A Body in the Bookshop

by Helen Cox

  Evie and Kitt exchanged a look of mild surprise. In their previous dealings with PC Wilkinson, he hadn’t seemed ambitious or even that competent.

  ‘The point is,’ Halloran continued, ‘Ricci has made sure this case hasn’t landed on my desk so there’s not much I can do for Banks at present.’

  ‘Charley seemed to think that Alim’s mum might be masterminding it,’ said Evie, slowly. ‘But there’s no way of approaching her directly after today—’

  ‘And you shouldn’t be even thinking about it,’ said Halloran. ‘She’s connected to some seriously sick individuals and is more dangerous than you know. That said, there are ways and means of trained police professionals acquiring sensitive information, if we really need to.’

  ‘How’s that?’ asked Evie.

  ‘I could pull in a favour with one of the other officers and ask them to run a financial check on Alim’s mother. If they’ve been paid for that job, the likelihood is the money went into her account. Banks probably already thought of this when she was leading the investigation but maybe they delayed paying in the money so it couldn’t be traced back to the crime. If someone else looks into it on my behalf, Ricci won’t see anything untoward if, or more likely when, she checks my computer logs.’

  ‘Won’t you get into trouble if she finds out?’ said Kitt, taking a step towards Halloran. ‘It’s one thing for us to look into things without your help but by pulling a favour like that you’re going against a direct order.’

  Halloran sighed. ‘It’s not ideal, but ever so occasionally these measures are necessary. Like if your superior officer shuts you down over something you’ve got a hunch on. Sometimes, you have to keep things under wraps. I don’t want to make a habit out of it, but I could do it, this once. For Banks.’

  Kitt nodded. ‘Good, because I don’t think I can just stand by and do nothing.’

  ‘Not when there are first edition books to recover,’ said Halloran.

  Kitt smiled a sheepish smile. ‘Now, tomorrow is my Saturday off and since I’m the best person to recover these books – at least from a civilian perspective – I don’t think it would hurt for us to pay a visit to Bootham Bar Books. Find out if they’ve had any visits from rival shop owners or antique dealers lately. If they have, they might have taken the opportunity to case the joint.’

  ‘Case the joint?’ Evie repeated with a smirk on her face.

  ‘I’m not sure the day that you’ve impersonated me without permission to a known felon is the day to poke fun of anything I say.’

  ‘Point taken,’ said Evie.

  ‘Now wait a minute, I thought you might do a bit of research into this but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you two to go straight to the scene of the crime asking questions,’ said Halloran. ‘Ricci might have someone tracking your mobile and dispatch an officer if she sees you approaching the bookshop.’

  ‘Well that’s easily solved,’ said Kitt. ‘We’ll just make it seem like we’re on a book shopping spree rather than going to Bootham Bar Books in particular.’

  ‘And how will you achieve that, exactly?’ asked Halloran, a sparkle glinting in his deep blue eyes.

  Kitt smiled. ‘By visiting every bookshop within the city walls, of course. I’m sure you’ll agree, Inspector, it’s the only way to be safe.’

  Eight

  Evie stifled a yawn as Kitt chatted with the shop owner at Tower Street Books, a small second-hand bookshop just a hop from Clifford’s Tower – or as the tourists knew it, York Castle. This was the seventh bookshop the pair had been in and Evie had forgotten just how long Kitt was able to talk about books for when she met a fellow enthusiast. None of their visits so far could have been described as swift or seemingly that helpful to the inquiry. Everyone thought it was a real shame about the burglary at Bootham Bar Books but nobody had been able to offer any information Evie and Kitt couldn’t have read on the local news websites.

  Kitt’s current conversational partner was a black man called Derek who wore small glasses with oval frames. The hair on his head was snow white and it matched the curly beard that covered his chin from ear to ear. He wore an oversized grey sweater with holes in it here and there and was nodding along to Kitt’s current monologue about her visit to the Cornish town of Fowey, childhood home of Daphne du Maurier.

