"I've seen him in this library before, I think. His mother leaves him here, right?"
"Yes. Do you know his name?"
His penetrating eyes seemed to know more about her than she did about herself. "No, do you?"
"No."
"Does he have a library card?"
"I don't think so."
"Mmm, we'll have to keep an eye out for him. Let me know if you see him."
"Of course," she said, knowing she wouldn't tell Mr Cheshire anything. She didn't want to talk any more about the little boy. "Did the police show you a photo?"
"Of what?"
"A tattoo on the dead man's arm."
"Oh, yes, a funny tattoo. I didn't understand it. Very strange."
The excitement and stress of the last few hours suddenly caught up with Julia, and she wanted some quiet time to sort through her chaotic thoughts and regain her mental balance. She shrugged. "Anyway, I haven't had lunch yet. I'm going to pop out. Will you hold the fort?"
"Yes, you go. But first ..."
"What?"
"The detectives said they want to talk to Bronwyn. Will you tell her?"
Why was she always the intermediary in this mad house? "Sure, leave it to me."
She stepped into Bronwyn's office and found her boss still surfing the net with a maze-rat gaze. When she relayed what Mr Cheshire had said, Bronwyn just nodded and kept staring at the screen.
Julia headed out the front entrance. Outside, a bright sun sat in a sparkling blue sky. She bought some sandwiches and ate them in a park while pondering Mr Cheshire's angry reactions to Russell wiping his snot on a wall and to Mr Tennyson demanding to borrow a book. She again reminded herself that just because he was odd didn't make him a murderer. On the other hand, it didn't make him innocent either.
Anyway, it was for the cops, not her, to round up the murderer. They had training, forensic labs and huge databases. She was just a junior librarian.
Back at the library, she replaced Mr Cheshire at the borrowing counter and he went to the workroom to do some chores. She was still at the counter two hours later, when Bronwyn returned from talking to the detectives. The Head Librarian was so perturbed that she made a rare visit to the borrowing counter.
Julia said: "How did it go?"
"Oh, lots of stupid, stupid questions."
"What sort of questions?"
Bronwyn recounted the main points of her conversation with the police. Like Mr Cheshire, she provided them with very little help.
Julia said: "Did they mention the little boy?"
"Yep. They think he saw the old guy get killed. They said you tipped them off about that. You should have let me know."
"It didn't occur to me until they interviewed me."
"Well, if the kid did witness the murder, I wouldn't want to be in his shoes. But it serves him right for being nosey." She shrugged. "Anyway, the cops also said they might want to set up a table outside the library and ask patrons for help."
"Oh dear, what did you say about that?"
"I said, no bloody way – that would just scare them off."
"You actually said 'no bloody way'?"
"Yes, I did."
"How did they respond?"
"Got very sniffy and said they had an important job to do. Yada, yada, yada."
"So they're going to set up a table?"
"They said they'd consider their position and let me know." She sighed. "You know, I really wanted to ask why they bother. It's not like someone assassinated the Prime Minister, for god sakes. The old guy was probably happy to be put out of his misery. He wasn't exactly living on champagne and caviar."
"Every life's important, I guess."
A contemptuous stare. "So people say. I don't agree."
Bronwyn wandered away and Julia reflected that her boss was certainly callous enough to be a murderer. But it was hard to imagine her leaving her office long enough, or summoning up the energy, to commit a murder.
Julia vowed to stop suspecting everyone. Give it a rest.
That night, Julia waited until she and her father sat at the dinner table - eating meat pies with steamed vegies - before mentioning the arrival of the detectives and their cataclysmic revelation in Bronwyn's office. That was a mistake because he almost choked on his food. When he'd recovered, he said with watery eyes: "My God - murder. People don't get murdered in public libraries."
"This guy did."
"Who'd murder an old homeless guy?"
"I've got no idea. The cops don't either."
"They've interviewed you?"
