Mr. Dixon disappears: a mobile library mystery (18 page)

'No, you first.'

'Ach! Israel! You're just like all the others.'

Israel blushed. 'So, what do you know about Mr Dixon?' he asked.

'What do you want to know?'

'I don't know. Anything,' said Israel.

'I know he'd wear the same suits every day. Same shirts. Same shoes.'

'What, he'd never wash them?'

'No, he had several pairs of each, all exactly the same. That's what people say, anyway.'

'Why would someone wear the same clothes every day?'

'I don't know. It's a disguise I suppose, isn't it? Which you would know more about than me, frankly.'

'Yes. Thanks.' Israel fingered his stick-on moustache. 'And what about money trees? Do you know anything about money trees?'

'Money that grows on trees? Hello? Calling Israel?'

'No, I mean those investment schemes, where people—'

'Oh, you mean like pyramid selling?'

'Exactly.'

'Oh yeah, we get those occasionally.'

'Recently, round here?'

'I don't know. They tend not to come to light until the whole thing's collapsed, and then people are too embarrassed to come forward and admit that they've been involved. There was one in a church, I think, a few years back. There's probably been some stuff in the paper. I don't think I've ever done a story on it myself. I could check. Why do you want to know?'

'It's just…something I'm working on.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Would you be able to get some information on them?'

'I could. But what's in it for me?'

'You get my full story, when it's all over and done with.'

'Ah, Armstrong,' said Veronica, 'you are a good boy. You know the way to a girl's heart.'

Alas, thought Israel, he did not.

The back room at the the First and Last–which was run by the famously rude and teetotal Elder Agnew Jr, and which was either Tumdrum's first or last pub, depending on which way you were coming into town–didn't look as though it had been touched since about 1950, and if it had, the touch had been light, the wrist limp. Elder, as a born-again evangelical Christian, did not regard cleanliness as in any way related to godliness–he believed in justification by faith and not sanctification by works–and he was just too mean to pay a cleaner. In the back room of the First and Last dust had long since turned to crust, and there was a slight stickiness to every surface. The front bar of the First and Last at least made a pretence of a few home comforts: velveteen banquettes, the occasional wipe of a surface, pictures, Scripture-text mirrors, the fire. But in the back room there just was a single grimy 'Guinness Is Good For You' print on the wall, an old jukebox, a boarded-up fireplace, and that was it. Bare boards, tables and chairs that did not match, primitive wooden benches, windows with grilles over them, smoke so thick and so dense it felt you were eating it, and you were so close to the vat of Elder's illicit mini-distillery out back that you only had to stay in the room for about half an hour and even if you were drinking sparkling mineral water your eyes would soon start to roll, your spirits soar, your speech slur, and eventually you'd pass out.

Ted was introducing Israel to a few people; he'd been lying low during the afternoon at the offices of the
Impartial Recorder
with Veronica, working his way through the microfiche; he hadn't discovered as much as he'd hoped.

'Big Red, Israel Armstrong.'

'Hello.' Israel and Big Red shook hands.

Big Red had a ginger moustache.

'This is One Brow.'

'Hello.' Israel and One Brow shook hands.

One Brow had one brow.

'Barney.'

Barney sported both comb-over and moustache.

'Hi, Barney.'

Israel went to shake Barney's hand.

'All right, forget the shaking of hands,' said Ted, 'or we'll be here all flippin' night.'

'Sorry, Ted,' said Israel.

'Jim Savage,' continued Ted.

Israel simply nodded. Savage by name, savage by…

'This is Thompson–we call him Tonky,' said Ted.

'Hello, Tonky.' Tonky looked withered from drink.

'And Tonky's son, Honky.'

'Honky Thompson?'

'Aye.'

'Hello, Honky.' Honky hadn't yet withered as much as his dad, but he was getting there; he'd shrivelled.

'Wesley you might know. He runs Virtual Victuals.'

'What?'

'Virtual Victuals, the Internet butcher?'

'Irish bacon. Irish hams, black puddings, white puddings,' said Wesley.

'Lovely,' said Israel.

'And Billy,' concluded Ted, nodding towards a man seated at a table with a group of other men, 'and Sammy. And Billy. Sammy. Billy.'

'Billy, Sammy, Billy, Sammy, Billy?'

'Aye.'

