The Case of the Missing Books

12

Israel and England spoke to a lot of traders down at the market-most of them slags, touts, sleeks and millies, according to England, who was nonetheless on first-name terms with them all and who greeted all the women with hugs and all the men with high fives and a complimentary booming 'Ho, ho, ho,' not a typical Presbyterian kind of a greeting, Israel guessed, judging by the fact that a lot of the various slags, touts, sleeks and millies tried to hide behind their stalls at England's approach. And anyway the word on the street down at the market was pretty much what the word on the street always is everywhere: that the price of petrol was getting ridiculous; that the traffic-calming measures on the one-way system were a joke; and that something should be done about the state of the public toilets, which were a disgrace.

But there was more: there was also word on the street that the closure of Tumdrum and District branch library was a huge cover-up, and that if books had gone missing, then it was the council themselves who were to blame.

If what he was being told was true, and he had no reason to doubt it, given his dealings with the council, then at the very least Israel had a new suspect to add to his list, and, at the very best, he was close to solving the mystery of the missing library books and pretty soon he was going to be packing up his old brown suitcase and on his way back home: he could almost smell that Brick Lane twenty-four-hour bagel bakery.

He rushed back to the farmhouse for lunch.

'Brownie, Brownie, Brownie,' he said, bursting into the farmhouse kitchen.

'Israel, Israel, Israel.' Brownie had books piled around him on the kitchen table, working on another essay.

'The word on the street is that the council stole the books themselves so that they could close the mobile library and-'

'What's he blethering about now?' said Mr Devine, pouring himself some tea from the never-ending kettle on the Rayburn. 'I don't know, young people today…'

'The council did it. The council stole the library books.'

'The council?'

'That's what people are saying. That's the word on the street.'

'The word on the street?'

'That's what people are saying.'

'Paisley's not going to last much longer,' said Mr Devine. 'That's what people are saying.'

'No, not that,' said Israel. 'People are saying that the council themselves have stolen the books!'

'Hang on, Israel,' said Brownie. 'The council stole the books?'

'Yes, that's right. Linda Wei and everybody, in it right up to their necks.'

'Sure, I could have told you that,' said Mr Devine. 'They're quare and close up there.'

George was silently eating a sandwich up at the end of the table, resplendent as usual in dungarees and work boots.

'Armstrong,' she said, between mouthfuls, graciously acknowledging Israel's presence.

'George,' nodded Israel.

'And who exactly have you been talking to?' George asked, with a certain tone, a tone that carried a clear but unvoiced clause at the end of the sentence, a persistent, silent clause, it seemed to Israel, and which rang out clear and quiet at the end of most statements and sentences in the north of Ireland and which said, if you listened to it very carefully with English ears, 'you idiot'.

'Some people at the market,' he replied.

'Ha,' said George, with the same firm, quiet tone.

'"Ha?" What's that supposed to mean?' said Israel, who was after all a Highly Sensitive Person and who had studied English and American Studies at one of the best former polytechnics turned universities in the country, and who was not therefore unaware of certain tonal ambiguities in speech and writing.

'Ha?' said George. '"Ha" means "Ha" over here, Armstrong. Why? What does it mean where you're from?'

'Well…'

'Who exactly have you been talking to?'

'A lot of different people.'

'Who?'

'I don't know their names. There's a chap who sells dog food and stuff for pets.'

'Who's that?' asked Brownie.

'Trevor is his name?' said Israel.

'Trevor?' said George.

'The fella Cormican?' asked old Mr Devine.

'Aye,' said Brownie. 'Kool For Kats.'

'Little fella,' said old Mr Devine.

'Wears a baseball cap,' said George.

'Yes, that's him, yes,' said Israel excitedly. 'Trevor told me-'

'Aye. Trevor,' said George, with her tone.

'So, he said…' started Israel again.

George put down the remains of her sandwich and looked pityingly at Israel. 'D'you know how Trevor ended up selling dog food at the market, Armstrong?'

'No. I don't, no.'

'Have you ever thought though that someone might not set out with selling dog food at the market as their career goal?'

'Well. I don't know…'

'Well then, let me tell you how he ended up down there, shall I? Your friend Trevor was involved in an insurance scam-wasn't it, Brownie?'

'Aye.'

'Yes. Selling non-existent insurance policies to people, particularly old and vulnerable people. He was put away for that.'

