Overdue Item

by Peter Menadue

  "Hi, I was just strolling past, and thought I'd drop in and thank you for hosting the Author Talk the other night. I really enjoyed myself. It was great to meet some of my readers. Quite exciting really."

  That was surely an exaggeration. "I'm glad. I think everybody had fun."

  He shuffled. "Including you?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "That's good - good."

  She smelt aftershave laced with fear. Oh, Christ. Was he about to hit on her? She hoped not. Apart from being over forty and no oil painting, he was arrogant and wrote repulsive novels. She also had to climb to the summit of Mount Trouble in the next few days.

  His shoulders twitched and he glanced down. "Anyway, I was wondering if we could - when you're not too busy - have lunch or coffee, or something like that. Of course, only when you're not too busy."

  She often got propositioned by library patrons, some old enough to be her grandfather. Their frequency had coarsened her response. "I'm afraid I'm very busy right now, so I don't have time for lunch or coffee."

  A frown. "Are you sure. Maybe just coffee?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "I could pop back in a week or two."

  Having ignored a big hint, he'd asked for it. "Best not. I also have a partner - a female partner - who might not approve."

  He looked crestfallen. "Oh, that's bad news."

  She proudly squared her shoulders. "I am what I am."

  "Of course, of course. Well, I'll see you around."

  As he wandered out of the library, Detective Sergeant Cochrane and Detective Dryden passed him on the way in.

  Their appearance pushed her heart over a cliff. What the hell did they want? They obviously weren't here to borrow a book. Maybe they had discovered 'Mr Cheshire' was a murderer and wanted to arrest him. She prayed that was so and she wouldn't have to point the finger of blame.

  As the detectives veered towards her, her jumbled mind focused rather strangely on their nasty suits. If dressing badly was a criminal offence, they'd both be behind bars.

  Detective Dryden said: "Is Mr Clarke here?"

  Gary? Why on earth did they want to see him rather than Mr Cheshire? Shock loosened her tongue. "Why do you want to see him?"

  A hard stare. "Is he here?"

  "Yes. I think he's in the Young Adult's Section, shelving some books."

  "Where's that?"

  She pointed. "Over there."

  "Good, we'll find him."

  "Why do you want to talk to him?"

  The two cops ignored her, went over to the Young Adult's Section, disappeared behind some bookshelves and had an indistinct conversation with Gary. What the hell was going on?

  "What's happening?"

  She turned and saw Tom Birkett just behind her. "Not sure. The cops are talking to Gary."

  "Why?"

  "Don't know."

  She had just started edging towards them when they all emerged with Detective Dryden leading Gary.

  She said: "What's happening?"

  Gary, looking deathly pale, bit his lip. "I won't be long, I think."

  Detective Dryden said: "We've got a few more questions to ask Mr Clarke - just routine."

  Bullshit. Gary was obviously in a lot of trouble. Surely they didn't think he was the murderer. He was a smart-arse and a slacker, but no killer, and she knew - really knew - that 'Mr Cheshire' was responsible.

  She was about to tell them what she'd discovered about 'Mr Cheshire', when he emerge from the workroom and stood next to a couple of patrons, observing events.

  Shit. Missed her chance. She'd have to talk to the cops later.

  The detectives and their quarry disappeared out the front entrance and she realised she'd stopped breathing. Hell. She sucked in a lungful of air.

  Tom Birkett said: "What do they want to talk to him about?"

  "No idea."

  "Hope he's alright."

  "So do I."

  'Mr Cheshire' approached. "What's going on?"

  Julia was so upset about what happened to Gary that it was easy to sound natural with 'Mr Cheshire'. "The cops have taken Gary away for further questioning."

  "Why?"

  "They didn't say."

  A ghoulish smile. "He must be in trouble."

  "I don't think so."

  "Maybe they think he kill the old man."

  She wanted to leap onto the nasty, murderous prick and scratch his eyes out. "I'm sure they don't."

  'Mr Cheshire' shook his head. "I'm not surprised. Gary is a very silly boy. You know, I thought he might be the one."