  Derek picked up a mug of tea, the contents of which looked almost as grey as his sweater, and nursed it in his lap. ‘I’ve never been, myself, long drive to Cornwall from here, but I’ve seen pictures. It’s supposed to be picturesque from what I understand.’

  ‘Oh, it really is just the quaintest place you can imagine. The house Du Maurier grew up in overlooks the river there, and the Jamaica Inn that inspired her book isn’t far away either.’

  Evie smiled to herself. Although a great deal of Kitt’s chatter about books might have been considered unnecessary to their quest, she had found several different ways of working the titles of the stolen books into conversation. In the previous bookshops, once the topic of the stolen books had been raised, they hadn’t hung around long. Kitt had explained she didn’t want to push her luck too much in case she asked the wrong person too many questions – and Evie very much hoped the swift departure policy would be put into effect at Tower Street Books too. The vintage kitten heels she’d put on this morning were starting to pinch her toes, and she could do with a sit down. The shoes were usually more than comfortable, but when deciding what to wear this morning she hadn’t realized Kitt had been literal about visiting every last bookshop in York.

  After eight years of friendship, she should have known better.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve not read Jamaica Inn, actually,’ said Derek. ‘Just Rebecca, My Cousin Rachel and The Scapegoat. She’s got quite a back catalogue to work through, Du Maurier.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ said Kitt. ‘Jamaica Inn is a goodie. Mind you, it’s a sore subject at Bootham Bar Books at the minute.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Derek, not looking directly at Kitt. ‘Terrible business that burglary. It’s put all the bookshops on edge, double-checking they’ve locked the doors at night, looking into alarm systems, and all that. Most of us don’t bother usually – people don’t think of books as worth stealing.’

  ‘I suppose in this case it wasn’t books stolen off the pound shelves out the front,’ said Kitt, picking up a Harlequin romance novel from a nearby shelf and reading the back of it in an attempt to act casual.

  ‘I heard the books were worth £50,000 in total,’ said Evie, trying to do her part in the investigation and also trying to hurry the conversation along so she could rest her sore feet.

  ‘That’s what people are saying,’ said Derek, running his finger around the rim of the mug and still failing to look directly at either Evie or Kitt.

  Kitt narrowed her eyes at Evie, and then returned her attentions to Derek. ‘Whoever did it must have known a bit about the value of those books, and they knew just where to find them.’

  Derek shrugged one shoulder. ‘Probably a burglar posing as a customer. If someone took an interest in my first editions I’d let them take a good look in the hopes of making a sale.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Kitt, but Evie noticed a suspicious note in her voice and she had to admit there was something off about Derek’s manner. ‘I’m sorry to hear it’s put you all on edge. From what I understand from the news the police haven’t made a formal arrest.’

  Derek remained silent.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about the burglary on the grapevine, have you? A person who loves books as much as I do has a special interest in seeing justice dished out.’

  Derek at last looked up at her but still didn’t say anything.

  Kitt put the romance novel back on the shelf and frowned at him. ‘You seem a little quiet today, Derek. Are you worried about something?’

  Derek’s spare hand was tapping the
counter but it didn’t seem to Evie that he was aware of it.

  ‘It’s just a rumour,’ he said after a lengthy pause. ‘I’m not convinced I should repeat it.’

  ‘We’re no gossips,’ said Kitt. ‘You might as well talk to us about it. Whatever it is, it seems to be getting to you.’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ said Derek. ‘I don’t know Donald and Shereen Oakes personally but I know a couple of people in the business who do. And they’ve been concerned for a while about the financial state of their business. They say Donald’s been complaining for a long time about poor takings in the shop.’

  Kitt nodded. ‘It’s not easy for bookshops now, online and all that.’

  ‘Not to mention Brex—’ said Evie.

  ‘Please don’t say that word. Not in my place of worship,’ Kitt said, gesticulating towards the rows of paperbacks surrounding her. ‘I’m sick to the back teeth of hearing about it.’

