Overdue Item

by Peter Menadue

  "I guess so. Do you want to call the police?"

  A shake of the head. "Why bother? They've got better things to do, and so have we."

  "OK." Her desire to tell him about the arrest of 'Mr Cheshire' had curdled somewhat. "Anyway, I've got some big news."

  "What?"

  "The police turned up this morning and arrested Mr Cheshire, for murder."

  "My God. Tell me all."

  She started to feel better. "Make me a cup of tea and I'll give you a blow-by-blow account."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Julia strolled to work the next morning wondering why she felt so happy and realised it was because 'Mr Cheshire' wouldn't be at the library when she arrived, or ever again. He had cast a large, dark shadow over her life. Now it was gone.

  She was also glad that, because the police hadn't publicised his arrest, she wouldn't have to run a gauntlet of reporters and cameramen when she reached the library.

  After letting herself through the front doors, she saw the ubiquitous light under Bronwyn's door and knocked. Bronwyn didn't respond, so she pushed open the door and found her boss zipping between products on Amazon.

  "Hi."

  She glanced over her should and said: "Hi. Do you think I should buy another I-pad cover?"

  "Do you need one?"

  "Of course not." Bronwyn spun around and sighed. "But that's not the point."

  "I see there's no publicity about the arrest. That's good, right?"

  "Definitely."

  "How was your meeting with the General Manager yesterday?"

  "Horrid. When I told him that the police had arrested Mr Cheshire for murder, he hit the roof. Wanted to know why I employed him, why I didn't check his references, why, why, why …"

  "What did you do?"

  "What I had to do: I broke down and started crying. Then I accused him of bullying."

  "How did he react?"

  "Soon as I used the "B" word, he backed off."

  "I bet he did."

  "In fact, I've decided to sue."

  "The Council?"

  "Yes."

  "What for?"

  Bronwyn's face went hard. "Bullying of course, sexual harassment and creating an unsafe work-place. I'm going to get them before they get me."

  "Sexual harassment?"

  "Of course."

  "I've heard that the General Manager's gay."

  A long pause. "Really?"

  "Yes."

  A toss of the head. "Doesn't matter. It's about power, not sex. I hope you'll help me."

  Only someone deeply self-obsessed would ask someone she didn't like, and who didn't like her, to help her sue their employer. Julia wouldn't lift a finger. However, no point mentioning that right now. "Of course I will."

  "Good. I knew I could trust you. Now, obviously, with the disappearance of Mr Cheshire, we'll be one short today. I'll give the Library Supervisor a call to ask for another librarian. We'll probably get a new one in a day or two. Until then, you'll have to make do with Gary and Tom, OK?"

  "Sure."

  "Oh, and one last thing ..."

  "What?"

  A sigh. "When it rains it pours: there's going to be a protest tomorrow, outside the library."

  Julia felt a moment of giddy confusion and almost went slack-jawed. "Protest? What protest?"

  "A protest against closure of this library. The Bradfield Residents' Alliance is behind it."

  "You're kidding?"

  "Nope. The demo starts at about 10 a.m. There probably won't be any trouble: most members of the Alliance are seniors. But whatever happens, we stay open and it's business as usual."

  "Of course."

  "And don't get sucked into joining the protest. We can't be seen to endorse it in any way ..."

  "OK."

  Julia went out to the borrowing counter and had just turned on the computer system when Tom Birkett wandered through the door in his standard biker gear, looking pleased with himself.

  He said: "Hello."

  "Hi. Where did you go yesterday?"

  "What you mean?"

  "You disappeared after Mr Cheshire got arrested."

  "Oh, sorry about that. A friend had a car accident and got taken to a hospital. Had to rush over there, but he's alright."

  He was obviously lying. A deep, dark suspicion lodged itself in her mind. Someone broke into her terrace yesterday. Was it him? He had the perfect opportunity and there was, as Gary claimed, something odd about him. However, his strange behaviour didn't make him a burglar. She should put that idea out of her mind.

