The Borough

by Steve Dockray

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Charles Forbes sat at the head of the table, peering over the top of his half-moon reading glasses.

  "In all my years as Chief Executive, gentlemen - I'm sorry, Mrs Morris, I didn't mean to exclude you - I can't remember a time when our options were so limited. I have to stress how important it is that we get to grips with the problems facing us. Just before we get started, and for those of you who don't already know him, may I introduce David Winner, who is your Chief Accountant working under the direction of Maurice Westerman."

  Forbes nodded in the direction of Winner, who turned slightly so that the others could see him, a move that caused his jacket to gape open, revealing the gimlet eye of a seagull. For a moment, Forbes seemed to lose his train of thought, then he went on -

  "I asked Mr Winner to come along to answer any specific questions you might have as we work our way through the draft budget. There is of course no mention of the proposed theatre complex. I know how keen some of you are to see that project go ahead, but you must understand that even if Mr Westerman is able to arrange the finance there will be revenue implications for many years to come. What I'm saying is that if you want the theatre, you will have to have in your minds the necessity to cut out even more from this draft budget than would otherwise be the case."

  "I shall be voting against the theatre proposals," Miles Cavendish told them.

  "This isn't really the time or place to start a debate on the merits of the scheme, Councillor. That will be a matter for the full Council. It's just a something to be borne in mind."

  "What about the superstore?" asked Dennis Avery. "Can't we get that to subsidise the theatre?"

  "We have to tread very carefully there, Councillor. As a Council, we only own a small part of the land that the developers would want, and even if we can sell that at a good price, you are well aware that there are Government limitations on how we can spend that money. That's what Mr Westerman and his team are looking into. As far as getting money or construction work in kind from the developers is concerned, the possibilities are somewhat limited. We can't sell them the planning consent, though we may be able to do a bit of a deal. Don't forget, if we act unreasonably and ask for too much, the developers will appeal direct to the Department of the Environment."

  "We don't want to do anything that might drive away such a valuable investment in the town," Councillor Cavendish interrupted.

  "Not in my opinion," said Avery.

  "That again is something for wider discussion," said Forbes, knowing that opinions on the subject were hotly divided. "Let's get on with the budget. As you were informed in the advance papers for this meeting, we need to reduce these figures by at least eight hundred thousand pounds. That's after allowing a withdrawal from reserve of two hundred thousand pounds in anticipation of an underspending this year, which is by no means guaranteed. Perhaps you would take us through the book page by page, Maurice."

  Winner turned to the first budget page in his copy of the book as Westerman started off with the Crematorium accounts. There were the usual suggestions of hiking up the charges, on the grounds that the dead never protested much, but Chief Environmental Health Officer Neville Ryman pointed out that there were other facilities within twenty miles that undertakers could defect to. He also confirmed that the cremations were being scheduled in groups to ensure that the ovens never got cold, other than overnight. This strategy had substantially reduced the gas bills. And so it went on, page by page, with suggestions and counter suggestions coming from the twelve people round the table. Winner was always interested to see the top people in action. Despite their political capabilities, the five committee chairmen were easily steered by their chief officers who carried the authority of years of professional experience. There were only a couple of questions for Winner to answer before Forbes looked up at the clock and decided it was time for a break.

  "I don't know how far we're going to get through the book this morning," he said, "but it's eleven already, so I suggest we take ten minutes to stretch our legs, and I'll organise some coffees."

  Winner slipped out to the gents, but was back at the table before some of the others. He took the opportunity to tidy up the list of cuts proposed so far and to check the running total on his calculator. Mrs Morris, the Chairman of the Recreation Committee, came back to her seat next to him and he couldn't help but hear the conversation that she was having with Councillor Avery.

  "Have you heard about the spate of burglaries we've been having in River Heights?" Mrs Morris asked Avery.

  "It must be very worrying for you. I suppose it's part of the price you have to pay for living in the better part of town. I hear that Cavendish has patrol dogs out at night. Sounds a bit over the top to me."

  "Well, it had us worried. Henry, that's my husband, went out and rented a bank deposit box, so that we wouldn't have any valuable share certificates or jewellery in the house."

  "Not too much of a problem for me," laughed Avery. "I'm not too weighed down by share certificates or diamond necklaces."

  A few minutes later the meeting re-convened and carried on its slow grind through the budget book. It was fast becoming apparent to Winner that by the end of the morning they would neither have got right through the budget book, nor achieved anything like the savings that they required. At one fifteen the Chief Executive adjourned the meeting until the following morning, but asked Westerman and Winner to stop behind when the others left.

  "They're not going to find the savings we need," he told them. "I want you to prepare a scheme for various levels of staff cuts to achieve the upper and lower limits of what we're likely to need. We'll have to be able to move quickly when the cuts become inevitable, because anyone who's got to go is entitled to three months notice. You'll have to involve Mrs Johnson."

  Winner dumped his papers in his office and went straight out of the building. He wanted to get some fresh air to clear away the beginnings of a headache that had started coming on in the rarefied atmosphere of the Chief Executive's office. Barely ten minutes later he was munching a cheese roll down on the quayside, his coat pulled tightly closed to ward off the icy wind that was blowing up the estuary and rattling all the rigging on the masts in the marina. He leaned on the railings, looking out past the pontoons to where the wind was whipping up small white peaks on the open water. The brisk walked had helped to clear the dull throb from his head and he found his thoughts drifting back to the cash and Nigel Stewart.

