A small, thin voice came through the door. "Who's that?"
"Julia."
"What's happening out there?"
"There was some shooting."
"I heard that. Is it safe now?"
"Of course. The police are here. We're all safe. You can come out."
"Are you a hostage? Are you being ordered to say that?"
"I'm not, so come out."
The door opened slightly and two dazed eyes peered through the small gap. "What happened? Who's been shooting? Is this some kind of terrorist thing?"
"No. It's a long story, but we're safe now; the police want us to clear out of the building."
Bronwyn opened the door a touch further. "I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me what's happening. Who was doing the shooting?"
"Tom Birkett?"
Bulging eyes. "Tom? You're kidding? Why was he shooting?"
"He wasn't really a librarian."
A long pause. "What was he?"
"An international book thief."
Bronwyn's whole face wobbled. "I don't believe you?"
Julia felt a surge of spite. "That's up to you. But it looks like you employed a murderer and then an international book thief who shot up your library."
A long pause. "Shit, the Council won't be happy about that."
"I think you're right."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Julia had no intention of wasting her breath, and further fraying her nerves, describing to Bronwyn the events leading up to the shoot-out. If Bronwyn wanted to spend most of her time shut up in her office, cut off from the world, she had to pay the price. So, when Bronwyn demanded to know why there was a shoot-out, Julia told her to speak to Detective Cochrane.
"Where's Detective Cochrane?"
"Outside, talking to the press."
Bronwyn's jaw dropped. "The press? Bloody hell. Are there many?"
"Lots."
"Shit. Then you'll have to tell me why there was a shoot-out."
Having a pistol pointed at her forehead had hardened Julia's attitudes to a lot of things, particularly Bronwyn. "Look, if you did your job, instead of sitting on your tush in your office all day, you'd know why there was a shoot-out. Like I said, speak to the police. I'm getting out of here."
"How dare you."
"Get stuffed."
Julia went over to Philip and gave him a big hug. Then she implored his mother to let him join the library. Felicity Yam frowned and said she would think about it.
Julia turned to Gary. "Alright, let's go and have a drink."
"Definitely."
They slipped out into the back lane, to avoid the press, and strolled around the corner to The Three Lions, almost empty, where they sat at their favourite table in the corner. Fortunately, the two big TV screens in the bar were tuned to sports programs, not the news.
As Gary went over to the counter to buy a couple of beers, Julia realised her father would soon learn about the shoot-out from the news media. She pulled out her mobile and called him at work. He answered.
"Hi Dad, I'm just calling to tell you that I'm alright."
His voice sizzled. "Why? What happened?"
"Umm, there was another incident at the library. But I'm fine: the police sorted it out and I'm in the pub around the corner, having a drink with Gary, snug as a bug."
His voice quivered. "What sort of incident?"
"There was, umm, a bit of a shoot-out."
"A what?"
"A shoot-out."
"In the library?"
"Yes."
"Jesus. What sort of shoot-out?"
"With guns."
"I mean, who was shooting?"
"The police and a couple of bad guys trying to get that bible I told you about."
"Christ. It's supposed to be a library, no the OK Corral. "
"I totally agree."
"OK, I'll see you at the pub."
"Don't bother. Stay at work. I'll see you tonight and tell you everything, I promise."
A long pause. "OK."
She hung up, thought about the pistol pointed at her forehead and felt sick. She was still trembling when Gary sat down and put a schooner of beer in front of her.
He gulped down half his glass. "Wow, that was far out."
Her beer tasted bloody good and reduced her tremor. "You know he pointed his pistol at my forehead?"
"I didn't see that. Bastard."
She shrugged. "I thought you were supposed to see your life flash before your eyes."
"You didn't?"
"I just saw a bloody big pistol."
He snickered. "At least it didn't go off."
"True. Anyway, what on earth were you thinking?"
"What do you mean?"
"Tackling Markov like that. You could have got killed. That was very brave and very stupid."
A grin. "Is there a difference?"
"Don't be a smart-arse. Did you think you were in a John Woo movie?"
A big smile. Gary had obviously recovered all of his old cockiness, and more. "No. If I was, I'd have had two pistols and shot him to ribbons."
Once again, she wanted to strangle him until his eyes popped out. "Stop being silly."
"Do you know the biggest problem with tackling a guy with a gun?"
"What?"
"Knowing what to do next. I mean, I tackled him and grabbed the pistol. Then I didn't know what to do. Was I supposed to head-butt him? Bite his nose off? Knee him in the balls? I know it sounds crazy, but I tried to think of a movie in which the hero was in my situation. I couldn't think of one. If the cops weren't there, I'd have been in deep shit."
"That's my point. He wasn't going anywhere. The police would have caught him."
"Maybe. But I saw him running away and something snapped. Everyone thought he was so bloody wonderful, and I couldn't stand him - always knew he was a phoney."
She wondered again if his antipathy towards 'Tom Birkett' was motivated by jealousy. Hard to tell. "If you're talking about me, I didn't think he was wonderful."
