The Book Stops Here: A Mobile Library Mystery

by Ian Sansom

  Ted did not look amused.

  'I say Fiat. Toyota might do you just as well. Nice little Ducato maybe?' He pointed over to another white van.

  'It's got to be a Bedford,' said Ted.

  'Right. You sure?'

  'I'm sure,' said Ted.

  'Well, now. I'm not saying here that we couldn't get you a Bedford. But just at the moment…You collectors or what?' said Barry.

  'We're librarians actually,' said Israel.

  'Come again?'

  'Librarians.'

  Israel thought that Barry's face coloured slightly at the mention of the word 'librarian' and that perhaps he twitched nervously inside his cheap suit with its expensive-looking lining. But then twitching nervously in the presence of a librarian wasn't an uncommon response—librarians, like ministers of religion, and poets, and people with serious mental health disorders, can make people nervous. Librarians possess a kind of occult power, an aura. They could silence people with just a glance. At least, they did in Israel's fantasies. In Israel's fantasies, librarians were mild-mannered superheroes, with extrasensory perceptions and shape-shifting capacities and a highly developed sense of responsibility who demanded respect from everyone they met. In reality, Israel couldn't silence even Mrs Onions on her mobile phone when she was disturbing other readers on the van.

  'Librarians?' Barry was saying. 'Librarians. Well. I've got to hand it to you, on that one you might just have caught me out. That may be a Britton no-can-do, boys. Library vans. No. I don't think we've had a library van at all. We do commercial, that's it.'

  'We didn't say we were looking for a library van,' said Ted.

  'No?' said Barry. 'I thought your mate here said—'

  'I said we were librarians,' said Israel.

  'Right,' said Barry, whose face was beginning to resemble the colour of his expensive lining. 'Yeah. Well, you know, I just put two and two together?'

  'Aye,' said Ted. 'Right. And what d'ye come up with?'

  'Four,' said Barry, hesitating for a moment.

  'Correct,' said Ted. 'So the thing is, we heard you did have a library van.'

  Barry shook his head. 'No. I don't know who you heard that from.'

  'A mutual acquaintance,' said Ted.

  'Oh, right! I see,' said Barry, seizing back the opportunity to be smart. 'Mutual acquaintance, is it?' He gestured with his thumb at Ted and spoke to Israel. 'He's hilarious, isn't he, your mate?'

  'Is he?' said Israel.

  'Now, not being funny, right, but I doubt very much we have any mutual acquaintances: I am very choosy, acquaintance-wise.'

  'Me too,' said Ted.

  'Ha!' Barry laughed, patting Ted on the back. 'So, anyways, gents, there's plenty of other vans for you to look at, if you're interested, otherwise you'll understand I've got a—'

  'We want the library van,' said Ted.

  'Ah! He's a joker, isn't he?' Barry said to Israel. 'Sorry. I explained. We haven't got a library van.'

  'We want the library van,' repeated Ted.

  'Right. Hello? Sorry,' said Barry, gesturing to Israel and tapping his finger against his forehead. 'I don't mean to be rude here, Grandad, I don't know if your hearing's right. Is his hearing right?'

  Israel nodded in confirmation.

  'Is it?' continued Barry. 'Because what I just said was, we don't have a library van, all right?' Barry wasn't smiling now. Barry was frowning. 'I don't know how you've ended up here, boys, but I think someone's been winding you up.' He turned to Israel. 'I think you need to take your old man home here, before he—'

  'Come on, Ted,' said Israel, turning to leave.

  Barry Britton was already walking away.

  'Hughie Jones sent us,' said Ted.

  Barry turned back.

  'DCI Hughie Jones?'

  'Aye.'

  'Really? How do I know Hughie sent you?'

  'He said to remind your father not to miss the Masonic meeting next week.'

  'Right,' said Barry, eyeing Ted and Israel up and down. 'You do know Hughie then? Are you police?'

  'We're friends,' said Ted.

  Barry hesitated. 'All right,' he said. 'So what's your interest in the van?'

  'It's our library van. And we want it back.'

  'Ah!' said Barry. 'We'd better go and speak in private.'

  They went up some steps to Barry's Portakabin on stilts. Inside, Barry settled himself down behind a large wood-laminate desk. The window behind him showed blue sky.

