The Audit Found A Dock Receipt That Should Not Exist

Simone put a finger below the serial number.

"This tells us where to look," she said. "It doesn't tell us what happened."

I wanted it to tell us everything. I wanted my canceled jobs back by dinner.

Instead, I signed another page listing the files I gave her.

A conservator in Dover checked my images without being told which number to expect. His report read 41826. He also noted that ultraviolet light had shown differences in the paint, not made the brass clear as glass.

"That sentence stays," Simone told him on the phone. "Even if someone finds it inconvenient."

She sent the findings to the insurer's counsel. Counsel opened a fraud review and, after checking the supporting records, made a report to law enforcement.

Simone could ask questions under the insurance contract. She could not search a warehouse or force a bank to hand her its books.

"That's other people's work," she said. "I don't borrow their powers."

My own world got smaller while hers widened.

The marine supply shop stopped sending me customers. A man canceled a $620 repair because he had heard I kept people's property. My landlord came by with a damp envelope in his hand.

"Marr's office asked whether you were behind on rent," he said.

"I'm not."

"I told them that. Keep the receipts."

When he left, I drew four squares on a fresh card and wrote BUSINESS LOSSES underneath.

I listed every canceled job, who had called, and what they had said. I kept the angry words I wanted to say on a separate scrap. That went into the stove at home, where it could do one useful thing.

Three days later, Simone returned with a stack of old dock bills.

"May I use your table?"

"Only if you eat."

She looked at the two bowls of soup beside my kettle.

"You knew I was coming?"

"I hoped. One bowl was tomorrow's lunch."

Her reserved face softened.

"Then I owe tomorrow an apology."

We ate before opening the folder. I learned that she grew herbs in jars because her apartment had no garden, and that her father had worked on river tugs.

"Did he teach you about ships?"

"He taught me to check both ends of a rope before pulling. Ships came later."

I told her about my teacher and the first chronometer I had dropped. The balance staff had broken. I had paid $240 out of my wages to replace it.

"You told her?" Simone asked.

"Before she found it. Not very far before."

She laughed, and I found myself watching her mouth.

Then she moved her bowl aside.

"This is still an investigation, Cormac."

"I know."

I knew why she had said it. I liked her more for saying it, which made the problem worse.

The dock bills came from the old claim file. One was a $12,600 charge for hauling burned equipment from Morrow Light after the fire.

Its attached yard receipt showed a delivery three days before the fire.

"Could be a typing error," I said.

"Yes. So I called the hauler."

The hauler had given written permission for the insurer to check its old invoices. Its own copy showed a different load: six crates of medical pumps delivered to a warehouse near New Castle.

Same invoice number. Same amount. Different work.

"Was Marr the customer?"

"A company he controlled. That ownership was disclosed in the original policy. We aren't guessing from a similar name."

She showed me the two copies side by side.

I could repair a bent tooth in a wheel. I could not make those papers agree.

The claim file contained more bills from the same office. Simone's team began checking those too.

"Will they believe you?" I asked.

"They'll check me. That's better."

She slid the papers back into their sleeves, keeping each invoice beside the letter that explained its source. Even her doubts had a place in the folder.

I washed the bowls while she worked. For several minutes, the shop held only the sound of water and paper. I had not known how much I needed another person's quiet there.

She left before dark. I wanted to ask her to stay for tea, but she had been careful with me. I could be careful back.

Lena called at nine the next morning.

"Did you send Marr an email saying the serial number was unreadable?"

"No."

"Did you sign a statement calling the ultraviolet images a test with no value?"

I put down the winding key in my hand.

"No. What statement?"

"His lawyer sent a copy to the insurer yesterday. It's on your letterhead."

My name had been typed below words I had never written. Under that was a picture of my signature, lifted from the intake form.

Before noon, Lena called again: Gideon had filed a lawsuit, and the false statement was attached to his sworn complaint.