John Eider - Late of the Payroll

‘Is Aubrey here?’ asked Grey, as he jumped out and thanked his driver, releasing him to his usual duties.

‘No. He was due in, before he had to go to hospital.’

‘We just missed him there, and there’s no one at home.’

‘The office staff say he’s in London on a business trip.’

‘Then it doesn’t look as though we’re going to see him today. He was attacked, you know, although he didn’t report it at the Infirmary. Looks like someone’s been throwing stones at the house, and caught him a cropper this morning. Pretty yellow, if you ask me. What have you got?’

Cori filled him in on the life and times of Thomas Long. ‘But his colleagues,’ she concluded, ‘say he seemed less stressed yesterday, and confirm he left normally around five.’

‘That makes the envelope about twenty hours.’

‘Oh yes, and you’ll like this, sir: Alex Aubrey is his line manager, they work together in the office. And this is the most interesting thing,’ she added before they went in. ‘Thomas Long was running the payroll process on Monday.’

‘And?’

‘And it didn’t go right. They’ve booked an IT consultant to come in and fix it.’

He congratulated her on her work, as they turned toward the building.

They entered, for the receptionist to rise at their arrival, ‘So this is the Inspector,’ she said, eyeing him greedily. ‘We are very glad for your help here.’

‘Hello again,’ smiled Cori, ‘Can you let us back up to the office please?’

The woman turned to lead them through the security doors and up toward the emptiness of office space above.

‘The IT people got here just before you,’ called Cori back along the stairs to Grey. ‘They should be setting up now.’

‘Thank you, you are very kind,’ offered Grey as the amenable lady left them at the second set of pass-locked doors.

‘It’s Shauna,’ she said, her eyes mauve-shadowed to match her dress.

‘Well, thank you Shauna,’ he said as he darted into the room, Cori trying not to smile too hard as she dashed in after him.

In the room that had seemed so empty there were now a knot of people, formed around one computer screen. The group comprised both the ladies Cori had met earlier, and two men, one much younger than the other.

‘It’s Gareth, from HR,’ said the lad, both detectives murmuring in semi-recognition. He stuck out his hand to each of them in turn. ‘They use the same system as the police,’ he offered cheerily. ‘It should be a doddle to get running.’

There was beside him a very serious-looking man concentrating on the screen. Grey considered, with his elbow-patched jacket and long hair balding above the temples, he looked like a lecturer from the Open University programs he had once stayed up so late to study.

‘Kenneth Pitt, IT Consultants, just off the High Street.’ His greeting didn’t include a handshake, his fingers occupied as they were at the keyboard.

‘And what is it exactly your company does?’ asked Grey.

‘We offer IT and administrative support for small and medium-sized businesses. Our services are used by four of the biggest private organisations in the town, as well as the bus company and borough libraries network. Our office can furnish you with references from each of them, stretching back up to fourteen years. As for myself, I have a PHD in Business Information Systems, as well as several more specific qualifications in this area,’ he added, gesturing to the computer.

Fine at a laptop, but not the most technologically savvy, Grey appreciated his role here was one of observer. ‘So, what’s happening now?’ he asked, hoping for an answer in the simplest terms possible.

‘Well,’ began Gareth from HR, ‘Gail has logged us onto the computer. And now Keith and I have been checking through the data Thomas left us. There is a file of all employees, and what they should be earning.’

‘And how does it look?’

‘It looks already checked and cross-checked,’ answered Keith Pitt without looking away from the screen. ‘He did a very good job in that respect. All that seems to be left is to run the actual process.’

That sounded simple enough, Grey thought, before the serious man continued: ‘He seems to have already attempted this twice. The attempts are recorded, but neither completed successfully.’

Grey was lost, but before he could ask for clarification Gareth from HR gave a commentary to help them out,

‘The system contacts the bank electronically, sending it the file of payments to be made and the accounts to send them to. If the file is incorrect then people get sent to much or too little.’

‘And why did it fail for Tom?’ This was Gail Marsh asking, following every word.

‘I must confess, at this point I do not know.’ Keith Pitt continued to stare at the screen.

‘Doesn’t it tell you?’ asked Grey.

‘Yes it does, Inspector, but it rather technical terms. That something threw a stick between the spokes is obvious, but it is hard to tell at precisely what point it failed.’

‘And how long will this thing take?’

‘A few minutes at most.’

‘And if it fails again?’

‘A little longer — it will keep retrying before it gives up. Right then, Inspector, I’m confirming this action will now send the file to the bank.’

‘Oh yes, fine by me,’ Grey agreed, realising they were waiting for his say so.

‘Very good,’ said the expert, as with the last few mouse and key clicks, various messages and egg-timer icons appeared on screen.

Cori pulled gently at Grey’s arm, and the pair moved a little way from the group.

‘I have just spoken to the receptionist downstairs,’ she began. Grey hadn’t even noted her absence. ‘Remember I told you two of the men who had been asking about their payslips? She confirms both men are here, and should be on shift for a couple more hours.’

‘Good. Then we can speak to them once this is sorted. And his father should be around here somewhere too.’

‘Philip Long is in a different part of the building,’ she confirmed.

‘Good. We ought to have a word with him while we’re here.’

‘Inspector,’ young Gareth interrupted, sooner than Grey would have credited. ‘Sorry for interrupting. We’re done now, if you want to come and see.’

The fellowship regathered before Keith Pitt’s, or more accurately Thomas Long’s, monitor, the contracted expert’s fingers hovering over the keyboard, as a system message bearing a red triangle appeared, beside some text too small for any but those sat at the screen to read.

‘It’s saying that there was a problem when attempting to release the money from the firm’s account to those of the recipients,’ Keith read, ‘and to contact the bank for more information.’

‘They’ve got no money?’ asked Gail, who had been watching things from her own desk, she with her own tasks to get on with.

‘Oh no,’ answered Gareth brightly, ‘the system doesn’t know that, it is not that intuitive — this message appears if there is any hitch. I’ve seen it myself, if there’s a number out of place or an option not selected.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Keith Pitt, in measured tones, ‘but we have checked and double-checked. The numbers are right.’

Grey and Cori stood helpless, control of the situation ceded to experts who weren’t sure what their screens were telling them. As the Sergeant waited she looked around the room: at Gail, turned back to her typewriter, so commonplace an object not so long ago but now anachronistic, its owner perhaps at a point in her career, Cori speculated, where the time spent in learning electronic methods of word processing would never get her back up to the word-rates she currently enjoyed on her manual machine. While along the serried desks was Cynthia, whom Cori felt some strong affinity, despite only meeting her today. Her concern for Thomas was endearing in the extreme. At this moment though, Cynthia seemed to be doing no more than keeping herself busy also, although in ways not generating the steady mechanical noise of Gail’s well-oiled writer.