  ‘You and me both,’ said Derek, shaking his head. ‘But the thing is, in somewhere like York you can do pretty well in high tourist seasons. People are pottering around and spending their holiday money on luxury items – trying to forget the headlines. But all through the summer when most of us were seeing an uplift, Donald was apparently complaining to his friends about a downturn.’

  ‘You heard him say this yourself?’ said Kitt.

  Derek shook his head. ‘I didn’t, like, it was one of the other booksellers in town. I’d rather not say who, they told me in confidence. I don’t know where they heard about it.’

  ‘If business hasn’t been good, this robbery won’t have helped matters, I imagine,’ said Kitt.

  ‘Well, actually they’ll probably be all right one way or another – they were insured for those books,’ Derek said, the whites of his eyes growing wider the longer he fixed his stare on Kitt and Evie.

  Kitt tilted her head to one side. ‘You’re not suggesting . . .’

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ Derek said.

  Evie frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘I think Derek is suggesting Donald and Shereen were behind the burglary,’ said Kitt. ‘Orchestrated the whole thing . . . to get the insurance money?’

  ‘No . . . I don’t know what to think,’ said Derek almost before Kitt had finished her last syllable. ‘As I said, didn’t hear it from Donald or Shereen themselves, not the kind of thing you can just bring up in casual conversation anyway, but there have been rumours.’

  ‘But Donald is such a sweet old man,’ said Kitt. ‘I’ve known him years now.’

  ‘It’s probably not true,’ said Derek with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘It’s town gossip. You know what people can be like for gossip.’

  ‘Yes . . . but just supposing for a minute they did orchestrate it,’ Evie said, thinking about Charley’s point that Alim had no understanding of rare books, ‘they’d be able to tell the burglar which books to take and exactly where to find them.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Kitt. ‘It’s just . . . I’ve been buying off Donald for such a long time I find it hard to believe he’d go this far even if his business was in trouble. It doesn’t seem like the man I’ve come to know. Not at all.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ said Derek.

  ‘No, no, I’m glad you did,’ said Kitt. ‘But you’ll forgive me for hoping it’s not true, and at the same time for being grateful that in any case it hasn’t played out the way it does in all my favourite mystery books, where a spouse is almost inevitably killed off for the insurance money.’

  ‘Aye, we’ve got to be grateful we’re not living Double Indemnity all right,’ said Derek.

  At that moment, the door to the bookshop swung open and a girl with long dark hair, dyed purple and blue at the ends, walked in. After she had closed the door, she grabbed the length of her hair and twisted it around her hand in a sort of awkward gesture.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked Derek, standing from his stool and putting down his mug of tea.

  ‘Vintage sci-fi?’ said the girl. ‘Got any?’

  Derek opened his mouth to speak but Kitt interjected. ‘Oh, you’ll find that down the third aisle over there,’ she said, pointing. ‘There are at least six shelves’ worth for you to look through. And some real classics too.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The girl gave a thin smile before following Kitt’s direction.

  Derek grinned at Kitt. ‘You after a job here, or what?’

  ‘No, sorry, force of habit,’ said Kitt. ‘Helping people find books is what I do.’

  ‘Well, I’d better go and see if I can help any further,’ said Derek. ‘Donald Oakes isn’t the only one who could do with making a few sales.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Kitt. ‘We’ll leave you to it.’

  Evie could almost feel the relief in her toes as Kitt said this. True relief wouldn’t come until the weight had been completely taken off.

  She turned to open the shop door and the moment she did an icy blast blew in. She threw Derek an apologetic look before hopping outside and tightening her scarlet scarf around her neck. Kitt jumped out just behind her and glanced over towards the queue for Clifford’s Tower. ‘Who in their right minds wants to go up there on a day like today?’