  What was it that Mrs Morris had been chatting to Avery about this morning? A bank deposit box. Was it possible? Could Nigel Stewart have rented a box to store his cash? Winner didn't know what a safety deposit box key would look like, but it seemed a possibility.

  In the afternoon he closed the glazed door to his office and telephoned each of the local banks to ask what deposit facilities they had available in the area. It turned out that the nearest was in Petermere, too much of a coincidence to be dismissed.

  Not long after he had put the phone down for the last time, Freeman came into the office.

  "Here we are then," said Freeman, settling himself into a visitors' chair. "An enhanced video still of the mystery fraudster. Apparently this is the best the police can do. It makes you wonder what it looked like before they enhanced it."

  Winner took the eight by six photograph and peered at it closely. The sudden tension that he had felt before Freeman handed it to him was melting away fast. There was absolutely no way anyone would be able to suggest that the figure in the photograph was Nigel Stewart. Even with Winner's inside knowledge it was quite a leap of faith to make the connection.

  "Do you think it's Maurice Westerman?" asked Winner.

  "It could just as easily be the Pope, or a potato," said Freeman.

  Winner held onto the photograph for a few moments more, making a bit of a show of holding it further away and screwing up his eyes to get a different perspective. Dark heavy frame glasses, probably a short dark brown or black wig. No
ndescript raincoat. Definitely un-memorable.

  "I take it there's been no major breakthrough?" asked Winner.

  "Zilch. The police have been pretty honest about it. They say that crimes like this are incredibly hard to get to the bottom of. Most people who turn to crime are the mis-fits and less intelligent people who can't get good jobs. They tend to be a bit sloppy and leave incriminating evidence. When a highly skilled professional turns to crime he's much more cunning and careful. The trail's often gone cold by the time the crime is uncovered. The Inspector interviewed everyone with known programming skills, but there could easily be some do-it-yourself experts that we don't know about."

  "There's no record of program changes being made?"

  "No. We're going to invest in software that logs everything. It won't be easy to repeat a crime like this in the future. Anyway, that's my news. How did you get on with the committee chairmen this morning?"

  "All very top secret, Barry, which means there'll probably be a verbatim report in tonight's Sharmouth Daily News. Between you and me, we didn't get more than half way through the book and they're not making the savings. I've been asked to prepare staff cut plans with Pat Johnson. We're meeting again tomorrow."

  Freeman shook his head. "I don't where it's all going to end. Here we are with systems falling apart so badly that we've already been taken for fifty thousand pounds, then within a couple of weeks we're talking about cutting staff even more. It just doesn't make sense."

  "If it's any consolation, Barry, I don't think we could find anyone who would disagree with you. Certainly not Forbes or Westerman. Anyway, did you have a good Christmas?"

  Freeman recounted a saga of disasters on the domestic front which resulted in his family having to find somewhere to eat out on Christmas day, then reluctantly eased himself out of the chair and went back to his office to consider which member of staff in his already depleted section might have to go. Winner tapped in Sally's number on the telephone. He could see her picking it up across the office.

  "OK for tonight?" he asked.

  "Dog and Duck and back to you flat's fine by me. Five thirty?"

  "I should be free by then." Winner broke the connection. They had agreed not to be seen too much together in the office. It was bad office politics, and besides, their discussions about Stewart were best held well away from the Town Hall.

  He looked out of the window. The rain had started just after he got back from his lunch-time walk, and now it looked set for the rest of the day. At least the evenings were starting to get lighter, though the rain would mean an early nightfall. The in-tray was stacked with a heap of incoming post and circulars, but it could be sorted out later. He decided he might as well go and see Pat Johnson about the staff cutbacks.

  The staff in the Personnel Section had abandoned overcoats in favour of thick sweaters and jackets, now that a reluctant warmth had been coaxed out of the heating system. Winner couldn't think what the roaring noise was. He had to walk round a bucket that was half full of water and was caught on the arm by a large blob of water falling from the ceiling.

  "Just don't say anything about it," said Johnson. "I've told them that if it's not fixed by the end of the week we'll be moving into the Chief Executive's office."

  "I can see there's a leak," said Winner, "but what's that roaring noise?"

  "Ever since that deranged lunatic went and ripped the guttering off the wall, we get Niagara Falls dropping on us when it rains. It must have blasted away some of the roofing felt."

  Winner thought deranged lunatic was a bit over the top, but hardly something he could comment on. "You know why I'm here, I suppose?"

  "I got a personal call from Charles Grenville Forbes, no less. You must be moving up in the world, having him as a secretary."

  "He's given me a task that I could do without. We'll need a list of all the staff in the departments, broken down by sections, showing age, marital status and dependants, annual cost of employment and potential redundancy cost. If you could have it ready by tomorrow it would be a help."

  "Funnily enough, I started working on a list like that just before Christmas. I might even manage to finish it for tomorrow."