  'So how do you know Hugh?' said Barry, rocking back on his chair.

  'He's a friend of a friend,' said Ted.

  'All right,' said Barry. 'Friend of a friend. So what do you know?'

  'You and Hugh have an understanding.'

  'That's right. We have an understanding. I scratch his, and he—'

  'Scratches yours?' said Israel.

  'Correct,' said Barry nervously. 'And I know Hugh wouldn't send me any time-wasters.'

  'Good,' said Ted. 'We won't waste your time then. Where's our van?'

  'Hold on,' said Barry, leaning forward.

  'We know you've got the van,' said Ted.

  'I don't actually,' said Barry.

  'Oh, really?' said Ted.

  'Yes. Really.'

  'Where d'you get it from?'

  'Ha!' Barry spoke again to Israel. 'He's hilarious, your mate, isn't he? I'm running a business here. I don't go around telling everyone where we source our vehicles.'

  'Who stole our van? Did you steal it?'

  'Steal it? Stole it? No, no. I don't know what Hugh told you. I wouldn't be dealing with stolen vehicles. That'd be illegal. We source vehicles for people. Like special acquisitions.'

  'I want to know who stole our van,' said Ted.

  'I can't tell you, mate, sorry. I don't have that sort of information.'

  'So what can you tell us?' said Israel.

  'About the library van?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, look, because you're friends of Hugh's, I can confirm that we were recently in possession of an ex–library van.'

  'Great!' said Israel.

  'But,' said Barry, 'it's been sold.'

  'Sold? It couldn't have been sold,' said Israel.

  'Why not?' said Barry. 'They're very popular, PSVs. Paki wagons, we call 'em.'

  'Right,' said Israel.

  'All these immigrants, they love 'em. Get the whole family in there, you know, or the mosque, whatever.'

  Israel tutted.

  'I speak as I find, mate,' said Barry.

  'Who'd ye sell it to?' said Ted.

  'To whom did I sell it?' said Barry.

  'Yes,' said Ted.

  'Look, I'm sorry, Grandad, I can't tell you that.'

  'Why not?' said Israel.

  'Well. Put it this way—that is what you might call commercially sensitive information.'

  * * *

  At which point Ted calmly reached a hand into his pocket—Israel winced, foreseeing violence—and took out his wallet. Ted took a wad of notes from the wallet and placed them carefully on the desk in front of Barry Britton.

  'We'd like to buy some of your commercially sensitive information,' said Ted.

  'Well, well,' said Barry. 'Let's have a little look here, shall we?'

  Barry began counting the money: five hundred pounds in twenty-pound notes.

  'You know this is more than the van's worth, do you? I mean, it's scrap, basically.'

  'It has sentimental value,' said Ted.

  'There's very little room for sentiment in this life, my friend,' said Barry, wagging his finger at Ted, and patting the pile of notes with the other. 'That's one of the lessons you learn in business.'

  'Who bought the van?' said Ted.

  'All right, I'm just getting to that. Let me think…Er…Ah, yes!' he said. 'The library van! Now I remember. It was some travellers what bought it.'

  'Travellers?' said Ted.

  'Yeah. I've done a few bits of business with 'em. They're all right, actually. Once you ge
t over the smell and that: women more disgusting than the blokes really. They're not badlookin', some of 'em. But the state of 'em, you know. They'd have to pay you, if you know what I mean.'

  'Where are they?' said Ted.

  'The old dreadlocks and that. Dogs on string.'

  'Where are they?'

  'The travellers? They're based out in Essex somewhere. Out round Harlow, I think. Epping. I don't know.'

  'Where's that?' said Ted.

  'I know where that is,' said Israel.

  'Good, well. There you are then, boys, that's you sorted. Thank you very much.' Barry got up to usher them out.

  'Essex is quite a big county,' said Israel. 'Could you be a bit more specific?'

  Barry sighed. 'Look, boys, I can understand you're keen to get a hold of your van, but these characters are not the sort of people who leave behind their business card, if you know what I mean.'

  'So you can't be any more specific?' said Israel.

  'Well, I dunno. I probably could…Under the right circumstances.'

  'Can't you just tell us where they are?' said Israel.

  'That sort of information might cost extra, mightn't it?' said Barry, sitting back down expectantly at his desk.