"Yes." She described how the detectives interviewed her at the station and she told them why she thought the little boy saw the murder.
"But you don't know the kid's name?"
"Correct."
"Will this be on TV?"
"Probably, in a day or two, when the cops sort themselves out. At the moment, they're getting statements from all the librarians who were there."
Her father tried to stab some pie with his fork, and missed. "You going to work tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"I think you should stay home."
"Why?"
"The killer might strike again."
Despite feeling her father was being ridiculous, she felt a shiver go down her spine. "Dad, nobody wants to kill me - I'll be fine. Everybody at the library will be fine. This was obviously a one-off event, and the Police Station is just around the corner." She was trying to convince herself as much as him.
"How do you know?"
"I just do, OK? The old guy must have annoyed the wrong person. It's got nothing to do with the library or anyone in it. Now, stop talking about this - it's driving me crazy."
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, eating breakfast at the kitchen table, Julia used her tablet to surf the internet for stories about a murder in the Bradfield Public Library. None. Looked like they'd have at least another day of grace before the media pounced.
She arrived at the library, half-an-hour before opening, and found Gary, as usual, sitting behind the borrowing counter, reading a newspaper and swaying to music leaking from his earbuds. She could hardly wait to drop her information bomb on him. As was traditional, she sneaked up and pulled out an ear-bud.
He grabbed his ear and glared at her. "Ouch. You could have injured me. At the least, that was bullying and harassment."
"That didn't hurt, you big sook. You should worry more about going deaf. Nice of you to turn up. We were short-staffed yesterday."
"Not my fault. I was sick."
"You look alright now."
"That's because I was sick yesterday, not today. Check a calendar - you'll work it out."
He obviously knew nothing about the murder. Should she drop the bomb now? No, hold it back and cherish it - listen to it tick - just a bit longer. "God, you're annoying. What was wrong?"
"Upset tummy. Couldn't get out of bed."
He was probably either hung over or stoned, or both.
She said: "Anyone else here?"
"Yes, Mr Misery Guts is in the workroom, doing something or other - probably playing with himself."
She felt a stab of concerning. Maybe Mr Cheshire told Gary what happened yesterday and ruined her fun. No, if he had, Gary would have already blurted it out. "Did you talk to him when he arrived?"
A frown. "He ignored me, as usual."
"So he didn't tell you what happened yesterday?"
"What about yesterday?"
A surge of excitement. She was about to hit his fake cool with a sledge-hammer. There would be a spray of glittering shards. "Oh, the police came back - a couple of detectives."
A smart-arse grin. "Why? To borrow a book?"
Yep, she was really, really going to enjoy this. "Hah, hah, that's quite funny. No, they wanted to talk about the old guy who died a few days ago."
"Why?"
"They found out something interesting about him."
"What?"
"Oh, that he was murder
ed."
Gary went white. "Murdered?"
"Yep."
"Shit no."
"Shit yes."
"You're shitting me?"
"No, I'm not."
"You're fucking kidding?"
"Nope. I'm being fair dinkum - ridgy-didge."
"Murdered?"
"Yes."
He looked for signs she was joking and saw none. "Sheee-it. Who did it? How? Why?"
"Someone strangled him. Cops have got no idea who or why."
"You've spoken to them?"
"Yes. I went over to the Police Station yesterday and gave them a statement. So did Bronwyn and Mr Cheshire. In fact, you'll have to do the same."
The colour returning to his face fled once more. "I've got nothing to tell them. I mean, I was out getting a coffee when you found the body, remember?"
She'd suspected Mr Cheshire of murder because he was a weirdo with anger-management issues. Maybe, out of fairness, she should also suspect Gary because he was also pretty weird and disappeared around the time of the murder. Oh, stop being ridiculous. Gary wouldn't murder anyone. Nor would Mr Cheshire.
She shrugged. "So what? They still want to talk to you."
"What did you tell them?"
