A smiling Donal, carrying a trowel and accompanied by a stranger, approached. O’Reilly took a good look at the man. Medium height, close-cut ginger hair, thick spectacles that made it impossible to make out the colour of his eyes, clean-shaven. He wore one-piece khaki dungarees over a blue, open-necked shirt, muddy Wellington boots, and had a slight limp. He carried a clipboard and a trowel.
Donal shook O’Reilly’s hand. “Good morning, Doctor O’Reilly. I’d like you to meet Mister Alexander.”
“Mister Alexander”—O’Reilly offered a hand, which was shaken—“I’m pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
“Have you come to us recently, Mister Alexander?”
“Aye, hey bye.”
Was that a touch of Antrim?
“I see.” O’Reilly frowned. “I suppose I must have misunderstood, Donal. I thought Dapper was to be here?”
“He is,” said a grinning Donal. “Most of this here gear is hired from Elliot’s fancy dress shop in Belfast but shaving off his moustache was an act of true friendship.”
“Dapper?”
“The same, Doc. Donal, for you, ould hand, shaving the moustache was a mere nothing.”
The voice was indeed Dapper’s, and O’Reilly laughed at the sound of it coming from this stranger. Dapper in disguise immediately brought to mind the Sherlock Holmes stories of which O’Reilly had been fond since his boyhood.
“Joan says she prefers me this way, so you may have done me a favour.” He pointed to the clipboard. “She’s typed what Mister Lars suggested so I can show it to Finlay when he gets here.”
O’Reilly was still laughing.
“Well, Doc, we sure fooled you. I just hope you can keep a straight face while we’re doing the con job. This here’s serious business.”
O’Reilly straightened up and wiped his eyes. “You can rely on me, Donal.”
“Good. Now Dapper and me, we decided it was too risky passing him off as the local inspector. We’ve had the fellah out to approve the sewer and water connections and the drive and the foundations and all, so it’s just possible Finlay knows him. It was Dapper who had a better idea, based on what your brother told you when you went to see him in Portaferry.”
“Lars is a bit of an odd duck,” said O’Reilly. “Very proper. Not at all keen to bend the law. I had to lay it on with a trowel, just like one of your brickies, about what a gobshite Finlay is. How you were in trouble, Donal, and needed help. Eventually he caved in because I’m his brother. All you have to do, Dapper, is exert your authority and scare the living bejasus out of Finlay.”
Dapper raised the clipboard. “I’m ready for it.”
“Right,” said Donal, “when you was here last, Doc, you seen the two useless pallets of bricks. Dusty Miller and me checked all the rest of the pallets in that new load. There was enough good ones so we could keep on building, but there was another two pallets of useless ones. We’ve kept them four, the first two and the new two, as exhibit A.” He pointed to where the half-unloaded pallets and piles of broken bricks stood. Tommy Gillespie sat in the driver’s seat of the yellow forklift near the piles.
“We only ordered two for today, so it won’t take long til examine ’em.” He dropped a slow wink. “If it was me running the scam, I’d make sure a clatter of new consignments was perfect for a while before starting til slip duff ones in again.”
O’Reilly smiled and shook his head.
“And you’ve got your part ready, Dapper?”
“Aye, certainly.”
“A bloody good thing. Here comes Finlay. We’ll do our bit, Doc. You’re just here as a witness. I’ll let you know when to speak up. We’ll join Tommy by the bricks for now.”
The lorry was parked, and Finlay got out. “Two pallets as ordered for three o’clock. Right on time.” He puffed out his chest. “You can always rely on Finlay Suppliers.” He handed Donal an invoice. “Sign there. I’m in a hurry.”
“Then just take your hurry in your hand,” Donal said. “I’m signing nothing—nothing, til me and Mister Alexander have examined the load.”
Finlay sighed. “I’ve been in this trade a brave wheen of years”—he gazed at Dapper and there was mistrust in Finlay’s eyes—“and I’ve never met you before.”