'Ah. Yes. But-' began Israel.

'How long was it for, Granda?' asked George.

'Three years I think it was,' said Mr Devine.

'Extortion with menaces, wasn't it?' said Brownie.

'Something like that,' said George.

'Bad packet altogether,' said Mr Devine.

'And you're taking what he says as gospel?' said George to Israel.

'No, I'm not saying it's gospel. It's just-'

'A conspiracy theory,' said George.

'Well,' said Israel. 'What if it is?'

'A huge conspiracy involving the council, here, in Tumdrum?'

'Well, why not?'

'Because this is the real world, Armstrong, and not a John Grisham novel.'

'Yeah, right, but…'

'I prefer Tom Clancy,' said Mr Devine. 'I can't follow them others.'

'Look, look, think about it though,' said Israel. 'The council want to close all their library services, right? They get away with shutting the branch library, but by law they have to offer some library service, so they say they'll get the mobile library service back up and running. But at the moment at which the mobile library is about to be launched, they say they've lost all the books. Then they can close it simply on financial grounds, and they're not to blame.'

The collected Devines were not convinced.

'Aye,' said George.

'You've lost me, Israel, actually,' said Brownie.

'Hmm,' said old Mr Devine. 'Did you ever read The Day of the Jackal? That was a good book. Who was that by?'

'Right, let's work it out,' said Israel.

'OK,' said George.

'They made a film of it,' said Mr Devine.

'By a process of logical deduction,' said Israel.

'This'll be good,' said George.

'Where would you hide something, if you didn't want someone to find it?' Israel asked.

'Where someone couldn't find it?' said Brownie, quick off the mark.

'Exactly! And where wouldn't they be able to find it?'

'Somewhere they hadn't looked for it?'

'Yes! Yes! And where wouldn't they have looked for it?'

'Somewhere they didn't think it was?' said Brownie.

'Yes!'

'So that's it? That's the answer?'

Even Brownie had trouble following Israel's logic here.

'Aye, right, that's nice and clear,' said George.

'Look,' said Israel. 'Mr Devine, if you had a pair of socks you wanted to hide, where would you hide them?'

'Er.'

'Where do you usually find your missing socks?'

'In my sock drawer?'

'Exactly.'

'So?'

'So, the chances are, if you wanted to find some hidden books you'd look in…'

'My sock drawer?'

'No! A library!' said Israel.

'Hang on,' said Brownie, burrowing in among the pile of books on the table and producing a copy of Wittgenstein's Remarks on Colour.

'Look!' he said. 'Look!'

'Wittgenstein's Remarks on Colour?' said Israel.

'What is it, a colouring book?' asked Mr Devine.

'Look, here, on the spine,' said Brownie, pointing to the purple sticker.

'The purple sticker,' said Israel.

'Tumdrum and District Library,' said Brownie.

'Where d'you get it from?' said Israel.

'From Rathkeltair Central Library,' said Brownie.

'Even though it's got the Tumdrum mark on it?'

'Yep.'

'Aha!' said Israel, who couldn't believe his luck.

'Aha?' said George.

'Yes, "Aha!"' repeated Israel breathlessly. 'Aha! Aha! Aha! And I'll tell you what,' he said, brandishing the book. 'If this isn't prima…'

'Facie?'

'Exactly!…evidence, I don't know what it is. Oh yes! Mystery solved! We're done! I am out of here, people. Can I use your phone?'

The Devines looked at each other in sympathy and confusion as Israel left the table and took off again in the mobile library to see Linda Wei at the Department of Entertainment, Leisure and Community Services.

Linda was at her desk, with her back to Israel when he entered. She swivelled around on her plush imitation-leather seat, a vast red paper serviette in one hand, and an enormous scone in the other, her mouth full to bursting.

'Linda,' said Israel, with all the confidence of someone about to reveal a major conspiracy at the heart of government, albeit only local government, and albeit only the Department of Entertainment, Leisure and Community Services within the heart of local government, and even then only the Information Resources Steering Committee within that, but still.

'Mmm.' Linda chewed and swallowed rapidly, waving to Israel to sit down, which he did, while she wrapped the serviette carefully around what remained of the scone and took a swig of coffee from a vast mug which proclaimed her, in big balloon letters, WORLD'S NO. 1 MUM.

'Israel!' she said, coughing, crumbs catching in her throat. 'Cinnamon scone?'

