'They insist on seeing you, sir.'
'We decide who they see. Where is he?'
'Bentley Prison, talking to Section forty-three offenders. Won't be back today.'
'Oh aye. OK, stick 'em in an interview room and tell them I'll be ten minutes.'
I drank my tea and finished bringing the daily reports up to date, managing to spin the time out to nearly twenty minutes. Then I went downstairs.
Madame LeSt rang was a riot of colour, dressed in chiffon and leopards king from the Oxfam rejects box. Her hair looked like it was crafted from fibreglass. The wind tunnel at Farnborough wouldn't have ruffled it. The man could have stepped straight out of Home's window. They both jumped to their feet as I entered, but it wasn't out of politeness.
'Inspector Priest! We've been waiting ' 'I'm sorry. I'm very busy. What can I do for you?'
She opened her mouth, but he spoke first. 'Madame LeSt rang is convinced she can be of use to you in the Georgina Dewhurst enquiry.
She believes ' 'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't catch your name,' I interrupted.
'Er, Bond, Quentin Bond. Madame Le ' 'And what is your involvement in this, sir?'
He gave me a look that could warp a formica table. She stood there puffing and glowering like ridiculous old bags do. 'I'm acting on behalf of Madame LeSt rang he stated.
'As her agent?'
'I suppose you could say that.'
'But you're a journalist.'
'Yes.'
'Freelance?'
'I don't see the relevance of these questions,' he spluttered.
'OK.' I turned to her. 'Right. Mrs. LeSt rang what do you have to tell me?'
She was lost for words for a moment, but the fluency soon came back.
'When little Georgina disappeared the stars were propitious for a monumental event in her short life. She was born with the Moon in the third '
I cut her short. 'I'm not interested in the stars — just facts. How can you help us?'
'I'm trying to help you, Inspector. I need something of Georgina's. A lock of ' 'No. We'll be grateful for any practical help you or anybody else has to offer. We are not interested in mumbo-jumbo or witchcraft. If you've nothing else '
Bond made a desperate attempt to rescue his investment. 'Inspector Priest,' he began, with forced moderation, 'Madame LeSt rang is a well-respected expert in the art of dowsing. There is overwhelming evidence from similar cases on the Continent and in America that '
I shook my head and opened the door. 'Good afternoon,' I said.
Her face reddened, like high-speed photography of a ripening tomato.
'I've never been treated like this in my life!' she spluttered, clutching a huge handbag to her bosom.
I pointed the way with my forefinger.
'You'll regret this, Inspector,' she promised. 'I would remind you that the root of the word divine is from the ' 'No, Mrs. LeSt rang let me remind you of something.' I pulled the door shut and shepherded them down the corridor. 'Let me remind you of just how good we are. If you as much as blink, sweat or break wind we can tell if you have been there, so don't dream of planting or tampering with any evidence. I won't ask you for any samples just yet, but I might do in the near future. Mind you, looking at the trail of dandruff your pet leech is leaving behind we probably have enough already.'
'Well, I've never she protested.
'No, you don't look as if you have,' I continued. 'Listen carefully, because I'll say this once, and once only: we are conducting an investigation into a very serious offence. If I ever have any reason to suspect that you have interfered with this enquiry, or with any evidence, we'll drop on you so hard you won't know if the Moon is in Jupiter or protruding from one of your more intimate bodily orifices. I hope I make myself clear.'
I yanked open the outer door to let them out. If looks could kill, the RSPCA would now be able to afford a new flea collar with my modest bequest.
'They didn't stay long,' observed the sergeant as I walked past the front desk.
'No,' I said. 'Something cropped up.'
I took the stairs two at a time and hummed the kids' tune that was currently driving everyone crazy: 'Ramty tamty diddle, ramty di de doo.
If I could play this fiddle would you take me to the zoo?'
It wasn't often I gave anybody a bollocking. I hated unpleasantness, unless it was with someone really unpleasant. If a member of the team made a mistake, I was content that they knew it. If I didn't trust them, they didn't make the team. I deluded myself that it was good management, but maybe it was just cowardice. Slagging off a defenceless old lady had proved surprisingly enjoyable. I'd have to do it more often.
The kettle had hardly boiled when the front desk was back on the phone.
'It's a lady, sir, with some information. Do you mind seeing her?'
'What does this one do? Read entrails?' I asked.
'No, boss. Books.'
'Books?'
'That's right, books. Mrs. Chadwick is a librarian. She's come in in response to a letter sent out by Trent Division. Doesn't mean anything to me. Something about mushrooms.'
'Mushrooms?' I was beginning to sound like an echo. 'Are you having me on, Arthur?'
'No, boss. Shall I send her up?'
'If you're not sending me up then you'd better. I'll look out for her.'
I stood at the office door as Mrs. Carol Chadwick came round the top of the stairs. She was the type of woman who makes me think that growing older is not too bad after all. Perhaps just a touch wide at the hips, but lately I've revised my standards in that area. Her hair was grey, but she had a warm, slightly bemused smile, probably engendered by a lifetime surrounded by fine literature. Unless she sniffed coke.
One of those big organiser bags hung over her shoulder. I ushered her into my little office and pulled out a chair for her. It was time to stop being Mr. Nasty and let Mr. Nice come out.
'Sit down, Mrs. Chadwick. I'm just making some tea; would you like a cup?'
'No, thank you.'
'Right. Well, I'm DI Priest. What can we do for you?'
She held out a letter. 'I've come in response to this. It says… contact your nearest police station, so here I am.'
I read the letter twice. 'Mmm,' I said, several times, adding, when I'd digested the contents: 'And what have you found at the library?'
She produced two books from the bag, with pictures of gaudy fungi on the covers. 'These,' she replied, fumbling with the pages. 'In this one, page five is missing.' She slid it in front of me. 'And in this one, page eleven is gone.'
I riffled through the sheets. All the rest were there. The missing ones had been neatly sliced with a sharp blade.
'These are from Heckley library, just down the road?' I asked, pointing vaguely out of the window.
'Yes, Inspector.'
'Are you chief librarian there?'
'Yes.'
I'd have to renew my membership. 'Well, Mrs. Chadwick, I haven't a clue what it's all about,' I confessed. 'But I know a good way of finding out.'
I picked up the telephone and dialled the number given for Inspector Peterson.
Father Declan Birr was the nearest that most of his flock would ever come to meeting a saint. All his waking hours were spent in worship of the Lord and the proclamation of His message. He did this in a way the most ardent sceptic would have had difficulty faulting.
Father Birr had come up the tough way. The youngest of ten children, he overcame hardship and many