  "The one what?"

  "The murderer."

  'Mr Cheshire' had a horrible expression on his face which indicated delight. She desperately wanted to slap his face and accuse him of murder, but restrained herself. Be patient. "We will see, we will see."

  When everybody had dispersed, Julia considered chasing after the detectives to tell them what she knew about 'Mr Cheshire'. But they would think she was trying to save Gary's hide. She'd better wait until Gary returned and then work out what to do. Indeed, Gary might convince them he had nothing to do with the murder. That would give her more breathing room.

  She glanced over at the door of Bronwyn's office and saw it was still closed. Should she tell her what had happened to Gary? No, it wasn't her job to be Bronwyn's eyes and ears. If her boss wanted to keep her door shut all day, she had to wallow in ignorance.

  Julia missed her lunch break and hung around on tenterhooks for two hours until Gary returned. She was re-arranging the magazine rack, and keeping an eye on the entrance, when he re-entered, looking like he'd lost a pint of blood. No sign he'd convinced the cops he was innocent.

  She hurried up to him. "What happened?"

  He shuddered and croaked, "I'm in deep, deep shit."

  She glanced around, to make sure no co-workers were looking, and shoved him towards the small storage room. "In there."

  Julia pushed him through the door and shut it behind her. Three walls had metal racks lined with boxes. No chairs, so they had to stand.

  She said: "What's going on?"

  He looked like he was left in the rain and shrunk. "I'm in so much fucking trouble."

  "Why?"

  He leaned back against a rack, ready to cry. "They seem to think … to think … I killed the old guy."

  "Bullshit. Why?"

  "You know how I popped out just before you found the body?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, at the first interview, I told the cops I ducked out to get a cup of coffee."

  "That's what you told us."

  "I know. Anyway, the cops asked me where I got my coffee and I told them the Coffee Shoppee, 'cos that's where I usually get it."

  "You didn't?"

  "Correct."

  "And they know that?"

  "Yes. The cafe's got a security camera. They looked at the film and saw I didn't go there."

  "Damn. Where the hell did you go?"

  "I slipped around the back of the library and had a toke."

  That sounded very plausible. "Idiot. Why didn't you tell them that?"

  "I thought they might arrest me."

  "For smoking dope?"

  "Yes."

  "Fool. Lying to the cops for no reason is pretty dumb."

  "I know that now."

  "So you set them straight, right?"

  "Of course."

  "What did they say?"

  "Said they didn't believe me."

  "Bloody hell."

  His lower lip trembled. "Now they think ... think … I killed the old guy."

  "They said that?"

  "No. But they asked me lots of questions - like why I dropped out of uni and what clothes I wore the day he died - that made it bloody obvious what they're thinking. Shit, I can't remember what clothes I was wearing. Can you? I told them it didn't matter because Mum would have washed them already. They looked bloody happy to hear that - not."

  "How did your chat finish?"

  "
I got scared and said: 'You don't think I'm the killer, do you?'"

  His grace-under-pressure score was zero.

  "What did they say?"

  "Didn't answer. Stone-cold silent. Then one of them - the fat guy - said they'd want to talk to me again and I shouldn't go anywhere without telling them."

  "He actually said that?"

  "Yes. It was like a cop show. He was obviously trying to frighten me, and did an ace job." Several tears rolled down his cheeks. "Bloody hell, I didn't murder the old guy - I really didn't."

  Gary didn't deserve to be terrorised like this. She already knew 'Mr Cheshire' murdered the old guy. However, because Gary was usually super-cocky, she rather enjoyed seeing him knocked down a couple of pegs. You obviously never really know someone until they're accused of murder. She said: "I know, I know. They obviously can't find the real killer and want to pin it on you. That won't work."

  He looked unconvinced. "It won't?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  She wanted to reveal what she'd discovered about 'Mr Cheshire'. However, she'd better tell the police first. "You had no motive and the cops have no witnesses - nothing. Don't worry."

  "Easy for you to say."

