Acts & Monuments

by Alan Kane Fraser

  “I want to come home, Dad, but she won’t let me.”

  “What do you mean? She’s desperate to see you.”

  “But not Tyreece. She says she doesn’t want me coming home with him. She wants it just to be family.”

  This information was new to Barry and he didn’t know quite how to respond. Lauren could be awkward and stubborn, but she wasn’t generally unreasonable. And it didn’t seem unreasonable to Barry for her to want to bring her boyfriend home. He tried to think of a compromise that would make his wife’s insistence look less capricious.

  “Well, it’d be nice to spend Christmas Day together as a family – and I’m sure Tyreece’s family want to see him on Christmas Day too. But, after that, I’m sure there’d be no problem—”

  “There is, Dad! I suggested Tyreece came over for Boxing Day and she wouldn’t have it. Said she wanted it to be just the three of us. You’ve got to sort her out, Dad – I swear to God, she’s getting worse. She’s being totally irrational about the whole thing.”

  Barry didn’t know whose side to take. Lauren loved Christmas with the family and so he’d expected that, after the whole fuss had died down, she would make some sort of appearance. But his wife did indeed seem to be behaving totally irrationally. He tried raising the subject with her later that evening, but the topic was abruptly shut down. Christmas was a time for family; Tyreece was not family; ergo Christmas was not a time for Tyreece.

  So when Christmas Day itself finally arrived, Lauren pointedly failed to. This was bad news, and not just because Barry missed his daughter. Barry’s relationship with his father, Ron, was not an easy one and this tended to make Todd family gatherings particularly fraught. Lauren, being the youngest and most doted-on granddaughter, could argue back and generally had more success than Barry in taming her grandad’s wildly inappropriate sense of humour. Ron rarely missed an opportunity to drop one of his infamous bon mots into the conversation at family gatherings, but generally Barry tried to let them slide. The one thing which Barry absolutely could not abide though, was his dad’s reaction when people worked out that he and Barry’s mum, Mary, were married. Ron and Mary had both worked at Dudley Council, but, with Todd being a fairly common surname, it was not immediately apparent that the two of them were related, particularly given that Ron never mentioned that he was married when Mary wasn’t with him (and he complained about it endlessly when she was).

  As was tradition, the Todds went out for a Boxing Day meal at a local pub, where Ron bumped into an old work colleague. Seeing Ron and Mary together provoked the obvious question.

  “So are you two related then?”

  And Ron replied exactly as he always did, “Only by marriage!” And then he hooted wildly with laughter.

  Barry hated it. It wasn’t just that it denigrated his mum. It was that it seemed to denigrate the whole marriage – which, of course, Barry was a product of. It suggested that marriage wasn’t really like being related properly; it could be put on and off like a coat. So, Barry felt obliged to protest on his mother’s behalf.

  “Da-ad!”

  But his father’s defence was the same as always. “No need to get your hair off, son; it’s only a joke!”

  And his mother concurred, “Yes, Barry – it’s only a joke. Your dad’s just having a bit of fun!”

  If even his mother wasn’t offended, it seemed churlish of Barry to complain. After all, it was only a joke. Yet it was one with a subtle intimation that Ron never made fully visible. Barry felt that about a lot of his dad’s jokes. The thing you didn’t notice was often the thing that shouldn’t have been ignored: an undercurrent that could not be seen, but which pulled at things under the surface to make them appear other than they truly were.

  So as Barry pulled his cracker and put on his party hat, he was particularly ill-disposed toward the idea of festive cheer. Christmas without Lauren didn’t feel like Christmas. It hadn’t felt like Christmas since they’d lost Christopher, but, without Lauren too, there was no mediating presence to shield him from the full force of his father’s jocularity. Or his wife’s carefully crafted annoyance.

  He crept over to the bar and ordered himself the first of what, he decided, would be many beers that would be drunk over the holiday week.

