The Book of Lies

67

Was that a gunshot?” Pointy Goatee asked.

“Call the police,” his wife snapped.

“It was a gunshot, wasn’t it?”

“Just call them! Now!”

There was a loud scream in the distance, echoing down the long hallway.

“Now!” she insisted as her husband darted to the phone at the reference desk.

“Was that an explosion?” asked one of the library visitors, sticking his head out of the microfiche room.

“We’re calling the police right—”

“—all okay! It’s under control!” a voice yelled from the hallway. “Everything’s okay!”

In mid-dial, Pointy Goatee stared past the turnstiles as a set of footsteps grew increasingly louder. But it wasn’t until he saw the badge that he finally took a breath.

“Police! Relax! You’re all safe!” Ellis announced authoritatively, striding through the turnstile and making sure they got a good look at his uniform. “Sir, you can put down the phone, please. I’m here. There’s nothing to worry about.”

The librarian slid the phone back to its cradle, staring at the blood that ran down from Ellis’s nose.

“Thank you,” Ellis said, wiping it away with the back of his thumb as he scanned the library. “Now perhaps you can help with one last thing: I’m wondering if you’ve seen my friends.”