  The fear on his face said it was time for her to see the police and put 'Mr Cheshire' in the firing line. She shrugged. "Look, I've got to pop out. I'll probably be gone for an hour or so."

  He looked ready to cry again. "Don't leave me on my own."

  "Don't worry, I'll be back, I won't be long - I guarantee that."

  "You promise?"

  She put her hand on the door knob. "Yes. Now, suck it up - you'll be fine, I promise."

  Despite feeling she could have expressed that more delicately, she strolled around to the borrowing counter, where she found Tom Birkett renewing an old lady's library card. He handed it back and she waddled off, a prisoner of his charm. Julia stepped behind the counter and slumped onto a stool.

  He tried to sound casual, without success. "I see you've been chatting with Gary."

  My, what big eyes he had. "Yes."

  "Did he tell you what happened at the Police Station?"

  For the first time, he was annoying her. "Oh, the detectives wanted to clear up a few things. He sorted everything out."

  Gary wandered past them and into the workroom, looking like his best friend had just died in his arms.

  Tom Birkett's watched him and raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

  She felt peevish. "Yes. If you want to find out more, talk to him yourself."

  "I don't think Gary likes me very much."

  "Sorry to hear that. Anyway, time for me to go to lunch. Will you look after things here?"

  "Of course."

  Julia left the library and headed for the police station. The duty sergeant at the front counter was now a stocky woman with brown hair in a bun. Julia stated her name and asked to speak to Detective Dryden.

  "Why do you want to see him?"

  Her mouth was dry and palms wet. She lashed her lips with her tongue. "I have some information about the murder at the library."

  After a hard stare, the police officer picked up a phone and explained to Dryden that Julia Schmidt wanted to talk to him about "the library murder".

  She listened briefly and put down the phone. "Go straight up the stairs. He'll see you at the top."

  She went up the same stairs as last time and found Dryden, wearing a white shirt and green tie, waiting for her. A big pistol sat on his hip.

  A curious look. "Hi, how can I help?"

  Her tongue was now pumice. "Umm, I think I know who killed the old guy."

  He showed far less excitement than she'd hoped. "Really?"

  "Yes."

  He crossed his arms. "We think we already know who did it."

  "I know - I just spoke to Gary - and I think you're dead wrong. You're making a big mistake."

  "How come?"

  "I know a lot of stuff you don't know."

  "You mean you've been snooping around?"

  "Ah, no, I stumbled on some important information."

  "Oh? Then who do you think killed the old guy?"

  She'd never accused someone of murder before and had trouble talking. Any words that ventured onto her tongue got mugged by second thoughts and tossed down the back of her throat. "I ... I ... I ... think ... think it was Mr Cheshire."

  The detective raised his eyebrows and studied her closely. "The bald guy you work with?"

  "Y ... y ... yes."

  "Why?"

  "That's what I've got to tell you - it's a long story."

  A hard stare. "You're a good friend of Gary Clarke, aren't you?"

  Now she was pissed off. "Yes, I am a good friend of Gary, but that's not why I think Mr Cheshire killed the old guy. Do you want to listen?"

  After a long pause, he nodded. "Alright. I was hoping I wouldn't have to do any more typing today. Follow me."

  He led her into the small interview room they occupied the last time, and got her to sit down facing him. "Alright, why do you think this Cheshire guy dun it?"

  She had to be frank with this guy - up to a point. "Well, to be honest, I've always thought he was a bit spooky and, after the murder, he got even spookier. So I decided to check him out. I called up the library where he worked - or, I thought he worked - in Manchester, England."

  The detective puts his hands behind his neck and rocked back. "How'd you find out he worked there?"

  She didn't want to reveal she broke into Bronwyn's office and rifled through 'Mr Cheshire's' personnel file. The detective was not her friend. "Oh, I think he mentioned it to me at some time, or I saw it on a document in the library - I can't remember."

  A suspicious stare. "You mean, you remembered which library he worked at, but you don't remember how you found that out?"

  She shrugged. "Yes, funny how the mind works."

  An eye-roll. "I agree. Keep going - what happened when you called?"

