Cat O'Nine Tales: And Other Stories (22 page)

A year later Sally was able to declare an increased income of just
over £3,000, on top of her earnings as an estate agent.

Sally’s
accountant advised her to buy the field next door to the cottage, where the
lorries
were always parked at night, as she could claim it
against tax. “A
carpark
,” he explained, “would be a
legitimate business expense.”

As Doug had
just begun a six-year sentence and was back to earning £12.50 a week as the
prison librarian, he was hardly in a position to offer an opinion.

However, even
he was impressed when, the following year, Sally declared an income of £37,000,
which included her added sales bonuses. This time, the accountant advised her
to purchase a third lorry.

Doug was eventually
released from prison having only served half his sentence (three years). Sally
was parked outside the prison gates in her Vauxhall, waiting to drive her
husband home. His
nineyear
-old daughter, Kelly, was
strapped into the back, next to her three-year-old sister Sam. Sally had not
allowed either of the children to visit their father in prison, so when Doug
took the little girl in his arms for the first time, Sam burst into tears.
Sally explained to her that the strange man was her father.

Over a welcome
breakfast of bacon and eggs, Sally was able to report that she had been advised
by her accountant to form a limited company. Haslett Haulage had declared a
profit of £21,600 in its first year, and she had added two more
lorries
to their growing fleet. Sally told her husband that
she was thinking of giving up her job at the estate agent’s to become full-time
chair of the new company.

“Chair?” said
Doug. “What’s that?”

Doug was only
too pleased to leave Sally to run the company, as long as he was allowed to
take his place behind the wheel as one of her drivers. This state of affairs
would have continued quite happily, if Doug had not once again been approached
by the man from Marseilles–who never seemed to end up in jail–with what he
confidently assured him was a fool-proof plan with no risks attached and, more
important, this time his wife need never find out.

Doug resisted
the Frenchman’s advances for several months, but after losing a rather large
sum in a poker game, finally succumbed. Just one trip, he promised himself. The
man from Marseilles smiled, as he handed over an envelope containing £12,500 in
cash.

Under Sally’s
chairmanship, the Haslett Haulage Company continued to grow, in both reputation
and below the bottom line. Meanwhile, Doug once again became used to having
cash in hand; money which did not rely on a balance sheet, and was not subject
to a tax return.

Someone else
was continuing to keep a close eye on the Haslett Haulage Company, and Doug in
particular. Regular as clockwork, Doug could be seen driving his lorry through
the Dover terminal, with a full load of sprouts and peas, destined for
Marseilles. But Mark
Cainen
, now an anti-smuggling
officer working as part of the Law Enforcement Unit, never once saw Doug make
the return journey. This worried him.

The officer
checked his records, to find that Haslett Haulage was now running nine
lorries
a week to different parts of Europe. Their chairman,
Sally Haslett, had a spotless reputation–not unlike her vehicles–with everyone
she dealt with, from customs to customers. But Mr.
Cainen
was still curious to find out why Doug was no longer driving back through his
port. He took it personally.

A few discreet
inquiries revealed that Doug could still be seen in Marseilles unloading his
sprouts and peas, and later loading up with crates of bananas.

However, there
was one slight variation.

He was now
driving back via Newhaven, which
Cainen
estimated
must have added at least a couple of hours to Doug’s journey.

All customs
officers have the option of serving one month a year at another port of entry,
to further their promotion prospects. The previous year Mr.
Cainen
had selected Heathrow airport; that year he opted for a month in Newhaven.

Officer
Cainen
waited patiently for Doug’s lorry to appear on the
dockside, but it wasn’t until the end of his second week that he spotted his
old adversary waiting in line to disembark from an Olsen’s ferry. The moment
Doug’s lorry drove onto the dock, Mr.
Cainen
disappeared upstairs into the staffroom and poured
himself
a cup of coffee. He walked across to the window and watched Doug’s vehicle come
to a halt at the front of the line. He was waved quickly through by the two
officers on duty. Mr.
Cainen
made no attempt to
intervene as Doug drove out onto the road to continue his journey back to
Sleaford
.

He had to wait
another ten days before Doug’s lorry reappeared, and this time he noted that
only one thing hadn’t changed. Mr.
Cainen
didn’t
think it was a coincidence.

When Doug returned
via Newhaven five days later, the same two officers gave his vehicle no more
than a cursory glance, before waving him through. The officer now knew that it
wasn’t a coincidence. Mr.
Cainen
reported his
observations to his boss in New-haven and, as his month was up, made his way
back to Dover.

Doug completed
three more journeys from Marseilles via New-haven before the two customs
officers were arrested.