"Not much. Just that a little Asian boy found the body and told me about it, and then I called the police."
"Well, I didn't see the boy and didn't see the body."
Why was he so nervous about talking to the cops? Probably because he was nervous about everything. She should listen to herself and stop suspecting him. "OK, but have you ever seen the little boy in here. He's about eight, dark hair, small nose. His mum leaves him here while she goes shopping."
"You kidding? Parents treat this place like a crèche and the only kids who come in here are Asian, because they're the only kids who read books anymore. Anyway, where in Asia does this kid come from?"
"What do you mean?"
"Asia's a big place: China, Japan, Korea, Indonesia …?"
"I think he looked kind of Chinese."
He shrugged. "I don't know who you're talking about. Why does he matter anyway? He just found the body."
The cops could tell Gary that the child probably saw the murder. "I guess you're right."
"When do the cops want to talk to me?"
"Ask Bronwyn, when she gets here."
He scanned the library. "Bloody hell - a murder, here."
"Freaked me out when I heard."
"I bet it did." He frowned. "How come the cops haven't told the news media? It's not on the net."
"They said they'll release the information when the time's right, whatever that means."
"Bet they can't keep a lid on it for long; then the shit will really hit the fan."
The front doors creaked open and Bronwyn strolled in with a small green leather rucksack over her shoulder, already looking tired. She frowned at Gary. "Good of you to turn up."
"I was sick."
"Got a medical certificate?"
"I was too sick to make it to a doctor."
"Really? Julia's told you what happened?"
"Yes."
"Good. The police want to talk to you. Come into my office. I'll give them a call."
"I've got nothing to tell them."
Her eyes boiled. "Look, if I had my way this whole incident would be swept under the carpet: the cops would call it a natural death or suicide, or something like that, and let us get on with our lives. I mean, the guy was a loser and wasn't even a library patron. I don't see why we should be dragged into this. But they see it different, right, so we've got to play along. Hopefully, they'll get nowhere and give up fast."
Julia had never heard Bronwyn speak with such passion about anything. Her boss obviously blamed the old guy for getting murdered and thought she was the real victim. Someone had to speak up for the murderee. Julia said: "The police can't just ignore a murder. His life meant something."
"I disagree. The old bloke probably didn't have long to live. Homeless guys don't survive long. Killer probably did him a favour. So why should we be put out?"
Julia had always suspected Bronwyn was a cold and ruthless bitch, but only had a small stage on which to display those qualities. Now she had a big one.
Gary said: "I agree. The killer should get a prize, and a sizeable reward."
Bronwyn scowled. "I didn't say that. Come on, I'll call the police."
He pulled a silly face. "I want to speak to a lawyer first."
Bronwyn reddened. "Why are you always so fucking stupid about everything? Come with me."
They disappeared into her office, leaving Julia to clear out the overnight chute and check in returns before the library opened.
Ten minutes later, Gary shuffled out of Bronwyn's office. "The cops want to talk to me right away. Wish me luck."
"You'll be fine. Just don't be a clever-dick, OK? This is not a game."
He looked serious for once. "I'll try."
He departed and, a few minutes later, Julia opened the large oak-panelled doors at the front entrance. The library filled quickly and the borrowing counter became so busy that she was tempted to ask Mr Cheshire to come out and help. However, she couldn't face having to make small talk with him.
An hour later, Gary returned, looking unusually sombre.
She said: "How'd it go? They beat you up."
He shrugged. "Nope, just asked a lot of stupid questions. They weren't happy when I said I was getting a cup of coffee when the old guy snuffed it. Asked where I bought the coffee and if I spoke to anyone outside, like I was some sort of suspect. Nosey bastards. Gave me the heebie-jeebies." He frowned. "You think they'll make a big issue out of me sneaking off?"
She would if she was them, but he was stressed enough. "Of course not."
"They also asked about the little boy you mentioned. You didn't tell me he probably saw the murder. I said I didn't know the kid."