A frown. "Then you fooled me."
"He was a colleague. I was polite to him, that's all."
"Really?"
In an odd way, after the terror she'd just experienced, it was reassuring to have Gary annoy her again. Life was returning to normal. "Yes, so leave me alone: you've had your fun."
He showed his palms. "OK, but let me get this right: Tom Birkett was, in fact, a rare book thief called Robert Markov?"
"Yes. He pretended to be a librarian to find out what Mr Cheshire did with the codex."
"But he also told you he was Eric Adams from the British Library - the guy who turned up this morning?"
"Yes."
"Surely, when he switched identities, you smelt a rat?"
If she admitted that she didn't, Gary would probably die laughing, with good reason. She didn't want that on her conscience. "Of course I did."
A raised eyebrow. "You didn't tell me."
"I didn't have a chance. I decided to keep an eye on him and wait for him to trip up. Then the shooting started."
He nodded. "Lucky he told you about his new identity. If he'd told me, I'd have done something stupid, like tell the cops."
Smart-arse. She'd always thought Gary rather naïve. It was disconcerting to discover she was more naïve than him. But she shouldn't be too hard on herself. The sort of skulduggery the Markovs practised was foreign to her; they were like an alien species.
He drank the rest of his beer. "You think the library will be open tomorrow morning?"
"I doubt it. The cops will still be digging bullets out of the walls."
"Well, one thing's for sure …"
"What?"
A snicker. "I'm not going to work again unless they give me body armour."
That evening she told her father about the shoot-out in the library, without mentioning that Robert Markov pointed his pistol at her. That would have really upset him, and she didn't want to relive the moment anyway.
When she'd finished, he said: "I'm so happy you weren't hurt. But you've got to find yourself a safe job."
"I thought I had one."
"Evidently not."
After dinner, they watched the ABC evening news. The first item was about the shoot-out. The tanned and bleached female newsreader intoned: "There were dramatic scenes at an inner-city public library this morning when a gun-battle erupted between police officers and two men trying to steal a rare bible originally stolen from the British Library. One of the men was wounded and taken to hospital.
"Three years ago a librarian at the British Library called Louis Barker murdered a colleague, stole the priceless bible and fled to Australia. He became a librarian at the Bradfield Public Library under the alias, Arthur Cheshire. A few days ago, after a tip-off from another librarian called Julia Schmidt, Homicide detectives arrested him for the murder in England.
"However, the bible was not recovered and, in circumstances that are not clear, came into the possession of an eight-year-old boy. Yesterday, the boy gave the bible to Ms Schmidt. When he did, a father-and-son team of rare book thieves called Victor and Robert Markov, seized it. The police intervened and a gun-battle ensued."
"The policeman in charge, Detective Sergeant Cochrane, held a press conference shortly after the shoot-out."
The news program cut to footage of Cochrane standing outside the library, surrounded by reporters. The real Eric Adams stood next to him.
A reporter said: "How did the boy get possession of the bible?"
"I don't intend to descend to that level of detail."
Another reporter: "What's his name?"
"I don't intend to disclose that either. You should leave the child alone."
"Did you know the Markovs were armed when you entered the library?"
"No."
"How many shots were fired?"
"Maybe 30 or 40."
"That sounds like major battle?"
A faint smile. "It was pretty hectic."
Another reporter intervened. "Is it true a librarian tackled Robert Markov as he tried to escape with the bible?"
"Yes, Mr Gary Clarke tackled him."
"Would you call that brave?"
A wan smile. "Yes, though he should have kept his head down and let us do our job."
"You've recovered the bible?"
"Yes. And after we've completed a few formalities, I will hand it over to Mr Eric Adams, from the British Library, standing next to me. He has provided us with a great deal of assistance."
After a close-up of a smiling Eric Adams, the news program shifted to another item and Julia's father turned to her. "At least you got credit for fingering Cheshire. You know, you should push yourself forward more - claim more credit."
Now she was annoyed. "Really? You taught me not to push myself forward?"
"I did?"
"Yes. In fact, you've never shown any interest in my career or encouraged me to be ambitious."
"I haven't?"
"No, you haven't."
"Mmm, I guess you're right. Sorry about that. I guess I never had big dreams - that's how I was brought up - and didn't think you should have them either. Anyway, it's not too late: you should find yourself a more interesting and better paid job. Don't end up in a nothing job, like me."
"You don't have a nothing job."
"Yes I do."
"Well, don't worry, I've been thinking about retraining and doing something different."
"Really? That's good, very good."
That night, she dreamed that Robert Markov was pointing his pistol at her forehead and woke sweating. She spent several hours lying awake, recalling that moment, before drifting off again. The next morning, she shuffled into the bathroom feeling tired and stale.
She breakfasted with her father, who was concerned about her mental state and offered to stay home to keep her company. However, she told him to go to work and, just before eight o'clock, hustled him out of the door.
A few minutes later, she got a call on her mobile from the General Manager of the Wollongatta Municipal Council, whom she'd never talked to before.
