Ian Sansom - The Case of the Missing Books

When Israel arrived at the farmhouse for dinner, Mr Devine handed him a note.

'This woman called.'

'Oh.'

'She says to phone her immediately.'

'OK.'

'You seen the paper?'

'No.'

'Here.'

Mr Devine handed him the newspaper. Under the headline there was a photograph of Israel, looking like a tried and guilty Fatty Arbuckle, glass of wine in hand, with the subtitle, 'Israel Armstrong, Tumdrum's new mobile librarian, carousing this week at the launch of the new mobile library service'.

'Carousing?'

'What?' said Mr Devine. 'Caruso?'

'No. No.'

'I like Pavarotti. He's good.'

Israel read the full story.

'Oh, God.'

'He's got awful fat though, hasn't he, the big grumphie.'

'What?'

'Are you all right there, Mr Armstrong?'

'Yes. Fine. I'm fine.'

'Aye, you seem a wee bit distracted, but.'

'Yes.'

'Trouble?'

'You could say that.'

'Cast your troubles upon the Lord.'

'Right. Thanks. I'll maybe give that a go.'

Israel arrived, as requested, at Linda Wei's office an hour later.

For the first time that Israel could remember Linda Wei wasn't actually eating when he saw her: instead, just for a change, she bit his head off.

'What,' she bellowed, 'is this?'

She waved the Impartial Recorder at him. She was wearing a banana-yellow trouser suit with padded shoulders. She looked like an exploding canary. She jabbed her finger on the front page.

'That? Is the front page of the-' began Israel.

'Don't you get smart with me! I have had just about enough of you and your London attitude, Mr Armstrong.'

'No, Linda, hold on, my what?'

'We've been bent over backwards trying to accommodate you ever since you've arrived.'

'No, now, I think you'll find that-'

Linda ignored him and began reading the first paragraph.

'"Local library services are in crisis. Speaking to a source close to the library service, the Impartial Recorder has learnt that all of Tumdrum and District Library's stock of books has gone missing, possibly stolen." So, what happened?'

'What happened with what?'

'Who did you tell about the missing books and the mobile library?'

'Mobile learning centre,' corrected Israel.

'Don't get funny with me, Mister!'

'Sorry.'

'So?'

'I didn't tell anyone.'

'Don't treat me like I'm stupit, Mr Armstrong.'

Israel prodded his glasses and fiddled nervously with the fraying cuff of his brown corduroy jacket.

'So, how did she suck the story out of you?'

'Sorry?' said Israel, rather startled by Linda's turn of phrase.

'You know what I'm talking about. Veronica Byrd.'

'Oh, Veronica. Erm. I don't know. I may have let slip in conversation that there were a few books missing.'

'Let slip? Let slip? I wasn't born yesterday, Mr Armstrong. We know all about the birds and the bees round here, thank you very much. She'll not die in her own bed, that woman.'

'What? Who?'

'The Impartial Recorder's own little Mata Hari. I saw you sneakin' off like a pair of teenagers.'

'Well…'

'Honest, are you soft in the head, man?'

'No,' said Israel, sounding soft in the head. 'I am not soft in the head.'

'Aye, well. They say where there's a Jock there's a Jinny.'

'I'm sorry, Linda, I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Obviously. D'you have any idea how much trouble you've caused here? You're lucky we don't just send you back to where you come from.'

'Well, that would be unfortunate, but-'

'Oh no,' said Linda, wagging her finger. 'Oh no, no, no. It wouldn't, would it? That'd be just what you wanted, wouldn't it? In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't deliberately leaked this to the paper in order to be sacked from your job, Mr Armstrong. I certainly wouldn't put that past you.'

If only he'd thought of that.

'No,' he said truthfully, 'I-'

'So, bearing that in mind, we've decided we're going to let you cool in the skin you het up in.'

'What?'

'We're not going to sack you, Mr Armstrong.'

'Well, I'm-'

'We're going to extend your contract.'

'What?'

'Extend your contract.'

'You can't do that!'

'I think, Mr Armstrong, if you ever bothered to check the small print you'd find that you are expected to fulfil all the duties required of you as Tumdrum's new Outreach Support Officer and that if you don't certain disciplinary procedures and penalties will come into effect, which-'

'You can't do that!' repeated Israel.

'We have done it. And you've signed it.' Linda dangled the contract before him.

Israel's headache had appeared earlier on the horizon of his mind-at exactly the point at which he had entered Linda's office, in fact-and it was now gathering full speed towards him.

'Actually, I've had enough of this,' he said, getting up to leave. 'I'm going.'

'Well, of course, you're free to leave.'

'Good. Thank you.'

'But I'm assuming you have no means of leaving. I think you'll find you haven't received your first month's salary.'

'No, but I've…' He patted his pockets. And he remembered that he hadn't yet replaced his crinkled credit card. Or his debit card. And that he had no money. And that all he currently possessed were the clothes he stood up in, a few books, his black eye and a bump on the head. He quickly tried to draw up a list in his mind of all the people in Tumdrum who might be prepared to sub him the money for his trip back to London. There was no one on the list.

'Er.'

'Now. Sit down then, please.'

Israel sat down.

'Clearly we need to discuss how we can move forwards from here, Mr Armstrong. So, given all of your conspiracy theories-'

'They're not conspiracy theories,' protested Israel weakly. 'They're…hypotheses.'

'Aye, well, given all these weird and wonderful hypotheses of yours, how many books have you actually managed to recover so far?'

'Well, we are still missing…a few,' said Israel.

'How many?' said Linda.

'Er…'

'How many are still missing?'

'I reckon…probably around about fourteen and a half thousand.'

'So you've hardly got any in fact?'

'Well…'

'I strongly suggest then, sir, that you rapidly revise your so-called hypotheses, in the light of the evidence that you're making a sad hash of the whole thing. Or you're going to find yourself with us here forever.'

Israel's headache had now arrived, scooped him up on its back and was thundering away at full gallop.

'Look,' he said, trying a different tack. 'I can't do this on my own, Linda. I need help.' Even Sherlock Holmes had help. Everybody needs help.

'Well, we would of course love to help you, Mr Armstrong,' said Linda, flapping her canary arms, 'but actually, in case you hadn't noticed, you are the person who is supposed to be helping us find the missing library books.'

'But can't we just go to the police now it's all out in the open?'

'I think you'd agree, Mr Armstrong, that would only make matters worse at this stage. And also I have issued a statement to the paper this morning denying that the books are missing-'

'What?'

'And guaranteeing that the mobile library will be up and running by the end of the year.'

'But Linda that's only, what, a couple of weeks away?'

'Indeed.'

'I can't find the books by then.'

'You have to find the books by then, if you want to be going home any time soon. And you're going to look pretty foolish, aren't you, driving around with no books in the back of the van?'

'I can't. No. Sorry. I can't do that. I can't do it on my own, Linda.'

'Well, you could ask Ted to come back and help you out, unless he's still on your Most Wanted list.'

'No, I've eliminated Ted from my…my, er, enquiries.'