Dapper thickened his Antrim accent. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Mister Alexander, chief inspector of weights and measures.”
“The what? Chief inspector of weights and measures? Never heard of you.”
“Well, you have now.”
“Nonsense. Sure, them things is only about pounds and ounces and pints and gallons. Nothing to do with building.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Donal. “Right, Tommy. Do your stuff.”
It took little time but a lot of diesel exhaust for the forklift driver to unload the two pallets, leaving the bed of the lorry empty.
“Hang on to this, please.” Dapper gave O’Reilly the clipboard to hold as he watched and listened to the scraping of bricks being moved and the ringing of tapping trowels.
Finlay hauled out a cigarette, lit up, and cast a nervous glance at Dapper. “So, chief inspector, did you say?”
“That is correct.”
Finlay turned to O’Reilly. “And you. I seen you here last week. What do you do for Bertie Bishop?”
“Look after his health. I’m his doctor.”
Finlay smiled. “So, what brings you out here two weeks in a row?”
This wasn’t quite how the script was meant to unfold, but Donal interrupted. “Right, Finlay. Me and him”—he pointed at Dapper—“me and him’s satisfied with them two pallets. I’ll sign your invoice. Give me your pen.”
Exactly as Donal had predicted.
There was a sneer on Finlay’s lips as he accepted the signed piece of paper. “Didn’t I say you could always rely on Finlay Suppliers?”
“Aye,” said Donal, “but they also said the Titanic was unsinkable. Mister Bishop taught me not to believe everything people say.”
“What?” There was a hint of anger in the question.
“By the time we’d finished checking last week’s fourth load we found two more pallets with a brave wheen of badly fired bricks. You’re trying to do me, so you are.”
“Rubbish. You think I’ve time to unstack good bricks and put in bad ones?”
“Yes, I do, because you’re getting rid of bad bricks you shouldn’t be selling, keeping good bricks to sell a second time, and clearing a bloody good profit.”
Finlay laughed and said in a smug tone, “And I’ll repeat what else I said last week. ‘You signed for the delivery of them first three loads. Dusty signed for the fourth one, so they’re accepted and it’s your problem now, not mine.’ It still is.”
“But it’s going to become yours right now.”
Finlay laughed. “How?”
Dapper said, “Mister Donnelly came to my office in Belfast last Wednesday and told me of his suspicions. Asked for my help.”
“And what can you do, Mister High and Mighty Chief Inspector? The law’s very clear. Once you sign, it’s your problem. Now, if you’ve nothing better to do, I’m off.” He turned and pointed a finger at Donal. “Donnelly, I’ll not forget this insult, but don’t you forget that Mister Bertie Bishop and me’s got a contract for most of the supplies for this project. I’m going til fulfil it, and by God—your building company’s going for til pay it. Every last penny.” His voice was rasping, his fists clenched.
“Don’t get excited, Mister Finlay, and give me just a minute, please,” Dapper said.
“Why the hell should I?”
“Because I suspect, seeing it’s my profession, bye, I may know a bit more about the law than you. How much do you know about the Weights and Measures Act?”
“What’s all this about weights and measures? Like I said, that’s just pounds and ounces and pints and gallons. It’s nothing at all to do with putting up a building.”
“Is it no’? Mebbe you’d read
this. I had it copied from the act.”
No, you didn’t, O’Reilly thought. It’s legal hocus-pocus that Lars cooked up.
Finlay frowned and took the typed page.
“Read it aloud, please.”
“Why should I?”
“Because,” said Dapper, fixing Finlay with a piercing stare, “I asked you to.”
O’Reilly noticed Dapper’s accent was slipping a bit, but Finlay didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy looking at the sheet of paper, his lips moving slightly as he did. He started to read, “Weights and Measures Act 1963…”
“That’s the most recent one.”
“‘Inspector means a person appointed as an inspector of weights and measures under this Act—’”
“That’s me. Chief inspector, by the way.”