He introduced himself and said: "How are you coping?"
"I'm fine, fine."
"You sure? You've obviously had a nasty trauma. I think you should get some counselling."
She remembered the counsellor she was forced to see before and felt real trauma. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I'd rather go to work."
"Really? You should talk to someone."
"Don't worry, I'm young and resilient. I don't need counselling."
"OK, I appreciate your attitude - very different to Bronwyn's."
"How?"
"We've already received a letter from her solicitor, saying that she can't return to work because she's got post-traumatic stress disorder. The letter claims the Council failed to provide a safe workplace and she's going to sue."
"That was quick."
"Yep. For years, I couldn't get her to do anything. She didn't even answer my emails. Now she's go, go, go. The crazy thing is that she employed both Cheshire and Markov: if anybody put her in danger, she did."
"You going to pay her anything?"
"No, we'll probably fight this one. She's pissed off a lot of people, including the Mayor. Anyway, that's not your concern. I phoned to tell you that the library will be closed for at least three days while the police collect evidence."
"Then it'll re-open?"
A pause. "Probably not. As you know, we plan to close it permanently. This looks like an opportune time. I mean, if we open it again, it'll become a mecca for ghouls wanting to take selfies. You - we - don't need that."
"OK, what do you want me to do today?"
"Nothing. You get to stay home on full pay until we work out what to do with you."
"If the library closes, will I get work at another one?"
A pause. "Hard to say. If you don't, you'll get a generous redundancy package, I promise you."
The prospect of losing her job, and having to make a new start, was rather enticing. Maybe she should ask for a redundancy package right now? No, there was no rush. "OK."
"Sure you don't want counselling?"
"Yes."
"Fine, I'll be in touch," he said and hung up.
She decided to stroll up to the main street and have a cup of coffee in a café, while reading the media coverage of the shoot-out on her I-pad. She grabbed her handbag and headed out the door.
She locked it behind her and sensed someone approaching. She spun around and saw the toothy reporter from Action Nightly News approaching, waving a microphone. What was his name? Dave Edwards? Yes, that was it. Just behind him was the same hairy-faced guy with a big gut and a television camera affixed to his shoulder.
The reporter said: "Good morning, can I have a word?"
She was tempted to scuttle away, but that would look churlish. Anyway, as her father said, she should push herself forward more.
"What about?"
The camera and microphone were now a few feet from her face. Trapped.
"I understand that you tipped off the local police that Arthur Cheshire was wanted for murder in England?"
The TV camera was alarmingly close. "That's right."
"What made you suspicious?"
"Lots of things. He was a pretty strange guy."
"How did you find out he was wanted in England?"
"I phoned the library in England where he claimed he once worked. That's how I found out that Scotland Yard was after him."
"Then the local police arrested him?"
"Yes."
"He didn't have the bible when he was arrested, did he?"
"No."
"What happened to it?"
Detective Cochrane was deliberately vague on that issue. Best to follow his lead. "I don't know. All I know is that the little boy gave it to me just before the shoot-out."
"Then the Markovs turned up and grabbed it?"
"That's right. The police arrived and there wa
s a lot of shooting."
"I understand you protected the boy?"
"We stayed together, and I made sure he kept his head down."
"Was he afraid?"
"I think he rather enjoyed the experience."
"What about you?"
She smiled. "I was very happy when the shooting stopped."
He giggled and lowered the microphone. "Thanks. That wasn't so hard was it? Now, can you tell me where I can find the librarian who tackled Markov?"
She shook her head. "Sorry, I'm not permitted to tell you."
A frown. "Fair enough. We'll find him anyway. See you around."
The TV duo turned and hustled away. As they did, she realised that the news media hadn't discovered that Robert Markov had worked, under an assumed name, at the Bradfield Public Library. She had no plans to tell them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
That evening, Julia watched Action Nightly News with her father. The third item was about the library shoot-out. The newsreader reported that the police had charged both Markovs with attempted murder, resisting arrest and various other crimes, and a magistrate had refused them bail. The news program then showed footage of its reporter interviewing Julia that morning. When it finished, her father said: "Well done."
"Thank you."
The news program also showed the same reporter interviewing Gary on a suburban street. Gary wore a Metallica T-shirt and jeans.
The reporter said: "I understand that, during the shoot-out, you tackled Robert Markov as he tried to flee the library?"
"That's right."
"Why did you do that?"
Gary shrugged. "Someone had to stop him."
"Weren't you worried about the danger?"
Gary looked straight at the camera with a faint smirk. "Of course. But being a librarian's a dangerous job. When we go to work in the morning, we don't know if we'll be going home that night."
To his credit, the reporter laughed.
As the newsreader started another news item, her father guffawed loudly. "He's an idiot."
She had to laugh. "That's for sure."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next morning, Julia got a phone call from Detective Dryden who asked her to attend the Bradfield Police Station as soon as possible to provide a written statement. She said she was at home and would be there shortly. When she got to the Station, the duty sergeant immediately picked up his phone and summoned Dryden.
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