The Case of the Missing Books

'If you have to.'

'Yes. I do,' said Israel officiously.

He tried to ring Linda on his mobile phone.

'Erm. Actually, Ted, have you got a mobile phone then? I can't seem to get a signal on mine…'

Israel's conversation with Linda Wei, Deputy Head of Entertainment, Leisure and Community Services was brief and to the point and twenty minutes later she was there.

Ted was sitting outside smoking. 'He's inside,' he said to Linda, factually.

Back home in England Israel would have been at the discount bookshop at the Lakeside Shopping Centre in Thurrock, Essex, by now, maybe getting a morning coffee and a muesli bar from Starbucks, or trading repartee and bon mots with his colleagues, and chatting about the new paperback bestsellers. Instead, he was sitting at the top of the steps of the false staircase in the empty library of Tumdrum, gingerly prodding at the egg-sized bump on his head. Also, he was wondering if he was maybe getting cappuccino withdrawal symptoms. When he got back to London he'd probably have to go into therapy.

'Well,' said Linda, as she waddled in. She was wearing a tomato-red blouson leather jacket.

'No books,' said Israel, coming down the stairs.

'Hmm,' said Linda, producing a crumpled bag of sweets from her pocket. 'Fudge?'

'No, thanks.'

Linda paused and burped. 'Oops. Excuse me. I've got white mice in here as well,' she said. 'Pick'n'Mix.'

'No, thanks. You've not got any headache tablets though, have you?'

'No, what for?'

'For a headache.'

'No. Sorry.' Linda looked in her bag. 'Liquorice?'

'No, thanks.'

'Anyway,' said Linda, 'what's happened to you? Your clothes are-'

'Yes. I had to borrow them.'

'And what happened to your eye?'

'Don't ask-'

'It looks terrible.'

'Yeah. Well-'

'And you know your glasses are a wee bit-'

'Yes, it's-'

'Is that masking tape?'

'Yes, I-'

'And have you bumped your head or something?'

'Yes, Linda. But don't let me bore you with the details. Now about the books?'

Linda popped a liquorice twirl in her mouth. 'Yes. Well,' she said. 'Where have they all gone, I wonder?'

'I don't know,' said Israel. 'I was hoping you could tell me. That's kind of why I called you.'

'Mmm. They're supposed to be here.'

'But they're not,' said Israel.

'No. Ach.'

'"Ach"? What is this "Ach"?'

'Ach?'

'Yes! "Ach!" You all say it all the time. It's…'

'Well, I do apologise,' said Linda, in a way that suggested she was not apologising at all.

'Yes. Well. What do you think's happened to the books? Someone's moved them?'

'Not as far as I'm aware.'

'So, what do you think?' said Israel. 'Someone's stolen them?'

'They must have done,' said Linda seriously, sucking on her liquorice. 'Is there any sign of a forced entry?'

'I don't know. I couldn't see anything. But I'm not an expert. Shouldn't we just call the police? They'll know what to do, won't they?'

'No!' yelped Linda over-excitedly, spraying liquorice spit.

'Sorry?' said Israel, taking a step back.

'No,' she said, more calmly. 'I meant no, that wouldn't be necessary.'

'But-'

'No. I'm sure we can sort this out.'

'But if they've been stolen?'

'I wouldn't think it.'

'But you just said-'

'They might all be out on loan.'

'What, ten thousand books?'

'Our stock is closer to fifteen thousand, actually,' said Linda.

'Whatever. They're hardly all going to be overdue, are they?'

'I don't know. People love reading round here. It's like Iceland.'

'Yes, but they're hardly going to have a hundred books out per person, are they?'

'I don't know.'

'Linda, be serious.'

'Well, maybe not.'

'So you think they've been stolen?'

'I don't know,' said Linda, rather quietly now. 'Maybe.'

'So we need to call the police.'

'No!' yelped Linda again. Israel put his hand up this time to protect himself from the liquorice spray.

'Why not?'

Linda looked furtively around and came and stood close to Israel.

'We need to keep this to ourselves. It wouldn't be good for us-or for you-would it?'

She was very close up to Israel now, almost whispering, her mouth a big black purply maw.

'It was bad enough with the library closing,' she said, looking at him conspiratorially. 'You know your eye does look terrible; it looks worse, close up.'

'Yeah, right. Getting back to the point?'

'Well, you see, if people thought all the books had been stolen…' She lowered her voice even further. 'The council would be seen as…incompetent.'

'I see your problem,' said Israel.

'Our problem, please,' she said.

'Sorry?'

'Our problem,' she said, swivelling round dramatically, in a way that only a fat Northern Irish Chinese lady wearing a red blouson leather jacket and holding a bag of Pick'n'Mix could be said to swivel round dramatically. 'You're the librarian.'

'Yes. But I don't have any books.'

'You're still the librarian.'

'Well, I can't be a librarian until I have some books.'

'Exactly.'

'What?'

'It's your job to get them back.'

'Now hold on, Mrs-'

'Ms, please.'

'Ms?'

'Thank you. We do try to avoid false generics and outdated sexist names, titles and categories as far as possible here at Tumdrum and District Council.'

'What?'

'We're not the back of beyond here, you know.'

'Right.'

'An apology would be fine.'

'An apology?'

'Please.'

'All right. Sorry.'

'Thank you. Anyway, as far as I'm aware, Mr Armstrong, your contract states that as the librarian you are responsible for the books in your care.'

'Yes, but-'

'And I think a very dim view would be taken of you being unable to-'

That was it. That was enough. Israel now went and stood close to Linda.

'No, lady, you just hold on,' he said, with a fierce prod of his glasses.

'Ms, please.'

'Whatever. Whatever. First of all I arrive and there's no library. Then I find I'm being put up by some lunatic in a chicken coop-'

'Oh, you mean George? I forgot to ask. How are you getting on there?'

'Terrible. But that's another issue. Then I find I'm supposed to be driving around in some ancient illegal rust-bucket of a mobile library.'

'How is it?'

'It's falling apart.'

'A lick of paint, I'm sure it'll be fine.'

'No. It's a death-trap. And now I find there's no books for the library.'

'Yes. Well. Not to worry. As long as you get the books back we'll be fine.'

'No. You don't understand. I'm not getting your books back for you. It's not my fault they're missing.'

'Now, don't be silly. No one's saying it's your fault, Mr Armstrong. You really must learn not to take things so personally.'

'I'm not taking it personally!'

'I think you are now.'

'I'm not!'

'You are, sir, actually. You are raising your voice, and you're invading my personal space.'

'Yes, that's because-'

'If you could just step back please. Thank you.'

Israel took a step back.

'Thank you. The council runs courses, actually, for our employees to address these sorts of issues-bullying and etcetera-and you'll doubtless be recommended for an appropriate course when the time comes. But'-and she raised a finger here as Israel was about to speak-'in the meantime you are employed to sort out the problem of the missing books. That's your job.'

'That's not my job!'

'It is, actually.'

'I'm a librarian!'

'Yes. And you need to find your books.'

'No. I'm not Father bloody Brown.'

'There's no need for that sort of sectarian language, thank you.'

'Oh, Jesus Christ!'

'Mr Armstrong!'

'Right. OK. Sorry.'

'Good. So I'll take it that I can leave it with you then.'

'Oh yeah, sure, yeah,' said Israel, exasperated. 'Fine. Yeah. OK. I come all the way over here to this godforsaken hell-hole to play Inspector bloody Morse.'