No Crime Forgotten by Valerie Keogh

Author:Valerie Keogh [Keogh, Valerie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books

22

There was a small car park beside the library and they were in luck: there was one space available. Pulling into it, West switched off the engine. ‘I want to know more about her,’ he said. ‘From someone neutral. Who better than her boss?’

‘Won’t she want to know why you’re asking?’ Andrews said.

‘I’m sure she will. I’ll wing it.’

The library was quiet. A couple of people were perusing the bookshelves; an elderly woman sitting in an armchair was reading a newspaper; one other younger woman was reading the noticeboard. A long desk at the back was manned by a young, bespectacled male with a straggly goatee. West and Andrews approached and stopped in front of him and waited for him to look up from the book he was reading.

When he did, he looked at them with a dreamy smile. ‘Such a good book,’ he said, waving a hand in apology. ‘Sorry, what can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to speak to the librarian, please.’ West hoped not to have to show his identification, the more discreet their presence the better.

But the goatee-wearing man didn’t as much as ask his name. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Hang on and I’ll give her a buzz.’ He picked up the phone and dialled a two-number extension. It was answered immediately. ‘Someone here to see you,’ he said, and immediately hung up. He was back in the pages of his book before the clickety-click of high heels crossed the library floor.

‘I’m Debbie Long, the librarian. You wanted to see me?’ A small, plump woman with an anxious crease between her eyes looked from West to Andrews. ‘Is there something wrong?’

‘Is there somewhere we could talk,’ West said. ‘Somewhere private.’

The crease between her eyes deepened, and her rather narrow lips tightened. She looked like a woman who was used to hearing bad news. ‘My office,’ she said, waving back the way she’d come. She looked down on the bent head of the young man behind the desk. ‘Hold any calls for the moment,’ she said to him.

Her office was a small windowless room. No effort had been made to personalise it; the furniture was standard office fare, the bookshelves jammed willy-nilly with books. Only the framed photograph on the wall beside her desk said something about the librarian. It was a family photo of a relaxed quartet… the librarian, a smiling man, an older boy wearing a football jersey, a pretty girl and two younger, scruffy-looking boys.

West brought his focus back to the woman who’d taken her seat on the far side of the desk.

‘What’s this about?’ she said, her voice tight, then, as if remembering to be professional, she gestured to chairs behind them. ‘Please, sit,’ she said.

West and Andrews sat in the grey utilitarian chairs. ‘Nobody’s in trouble,’ West said, sliding his identification across the desk. ‘We’re looking for information about one of your staff.’

The librarian picked up the identification and looked at it for far longer than either man thought was warranted. When she put it down, she looked across the desk.

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