'You'll be set a test on the names later,' said a Billy.

'Which I'll fail!' joked Israel.

'Aye,' agreed Ted. 'Drinks then?'

'I'm a bit…' Israel patted his pockets.

'Aye. Put your money away.'

Israel accompanied Ted to the bar, which was a plank of wood across the back of the front bar.

Ted ordered.

'Ted.' Israel spoke quietly. 'Who the hell are all these people?'

'These boys? Some of them are from the choir I was telling you about, some of them from the lodge.'

'The Orange lodge?'

'Give over. Masonic lodge.'

'Right. And they're here because?'

'We're putting our minds together to try and help you out. Brainstorming, you know.'

'Brainstorming? No, Ted, look, that's very kind of you and everything, but I'm not sure that's going to help. I don't think we're going to solve this by committee.'

'Aye, right. So how far have you got on your own then, Detective Inspector Rebus?'

'Erm. Well, I think…' Israel lowered his voice and looked around to check that no one could overhear him. 'I think there's a possibility Mrs Dixon might be involved in some kind of financial mismanagement.'

'What, she's topping up her housekeeping? And that's it? That's what you've discovered so far?'

'Sshh, Ted. It's a bit more complicated that that actually—'

'And how long have you got left to sort things out, before they haul you back in?'

'Till Saturday.'

'And today is?'

'Tuesday?'

'It's Monday, you eejit. I think you'll be needing a hand then, eh, if you don't even know what day of the week it is? Here, take these.'

Israel helped Ted take pints back to the tables.

'So?' said Ted, drinks delivered, sitting down.

'We need to look at this logically,' said the man called Big Red.

'Aye,' added One Brow. 'Why would anyone kidnap him?'

'Because he disturbed them?' said a Billy.

'Wouldn't he just become a liability?' said One Brow.

'Why?'

'Because he knew their identity?'

'Aye, well, there is another possibility,' said another Billy.

'Which is?'

'He was working with them.'

'You think Mr Dixon was involved in a criminal gang run by former paramilitaries?' said Tonky, who was smoking a pipe.

'No. Not really,' said a Billy. 'I'm just thinking out loud here.'

'Well, can you not, it's confusing me,' said Tonky.

Israel was keen to make his own voice heard. 'Erm. If I could just—'

'Wesley knows him, don't you, Wesley?' said Ted.

'Aye, Ted. Saw Mr Dixon on the golf course last week.'

'How'd he seem?'

'He looked rightly.'

'You can't judge a book by its cover.'

'Aye.'

'But a rich man has his problems also,' said Wesley.

Israel thought on that for a moment. He thought about all the rich men he knew. Gloria's father: he certainly had his problems. He was some kind of businessman, import-export. He was divorced from Gloria's mother. When Israel was first getting to know Gloria, her parents were both still living in the house together. Terrible atmosphere. Terrible. It had put him off divorce. Whenever Israel went round her father would be banished to the back room, slumped in front of the TV, eating ready meals. A condemned man. Probably the richest person Israel knew was an old friend from college, Pete; he'd gone into some sort of Internet start-up, crested the wave, and these days Israel could never get him to return his calls, and when he did he wished he hadn't, because he'd usually be on board a private jet on his way to Monte Carlo. Last time Israel had spoken to Pete he was just back from a weekend in Iceland; he'd had a good time. In fact, 'Reykjavik is my new party city,' he'd said. They were maybe drifting apart.

'You know, I think he's done himself in,' said Honky, a man for whom the glass seemed always–metaphorically and literally–half empty. 'Pint anyone?'

'Why would he do himself in?' said Tonky.

'Just because,' said Honky, getting up for the bar.

'I think we need to look at this logically,' said Big Red again.

'Aye,' said Tonky. 'People don't just kill themselves for no good reason.'

'There were always those rumours, mind,' said a Sammy.

'What rumours?' said Israel.

'That he was, you know…'

'What?'

'A kiddie fiddler,' called Honky from the bar. 'Pints?'

'Aye!' came a collective response.

'Ach,' said Ted. 'Lot of nonsense. That was because he did the children's parties, just.'

'Right,' said Israel. 'Erm, I wouldn't mind some crisps, actually…Tonky?'

'Honky,' said Honky. 'Tayto cheese and onion?'