'Right.'

'Would you like some?'

'No, thanks.'

'Missed lunch, you see.'

'Right.'

'It's from the canteen.'

'I see.'

'They have a scone of the day-every day.'

'Good.'

'Thursdays it's usually cinnamon.'

'Right.'

'So what can I do you for today?'

'Well, I wanted to ask you a few questions.'

'Oh. Really?' Linda tapped her greasy fingers on her desk.

'Yes,' said Israel seriously. 'It's about the library books.'

'Right. Sshh. Close the door, would you?'

Israel got up and closed the door.

'Walls have ears,' said Linda, flapping her ears in demonstration. 'So, how's the hunt going then?'

'Well,' began Israel.

'Uurgh,' belched Linda, patting her more than pattable chest. 'Sorry. Indigestion-it's the scones. Very fresh. Sorry. The book hunt?'

'Linda, where would you hide library books, if you had to hide them?'

'Oh, is this an interrogation?' giggled Linda.

'No, Linda, I'm just asking a question.' He'd decided to take the Socratic route.

'It's like Castlereagh,' said Linda. 'Er. I don't know. If I wanted to hide library books?'

'Yes.'

'Good question. In boxes?'

'Possibly.'

'Wrong answer?' said Linda.

'It's not the answer I'm looking for.'

'OK. Oh, I do like this. It's like Twenty Questions. Erm. Where would I hide library books if I wanted to hide them? In a shed?'

'No.'

'Some sort of underground bunker or something?'

'No.'

'Oh, I don't know, Israel. You'll have to tell me.'

'No. You were supposed to be telling me.'

'Oh, was I? Er…'

'Oh, never mind,' said Israel. The Socratic route might take a while. 'How about in a library?'

'In a library?'

'Yes.'

'Oh, yes,' said Linda, 'that's very good. Because…'

'No one would think of looking there.'

'Right. Oh yes. That's very good. That's brilliant. That'd be the perfect hiding place for some missing library books.'

'Exactly.'

'So?'

'So. Linda.' Israel paused here for dramatic effect. 'I have found the missing library books.'

'Oh good,' said Linda, without really registering the necessary shock and surprise, in Israel's opinion, but never mind. 'Where?'

'In Rathkeltair Central Library.'

Linda shifted in her seat-rather suspiciously, thought Israel, although it may have been because she had wind.

'Have you, really?' Linda looked rather nervous.

'Look.' With a flourish Israel produced from his bag Wittgenstein's Remarks on Colour.

'It's a book.'

'Yep.'

'This is it?'

'Look.' Israel indicated the purple sticker. 'See. It's from Tumdrum. But it's issued out of Rathkeltair.'

'So?'

'So, the old Tumdrum books are in Rathkeltair.'

It was because she had wind. Linda waved her hand to waft away the smell.

'OK,' said Linda. 'Sorry. Excuse me. Just run that by me again.'

'This book proves that the missing Tumdrum Library books are now in Rathkeltair Central Library.'

'But this is only one book,' said Linda, readjusting herself on her chair.

'Yes.'

'I thought you meant you'd found them all?'

'Not yet, no.'

'Have you found any others in fact?'

'Not so far, no, but, I have deduced-'

'All right, Sherlock Holmes. Have you actually been to Rathkeltair Library?'

'Not as such at the moment, no, but-'

'Right,' said Linda, pushing back in her mock-leather seat. 'Well, Mr Armstrong. An entire stock of books in another library might be a discovery, but one book in another library is what we in the business call an inter-library loan.'

'Ah, but it's not.'

'Not an inter-library loan?'

'No. I've already spoken to the librarian at Rathkeltair on the phone: he says it's an acquisition.'

'Ah.' Linda looked a little sweaty now, Israel thought. But then she always looked a little sweaty. 'Well, yes, I suppose that does complicate matters a little.'

'Someone,' said Israel, with a hint of accusation in his voice, 'is distributing the Tumdrum Library books to other libraries.'

So, this was it. This was his big moment, his J'accuse. This was where Israel revealed the solution to the crime, wrapped things up, and collected his plane ticket out of here. This was where he could do his Hercule Poirot bit. He tried to look Hercule Poirotish.

'Are you all right, Israel?' said Linda.

'Yes, thanks.'

'It's just, you're…It looks as though you're sort of pouting a bit there.'