  'Extra?' said Israel.

  'Knowledge is power, gents, as I'm sure, you know, you librarians can appreciate. Power, you see. Knowledge. Two things. And you don't get the one…without the other. So it's got to be worth it to me.'

  Ted had made his way slowly round Barry's desk, to where he was sitting.

  'Is it information worth me not breaking your fucking neck for, you piece of shit?'

  'Yeah, ha! All right, Paddy, calm down,' said Barry.

  * * *

  If he'd had the good sense to ask, Israel would have been able to tell Barry not to use the 'P' word, but it was too late.

  Ted had grabbed Barry Britton by the lapels of his cheap suit and had jerked him up violently out of his seat.

  'What did you call me?' he said.

  'Get off! You fucking—'

  'I said, what did you call me?'

  'Oi!'

  Barry was struggling to break free from Ted's enormous grip.

  'Nothing!' said Barry. 'I didn't call you—'

  'You said something.'

  'Fuck off!' said Barry, spitting his words into Ted's face.

  Before Israel could intervene Ted had leaned forward and head-butted Barry, and there was a crunch like the sound of a hammer cracking a sheet of nutty slack.

  Israel leaped round the desk.

  'Ted! What the hell are you doing!' he said, grabbing hold of Ted's arms and pulling him back.

  'Ah! Fuck!' yelled Barry, cupping his hands under his nose, as blood poured down his face. 'Fuck! You've broken my fuckin' nose!'

  'Good,' said Ted, straining to release himself from Israel's grasp. 'And I'm going to break yer fuckin' arm next, ye gobshite. So what did ye call me?'

  'Nothing!'

  Ted freed an arm from Israel's grip and gave Barry an open-handed slap around the head, with force so strong it might have made him deaf.

  'Ted!' yelled Israel. 'Stop it! Leave him alone, for God's sake. Come on.'

  But Ted was in no mood to be pacified. He had his other arm free now and both hands round Barry's throat.

  Israel was attempting to prise the two men apart.

  'Stop it!' screamed Israel.

  'What did you call me?' said Ted.

  'Paddy!' whispered Barry, his eyes bulging.

  'Ted!' said Israel. 'Leave him!'

  'Sorry?' said Ted, speaking to Barry, relaxing his grip slightly. 'I can't hear ye?'

  'Paddy!' said Barry again weakly.

  'That's right,' said Ted. 'You called me Paddy.'

  'Ted!'

  'This doesn't concern you,' said Ted to Israel. 'So what do you say?'

  'What?' said Barry.

  'What do you say?'

  'Sorry?' said Barry, starting to cry.

  'Was that a sorry?' said Ted.

  'Yes,' said Barry.

  'Good, thank you,' said Ted, releasing his grip on Barry Britton, and picking up his own money from the table. 'Next time, I'll punch your fucking teeth down the back of your fucking throat, you fucking English racist bastard.'

  Barry Britton was sobbing now.

  'You're crazy,' he said to Israel. 'You bastards. You're both…'

  'Look,' said Israel, 'I'm really, really sorry.' He put an arm round Barry's shoulder. 'Do you want me to get you some tissue or—'

  'Fuck off!' said Barry.

  'Where are they?' said Ted.

  'Who?' said Barry.

  'The people who've stolen my van!'

  'I don't know,' said Barry.

  Ted went to kick him.

  'Ted!' yelled Israel.

  'Ongar!' said Barry. 'Somewhere near Ongar!'

  'Whatter?'

  'Ongar! Near Harlow!'

  'You ever heard of it?' said Ted.

  'No,' said Israel.

  'Are you lying to me, you wee shite?'

  'No!' said Barry.

  'You'd better not be,' said Ted. 'Because I'll be back.'

  'Ted! Leave him!' said Israel. 'Come on.'

  * * *

  It was then, on the way back to Israel's mum's car, that the real argument began.

  'What the hell was that about?' said Israel. 'Are you completely out of your fucking mind?'

  'Don't you dare use that sort of language with me!' said Ted.

  'Don't you dare correct my fucking language! You nearly killed a bloke back there!'

  'I did not nearly kill him.'

  'Yes, you bloody did! You broke his fucking nose, and if I hadn't pulled you off God knows what would have happened.'

