s a fraud, Langley. Not a mistake – a fraud.”

  “A fraud?” He greeted the word like a stranger. “But don’t we have controls in place to prevent that sort of thing?”

  “Yes, we do. But, evidently, The SHYPP don’t.”

  Blessing had been standing quietly by Ruth’s desk, having delivered a summary of her findings. “With respect, madam,” she interjected, “things may not be that simple. I think someone has taken advantage of the confusion caused by the changes to our bank accounts.”

  Ruth shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then drew her ample frame up to its full height. “I don’t think there was any confusion,” she said, calmly. “We sent out a letter saying our bank details were changing and then we sent out an invoice with the new details. If they had any doubts about it, all they had to do was phone up and check.”

  “Exactly,” said Langley. “If we haven’t got the money, it’s their problem. I’m sorry, but that puts them in breach of the agreement. I’m entitled to give them notice now.”

  “With respect, Mr Burrell, sir, I don’t think you are.”

  Ruth’s eyes narrowed, and she leant forward intently to address her finance officer. “And why not?”

  “Because I think the invoice may have been amended by someone here.”

 
“So did you actually ring up and check that the new payment details were correct?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Marilyn, her voice rising shrilly. “I phoned up Barry, just like we agreed.”

  “And he confirmed the details on this invoice were correct?”

  “Yes! Yes! Well, not exactly.”

  “Marilyn! What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

  “Well, when I spoke to Barry, he didn’t have the new account details to hand,” she said, before adding, “but he did confirm that the bank account details had changed, that we’d been sent a letter about it, and that Saleema and Langley were authorised employees.”

  “But you didn’t actually check the account details with anyone at Monument?”

  “Well, no. Everything seemed to check out. I couldn’t believe that someone trying to defraud us would do it in the exact same week that Monument’s bank account was changing. It just seemed too much of a coincidence.”

  Sally fixed her with a beady stare. “Unless, of course, they chose to do it in the exact same week because they knew that Monument’s bank details were changing.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  There was a long pause whilst Sally’s jaw locked and her hands clenched into fists. Silence blanketed the room before it was disturbed by the phone ringing. Sally answered it swiftly.

  “Hello, Mrs Hedges? It’s Promilla, from the bank. I’m just getting back to you about your missing payment. I’ve had a look, and it was paid fully in accordance with the instructions on your CHAPS authorisation letter. But we’ve checked the name of that account holder now and confirmed that the account name is not Monument Housing Association.”

  Sally was going to query whether paying into an account that was not in the name of Monument Housing Association could be described as being ‘fully’ in accordance with her instructions, but she thought better of it. At that moment, all she needed was confirmation of whose account the money had gone into.

  “And who was the recipient?” she asked.

  “Christian Malford. Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “Nothing immediately springs to mind. We’ll check our records and see if it turns anything up. But can I ask – is the money still in the account? Can you get it back to us?”

  “I’m afraid not. There have been a number of cash withdrawals over the past month and then a major withdrawal by cheque last week.”

  “And where did that go to?” asked Sally, hoping that somehow it wasn’t too late for her to rescue the situation.

  “Umm… I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. I can only give that level of information to the police.”

  “But it’s our money!”

  “Only until it arrived in Mr Malford’s account. Then – technically – it became his money. It is one of our accounts, but I’m afraid I can’t divulge details of what happened to it. Data protection and all that. To be honest, I shouldn’t even have told you as much as I have.”

  “I understand all that,” Sally said, as calmly as she could manage. “But I don’t suppose you could tell me – this cheque withdrawal – it didn’t happen to go to a Saleema Bhatti, did it?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone. It was so long that, for a moment, Sally wondered if Promilla had ended the call.

  But eventually she responded. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that level of information. I’m not even supposed to know it.”

  “I understand the sensitivities, Promilla, but we’re a charity. This is charity money. We can’t afford to lose it. We work with homeless young people—”

  “I understand all that Mrs Hedges, but—”

  “So you’ll also understand that we need to do everything we can to get our money back,” Sally said, desperately. “If we knew that the money went to Saleema Bhatti, then it might not be too late to do something about it.”

  There was another long pause during which Promilla assessed her options before answering very deliberately. “I’m sorry Mrs Hedges, but I’m not allowed to confirm that information. I hope you understand.”

  “Perfectly. Thank you for your help.”

  Blessing had been subject to enough jokes about Nigerians working in finance to worry about where everybody would start laying the blame. Therefore, she decided it was in her own interests to solve the crime herself and present her findings to Ruth.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you again, madam,” she said upon entering Ruth’s office for the second time that morning, “but I’ve had another phone call from Mrs Hedges.”

