Ian Sansom - The Case of the Missing Books

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.