  Forty-Four

  Alun hadn’t been wrong when he’d told Barry that it took typically five or six months for Action Fraud to pass the case on to the National Fraud Intelligence Bureau and for them to then decide what to do with it. But he had reckoned without Sally Hedges’ considerable powers of persuasion. She had taken it upon herself to phone the NFIB every working day from the moment she was aware that the case had been passed on to them, asking them when the case would be passed back to the local police. Then she used her connections with the local police to get a meeting with the assistant chief constable, and got him to give her his personal assurance that, when the case arrived with them, there would be a full and proper investigation.

  The fact was, Sally was worried – and not just about the survival of The SHYPP Trust, which would reluctantly have to hand the keys to the scheme back to Monument if they were found to be liable for the missing money. No, she was also worried for herself. Her own board – and particularly the new treasurer – were starting to ask questions about how such a mix up could possibly have occurred. At the last trustee meeting it had been suggested that The SHYPP might need to consider setting up an audit committee. Sally shuddered at the very thought.

  The spotlight that she had hoped to keep firmly focused on Monument was gradually being shifted onto her. Even when Sally took the draconian step of suspending Marilyn for failing to observe proper protocols, the trustees said that they felt that an independent pair of eyes was needed to investigate matters, and it was pretty clear who those eyes were supposed to be independent of.

  She sensed that her authority – that most intangible of assets – was starting to drain away. It was imperative, therefore, that she established her credibility in the eyes of the board. It was starting to feel like her career may depend on it.

  But her efforts had the desired effect. When Rob Worrall returned to work at the economic crime unit after his Christmas break, there was a file on his desk marked “Monument Housing Association”. His first phone call was from Sally, asking for an update on his investigations so far. Given that he had barely had time to make a cup of tea, let alone study the file, he had no progress to report. But he adroitly avoided admitting as much by politely pointing out to Sally that, as it was Monument that had reported the crime, he could only update them on the investigation’s progress.

  His second phone call was from Lindsey Norton.

  “How’s Gemma?” she asked after the usual pleasantries had been exchanged.

  “Still stuck on traffic. Pretty pee’d off, if I’m honest – as much because she’s got stuck with Molloy as anything else. She just wants it all to be over, but Backley’s family are all over Davis like a rash. Nightmare solicitor too. I’ll be honest, I think we need to find Furst and pin the whole thing on him before Davis’ll feel comfortable letting her back in.”

  “Yeah, well, I got the results of those production orders back this morning,” Lindsey said. “Nothing on Furst yet, but I’ve got some stuff that might give you a bit of a head start. You interested?”

  Indeed he was.

  “Both the women at The SHYPP seem clear. Nothing to report there. The finance director at Monument is the same. The housing guy – Todd – looks OK too. His finances are a bit tight, but there’s nothing suspicious on any of his accounts. Backley’s the same. Nothing going in or out except benefit payments.”

  “So you’ve got nothing for me?” Rob said, sitting back in his chair and putting his feet on his desk.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I definitely wouldn’t say that. Firstly, there’s Bhatti. She received a cheque for nearly forty-two grand from Malford’s a
ccount, just before she left the country.”

  Rob sat up sharply. “So, after he died?”

  “Exactly. And there were cash withdrawals of £250 made every day from Malford’s account from various cashpoints after he’d died too.”

  “Furst, do you think?” he asked, taking the final gulp from his mug of tea.

  “Possibly, but they were all made more than twenty-eight days ago, so there’s no CCTV to confirm.”

  “And the money in the Bhattis’ account has gone with them, I take it?”

  “Transferred it straight on – lock, stock and barrel – to an account in their name in Pakistan.”

  “Bollocks.” He slammed his empty mug down on his desk and slouched back in his chair. Because Pakistani accounts were beyond the jurisdiction of British courts, Lindsey hadn’t been able to trace what had happened to the money thereafter, but she didn’t really need to in order for Rob to make an educated guess. “So it’s all gone for good?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But – get this – there’s then a transfer of twenty-two grand from an international money-transfer service into Burrell’s account. And the reference on the payment was ‘Repayment (SB)’.”