"They show you a photo of a tatt with weird writing?"
"Yes. Asked if I knew what it meant."
"Did you?"
"Course not. Looks like gibberish."
"So they've still got no idea who did it?"
"Of course not. But that's no big surprise: those two dumb bastards couldn't find shit in a sewer."
Julia bet they were smart enough to notice his contempt, which was bad news for him.
Gary continued: "I reckon the old guy was a victim of library rage."
"Library rage?"
"Yep. Libraries are the only place in our whole society where people are supposed to shut the fuck up. People come in here, looking for a bit of peace and quiet, and go nuts when they're disturbed. A few weeks ago, a guy was yelling into his mobile and another guy told him to shut up. Then they started throwing punches."
"I didn't see that."
"Think it was your day off. People also push and shove to get on the computers. I reckon the old homeless guy annoyed the wrong person and paid the price."
Julia had seen patrons go bonkers over computer access, but not homicidal. "You told the cops your theory?"
"I mentioned it."
"How'd they react?"
"Didn't look impressed."
"I'm not surprised. It's ridiculous. Thank God you're not investigating this murder."
"You've got a better theory?"
"No, I've got an open mind."
"You mean, an empty one." He shrugged. "Of course, it's also possible an Aboriginal spirit killed him."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"I told you this library was built on an Aboriginal burial site. Maybe the old guy disturbed a dangerous spirit."
"What horseshit. You read too much Stephen King."
"Nothing wrong with Stephen."
"I hope you didn't tell the cops that theory."
"I didn't think they'd understand, not being imaginative types."
"Got that right."
For several hours, Julia and Gary sat at the borrowing counter, dealing with a steady
flow of patrons. Then Julia read a story to a group of noisy school-kids and tried to encourage them to borrow books. Few were persuaded.
Just after three o'clock, she sat alone behind the counter when Bronwyn sallied from her office, face pale, despite heavy rouge. For the second time in two days, she approached the borrowing counter. Her voice quivered. "I just got a call from the police."
Maybe they'd caught the murder culprit. Julia's mouth went dry. "What did they want?"
"Said they're going to issue a press release announcing the murder and asking the public for help. Wanted to give me a heads up."
"Wow."
"Yes, this is a goddamn disaster. We'll be all over the media. Who'll come to this library when they might get murdered?"
Julia thought she was over-reacting. "When are they going to issue the press release?"
"In an hour or so."
"You think the press will turn up, here?" Julia visualised a pack of journalists bursting into the library like baying hounds.
"Probably, but don't talk to them, understand? That's my job. And don't let them set one foot in this library - not one. I'll tell Gary and Mr Cheshire the same thing. Jesus, some silly old bastard gets killed in here, and everything goes to hell." She held up her trembling hands. "Look at me. Now I've got to tell the General Manager. He'll be so pissed."
As usual on a Wednesday, Julia's shift ended an hour before closing time. To her relief, when she scuttled out, she saw no sign of any press. Maybe, if they were lucky, the news media wouldn't show any interest in the murder of a homeless old man.
She was wrong. That evening, she sat on the sofa with her father and watched the ABC Evening News. She'd warned him what was brewing, and they both waited nervously through three news segments until the bouffant newsreader announced that a homeless man was strangled to death in the Bradfield Public Library a few days ago. While he talked, a photo of the deceased taken at the morgue - basically, two dead eyes with a halo of hair - appeared in the top left-hand corner of the screen. Fortunately, he didn't mention that a little boy had to inform library staff there was a dead body on the premises.
The newsreader crossed to a chubby reporter standing in semi-darkness outside the library. The reporter said that the police have no idea why the homeless man was strangled in a quiet suburban library. "Indeed, they still haven't identified the victim and want anyone who recognises him to call Crime Stoppers. This evening, just after the library closed, I spoke to the Head Librarian, Bronwyn Baker."
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