  She shrugged. "Fair enough."

  "How are you this morning?"

  "Not so good. Someone broke into our terrace yesterday."

  He frowned. "That's terrible. Was anything stolen."

  She studied his face and saw no sign he was lying. "Don't think so - not yet, anyway."

  "Thank goodness, though it must be very upsetting."

  "It is."

  Gary turned up shortly afterwards, looking even happier than Tom Birkett, and she opened the library. She asked Tom to do some book cataloguing in the workroom and put Gary in charge of the borrowing counter; then she did some shelving.

  After about an hour, she replaced Gary at the borrowing counter. Soon afterwards, she got a call on her mobile from Detective Cochrane who asked if she would drop over to the Police Station for "a chat".

  "What about?"

  "I thought you might want an update on what's happening. I've also got a few questions."

  "Alright, I'll be there a couple of minutes."

  She hung up and saw Gary strolling past. She told him to return to the counter because she had to see the detectives. Then she rushed off to the Police Station. On arrival, she presented herself to the burly Duty Sergeant, who told her to go up the stairs to Detective Dryden's office.

  She climbed the stairs and strolled along the corridor until she found a door with his name stencilled on it. She knocked and Dryden yelled for her to enter.

  She pushed open the door and entered a tiny room made tinier by large gun-metal grey filing cabinets and two large detectives. Dryden sat behind a desk and Cochrane sat across from him.

  Cochrane smiled. "Hi, thanks for coming over. Take a seat."

  She sat on the spare chair. "How can I help?"

  "Well, first, I want to thank you for helping us catch a man wanted for murder in England."

  "A pleasure. To be quite frank, I never did like him."

  A laugh. "I'm not surprised. You know, you'd make a good Homicide detective, if you wanted to be one. You're a lot smarter than most of the dummies I work with."

  Dryden frowned. "I hope you're not talking about me."

  "Of course not. You're on secondment, anyway."

  "Thanks."

  She said: "What happened to Mr Cheshire?"

  "He refused to talk to us. So we took him before a magistrate yesterday afternoon and he got remanded to gaol. He'll sit there until we extradite him to England to face the murder rap."

  "You're not going to charge him with murdering the old man?"

  "We'd love to. I've got no doubt he dun it. But we can't prove that. We don't even have a motive. Hell, we don't even know the identity of the victim, and we'll probably never know."

  "That's very sad, isn't it?"

  "Yes. In fact, the only person who can finger Cheshire for that murder is the little Asian boy, and we don't know his name either."

  "True."

  "We also don't know what happened to the book that Cheshire stole from the British Library. According to Scotland Yard, it's called the Codex Durham. It's extremely valuable and the library's desperate to get it back. Do you know where it is?"

  "Of course not."

  Cochrane arched an eyebrow. "Really? When we arrested Cheshire yesterday, he accused you of stealing a book from him and selling it to some guy called Markov."

  "He did, but I've got no idea what he was talking about: I've never seen the book and didn't steal
it."

  "Then who's Markov?"

  "No idea. That was the first time I've heard his name mentioned. Have you searched Mr Cheshire's flat for the book?"

  "Yes, this morning. Funnily enough, we weren't the first people to search it."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. A lock on the window was smashed. Someone obviously broke in, probably yesterday."

  "That's interesting, because someone broke into my terrace yesterday as well."

  Cochrane's eyes widened. "You're serious?"

  "Yes." She explained that someone broke the lock on the back door and searched the terrace.

  "Anything stolen?"

  "Not so far as my father and I could see. The guy didn't even take a couple of hundred in cash I had on the dresser."

  "Mmm, very strange. Maybe the same guy broke into Mr Cheshire's flat and your terrace, looking for the book."

  "Maybe."

  "Any idea who that might be?"

  She was tempted to mention Tom Birkett, but had no proof it was him. It would be wicked to do so. "No."

  "Well, thanks for your help. Oh, and if you see the little Asian boy, grab him and don't let him go."