“‘The Bureau shall provide for use by inspectors, and shall maintain or from time to time replace, such standards (in this Act referred to as working standards) set out in the Second Schedule, such testing equipment, as being proper and sufficient for the efficient discharge, by inspectors of their functions under this Act.’” He shook his head. “I can’t make head nor tail of this gibberish.”
“I can. Read the next section.”
“‘A standard pallet of bricks shall contain no more than three percent of unusable bricks.’”
“We counted them all long before you got here. In total, thirty-seven percent of the bricks in those four pallets”—he pointed at the offending items—“are unusable, hey bye.”
“I told you that’s not my fault.”
“The act seems to take a different point of view. Read on.”
“‘Purveyor shall be deemed to describe the person or entity which last provided the said bricks to the using person or entity.’”
“I think that’s very clear, Mister Finlay.”
“It’s not clear to me, so it’s not.” Finlay frowned, fumbled out another cigarette. His hand trembled as he lit it from the butt of the first. “What the hell’s an entity?”
“Let me explain. Who or what received”—he pointed to the offending articles—“those bricks?”
Finlay took a nervous drag on his smoke. “Bishop’s Building Company.”
“Aye. So, they are the using entity.”
Finlay nodded. “I see.”
“And who or what delivered the bricks?”
“My company.”
“Which, within the meaning of the act, makes your business the person or entity which last provided the said bricks. You are liable and in contravention of the act. The penalties can be quite severe.”
Finlay had turned pale. “Honest to God?”
Dapper nodded.
Finlay crushed out his cigarette. “Christ.”
O’Reilly, while despising the cheater, felt the same kind of sympathy he might for a rat in a trap. Dislike of the animal but some sadness about its plight.
Dapper said nothing for a while, letting Finlay stew in his own juice.
Finally, Finlay said, and his tone was imploring, “But I didn’t load the pallets.”
O’Reilly noticed that as he spoke Finlay touched his nose, something people often did when telling a lie.
“That’s as may be. Your business was the last entity that provided the bricks. You are responsible. And don’t strain your brain wondering who’d be the guilty party if the building collapsed? You, bye.”
Finlay said, and his tone was imploring, “Can you do nothing to help me, Mister Alexander?”
“Perhaps, but there are conditions.”
“Whatever you say, sir.”
“Very well. I do have certain remedies in my power before it becomes incumbent upon me to put your supplier’s licence in jeopardy, to say nothing of the fines which will be levied.”
O’Reilly heard a glimmer of hope in Finlay’s voice. “Remedies? Such as?”
Dapper started counting them off with his right index finger on the digits of his other hand.
“One. You will, at your expense, remove that rubbish. Tommy here will use his forklift to load the pallets in question onto your empty lorry right now, but the loose bricks are your problem.”
“All right.”
Donal said, “Tommy.”
The forklift’s engine started.
“Two. You will apply the monies already paid for four bad pallets to four new good ones, which will be supplied at no further charge.”
“Four new pallets? But they’re not all rubbish. There’s good bricks in there.” The man’s voice was choked.
“The act is very clear,” said Dapper sternly. “Very clear.” He jabbed at the sheet of paper with a blunt finger. “You must provide a completely new shipment of four new pallets with no more than three percent of useless bricks.”
“All right, sir.”
“Three. By way of an apology, you will admit in front of witnesses, including the good doctor here, who is most highly regarded as an honest man in this community, that you did try to, ahem, pull a fast one, as it were.”
It was a strangled whisper. “Yes, God help me, I did. And I’m sorry, Mister Donnelly. I’m sorry.”
“Four. It is within my power to levy a fine. I hereby fine you four free pallets up to the standards defined by the act, to be delivered at Mister Donnelly’s convenience, and you will sign this document attesting to all of the above, which will be countersigned by all of us, and by so signing you also promise that you, as you have already stated, will fulfill your contract and personally insure that all deliveries will be absolutely up to standard.”