  “Saleema Bhatti, do you think?” Rob said, sitting up again.

  “Could be. Or Samuel; he’s her husband.”

  Rob sighed.

  “You don’t seem very happy about it,” said Lindsey.

  “Well, they’re both abroad, which means the chances of getting a conviction are virtually nil. For less than fifty grand, it simply ain’t worth the effort to pursue them.”

  “I guess not, but at least the housing people can afford it. Revenues of £49 million and an operating surplus of £7 million last year, according to their accounts.”

  “Yep. Low degree of harm. They’ve let their staff steal the money; they’ll just have to bear the cost.”

  “But what about the payment to Burrell?” asked Lindsey. “Don’t you think that gives us something to go on?”

  “It’s possible,” said Rob, unenthusiastically. “But there’s no crime in receiving twenty-two grand from a money-transfer service. We don’t know it’s linked to the fraud. It could be legit.”

  “It could be, but maybe it is linked. I know the Bhattis have gone, but maybe we can get a lead on Furst through this guy.”

  Rob thought about it for a minute. “Commercial fraud, small amount, little prospect of a conviction? Sounds like one for my ‘do not bother’ pile.”

  “But there’s the link with Adam Furst,” Lindsey pointed out. “Finding him might be the only way of getting Gemma off traffic and back into proper policing. And this payment on Burrell’s account is the only lead we’ve got to follow at the moment.”

  When put like that, Rob felt that having a chat with Langley Burrell was the least he should do.

  Forty-Five

  Arriving at Monument’s offices, Rob and Lindsey were taken through to Langley’s office where Barry was being ushered out after his fortnightly supervision meeting.

  The moment she saw Langley, Lindsey knew that she recognised him, but she couldn’t for the life of her think where from. She decided to let Rob take a lead on the questioning, whilst she tried to recall. Rob did the introductions and then explained what they’d found as a result of the production order.

  “Obviously, we’re not suggesting anything criminal here,” he said. “We just need to understand what that money transfer payment on your account is, so we can eliminate it from our enquiries.”

  “Not a problem. I’m only too happy to help,” Langley replied. “As you say, there’s nothing suspicious about it, it’s just that I sold my car. That was the payment for it. Obviously, I had to pass it on to the car finance company to settle up with them.”

  “Oh, that’s fine, then,” said Rob. “But I don’t see any payment going out for another car? Are you not driving at the moment?”

  “Well, yes, I am actually. It’s just that I got given a company car – with my promotion – so I didn’t need my own car anymore.”

  “Right, and you’ve got that now have you?”

  “Yes. It’s a Jaguar XF – the racing-green one in the car park.”

  At which point, it suddenly hit Lindsey where she recognised Langley from. It was the idiot from the coffee shop! Him and his bloody stupid racing-green Jag. And what was worse, he obviously hadn’t even remembered, which meant he probably did that kind of thing all the time. There was nothing Lindsey wanted more at that moment than to be able to pin something on that stuck-up, sexist, arrogant, little git.

  “May I just ask you, Mr Burrell,” she interjected, “who did you sell the car to?”

  “Of course. It was the guy who just walked out, actually. Barry – Barry Todd.”

  “And he’ll confirm that, will he?” Lindsey asked.

  “I assume so. I mean, the car’s in the car park and he has the keys, so he can hardly deny it.”

  “Right. So do you mind me asking why he paid you by international money transfer?”

  “Well, I don’t really know. I think you’ll have to ask him that,” Langley replied, shifting awkwardly in his seat for the first time. “I just told him how much I wanted and gave him my bank details, so he could pay. I didn’t really discuss with him where the money was coming from.”

  “I’m just intrigued that it’s described as a ‘repayment’,” Lindsey said.