  "Don't worry, I'll put him in a bag and pull the string."

  Cochrane laughed. "That won't be necessary. But don't let him escape."

  When she got back to the library, she found that Tom Birkett had replaced Gary on the borrowing counter.

  He looked curious. "Hi. Gary said you went off to see the police."

  "That's right."

  "What did they want?"

  She was becoming more guarded with him. "Oh, they just wanted to tell me that Mr Cheshire will be extradited to England."

  He looked disappointed. "Did they say anything about the book that Mr Cheshire stole?"

  He seemed obsessed with the book. Why? "Just that they haven't found it."

  His big green eyes stared hard, making her want to turn away. "That's all?"

  "Yes."

  He shrugged. "Too bad."

  She went looking for Gary and found him sitting in one of the small caravels at the back of the library, reading a handsome coffee-table sized book with lots of pictures.

  "What are you doing here?"

  He looked up, surprised. "Ah, reading a book."

  "What book?"

  "The Best Movies of John Woo."

  Gary was a huge fan of the Hong Kong action movie director John Woo. He once took Julia along to watch a re-run at a run-down cinema in Newtown. The hero, played by Chow Yun Fat, was an assassin who kept leaping through the air in slow-mo while firing two pistols with an inexhaustible supply of bullets.

  During the movie, she whispered. "He moves awfully slowly for an assassin."

  "Quiet. It's a cinematic effect."

  "He's also a lousy shot."

  "Why?"

  "He fires millions of bullets and doesn't hit anything."

  "Hah, hah. It's a blood ballet. That's the convention."

  Now, in the library, she said to him: "Is that a library book?"

  "Yes."

  Her suspicions were aroused. "When did it arrive?"

  "It just came in."

  "You ordered it, didn't you?"

  "I, umm, put it on the list."

  "Our acquisitions budget it shot to bits - we can hardly afford paperbacks - and you order a huge coffee-table book for yourself."

  "That's not true. There are lots of John Woo fans in this suburb - lots. I high-five them in the street."

  "Stop being a smart-arse. Can I make two points?"

  "If you must."

  "First, you shouldn't get the library to purchase books for yourself."

  "Like I said ..."

  "Quiet. And you should be working rather than reading - or at least looking at pictures. Do what you're paid to do."

  "I'm hardly paid at all."

  "Not my fault."

  "Hard-arse."

  She extended her hand. "Give me the book and I'll shelve it."

  "You can't."

  "Why not?"

  A smug smile. "I've borrowed it."

  She sighed. "Good grief. Anyway, stop looking at that book. Because a colleague's been charged with murder, we're short-staffed. I need your help."

  He stood up, with the book under his arm. "OK, OK."

  After putting the book in his locker, Gary worked with surprising diligence for the rest of the day.

  Just before six o'clock, she told Gary and Tom that she would close up and they should both go. When they'd gone, she turned off the lights, locked the front doors and strolled outside. The setting sun had streaked the sky crimson and shadows crept from buildings.

  To her surprise, she found Tom Birkett sitting on a bollard embedded in the pavement, wearing his motorcycle gear, obviously waiting for her.

  He said: "Hello."

  "Hello. You waiting for me?"

  He looked uncertain for once. "Yes. I'd like to buy you a drink, if you've got nothing better to do."

  She'd hoped for a long time that he'd invite her out for a drink. Indeed, his invitation provoked a small shudder of yearning. However, she was starting to question his bona fides, and wanted to go home and tell her father about the day's events.

  "Can we do it another night?"

  A big melting smile with lots of teeth. "I'd rather do it now, if you don't mind. Don't worry, just one drink. There are a few things I want to tell you."

  Maybe, if they had a drink, she could peel back the layers of mystery that surrounded him. "OK, just one. Then I've got to go home."

  "Sure. Which pub?"

  She took him around the corner to her favourite pub, The Three Lions, where he bought two schooners of beer and carried them over to a corner table, where she was waiting.

