Free The Incident Report by Martha Baillie Page A

the upper corner, using Carl’s pen.
    Carl explained that he was not interested in writing a book. Upon receiving this news, the “producer” tore off the upper corner of Carl’s voter’s card.
    As the “producer” was tearing the card, his hat dropped to the ground. Carl bent over and picked up the “producer’s” hat, which he refused to give back until the “producer” returned his pen.
    The two men entered the branch at approximately 3:30. The “producer” requested that I call the police. Carl stood beside the “producer,” holding the “producer’s” hat by its brim. I phoned the non-emergency number and described the situation in which the two men found themselves. I was advised to call backlater, but only if the men’s disagreement intensified. I hung up, and proposed an exchange—hat for pen, pen for hat. The exchange was successfully carried out and the two men went their separate ways. The times of their respective departures from the library were not recorded.

INCIDENT REPORT 82
    The sheet of lined paper protruded from between the pages of a vegetarian cookbook. I unfolded Rigoletto’s message. I read calmly:
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  He offered his services and I agreed to pay. Are you horrified?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  His name was Sparafucile. He had a sister, he explained. She would lure the Duke to their inn. Once the Duke was asleep, it would be easy enough to slit his throat. Life is not always pretty. Honour makes its demands. I wanted to save my daughter from further shame and suffering. Do you not understand that I loved her? I was to pay him half his price in advance, the remainder upon receiving proof of his deed. He was a man of his word, a professional. Sparafucile—his name appealed to me. I liked his manner. I could trust him not to cheat me. He offered to dispose of the Duke’s body, but I wanted the pleasure of heaving my former master into the river myself. The Duke, that nasty fucker, sewn into a sack of rough cloth, was dragged alongthe ground and in this way delivered to me. I paid Sparafucile, and when he’d gone I knelt beside the accomplishment of my revenge. It was then that I heard singing. If my brain had had hairs, they would have stood on end.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Perhaps indeed my heart is covered in fur, and I am as monstrous as my bulging back leads others to believe. I listened. The Duke sang with the joyful passion of a man who has known all his life how to satisfy his desires.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I untied the sack. My daughter lay inside. Her eyes were closed. What action must I take to convince you that I loved her? Now I have found her again, she and I will never be parted.
    I went down into the basement, into the staff washroom, and locked the door. Seated on the closed toilet, I shut my eyes. I waited, then opened my eyes, but the fear that had crept inside me remained.

INCIDENT REPORT 83
    I found Irene in her office and showed her the Sparafucile note. She tapped her pencil on the desk. “I’d like to notify the police, if you’ve no objection.”
    â€œI don’t mind. You’re probably right. But there hasn’t been a crime.”
    â€œHis notes contain threatening suggestions. ‘Hired killer.’ ‘We’ll never be parted.’”
    She slid a strip of chewing gum out of its silver wrapper and apologized. “Such an ugly habit.” She placed the gum in her mouth. She rolled her pencil between her soft but nervous fingers. Her hands did not have one single freckle. The note lay on her desk, between us.
    â€œ Rigoletto used to be one of my favourite operas,” she remarked. “It was, until these notes. All this is completely unfair to you.” She picked up the receiver and