  “Yes, well, that’s obviously a mistake. It should have said ‘prepayment’, but I just assumed it was a slip of his finger on the keyboard.”

  “And the initials – ‘SB’. Those are Saleema Bhatti’s initials, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, yes, I suppose so, but that’s not what it meant. It refers to the car – or at least, that’s what I assumed. It’s a Subaru BRZ,” Langley replied. But the flicker in his eye suggested the first stirrings of doubt in his mind.

  “So you’re not in contact with Saleema Bhatti?” Lindsey asked, noticing Langley’s rising discomfort.

  “No. Not at all.”

  “And if we were to check that – which obviously we can do – we definitely wouldn’t find that this money had come from her?” asked Rob, also sensing that there was more to this than he had initially expected.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “And what about Adam Furst? You wouldn’t happen to have any knowledge of his whereabouts would you?” Lindsey asked.

  “No. I don’t even know who that is. I’m positive I don’t know anything about him.”

  “Great. Well, we’ll just check this car thing out with Mr Todd, and then we should be able to leave you in peace,” Rob said, attempting to gauge Langley’s reaction. Then he and Lindsey took their leave.

  *

  Barry’s immediate reaction to being asked to come into an interview room to be asked a few questions by the police was to panic, but he kept reminding himself that there was still no conclusive evidence linking him with the missing money. He was further reassured when the two officers made it very clear that they just wanted to “check over a few facts” with him.

  “We just wanted to ask, Mr Todd – have you recently bought a car from Langley Burrell?” asked Rob.

  “Well…”

  Barry was caught on the horns of a dilemma. It was clear that there was no way he could answer PC Worrall’s question truthfully without ultimately incriminating himself. But, up until that point, it felt as though he hadn’t really been actively deceiving anyone, they’d just asked the wrong questions and Barry hadn’t volunteered the right answers. Somehow, that still felt all right, as though he was still on the right side of whatever moral boundary there was in his head. Now however, he was going to have to lie. It felt as though he was crossing a boundary and there was no way he could put any kind of gloss on it.

  “I own Langley’s old car. I’ve got th
e V5 and everything, but I didn’t actually buy it. No, I couldn’t say that. Sorry.”

  There was a momentary pause whilst Rob and Lindsey exchanged glances. “Will you just explain that for me, please?” asked Rob, finally.

  “Well – and I realise this is going to sound ridiculous – he gave it to me. It was a gift.”

  “He gave you a twenty-grand car?” Lindsey asked, suddenly straightening up in her chair and opening her notebook.

  “I know. I know what you’re thinking. But, really, he did.” There was a pause whilst he allowed this to sink in before he continued. “I mean, I couldn’t believe it either.”

  “And just as a matter of interest, Mr Todd,” Rob said, “why do you think Mr Burrell would agree to give you a car? It’s a bit generous, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so. The thing is, he’d just taken my company car off me, so he said he felt a bit guilty about that. ’Specially as he got a new Jag an’ all.”

  “So he didn’t need it anymore?” suggested Lindsey.

  “I guess not. And then, one day – it was just after you’d come in to talk to Ruth, actually, DS Norton – he said he needed to get rid of the car urgently, so did I want it as I was having to hand my car back. I mean, I said I couldn’t afford to buy a car like that, but, in the end, he said I could have it for free, ’cause he was so desperate to get rid of it.”

  Lindsey and Rob’s eyes met in a moment of shared awakening. “So do you have proof that he gave you the car?” Lindsey asked.

  “Well, I’m not sure that I could call it proof – I mean, how can you prove that you haven’t paid for something? But I was a bit surprised, so before I accepted it I spoke to Angela – she’s the head of people investment – and she made a note. It’s on my file, apparently.”

  Rob and Lindsey looked at each other again.

  “Have you ever used an international money-transfer service, Mr Todd?” asked Rob.

  “Never in my life,” Barry said, placing his hand over his heart. “You can check my accounts – well, you have done, haven’t you? So you can see for yourself.”