'Sorry.' It wasn't a pout: it was supposed to be Israel looking pensive. 'Anyway, Linda, I believe I have solved the mystery of the missing library books. I believe, Linda,' he said, prodding his glasses and puffing out his chest slightly in his Eminem T-shirt, 'that it is the council themselves who have stolen the books. I believe,' he said, warming to his theme, standing tall in his too-tight combats and his old brown brogues, 'that the council closed Tumdrum Library and had no intention of ever reopening it. And'-he even raised a finger-'that it is the council who have stolen or hidden the missing library books, which they are now selling or redistributing to other libraries, including Rathkeltair.'

'Israel,' said Linda, with more pity than anger, 'who have you been talking to?'

'I have conducted a number of enquiries.'

'People down at the market?'

'Well. Yes. How did you-'

'Ach, Israel, they're a bunch of hoods down there. Everybody knows that.'

'Yes, but-'

'Was it Trevor?'

'Er.'

'Ach, honestly, Israel. He'd have the cross off a donkey.'

'What?'

'He's always complaining about something. So this is all your evidence?'

'Well. At the moment.'

'Israel…'

'What?'

'Last week you thought it was Ted who'd stolen the library books?'

'Yes. I did. But I was wrong about that. I was just affirming the consequent.'

'You were what?'

'It doesn't matter, it's a technical term.'

'Aye, well, right,' said Linda huffily, 'whatever it is, you can go and affirm your consequent elsewhere. Because frankly your suggestion that we at the Department of Entertainment, Leisure and Community Services are in any way complicit with the theft of the library books is preposterous, ludicrous and, I might add, quite offensive to me personally, as someone who has worked hard to ensure that the mobile library operates successfully, not to mention who has worked hard to have you appointed and remain here as librarian.'

'But-'

'One rogue library book turning up does not solve the mystery of fifteen thousand missing library books, Mr Armstrong.'

'Well…'

'Does it?'

'No. Maybe not, but-'

'So may I perhaps suggest that if you spent more time looking for the books and less time listening to malicious gossip generated by people with nothing better to do than putting pure bad in other people's heads, you might be getting somewhere.'

Linda got up from her seat, gathered up some papers, and made to leave the office.

'But, Linda…' Israel had rather lost the advantage now. He had a headache coming on.

'But nothing, Mr Armstrong. I would be grateful if you wouldn't waste my time in future with your mad conspiracy theories. Now, I trust I shall be seeing you later this evening?'

'Sorry?'

'I had rather thought that's why you'd come here and interrupted me this afternoon-to discuss the reception for the launch of the new mobile library service?'

'The what?'

'You hadn't forgotten?'

'Erm.'

'All the details were in your welcome pack and guide.'

'Ah, right. I'm afraid…actually I lost all that stuff, I'm afraid. I…It was on the Rayburn at the farm, you see, and I…'

Linda was clearly losing interest in Israel's explanation.

'And all my money,' he continued, 'and all my cards and…'

Oh, God. Now he thought about it he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He was going to be condemned to living here for all eternity.

'Your personal misfortunes are no concern of mine, I'm afraid, Mr Armstrong. I do expect you however to attend tonight's reception. It's very important. The lady mayoress is going to be there.'

'But we can't launch the new mobile library service when we haven't got any books!'

'Well, whose fault is it we haven't got any books?'

'Yours?' said Israel.

'Yours,' said Linda, holding up a little fat finger. 'But we shall have to agree to disagree on that particular issue. In the meantime we can't alter the date of the launch. So if you could perhaps get yourself smartened up-I don't want you letting us down. And not a word to anyone, please, about the missing books? And certainly not a word about your pathetic theories? I don't want you embarrassing yourself and us.'

Israel remained silent.

'Mr Armstrong?'

'All right. All right, all right, yes.'

'Good. You'll be expected to say a few words of course.'

'What?'

'Just the usual: what a pleasure and privilege it is, blah, blah, blah. The mobile library is a fantastic community resource, blah, blah, blah. I don't know, whatever it is librarians say. "I love books," you know, something like that.'

'But we haven't got any books.'

'Yes, well, but no one needs to know that, do they?'

'I can't lie.'

'I'm not asking you to lie, Mr Armstrong.'

'Are you not?'

'Ach, no, silly. Just do what other people do at these things.'

'What's that?'

'Pretend.'