The records room was behind the library, a place where the air carried the smell of damp paper and years of dust. Rose opened the door with a metal key, went in first, and switched on two of the four lights.
“Do not touch the files unless I am here,” she said.
Daniel looked at the rows of cabinets. “I have not asked permission to steal.”
“I am not saying it only to you. Everyone.”
Moses stood behind them with his phone and a small notebook. Madam Nansubuga had allowed them to examine Daniel’s files through a formal request, but she had set conditions: record the document numbers, photograph only approved pages, and take nothing out of the room.
Daniel stood before the cabinet marked “PERSONNEL — K.” Rose removed a thick file and placed it on the table.
“We must start with the employment form,” she said.
Daniel opened it. Inside were a copy of his identification, his education certificate, the employment form, his first contract, and the payroll-update papers. Each page carried his signature in a slightly different form. On the employment form it was long. On the payroll form it was short because he had signed it while the teachers’ queue pressed around him.
“Look at this,” Moses said.
He was holding a copy of the payroll update. At the lower corner, a line of ink stopped before completing the final letter.
“Pen break,” Moses said. “Is that how you normally sign?”
“Sometimes,” Daniel said. “But not every time.”
Rose opened the attachment sent from the district. Daniel placed the transfer letter beside it. The signature on the letter had the same broken curve in the ink. It was not only similar in shape; even the distance between the first stroke and the name was the same.
“They copied it from the form,” Daniel said.
Rose tightened her lips. “That is a conclusion.”
“It is enough of a difference to request an examination.”
Moses leaned closer. “During last year’s payroll update, we provided copies of our signatures for the bank. I remember because the scanner damaged some of the pages.”
“Who had access to them?” Daniel asked.
Rose turned to the sign-out page. “Staff came in for salary confirmation. Payroll staff took one batch. The district liaison took another.”
“And here?”
“There is an archive log.”
Rose found the entry book. Daniel did not touch it. Rose read the dates and names. On the payroll-update day, seven people had entered the room. Moses was on the list. Rose herself was there. The headteacher’s assistant was listed too. The district liaison’s name had been shortened to “A. N.”
“Do you know those initials?” Daniel asked.
“Abel Nsubuga. A former liaison. He left four months ago.”
“And the files are still here?”
“Yes.”
Moses opened his notebook. “Do not write the name as if you are accusing him. Write that access existed.”
Daniel looked at him. “That is what I am doing.”
Rose took a ruler and placed it over the two copied signatures. “Fold mark.”
A small crease ran down the transfer letter from top to bottom. The old form showed the same mark in the same place, though it was lighter.
“The letter was folded after it was printed,” Rose said. “The old form sat in that same fold.”
Daniel felt his anger turn cold. The document did not merely contain a stolen signature. Someone might have used a page that had been stored and folded together with other documents.
“I would like to photograph these two,” Daniel said.
Rose watched him for a moment. “The payroll page has a file number.”
“Cover that part.”
“Do not edit the image.”
“I will not alter the evidence. I will place paper over the number before taking the photograph.”
Rose agreed. Daniel placed a white sheet over the confidential section and photographed the signature, the pen break, and the fold mark. Moses did the same with the second page. Each photograph was numbered in the notebook.
Rose’s phone rang. She went outside to answer it. Daniel remained with Moses.
“Do you trust Rose?” Moses asked.
“She knows the records.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Daniel looked at the file. “I do not know.”
“Someone with access can protect themselves by restricting everyone else’s access.”
Daniel disliked the sentence because it made sense. Rose had insisted on the conditions, known about the missing attachment, and hesitated before opening the log. But fear was not evidence.
Rose returned with a hard expression.
“Madam says someone from the district has called. They want the file returned today.”
“Why?” Daniel asked.
“They say there is an audit.”
“After asking for my file?”
Rose sat down. “That is how it was explained.”
Daniel closed the file. “We will request preservation of the archive log and any CCTV that exists. We cannot leave with photographs alone.”
Rose raised her eyebrows. “You want to involve me?”
“I want to make a formal request.”
“If you write that the file was here, people will ask why I allowed it.”
“If I write that it was not here, I will be hiding something.”
Moses intervened. “Write what is known: the file was opened for review, photographs were taken under supervision, and the log must not be moved.”
Rose opened her laptop and typed the memo. Daniel read it. It named no suspect. It asked only that every access to the personnel file be preserved.
Rose signed as the records clerk. Daniel signed as the staff member concerned. Moses signed as the witness.
As they were leaving, Daniel saw a loose piece of paper beneath the cabinet. Rose picked it up before he could reach it. It was a photocopy receipt dated the previous year, for pages fourteen to eighteen.
“Who copied these?” Daniel asked.
Rose looked at it. In the requester’s section were the initials “R. N.”
“Whose are they?” Moses asked.
Rose did not answer. She placed the receipt inside the file and closed it.
“Rose.”
“I will check the register first.”
“You said a moment ago that the only thing we have is what is true.”
She looked at Daniel. Fear was plain on her face.
“The receipt has the same fold mark,” she said. “And the name of the person who came after hours is written in a hand I have not seen in the ordinary log.”
Daniel felt the records-room door close behind them. The photographs of the signatures had been preserved on the table. But before they reached the end of the corridor, Moses stopped.
“Daniel,” he said, “this fold mark appears on two unrelated forms. It means someone did not only copy a signature. They moved the papers as one bundle.”
Rose opened the file again, took out the receipt, and placed it beside the transfer letter.
The crease lay in exactly the same place on two sheets that should never have met.
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