A Suitable Lie (6 page)

‘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.

T
he 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.’

T
he 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.’

A
s 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.

‘It’s fine, Andy. Honest. Go.’

‘Sure?’ I sat beside her. Looked over at the phone. ‘I could phone Jim back and cancel?’

‘Just ignore me, honey,’ she gave me a small, tight smile. ‘It’s just been a long day and I was looking forward to curling up on the couch with you tonight.’ She stretched a hand out and tapped my right cheek. ‘Go have a drink with your brother. I’ll see you when you get home.’

B
illy’s, as you would expect on a Tuesday night, was fairly quiet. Only about half a dozen people were dotted about the place, all of them regulars. Jim was leaning against the bar, facing the door as I walked in. He addressed the barmaid.

‘A pint of lager for the ugly brother please.’

‘And I’ll have the same,’ I said with a grin, ‘and a whisky chaser,’ I added. Jim raised his eyebrows at the extra drink but said nothing.

Armed with our drinks we sat down at a table near the back of the pub. Although we were happy to spend our money in the town’s trendier pubs we always felt more at home here, with its unpretentious chipped formica table tops. The quarter of a gill alcohol measures were also a part of Billy’s charm.

‘Busy?’ asked Jim.

‘Busy.’ I answered.

‘What’s with the whisky?’ he asked.

‘Busy.’

‘Do you think that we’ll get past the monosyllabic responses by the time you’re on to your second drink?’

‘Yes.’ I couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer and grinned.

‘Smart arse.’

‘So tell me,’ I asked. ‘You still seeing that girl you brought to my wedding?’

‘No,’ he smiled. It was his turn.

‘Are you seeing anyone else?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who?’

‘Morag.’

‘Piss off, nobody’s called Morag nowadays. They outlawed that name along with decimalisation.’

‘Morag.’ he repeated. ‘She’s a bit of a shag.’

‘So what was wrong with…?’ I couldn’t remember the girl’s name from the wedding.

‘Val.’

‘Oh right, Val. I should remember that name. People are going to be looking at my wedding photos for years to come and asking who was that girl? You’ll have moved onto girlfriend number five hundred and no one will know.’

‘Val.’ He repeated.

‘Right, enough,’ I said. ‘Mum’s worried you’ll never settle down.’

He snorted. ‘My position as favourite son will always be safe.’

‘Favourite son, my arse. You and your women are an embarrassment to her. She thinks you’re a male slut. I’m the more dependable, lovable type of man. I’ll get everything and you’ll get nothing when Mum dies.’

‘So what would you do with a collection of lace doilies then? Wipe your arse?’ We both laughed and as the laughter attracted the attention of the clientele, whose numbers were growing, I allowed its music to soak into my knotted muscles and drain some of the tension away.

Jim was in the middle of a detailed, loud and probably fabricated version of why he and Val hadn’t lasted when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around. Saw a familiar face.

‘Malcolm.’ I injected my greeting with real warmth. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘No, you’re alright. I was just in with some friends,’ he waved vaguely at the far end of the bar. ‘When I saw you, thought I’d come over and say hello.’

‘How’s it going then?’ asked Jim.

Malcolm looked at me before answering, probably wondering if I had informed Jim of recent events. ‘Oh, eh, fine. Not bad.’

‘Why don’t you give your mates a shout and tell them to join us.’

‘No, it’s fine. They’d probably bore you two. Don’t know anything about rugby.’ Malcolm smiled, more like his old self, although he did seem reluctant that we should meet anyone that he was with. However, we persuaded him to join us for the duration of a drink. Once seated with a glass in his hand he soon seemed to relax. Always a witty guy he was soon giving better than he received as Jim tried to tease him. It was good to see him with a smile on his face again. Even when Jim, quite innocently, brought the subject round to work, Malcolm wasn’t fazed.

‘So what’s it like having this prick as a boss?’ Jim asked, nodding his head in my direction.

‘I’ve had worse,’ answered Malcolm with a tight smile.

We were sitting in the narrow part of the pub, just at the foot of a set of stairs that led to the toilets, so Malcolm had to move a few times to let people past. When one slim, fashionably dressed young guy tried to slip past, Malcolm lost the thread of his conversation. He even seemed quite distracted. Looking at neither of us, he excused himself.

‘Listen guys, I need to go. See you later.’

As he walked away Jim looked at me quizzically.

‘What was that all about?’

‘Beats me.’

‘Not having it,’ Jim said. ‘You and Malcolm were a wee bit awkward with each other there. You guys had a lover’s tiff?’

‘Work stuff,’ I said. ‘Confidential. I can’t say any more than that.’

Jim made a face but didn’t delve any deeper. He knew how seriously I took work issues.

After an abnormally long silence between us Jim cocked his head to the right, his eyes narrowing. ‘You see that guy?’ I turned to follow his gaze. ‘The lanky drink of pish in the black jacket,’ Jim added. ‘Don’t we know him?’

A tall, dark-haired man in a black jacket twisted away from us just as Jim asked the question.

‘Don’t you recognize him?’ I replied. ‘That’s Ken Hunter.’

‘That tosser? Barely recognised him. He’s gone all gaunt and heroin skinny.’

I looked again. He was even thinner than the last time I had seen him. As I looked, he turned back, taking a toke on his cigarette. It was a thin paper stick, looked self-rolled and I wondered if it only contained tobacco. He blew out and squinted at me through his smoke. I held his gaze. Challenged him with a calm look. It said, I know what you are and, given the flimsiest of excuses, I’d be over there and showing you what should happen to wife-beaters. What kept me in my seat was how it might reflect back on Sheila, and the bank. Wouldn’t do for the Branch Manager to be done for public brawling. But I imagined driving a fist into the bridge of his nose and took a small sense of satisfaction from that.

‘He keeps looking over here,’ said Jim ‘Didn’t you feel his eyes boring into your back? Don’t know whether he wants to fuck you or fight you.’

I turned away from Hunter, letting him know that he was being dismissed. Then explained to Jim in a low voice that it was him that brought Anna to the rugby club the night I met her. And I also filled him in on the branch gossip. How we suspected he was mistreating his wife.

‘Dickhead.’ Jim took a sip of his drink. ‘I always thought he had it in for you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just. School and stuff. When we were out and about as kids. I always thought if he had a knife he’d be burying it in your back.’

‘That’s a bit dramatic,’ I smiled.

‘You didn’t see the way he used to look at you,’ Jim shivered. ‘Never liked the prick. Want me to sort him out?’ Jim pushed his pint glass to the side as if getting ready to stand.