  “Good news or bad news?”

  Blessing didn’t want to commit herself. She was now absolutely confident that she could prove her own innocence, which felt like good news. But she also recognised that the money Monument was owed was probably gone for good, along with the employee who had purloined it, so she could understand that Ruth might view things rather less positively.

  “Well, they’ve identified where the money was sent to, but I’m afraid it’s not there now. Some was withdrawn in cash, but most of it has been moved on.”

  “Do we know where?”

  “I’m afraid not. They wouldn’t say officially,” Blessing replied, before adding invitingly, “although we have our suspicions.”

  “Do we?”

  “Well, obviously, madam, we can’t jump to conclusions,” said Blessing as a precursor to doing precisely that. “But at the moment everything seems to be pointing in one direction.”

  “Here we go. It was tea with one, wasn’t it?” Lucy said, handing Barry his “Is it Friday yet?” mug.

  “Yes, that’s right. Thanks.”

  He was relieved to see from the latest report that arrears in his two teams had finally started to go down. He was in the mood for celebrating and he knew just how he intended to do it. He added an appointment to his diary for that afternoon. But, before leaving for it, there was just one thing he needed to check.

  “Did you get that payment from Iulia Nicolescu last week, Luce?”

  “Oh yes. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I don’t know how she’s managed it, but she’s brought herself up to date with the court order.”

  “I think she’s managed to get some casual work,” Barry said.

  “Good. Nothing’s come in this week yet, though.”

  Of course it hasn’t, thought Barry. And if it didn’t come in by the end of the week then she would be in breach of her court order again and back to facing eviction, which would obviously be a terrible thing. What Iulia needed was another injection of cash – and quickly – if she was to retain her home. Her safety, and possibly even her life, depended on it.

  “Give her till Thursday again, then ring her up,” said Barry, “but I’m pretty sure she’s intending to pay. Probably just waiting to get paid.”

  “OK, but I’ve still got two other eviction reports I need you to sign off. Are you about this afternoon?”

  “Umm… well, I have got a long lunch planned; it’s in my diary.”

  “Is it? I didn’t see anything when I looked.”

  She quickly looked again at Barry’s electronic diary. Sure enough, there were two-and-a-half hours blocked out. “Oh, so it is,” she said, surprised. “Good for you. Giving blood – what a public-spirited thing to do.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. If I’ve got some spare and somebody needs it, it just seems selfish to keep it all for myself.” And when he thought about it like that, it really did. He finished responding to his emails, stood up and grabbed the coat off the back of his chair.

  “Oh well,” said Barry to no one in particular, “I’m off to perform my civic duty.”

  And, in a strange way, it didn’t feel like lying.

  Thirty-Five

  As Barry handed over his £200 to Iulia later that afternoon, he felt a good deal less confident about his civic-mindedness t
han he had done a couple of hours earlier. Considering she’d just been given a lifeline, Iulia hadn’t seemed grateful at all.

  And, despite her undoubted professional skills, he had, to be honest, been more than a little disappointed with the whole experience. Sex, it appeared, was one of the few areas of life where professionalism was not a virtue. For all their physical intimacy, Iulia’s look was one of emotional detachment. That wasn’t what he wanted – quite the reverse – and he needed her to understand that.

  “I don’t do this normally,” he said, sitting back down, half-dressed, on the unmade bed. “You’re my first. Well, obviously you’re not my first – I’m married. But the first I’ve had this kind of arrangement with.”

  She sat in the corner of the room on an easy chair, in her pants and a T-shirt, staring out of the window. She said nothing, but exhaled the smoke from her cigarette like a sigh. It wandered lazily between them before curling up toward the ceiling. Barry stared ahead at the small television in the corner, not daring to make eye contact with Iulia.

  “It’s just that my wife… Well, things aren’t easy at the moment. We lost our son a few years ago, you see. He died. It was all totally unexpected: overdose. In his own bedroom. Only seventeen. We were away for the weekend – which had been my idea. There’d never been a hint of problems…”

  Barry felt different to Costel and all the other men whose needs Iulia had been forced to service. He was in need of her grace and he wanted her to see that he knew that. Because that would surely melt her heart.

  “She blames herself. My wife. That she didn’t see the signs. But it’s difficult with teenagers. I’ve told her that. But she won’t forgive herself, I suppose. Or me. For making her go away that weekend. And that makes things… difficult… between the two of us.