  He sat across from her, passed over her beer and smiled. "So, the police told you they're going to extradite Mr Cheshire to England?"

  "Yes."

  "But they haven't found the book he stole from the British Library."

  "Correct."

  He sipped his beer and made a forlorn attempt to sound casual. "Yesterday, Mr Cheshire accuse you of stealing it from him?"

  "I know. But I've got no idea what he was talking about."

  A long stare. "You sure?"

  "Yes. But why are you so interested in the book?"

  A shrug. "Just idle curiosity."

  She was tired of his games and gave him a hard stare. "Bullshit. It's time you told me who you really are."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're not a librarian, are you? - not a real one, anyway."

  "Yes I am."

  "Bullshit."

  "You really don't trust me anymore, do you?"

  "Bullseye."

  He gave her a long stare, obviously wondering how much to reveal, and shrugged. "Alright then, maybe it's time I laid my cards on the table."

  "It sure is. What are you - a cop?"

  A lopsided grin. "Not quite."

  "Then what?"

  "You really want to know?"

  "I just said I did."

  "Alright, if you insist: I used to be a cop - I was a detective in the Fine Arts and Antiques Squad at Scotland Yard - but now I'm a security officer at the British Library."

  Wow. "What does a security officer do?"

  "The British Library has some of the world's rarest and most valuable books and manuscripts. The security department stops theft and recovers stolen items. I'm in its operations section."

  "You mean, you go out in the field?"

  "Yes."

  "You carry a gun?"

  "Sometimes."

  "Have you got one now?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever used one?"

  "Only when I was at Scotland Yard."

  "What's your real name?"

  A smile. "Eric Adams."

  She laughed. "Hello Eric."

  "Hello."

  "OK, so why are you pretending to be a librarian?"

  I'm undercov
er."

  "Why?"

  "Mr Cheshire - whose real name is, as you know, Louis Barker - is wanted in England for murdering a librarian and stealing a priceless manuscript bible. I was sent out here to recover the bible and, once that was achieved, have him arrested for murder. I went undercover in your library to keep an eye on him and try to locate the bible."

  He was the first undercover agent she'd ever met. But his story was, despite its strangeness, very convincing. It certainly explained his odd behaviour at the library.

  She said: "OK then, tell me this: why did Mr Cheshire commit the murder in England?"

  The man now called Eric Adams shifted in his chair. "For many years, he was a senior librarian in the Rare Books Archive of the library, and expected to replace the head of the archive when he retired. But he was passed over for the job."

  "Why?"

  "He was rude and erratic. In fact, he had a gift for spreading unhappiness around the workplace. Sound familiar?"

  "Yep."

  "Anyway, when he missed the top job, he reacted badly. He started stealing rare books and selling them to one of Europe's biggest dealers in stolen books, a Bulgarian called Victor Markov, who on-sold them to private collectors all over the world. Then he got careless and a colleague caught him red-handed. So he killed the colleague - choked him to death, in fact - and started a fire to hide his crime."

  "Which didn't work?"

  "Correct."

  "Did it do much damage?"

  "Yes, some precious books were destroyed."

  "Then he fled to Australia?"

  "Yes. He grabbed the Codex Durham, assumed the identity of a friend called Arthur Cheshire, and came out here."

  "What's the Codex Durham?"

  "It's one of the library's most precious treasures: a beautiful illuminated bible that an unnamed Anglo-Saxon monk created at Durham Monastery in the 8th century. Just looking at it gives me goose bumps."

  "It's valuable?"

  "Immensely. It would fetch about US$25 million at a public auction. But Cheshire couldn't sell it like that, of course. He had to sell it privately, through someone like Markov, who would pay about $2 million and get twice that from a private collector."

  "Has the library announced the theft?"

  A frown. "Not yet. The murder of the librarian was, of course, made public. But the theft wasn't. We've been trying to avoid the embarrassment that would result."

  "I bet. So Cheshire grabbed the codex and came to Australia?"