When Doug saw
five officers heading toward his truck, he knew that his new
impossible-to-be-caught system had been
sussed
.

Doug didn’t
waste the court’s time pleading not guilty, because one of the customs officers
with whom he had been splitting the take had made a deal to have his sentence
reduced if he named names.

He named
Douglas Arthur Haslett.

The judge sent
Doug down for eight years, with no remission for good behavior, unless he
agreed to pay a fine of £750,000. Doug didn’t have £750,000 and begged Sally to
help out, as he couldn’t face the thought of another eight years behind bars.
Sally had to sell everything, including the cottage, the
carpark
,
nine
lorries
and even her engagement ring, so that her
husband could comply with the court order.

After serving a
year at Wayland Category C prison in Norfolk, Doug was transferred back to
North Sea Camp.

Once again, he
was appointed as librarian, which was where I first met him.

I was impressed
that Sally and his two–now grown-up–daughters came to visit Doug every weekend.
He told me that they didn’t discuss business, even though he’d sworn on his
mother’s grave never, ever again.

“Don’t even
think about it,” Sally had warned him. “I’ve already sent your lorry to the
scrapyard.”

“Can’t blame
the woman, after all I’ve put her through,” said Doug when I next visited the
library. “But if they won’t let me get behind a wheel once I’m released, what
am I going to do for the rest of my life?”

I was released
a couple of years before Doug, and if I hadn’t been addressing a literary
festival in Lincoln some years later, I might never have discovered what had
become of the chief librarian.

As I stared
down into the audience during questions, I thought I recognized three vaguely
familiar faces looking up at me from the third row. I racked that part of my
brain that is meant to store names, but it didn’t respond. That was, until I
had a question about the difficulties of writing while in prison. Then it all
came flooding back. I had last seen Sally some three years before, when she was
visiting Doug accompanied by her two daughters, Kelly and, and... Sam.

After I’d taken
the final question, we broke for coffee, and the three of them came across to
join me.

“Hi, Sally.
How’s Doug?” I asked even before they could introduce themselves. An old
political
ploy,
and they looked suitably impressed.

“Retired,” said
Sally without explanation.

“But he was
younger than me,” I protested, “and never stopped telling everyone what he
planned to do once he was released.”

“No doubt,”
said Sally, “but I can assure you he’s retired. Haslett Haulage is now run by
me and my two daughters, with a backroom staff of twenty-one, not including the
drivers.”

“So you’re
obviously doing well,” I said, fishing.

“You clearly
don’t read the financial pages,” she teased.

“I’m like the
Japanese,” I countered, “I always read my papers from back to front. So what
have I missed?”

“We went public
last year,” chipped in Kelly. “Mum’s chair, I’m in charge of new accounts and
Sam is responsible for the drivers.”

“And if I
remember correctly, you had about nine
lorries
?”

“We now have
forty-one,” said Sally, “and our turnover last year was just under five
million.”

“And Doug
doesn’t play any role?”

“Doug plays
golf,” said Sally, “which doesn’t require him to travel through Dover, or,” she
added with a sigh, as her husband appeared in the doorway, “back via Newhaven.”

Doug remained
still, as his eyes searched the room for his family. I waved and caught his
attention. Doug waved back and wandered slowly across to join us.

“We still allow
him to drive us home from time to time,” whispered Sam with a grin, just as
Doug appeared by my side.

I shook hands
with my former inmate, and when Sally and the girls had finished their coffee,
I accompanied them all back to their car, which gave me the chance to have a
word with Doug.

“I’m delighted
to hear that Haslett Haulage is doing so well,” I volunteered.

“Put it all
down to experience,” said Doug. “Don’t forget I taught them everything they
know.”

“And since we
last met, Kelly tells me that the company’s gone public.”

“All part of my
long-term plan,” said Doug as his wife climbed into the back of the car. He
turned and gave me a knowing look. “A lot of people sniffing around at the
moment, Jeff, so don’t be surprised if there’s a takeover bid in the near
future.” Just as he reached the driver’s side of the car, he added, “Chance for
you to make a few bob while the shares are still at their present price. Know
what I mean?”

H
enry
Preston, Harry
to his friends–and they didn’t number many–wasn’t the sort
of person you’d bump into at the local pub, meet at a football match or invite
home for a barbecue. Frankly, if there was a club for introverts, Henry would
be elected chairman–reluctantly.

At school, the
only subject in which he excelled was mathematics, and his mother, the one
person who adored him, was determined that Henry would have a profession. His
father had been a postman. With one
A
level in
maths
, the field was fairly limited–banking or accountancy.
His mother chose accountancy.