  "I asked to speak to someone who knew Arthur Cheshire when he worked there."

  "And?"

  "They put a man on the line who said he's Arthur Cheshire."

  "Two Arthur Cheshires?"

  "Yes, and the Arthur Cheshire I talked to - the one in England - said he has a bald friend called Louis Barker who left England about three years ago with the cops on his tail."

  The detective unfolded his arms, leaned forward over the table and nailed her with a stare. "You don't say? Did he say why the cops wanted this Louis guy?"

  "Yes. Louis worked at the British Library - the main library in England. The police think he was stealing rare books. Another librarian got suspicious. So he murdered that guy and started a fire to hide his tracks."

  "Shit." The detective got to his feet and started pacing around. "Alright, you'd better tell me everything - and I meant everything - that this guy in England, the real Arthur Cheshire, told you."

  "OK." While he paced, she recited everything the English librarian told her, including the theft of the rare manuscript bible. "I think that's everything he said. But that's not all I've found out about Mr Cheshire - Louis Barker - or whatever he's called."

  The detective sat down. "What do you mean?"

  "When he arrived in Australia, he worked at a library in Adelaide. Guess what happened?"

  "Someone got murdered?"

  "No, someone burnt it to the ground about a year ago, just before he came to work at the Bradfield Library."

  "Bloody hell. Was he blamed?"

  "I don't think so. But trouble seems to follow him around, doesn't it?"

  "Sure does."

  Pointing the finger of blame at 'Mr Cheshire' lifted a great weight from her shoulders. She got quite excited. "So, what are you going to do now?"

  He smiled. "I'm going to tell my boss." He pulled out his mobile, punched in a number and put it up to his ear. "Sergeant Cochrane, that you? ... Yes, I've got one of the librarians, Julia Schmidt, with me right now in the interview room. She's given me so
me very interesting information about the murder. We may have to look in a different direction ... No, I don't think it's bullshit - not yet, anyway. I'm sure you'll want to hear it ... OK, we'll wait."

  Dryden hung up and turned to her. "He'll be here in a jiffy."

  Silence fell between them and they both gazed at the open doorway. Twenty seconds later, Cochrane steamed in, holding a half-eaten sandwich. He gave Julia a suspicious look before turning to Dryden. "What's this about?"

  "Julia here thinks she knows who murdered the old guy, and it's not who we think."

  "Who then?"

  "That Cheshire guy."

  Cochrane lifted his eyebrows without looking totally surprised. "Really?" He sat and stared at Julia. "OK, tell me everything, slowly, from the start, and leave nothing out." He glanced at Dryden. "You'll do the typing?"

  Dryden sighed and flicked on the computer. "Sure."

  While Cochrane munched on his sandwich, and Dryden typed away, Julia slowly and carefully repeated what she'd told Dryden. Cochrane occasionally asked a question, but she'd become a dab hand at providing information to the police.

  When she'd finished, Cochrane said: "That's it? You've told us everything?" His penetrating stare said that everyone holds onto secrets, especially when talking to cops, and he wanted to know her's.

  She decided not to mention breaking into Bronwyn's office and looking at 'Mr Cheshire's' personnel file, or breaking into 'Mr Cheshire's' locker and finding photocopies of a manuscript bible. Why make them angry? They had plenty of information. Any more would confuse them. "Yes, that's it."

  Cochrane still hadn't eaten the other half of his sandwich. He stood, exhaled loudly and looked out the window at the top of a poplar tree decked with autumnal leaves. "So, you think this Cheshire guy murdered someone in England?"

  "Yes."

  "But you've got no evidence that he murdered the old guy in your library?"

  "True. But murderers are a rare breed, I think. If he killed in England, surely he killed here."

  "That sounds right." The detective looked down at the pavement. "So what you're telling us is that last week, in your library, some guy with a false name killed some guy with no name for no apparent reason."

  A shrug. "I guess so."

  Cochrane turned and frowned at her. "This case gets weirder and weirder. You also think Cheshire - when he was Barker - stole a rare bible?"

  "That's what the librarian in Manchester said."