Free Mr. Dixon disappears: a mobile library mystery by Ian Sansom Page B

You'll be hearing from me about the disciplinary committee. Goodbye!'
    And with that she was gone.
    Ted was waiting for Israel outside the council offices, smoking.
    'Well?'
    'I'm suspended,' said Israel, hurrying after him.
    'Aye,' said Ted. 'That'd be about right. On full pay though?'
    'I don't know. I didn't ask.'
    'Ach, are you soft in the head, man? Ye didnae ask?'
    'I didn't think.'
    'No. Did it go all right though?'
    'No,' said Israel. 'It didn't go all right. And Linda seemed a bit…'
    'Aye. Ye not heard? Her husband's away.'
    'What, gone?'
    'Aye. Left her. And they've five weans.'
    'That's terrible.'
    'Mind,' said Ted, lowering his voice. 'People say she's a Libyan.'
    'What? I thought she was Northern Irish Chinese,' said Israel.
    'No, a Libyan, you know,' said Ted, winking.
    'A Libyan? You've lost me, Ted, I'm afraid.'
    'She's not as other women are,' said Ted.
    'A lesbian?' said Israel.
    'Sshh,' said Ted. 'We'll not have that sort of language round here, thank ye.'
    They got back in Ted's cab.
    'So now what?' said Ted.
    'I don't know,' said Israel.
    'We're just going to have to clear yer name, aren't we?' said Ted.
    'We?' said Israel.
    'Aye,' said Ted. 'You're going to need some help with this, aren't ye?'
    'Well, it's very nice of you and everything, but—'
    'What?'
    'I think I'm going to have to handle this one on my own, Ted.'
    'Handle it on your own?' Ted laughed.
    'What's funny?'
    'You're a geg, you know that?'
    'Am I?'
    'How ye going to handle it then?'
    'Well, I just need to work it out and demonstrate to the police that—'
    'This is the PSNI we're talking about here, ye know?'
    'Yes.'
    'And what, ye think you're going to prove your innocence to them by using your powers of superior intelligence? Present them with a wee dossier setting out what a good little boy ye are?'
    'Well…'
    'Ach, you're better value than watching the telly, d'you know that?'
    'Thank you.'
    'Priceless, honestly. So, what, ye'll get back to me when you need me then, eh?' Ted was chuckling.
    'Sure.'
    Ted checked his watch. 'That'll be tomorrow teatime then, I would have thought.'
    'Ha, ha.'
    'No. Afternoon. At the latest.'
    'Fine, Ted. If you could just take me home, please. I'm really—'
    'Midday, we'll say. Half twelve max,' said Ted.
    'Fine. Ted—'
    'You've got my mobile number?'
    'Yes.'
    'If You Want To Get There, Call the Bear.'
    'Sure. I'll keep you informed.'
    'You'll keep me informed?'
    'Yeah.'
    'Brilliant. Priceless. I'm looking forward to this.'

7
    Ted dropped Israel back at the Devines' in his cab.
    When he walked into the farmyard Israel noticed a big pile of things outside the door of the chicken coop–which was his home, howsoever so humble. The bird has its nest, and the fox its hole, and Israel had…well, he'd got used to it.
    As he approached closer he saw that the pile of things outside the door of the coop was in fact a pile of his own things from inside the coop, which didn't look good.
    Indeed, as he approached closer still he saw that the pile was a pile of all his things from inside the coop: his suitcase, his clothes, his books, everything, cast out and dumped, a big spew of stuff, like damp kindling for a bonfire.
    The door of the coop was open. He stepped inside.
    There was nothing there. It was empty–his home, stripped bare. The bed had gone. The old rag rugs had gone. The little Baby Belling had gone. Only the old sink with its single cold tap, nailed to the wall with battens, indicated that the chicken coop might ever have been fit for human habitation.
    Israel took a deep breath. He told himself that this was only to be expected, frankly, on a day like today, and he could take it, no problem; one more thing was not going to tip him over the edge–because he'd been way over the edge already, several times–and he walked calmly across to the farmhouse, into the kitchen, looking for someone to grab a hold of and to throttle, George ideally, but really anyone would do. And of course it was old Mr