'Please. I'll have two packets actually, if that's…'

'Aye. Lads?'

'Aye,' came the further call.

Israel hadn't eaten a proper meal since…Saturday? It had been all crisps and sandwiches. He thought he'd maybe lost a few pounds. He was on the fugitive diet, but he couldn't recommend it. A stomach staple would be easier.

'I think he's just taken hisself off,' said Wesley, who spoke as though he'd recently eaten a large mixed grill which, being a butcher, he probably had.

'Why would he take hisself off?' said Ted.

'To get away.'

'To get away from what though?'

'People do, don't they? Just throw up the head and…'

'Aye,' agreed a Sammy. 'What about that fella Stephen, what do you call him, a few years back? Mate of yours, Ted?'

'Who?'

'Stephen Crawford?' said another Sammy.

'Aye. Him. Played for Tumdrum Young Men. He disappeared, didn't he?'

'Ach, no. That was different,' said Ted. 'Sure, he just went down to work at Ballylumford.'

'Aye,' agreed Tonky. 'That's not the same thing at all. He just left town.'

'As good as disappearing,' said One Brow.

'But what about Trevor Mann's sister?' said Barney.

'Maureen?'

'Aye.'

'She ran off to join the Dagenham Girl Pipers,' said Barney.

'Aye, that's right.'

'That was years ago,' said Ted. 'We're not comparing like with like here.'

'We need to look at this logically,' said Big Red.

Israel attempted to bring the conversation to order. 'Why would he have gone off though?'

'Another woman?' suggested a Billy.

'No. He's got Mrs Dixon, hasn't he?' said Barney, smoothing down his comb-over.

'Exactly,' said One Brow.

There was general laughter.

'She's not bad, for her age, but,' said Barney regretfully. He looked like the kind of man who might feel the lack of female company.

'A man's needs are manifold,' said Honky.

'Meaning?' said Ted.

'There's more than one way to skin a cat,' said Honky.

'You think he's run off with another woman? And faked his own kidnapping?' said Ted.

'I saw that on
The Bill
once.'

'Aye, but this is not
The Bill
, is it, Honky? This is Tumdrum.'

'Truth can be stranger than fiction, Ted.'

'Most likely he's away with one of the shop girls,' said a Sammy.

'Mr Dixon?'

'Any of them missing?'

'No.'

'Well then.'

'What about wee Davey?'

'The caretaker.'

'Nah.'

'He's a wee skite, but,' said Barney.

'If he stole a pup on the Saturday, he'd have it sold back to you the Sunday,' said Jimmy Savage elliptically.

'He's hardly up to this, though, is he?'

'People are never what they seem.'

'I think we've got to think about this logically,' said Big Red.

'Right,' said Ted. 'Why would a man disappear?'

'Woman.'

'Mid-life crisis.'

'No, no, I don't think so,' said Israel.

'Why not?' said Ted.

'I don't know, just…'

'What would make you disappear then?'

'I wouldn't disappear,' said Israel.

'Well, what are you doing here then?'

'I haven't disappeared. I'm…working.'

'Well, maybe Mr Dixon fancied a career change.'

'Mr Dixon? A businessman?' said One Brow.

'Sure, we'd all jump at the chance, wouldn't we?' said Honky. 'To just go…'

There was an enthusiastic nodding of heads around the table.

'Eight years to retirement,' said One Brow. 'And counting every day.'

'Ray's ready for you, Ted,' called a barman.

'Lads,' said Ted, excusing himself and getting up.

Israel sat on, finishing off his second packet of crisps.

'Come on then, you big galoot.'

'What?'

'Get up. Come on. Don't hang about.'

Israel swallowed the rest of the crisps and followed Ted, ducking down under the back bar.

'Ted?'

'We're going to see Ray,' said Ted, making his way down a short, dark, piss-stinking corridor, past crates and bottles.

'Who's Ray?'

'Ray.'

'Right. Well, why are we going to see Ray?'

'He's connected.'

'To?'

'The people who might've lifted Mr Dixon.' Ted knocked at a door at the end of the corridor.

'Jesus! What?'

'Sshh. He knows people who know people.'

'Oh, my God.'

The door was unlocked and opened by a vast man in a vast leather car-coat.

'Ray,' said Ted.

'Hello, Ray,' said Israel.

'That's not Ray,' said Ted.