  'I just don't like people calling me Paddy,' said Ted.

  'Paddy! He just called you a name, that was all.'

  'Yeah, but not Paddy.'

  'Why not?'

  'I don't like it, that's all.'

  'You're a fucking grown man, Ted! You're not a kid.'

  'I just don't like it.'

  'Oh, grow up!' said Israel.

  'No, you grow up,' said Ted.

  'I'm not going to be doing this with you if you're going to be throwing your weight around,' said Israel.

  'So how else are you going to do it?'

  'I don't know. By our…Powers of…We just…Not by punching people!'

  'I didn't hurt him,' said Ted.

  'You broke his bloody nose!'

  'That'll mend.'

  'I'm serious, Ted. You're going to end up putting someone in hospital, or ending up in hospital yourself if you carry on like this. And I'll report you to the police.'

  'Aye,' said Ted.

  'And then how would we get the van back. Huh?'

  'I don't know,' said Ted. 'But I do know we're out in the big bad world now, and I want my van back, and I will do whatever I need to do to get it back.'

  'Well, all right, Arnold Schwarzenegger, I want the van back as well, but next time don't be getting carried away like that. Jesus! You're a fucking embarrassment. I've never seen anything like it…'

  'Yeah? Well, mebbe ye need to get out more in the real world, and mebbe next time, ye'll keep yer mouth shut and don't be entermeddling.'

  'Entermeddling?'

  'Aye.'

  'God! Believe me, Ted, I have no intention of entermeddling with you.'

  'Good.'

  'Right then.'

  'Aye.'

  'Oh, yes, actually, and while we're at it, you can stop entermeddling with my mother, all right?'

  'What?' said Ted.

  'Keep your hands off my mother,' said Israel.

  'I wouldn't lay a finger on yer mother.'

  'I'm serious, Ted. You mess around with my mother, and you will…have me to answer to.'

  'Is that a threat?' said Ted, as Israel unlocked the car and they opened the doors to climb in.

  'Yes,' said Israel hesitantly.

  'Now I'm scared,
' said Ted.

  'Well, so you should be,' said Israel, and then, 'Aaggh!' he said. 'What's that smell? Ugh. That bloody dog!'

  Muhammad sat innocently on the white leather interior.

  12

  Gloria still hadn't phoned. Or texted. Or indeed turned up, wearing perfume and a smile, bearing gifts and profuse apologies.

  But then why should she?

  She was probably away. She was busy.

  And if she wasn't away? Maybe it was his fault? Maybe she was annoyed with him, staying at his mother's. But he'd not had time to go to their flat since he'd arrived, since the van had been stolen; it'd been absolute chaos, mayhem, utterly bonkers. He thought she might have understood that. But maybe she didn't.

  He was confused.

  He had a headache.

  He rang again.

  No answer.

  Oh God.

  Food. That was the answer. Food is always a great consolation in such circumstances, Israel had always found. He'd often turned to food in such circumstances in the past. When he and Gloria had argued in the past, for example, he'd usually find a way to slip out for a Chinese takeaway, or at least something from the corner shop—a packet of Pringles, at least: it was his version of therapy. It was always there for you, food. Everywhere, and always the same. A meal was a meal was a meal. And you couldn't say that about a therapist. Or a girlfriend.

  They'd driven back to his mother's in silence, Israel and Ted, both shocked, and depressed, and irritated and annoyed by their encounter with Barry Britton. Ted said he needed time to prepare for their trip to Essex to find the van.

  'What do you mean prepare?' said Israel.

  'Prepare,' said Ted.

  Israel imagined hunting gear and weaponry.

  'We're not taking any weapons though, right?'

  'Of course we're not taking any weapons, ye eejit; we're not the feckin' SAS.'

  To prepare himself for going to Essex, Israel knew that he should probably have been doing yoga, napping and eating a freshly prepared salad, some steamed fish, and drinking some extract of wheatgrass, but he decided instead he'd be better off going to Grodzinski's for some cheesecake and an espresso. He rang round trying to rustle up a few old friends, managed to rustle up a couple and arranged to meet up with them to kibitz and to help him try to get his head together. Maybe they could brainstorm on what to do about the van. And Gloria. He needed help. He needed to reconnect.