“Yes.” He sobbed out the word. “I’ll deliver the bricks and make sure them and anything else I supply will be top line.” Finlay inhaled deeply. “Where do I sign?”
Dapper said, “Once the signing’s done, your licence is safe, and will be—as long as you keep your promises.” He handed Finlay the clipboard and the document for signature. It duly made the rounds. O’Reilly received it last. He noticed that Dapper had not signed it. If Finlay demanded a copy now, he’d get one signed Alexander. If he did not, once he’d gone Dapper would sign it John Frew. If Finlay did discover later that Mister Alexander did not exist and tried to make a fuss, there’d be no sign of a false signature on the document and three solid citizens ready to swear that Finlay must have been hallucinating. O’Reilly gave the clipboard to Dapper, who said, “I’ll see that this is properly filed,” which O’Reilly knew meant “I’ll give it to Donal Donnelly for keeping as a backup weapon.”
Finlay did not request a copy.
Tommy yelled, “Them pallets is loaded,” and turned off the engine.
A chastened Finlay said, “I’ll come back tomorrow with a crew to take away the other bricks, and I’ll bring four good pallets til start with and four more when you’re ready.” He nearly choked on the next mumbled words. “And there’ll be no charge for either load.”
“Good,” said Donal.
A red-faced Finlay climbed into his lorry, slammed the door, and drove off so fast that two bricks were dislodged and fell onto the drive.
O’Reilly, who had worked very hard to keep a straight face, burst out laughing. “Dapper, that was Oscar-winning. You put the fear of God into Finlay. Well done.”
Dapper resorted to his usual tones. “Thanks, Doc.” He pulled off his spectacles and wig. “Good-bye, Mister Alexander. Nice to have known you.”
“Dapper, oh boy, but you done good. Thanks, and now me and the crew can get right on with our job,” Donal said, and O’Reilly was impressed with his confidence. Bertie Bishop had been right to entrust the project to Donal Donnelly. “Right,” said O’Reilly. “Well done, both of you.”
“Thanks, Doc, and please thank your brother.”
“I will. I’ve started a letter to Bertie Bishop telling him about the Harvest Festival. Would you like me to tell him about this too? He’ll be as proud of you as I am.”
“That’s right decent, but please don’t.” That slow wink again. “I’ll need to do a wee bi
t of adjusting of our books. Best only us three know for now. I’ll let Bertie in on it when he gets home.” Donal’s grin was vast.
“Fair enough.” O’Reilly jerked his thumb to his parked Rover. “Now, lads, I’ve a dog in my car waiting for his walk, so I’ll be running along.” He strode off, hopped in, and drove off singing the Mikado’s aria.
My object all sublime
I shall achieve in time—
To let the punishment fit the crime,
The punishment fit the crime.
He was accompanied by a tuneless yodelling from a happy Kenny.
33
Clearing the World of Its Most Difficult Problems
“Take the next lane on the left please, Harry.”
Harry Sloan, now a qualified pathologist at the Royal Victoria Hospital, was a light drinker. “Never really liked the taste of liquor,” he’d always say, “but I like the craic, so I’ll have a jar with you all.” He’d given Barry a lift to the Dunadry Inn in Templepatrick, half an hour’s drive from Ballybucklebo, to attend the sixth-annual meeting of the Sixty-Four Club. It had been Harry himself, on the night of their houseman’s concert in July 1964, who had suggested its formation. “What would you think about us Royal Victoria housemen calling ourselves the Sixty-Four Club, because that marks the end of seven years together since we started medical school? We could meet, formal dress, on the first Friday in December, say, at the Dunadry for dinner?”
The idea had been greeted with unanimous enthusiasm.
Harry turned onto the lane leading to the Lavertys’ bungalow, the car bumping over the ruts.
“I think that went off very well,” Barry said. “Jack Mills, Curly Maguire, and Norma Fitch were all in great form.”
Harry laughed. “The craic was ninety, but then, it always is with our lot. Good turnout too.”
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