CODED BETRAYAL

Chapter 4: The Wrong Door

Julian arrived early the next morning, carrying the picture of the audit notice on his phone. He kept checking the message from the unknown number, hoping the caller’s details might somehow appear if he looked long enough. Nothing changed.

He decided to stop guessing and get the records officer’s number.

At the administration office, a woman was sorting papers into trays.

“I need to speak with whoever handles archived dispatch records,” Julian said.

She pointed at a chair without looking up. “What for?”

“I want to submit a request.”

“Then write a letter.”

“Can’t you just give me the correct office?”

She finally looked at him. “You came here asking for records. I told you what to do. What else do you want?”

Julian nearly answered rudely, but he needed her help. He took the chair and waited while she finished sorting the papers. When she was done, she pointed towards a door at the end of the corridor.

“Ask Mr Sanni. If he’s available.”

Julian knocked twice. Nobody answered. The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open.

A man in a pale blue shirt was checking a stack of files on his desk. He looked up.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mr Sanni.”

“You’ve found him. Who are you?”

Julian introduced himself and explained that he had once run a delivery business that used the warehouse.

Sanni waited. “And?”

“Some deliveries were recorded incorrectly. I need to check the old dispatch records.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Before the business closed.”

“And you’re only asking now?”

“I tried before. I didn’t get anywhere.”

“That doesn’t tell me what you need.”

Julian felt himself getting defensive. “I need the records for the dates when the deliveries went missing.”

“Do you have the delivery references?”

“Not all of them.”

“Then how do you expect me to find them?”

“I thought the dispatch books were kept by date.”

“Some were. Some records were moved when the system changed. I can’t tell you what is still available without checking.”

Sanni handed him a form. Julian had to list the dates, explain his connection to the business and state why he wanted the records. The request would be entered in a register before it was reviewed.

Julian filled in what he could remember. He wrote that he believed someone had changed the records after the deliveries were made.

Sanni read the line and pushed the form back.

“You’re making an accusation here.”

“I’m explaining why I need the records.”

“Do you have proof?”

Julian remembered accusing Etim of losing a receipt before checking properly. He had been wrong then, and he had never forgotten how he handled it.

He crossed out the sentence.

“I want to see what the records say first.”

“That’s better,” Sanni said. “I’ll enter the request. Don’t assume that means you’ll get everything you ask for.”

Sanni wrote a number on the form, copied it into a thick register and tore off a small slip for Julian to keep. The number on the slip matched the one in the register.

Julian’s phone rang, but he ignored it. A moment later, Sanni’s own phone rang. He checked the screen, muttered something and went to answer it near the window.

“Keep that slip safe,” he said. “You’ll need the number if you come back.”

While Sanni spoke, Julian checked the audit notice on his phone. He tried to make out the smudged extension and copied the two digits he could read onto the back of the slip. The rest was guesswork, so he stopped.

Sanni returned with a file in his hand. Julian folded the slip and put it in his pocket.

“You can go now,” Sanni said. “I’ll contact you if there’s an update.”

The register remained open near the edge of the desk. Julian could see his name and the reason for his request. Another worker entered during Sanni’s phone call and observed the pages before asking about a different file. Julian considered saying something, but Sanni was already dealing with the man.

Back in the warehouse, Julian spotted the young clerk from the previous afternoon near the photocopier.

“You heard anything about the records office?”

The clerk kept arranging his papers. “What about it?”

“Someone seems to know what I’ve been asking for.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

“You saw me taking the picture of the notice yesterday.”

The clerk put the papers down and looked at him. “And?”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but I have work to do.”

He gathered the papers and walked away.

Julian regretted the way he had handled it. The clerk might know something, but he had given the man every reason to avoid him.

His shift went badly. He entered two figures incorrectly on a stock sheet, then had to correct them while the next load waited. When Bako asked what had happened, Julian blamed the faulty scanner, though he knew he had been distracted.

While checking the corrected figures, Julian took the folded slip from his pocket and placed it beside his stock sheets. He wanted to make sure he had not mixed up the request number with the digits he had copied from the notice.

A driver called him over about a missing carton. Julian left the slip beside his papers and went to check the load.

When he returned, his papers had been pushed towards the edge of the desk. The slip was still there, folded as before. He picked it up and put it away without checking the writing.

Near the end of the shift, Bako called him over.

“I hear you went to administration.”

Julian looked up. “Who told you?”

“Does it matter?”

“I submitted a request. I didn’t take any records.”

Bako rubbed his forehead. “You have a job here. Don’t turn an old business problem into trouble at this one.”

“If the records are correct, checking them shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

Bako sent him back to work before Julian could answer. Julian still couldn’t tell whether Bako was protecting the company or himself.

On the way home, Julian stopped at a roadside shop to buy something to eat. His phone rang while he was waiting for his change. It was an unfamiliar number.

He answered.

“Are you the person who submitted a request for the old dispatch records?” a man asked.

Julian stepped away from the counter. “Who’s asking?”

“Someone who knows those records won’t give you the answer you expect.”

“How do you know what I expect?”

The man ignored the question. “You should have left the delivery issue alone.”

Julian could feel his heartbeat pounding heavily. “Is that why you sent the message yesterday?”

“I didn’t send you any message.”

Before Julian could respond, the call ended.

He tried calling back, but the call wouldn’t connect. He saved the number beside the first unknown number. They were different.

By the time he reached home, he wanted to call Bako and demand an explanation. Instead, he put his phone on the table and emptied his pockets.

His keys, a few coins and the folded request slip landed beside the phone.

He unfolded the slip to check the request number.

The broken marks he remembered making were still there near the bottom edge, but someone had filled in the gaps with blue ink. The added digits were neat, almost too neat. He studied them again.

Had someone copied the way he wrote his numbers? Had they seen the form he filled out in Sanni’s office?

He tried to remember whether he had checked the slip after leaving the warehouse. He could picture putting it beside his stock sheets, then walking away when the driver called him. After that, the day became a blur of corrections, arguments and unfinished work.

Could someone have touched it while he was gone?

He looked at the writing one more time. It seemed familiar, but he couldn’t be certain why. The thought of someone studying his handwriting bothered him more than the completed digits themselves. Whoever had added them might have had access to his form, but he had no proof of that either.

He turned the slip over. The request number was unchanged. Only the marks near the bottom had been completed.

Julian opened the photograph of the audit notice and enlarged the smudged extension. It was still impossible to read. The new digits on the slip gave him nothing he could trust.

He folded the paper and placed it beside his phone. He had gone to the warehouse looking for missing records. Now someone appeared to be leaving marks on the evidence he carried.

But if he couldn’t trust what was written on a piece of paper he had kept with him all day, what else had he been wrong about?