  Evie knew Kitt wasn’t expecting an answer. It was part of the local shtick to express a sense of wonderment at the often perplexing behaviour of tourists. The same tourists who bottlenecked the quaint, cobbled street of Stonegate every year, even though York was in no shortage of quaint, cobbled streets if that was what they were after. The same tourists who queued for an hour on a summer Bank Holiday to have lunch at Betty’s Tea Room – delightful as it was, both Kitt and Evie agreed that a sixty-minute wait to even order food was not their idea of a relaxing dining experience.

  ‘All right if we sit down for a scone somewhere? My shoes are starting to pinch.’

  Kitt glared at Evie’s feet. ‘I thought those were your comfortable shoes.’

  ‘They are,’ said Evie. ‘But we have walked quite a distance between here and Micklegate, you know? And we’ve been standing for hours.’

  Kitt looked at her watch and gave a firm nod. ‘All right, yes, let’s stop before we go on to Bootham Bar Books. I could do with a cuppa and I . . . I’ve got something I need to talk to you about anyway.’

  Evie looked at Kitt sidelong. ‘What?’

  The librarian shook her head. ‘I can’t talk to you about it without a cup of Lady Grey in hand.’

  ‘Sounds serious,’ said Evie, frowning at her friend, but Kitt’s expression offered no clues at all.

  Nine

  Due to Evie’s protests about how far they had already walked, Kitt headed straight to the silver service tea room opposite Clifford’s Tower called, rather quaintly Evie thought, Tea by the Tower. The interior was just as sweet as its name. It was wallpapered in white and pink candy stripes, had a small vase of silk white roses on each table and a large sign hung near the door that read: Tea Junction: Give Way to Biscuits. Evie found puns almost as irresistible as innuendo and thus couldn’t help but smile at this. Kitt had once passed a comment that given her sense of humour Evie would get on well with William Shakespeare but somehow, even though Shakespeare was one of the most revered writers in the English language, Kitt had managed to make this sound much more of an insult than a compliment.

  No sooner had Evie and Kitt ordered a cup of tea and a scone apiece than Evie raised her eyebrows at her friend and fell silent, waiting.

  ‘Shall we not wait until the tea arrives?’

  Evie gasped. ‘You must be joking. You’re not keeping me in suspense any longer.’

  Kitt’s jaw tightened. ‘It’s you, lady, who’s been keeping me in suspense.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, something was bothering you the other night, and with Ricci’s visit and our investigations, I’ve not had ti
me to find out what’s going on with my best friend in the world.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Evie. Tiny chills prickled all along her arms. She had forgotten she had given away that anything was even wrong.

  ‘Yes, come on. Out with it. I won’t have you struggling with something on your own like this,’ said Kitt.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about really, it’s just about my job at the salon. I don’t think I can keep doing it.’

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Evie. ‘This.’ She pointed at her face, or more specifically to her scars.

  Kitt tilted her head in the same manner as a dog trying to decipher its owner’s words. ‘Are they painful?’

  ‘Not physically,’ said Evie, staring down at her hands, ‘but in so many other ways, yes. I just . . . I don’t think I can keep working in the beauty industry when I look like this.’

  ‘Oh Evie, you don’t really feel that way?’

  Evie glanced back up at her friend. ‘You should see some of the looks I get from customers. And those who can control it, I know deep down what they’re thinking.’

  Kitt blinked as she took in what Evie had just said.

  ‘Tea and scones, ladies?’ said the waiter, appearing without warning at their table before taking an inordinate amount of time to set out each item of crockery and cutlery.

  ‘But you love your job. Love making people feel better about themselves,’ Kitt said, once the waiter had whirled away to talk to an American tourist who wanted to know if the tiny pots of jam they used were for sale to customers.

  ‘I used to. But that was when I felt pretty good about myself. I mean, at least on the outside. Now I’m . . . well, look at me.’

  ‘I am,’ said Kitt, her brow furrowing as she concentrated hard on her friend’s face. ‘I don’t see anything so disconcerting as you’re suggesting.’

  ‘I think some of the other staff members want me to quit too.’

  ‘They’ve said this to you?’