Ian Sansom - The Case of the Missing Books

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.'