Peter Helton - Falling More Slowly

‘There’s no CCTV in here, I’m surprised. They’re relying on their alarm system.’ Austin nodded his head at the big security gates that would sound an alarm if anyone tried to smuggle out any items.

McLusky looked morose. ‘You’d need a camera between every two shelves. And you could still drop a biro without it being picked up. And that’s basically our problem. The devices are small and can be delivered any time. We have no idea where this guy picked the biro up but it could have been sitting between a couple of books for ages. His bad luck. Someone else could easily have picked it up, put it in his pocket, carried it around then used it miles from here. And then if he’d died we’d never know. We wouldn’t have a bloody clue where it came from.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Forensics have been less than useless so far.’ He gave the item in the evidence bag one more exasperated look then handed it back to the chief technician, who dropped it into his case.

There was nothing more to do here. He had spoken to Libby Hart, the librarian who had witnessed the incident. She’d barely been coherent enough to make sense and had repeated the same things over and over: how he had just crumpled, how his thumb just disappeared, how it all happened so suddenly.

That was the nature of the thing, you couldn’t very well have a slow explosion. It was clear that the woman was deeply shocked and when it transpired that she lived by herself he had made sure she was accompanied home. If she didn’t settle the officer would know to call a doctor who could administer a sedative. All she probably needed was to talk it out of her system and get some sleep. Sleep … McLusky checked his watch: two in the morning. The discovery instantly provoked a yawn. He turned to Austin. ‘We’re done. There’s nothing here. The woman didn’t know where or when her colleague picked the thing up but if he pulls through and tells us then we’ll try and match the area where it was found with today’s book issues. Yesterday’s, I should say.’

Austin scratched the tip of his nose with the nail of his index finger. ‘Ehm … I’m not sure I follow.’

‘Let’s say it was found in the music section then we’ll check on the library computer to see who took out CDs and interview them, see if they remember anything.’

‘Oh, right. And if the guy doesn’t live?’

‘Then we’ll interview everyone.’

‘Oh joy.’ Austin gave the library, still full of crime scene officers, one last disapproving look and wondered just how many people wandered in and out during a day. He hoped fervently he’d never have to find out.

Later the next day at his desk and dealing with the paperwork that had begun to litter it, McLusky felt he was in hiding from the case. Unlike some CID officers he had known who seemed happy to spend most of their working life behind their desks, it made him feel resentful and guilty. This paper and computer stuff had to be dealt with but sometimes it seemed like it was deliberately designed to keep him away from his work. There was enough red tape in this building to tie the entire station in knots. While being new on this patch had kept the mail and paperwork down — compared to what some of his colleagues were suffering — he knew it wouldn’t take long to catch up with him. He threw his biro down in disgust, looked at it for a moment, then picked it up again, weighing it in his hands. It was the brushed steel biro. He was sure he hadn’t bought it and almost certain it hadn’t been a present. Which meant he had picked it up somewhere. Just like the librarian. It was so easily done. Something as simple as picking up a pen could mean you ended up fighting for your life in intensive care, like Douglas Boon who had a hole in his throat the size of a pound coin where part of the pen’s metal casing had hit. He’d been doubly unlucky. The device had been designed to take the victim’s fingers off. Which it had also done. He had lost part of a thumb and the tips of two fingers.

McLusky reached for the only letter that was not internal mail and slid it open using the biro. It contained a narrow slip of paper, densely crowded with lines, typed single spaced. Randomly capitalized words danced through the text. Before he had taken in a single sentence he knew what he was looking at. It was from him.

He withdrew his hands from the paper as though it was on fire and let it glide on to the computer keyboard. One hand crept across his desk in an unconscious search for cigarettes, the other towards the phone, while his eyes remained nailed to the page.

I am Disappointed to read such Nonsense reported about me in the Paper. I expected Better from an Officer of the Law. If you really think I am mad then you are a very Very Stupid Man. The Madness walks Out there and it is I who Will Stop it. And to this Fight which is a Good Fight I bring a Courage You Cannot Appreciate. I Am Not A Coward. You Are Part of the Problem if you Lie To People About Me. I will not waste Any More Time with you But if you give me More Trouble and Lie to people Again then I will come and Shut you up. I will Shut You all up, and then there will be Quiet Again!

Using the biro and an unopened letter as levers he flipped the page over. Nothing on the other side. It was less than a third of an A4 sheet, typed in a common font.

Bloody hell, did he need a cigarette now. A short and hectic hunt produced only empty packets. The part of his brain not engaged in keying Austin’s mobile number into the desk phone painted scenario after scenario of the future and for once not all of it seemed gloomy. At last Austin answered.

‘Jane, get in here and bring your ciggies.’

‘In where, boss? I’m at the library.’

‘Oh. Thought you were down the corridor. Okay, stay where you are, I’ll find you.’

McLusky only consciously registered that he was driving once he got stuck in traffic for the second green-light sequence at a junction near the harbour. According to an article in the Post it was theoretically still faster to drive in the city if your journey was longer than two miles. Anything shorter and a pedestrian would beat the car. Now he wished he had tried it. For one thing it would have allowed him to buy cigarettes. When at last he had fought his way to the back of the library he parked the car on a single yellow line with two wheels on the pavement. He pushed the groaning door shut, leaving it unlocked. For several seconds he stood, unmoving. Then he opened it again, put the keys back into the ignition for good measure and pushed the door shut once more.

A PC guarded the library entrance. Both lending and reference libraries were still closed to the public while a meticulous search for more hidden devices was under way. McLusky’s footsteps echoed in the stone corridor inside the solid Edwardian building. He found Austin in the lending library checking his notes. The DS had spent his time interviewing all the staff that had turned up for work and drawn a blank.

Austin shook his head in answer to his superior’s raised eyebrows. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary, nobody saw anything or anybody suspicious. No one saw the biro. So what was so urgent? A nicotine crisis?’ He held out his packet of cigarettes and box of matches.

‘Swap.’ McLusky handed him the letter inside a sealed evidence bag. ‘Let’s step into the foyer.’

‘Shit, it’s from him. You got him narked with that article and it flushed him out.’ The DS looked at McLusky in admiration. ‘Did you plan it like that?’

‘What? No. No, nothing as clever as that, I honestly had no idea, I’d never heard of Phil …’

‘Warren.’

‘… Phil Warren, I thought she was just another punter.’

Austin read the note twice. ‘He sounds quite a loon. Look at the capitalization. Odd language, too. You can’t smoke in here, public building.’