The New Inventory Listed Horns That Had Never Entered My Shop

I read the attachment twice before I let myself get angry.

Wain had kept the auction lot number. He had kept the heading and the count of twelve instruments. He had even kept the faint gray line where the district copier marked a page.

But six numbers were different.

On my signed sheet, line three was trumpet 317204. I could picture its bent second-valve slide and the case handle wrapped in green cord.

On his attachment, line three was trumpet 901772.

I did not know that horn.

I put two towels on my bench. The old inventory went on the left. The new one went on the right. Nothing oily got near either page.

Then I called Noor.

"Did somebody count the wrong room?" I asked.

"Read me the new numbers."

I read all six. She went quiet at the third.

"Those sound like our August delivery. I need to check the receiving book."

"Don't go hunting through anything you aren't allowed to open."

"It's my band purchase file, Tatsuya. I signed for the delivery."

I heard a drawer slide.

"Yes," she said. "Four trumpets and two euphoniums. Twenty-four thousand eight hundred dollars. They were meant for students who couldn't rent."

I looked at my little hammer.

"He put new instruments into a retired lot?"

"He put their numbers on a new page. That's all we can say yet."

I wrote her words on a pad. They helped. A repair went wrong when a man decided what the damage was before he took the valve out.

I sent her both inventories. She sent back the purchase record from her file. Four trumpets at $3,200 each. Two euphoniums at $6,000 each. The math came to $24,800.

Beside each item was a serial number from Wain's attachment.

"Where are they now?" I asked.

"They went into the locked storeroom until we got more mouthpieces. Wain controlled the spare key."

"Did you see them leave?"

"I saw cases leave. I'll write down what I remember before we talk about it."

That was why I trusted her.

I spread out my purchase papers. The auction had closed October 14. I had paid $1,860 that afternoon. Pickup had been October 15.

The original inventory had been signed October 6 by Elsie Vale, the surplus officer, and approved for sale by Wain himself.

His initials were beside every retired item.

I held that page a little longer.

The corners carried dents from my pickup clipboard. One had a brown thumbprint from the loading dock. I had been sorry about that mark when I made it. Now it helped me tell my working copy from a page built later at a desk.

He had stood in front of a room full of children and acted as if I had brought nothing but a toolbox. He had already signed the paper that said those horns could become mine.

I scanned the pages. The originals went back into the blue sleeve, then into my fire box.

At eight the next morning, I went to the district office with copies.

The receptionist asked whether I had an appointment.

"I need a received stamp on a letter."

My letter listed four things: the paid receipt, the original inventory, the changed inventory, and the temporary hold sheet. I asked that records about the auction and the six newer horns be kept while the dispute was checked.

I also asked for copies of the sale approval, pickup log, and latest storeroom count. I used the office's public-records request form and kept a stamped copy.

The receptionist read my name.

"Mr. Wain said you might come."

"Then he won't be surprised by the mail."

She almost smiled. She stamped both copies at 8:12.

Wain appeared before I reached the door.

"Noon," he said. "I meant it."

"I didn't receive six of the horns on your list."

"You can explain that to a deputy."

"Please send the deputy both lists."

His eyes moved to the received stamp.

"These little forms won't make you innocent."

"They'll show what I gave you and when."

I left without another word. On the courthouse block, trucks hissed through wet leaves. I bought a coffee I barely tasted and waited in my van for the shop heater to warm up.

At 9:03, Elsie Vale called.

"I got copied on your letter," she said. "Don't hand him your originals."

"I haven't."

"I checked the auction folder. Your inventory matches the one finance received."

I closed my eyes.

"Can you put that in writing?"

"Already did. But there's another page you need to see."

She lowered her voice, though no one else was in my van.

"Chester signed a storeroom certificate on October twenty-second. He certified all six of those new horns were still there."