Джеффри Арчер: Cat O'Nine Tales

The next day Sue purchased a tape of Portuguese for Beginners which they played before breakfast every morning, and then spent an hour in the evening, testing out their new skills. They were pleased to discover that over the years they had both picked up more of the language than they realized. Although not fluent, they were certainly not beginners. The two of them quickly moved on to the advanced tapes.

‘We won’t be able to use our own passports,’ Chris pointed out to his wife while shaving one morning. ‘We’ll have to consider a change of identity, otherwise the authorities would be on to us in no time.’

‘I’ve already thought about that,’ said Sue, ‘and we should take advantage of working in our own post office.’

Chris stopped shaving, and turned to listen to his wife.

‘Don’t forget, we already supply all the necessary forms for customers who want to obtain passports.’

Chris didn’t interrupt as Sue went over how she planned to make sure that they could safely leave the country under assumed names.

Chris chuckled. ‘Perhaps I’ll grow a beard,’ he said, putting his razor down.

Over the years, Chris and Sue had made friends with several customers who regularly shopped at the post office. The two of them wrote down on separate sheets of paper the names of all their customers who fulfilled the criteria Sue was looking for. They ended up with a list of two dozen candidates: thirteen women and eleven men. From that moment on, whenever one of the unsuspecting regulars entered the shop, Sue or Chris would strike up a conversation that had only one purpose.

‘Going away for Christmas this year, are we, Mrs Brewer?’

‘No, Mrs Haskins, my son and his wife will be joining us on Christmas Eve so that we can get to know our new granddaughter.’

‘How nice for you, Mrs Brewer,’ replied Sue. ‘Chris and I are thinking of spending Christmas in the States.’

‘How exciting,’ said Mrs Brewer. ‘I’ve never even been abroad,’ she admitted, ‘let alone America.’

Mrs Brewer had reached the second round, but would not be questioned again until her next visit.

By the end of September, seven other names had joined Mrs Brewer on the shortlist — four women and three men, all between the ages of fifty-one and fifty-seven, who had only one thing in common: they had never travelled abroad.

The next problem the Haskins faced was filling in an application for a birth certificate. This required far more detailed questioning, and both Sue and Chris quickly backed off whenever one of the shortlisted candidates showed the slightest sign of suspicion. By the beginning of October they were down to the names of four customers who had unwittingly supplied their date of birth, place of birth, mother’s maiden name and father’s first name.

The Haskins’ next visit was to Boots the chemist in St Peter’s Avenue, where they took turns to sit in a little cubicle and have several strips of photographs taken at £2.50 a time. Sue then set about completing the necessary application forms for a passport, on behalf of four of her unsuspecting customers. She filled in all the relevant details, while enclosing photographs of herself and Chris, along with a postal order for £42. As the postmaster, Chris was only too happy to pen his real signature on the bottom of each form Sue filled in.

The four application forms were posted to the passport office at Petty France in London on the Monday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday of the last week in October.

On Wednesday, 11 November the first passport arrived back at Victoria Crescent, addressed to Mr Reg Appleyard. Two days later, a second appeared, for Mrs Audrey Ramsbottom. The following day Mrs Betty Brewers turned up, and finally, a week later, Mr Stan Gerrard’s.

Sue had already pointed out to Chris that they would have to leave the country using one set of passports, which they would then need to discard, before they switched to the second pair, but not until they had found somewhere to live in Albufeira.

Chris and Sue continued to practise their Portuguese whenever they were alone in the shop, while informing any regulars that they would be away over the Christmas period as they were planning a trip to America. The inquisitive were rewarded with such details as a week in San Francisco, followed by a few days in Seattle.

By the second week in November, everything was in place to press the button for Operation Money Back Guaranteed.

At nine o’clock on Friday morning Sue made her weekly phone call to headquarters. She entered her personal code before being transferred to forward finance. The only difference this time was that she could hear her heart beating. Sue repeated her code before informing the credit officer how much cash she would require for the following week — an amount large enough to allow her to cover withdrawals for any post office savings accounts, pensions and cashed postal orders. Although an accountant from headquarters always checked the books at the end of every month, considerable leeway was allowed in the run-up to Christmas. A demanding audit was then carried out in January to make sure the books balanced, but neither Chris nor Sue had any intention of being around in January. For the past six years Sue’s books had always balanced, and she was considered by headquarters to be a model manager.

Sue had to check the records to remind herself of the amount she had requested in the same week of the previous year — £40,000, which had turned out to be £800 more than she needed. This year she asked for £60,000, and waited for some comment from the credit officer, but the voice from headquarters sounded neither surprised nor concerned. The full amount was delivered by a security van the following Monday.

During the week Chris and Sue fulfilled all their customers’ obligations; after all, it had never been their intention to short-change any of their regulars, but they still found themselves with a surplus of £21,000 at the end of week one. They left the cash — used notes only — locked up in the safe, just in case some fastidious official from headquarters decided to carry out a spot-check.

Once Sue had closed the front door at six o’clock and pulled down the blinds, the two of them would only converse in Portuguese, while they spent the rest of the evening filling in postal orders, rubbing out scratch cards and entering lottery numbers, often falling asleep as they worked.

Every morning Chris would rise early and climb into his ageing Rover, with Stamps as his only companion. He travelled north, east, south and west — Monday Lincoln, Tuesday Louth, Wednesday Skegness, Thursday Hull and Friday Immingham, where he would cash several postal orders, and also collect his winnings on the scratch cards and lottery tickets, enabling him to supplement their newly acquired savings with an extra few hundred pounds each day.

On the last Friday in November, week two, Sue applied for £70,000 from head office, so that by the following Saturday they were able to add a further £32,000 to their invisible earnings.

On the first Friday in December, Sue raised the stakes to £80,000, and was surprised to discover that there were still no questions back at headquarters: after all, hadn’t Sue Haskins been manager of the year, with a special commendation from the board? A security van dutifully delivered the full amount in cash early on the Monday morning.

Another week of increased profits allowed Sue Haskins to add a further £39,000 to the pot without any of the other players round the table demanding to see her hand. They were now showing a surplus of well over £100,000, which was stacked up in neat little piles of used notes, resting on top of the four passports buried at the bottom of the safe.