6 In The Copper’s Nark

Christie’s Detective Agency Two Part 6 THE BODY IN THE LIBRARY

Jenny knew how to get into the mind of D.I Cyril Hodbur. It often involved a visit to the Copper‘s Nark, a public house conveniently close to the police station for it to be used predominantly by off-duty policemen and women, as well as the odd refugee from the local underworld on the look out for unsolicited information. Then, when he was suitable relaxed and they were alone in the snug bar, his trousers might become involved as he weakened under her gaze. She could have that effect on men

And she was in that very snug bar and both of them had a drink in front of them, and she slid one hand discreetly onto his thigh and gave it the least of squeezes.

“What forensics did you turn up?” she asked.

“You know I can’t discuss the case,” he said, trying to sound in control, but failing.

“Of course I know that Cyril,” she said with a fetching giggle … at least she hoped that it was a fetching giggle... “but there’s no harm in having a bit of light conversation with an ex-colleague who ought to be kept up to date on the off chance of her being called on to help with special expertise of this or that.”

“This or what?” he asked.

“You know, The ways and means of libraries, the Dewey classification what-not, that sort of thing.”

“That’s gobbledegook!” he said, a statement that provoked an extra delightful squeeze of his thigh. “I mean, ways and means of libraries! What do you know about them?”

“Ah, that’s when you have to include Poiry ion your calculations. My number two has expertise,” she said.

“What? The lad fresh from school? The one still in nappies?”

“Now that’s unkind, Cyril,” and another squeeze, “he’s already found out quite a bit, stuff that you know all about, of course, but it does keep me in the loop on the off chance that we’re needed.”

“Jenny, you’re a tease and no doubt!” he sighed, feeling himself giving in to a succession of squeezes that meant it might prove embarrassing for him to stand up. But he did like Jenny. Her hair, long and luscious, and she she usually wore something too short of a thirty year old, but didn’t she look good? And young. She looked young. He sighed wearily, aware that young was something he’d never be again unless fifty was young.

“I just like to see peace in the town,” she said, smiling, “so was there anything interesting in the way of forensics?” You know you can tell me. It won’t go any further, not even to Poiry if you say so.”

“There you are saying that name again! Who the hell is Poiry?”

“It’s what I call my number two. You might not believe this, but his middle name is Poirot, you know, after the fictional detective? His folks thought it a fine name to slip between Horace and Sorsse, giving him the moniker of H.P Sorsse! His dad thought it was a corking joke!”

“That’s daft!”

“He’s a good lad, though Cyril. Got a brain inside his skull even though he’s not twenty yet. So was there any interesting forensics?”

“You do persist, don’t you?” He almost jumped as she squeezed him again. “And you can do that to me again!”

“You come out with the goods and I might,” she told him.

“Well, I won’t be breaking any rules if I tell you because there’s nothing to tell!”

“You mean, they’ve dusted the place already?

“You know they won’t have, Jenny. There’s no point in dusting anywhere as public as a library because just about everyone’s prints might be there. And we’re going through the CCTV of the afternoon before it was switched off at closing time but I doubt there’ll be anything interesting. Whoever did the dirty deed got away somehow, we’ve not worked out how but it’s an old building and leaky as a sieve.”

“What about the back door?”

“What do you know about the back door?”

“Just that Joe public doesn’t go into the place through an entrance that’s hardly ever used because it’s probably for staff only. So might there be any interesting prints there?”

“There’s the librarian’s, Mr Leslie, and nothing else that hasn’t been smudged by wind and rain. But he would need to go in and out that way from time to time, though access to the car park is easier the front way. It’s likely that our killer left that way, though, he wouldn’t need to touch anything except the knob of the Yale lock opening it, and whoever last opened it used gloves. The door could then be relocked just by shoving it to, and hey presto, he’s left without leaving any sign of his passing.”

“You’re stumped if it’s a Yale.”

“it is. So you’ve bought me this pint and nudged up to so that I might tell all, and got nothing in return because I’ve got nothing to give.”

“You have, Cyril: your scintillating company. And your trousers.”

“Now don’t you go, you know, letting on what I’ve said?”

“Don’t tell anyone how you’ve told me nothing? I wouldn’t be so daft, Cyril, and you know I wouldn’t let you down. But much as I’ve enjoyed our little tete-a-tete I’ve got to get back to the office and see what Poiry’s found out. You never know: he might solve the whole thing while you’re wondering what I’m doing to your trousers!”

“Now don’t…”

“… let on that you’ve been a bit excited having my delightful company so close to you? Of course not, Cyril, I wouldn’t dream of it, and you must know that.”

He smiled at her sheepishly. “Maybe I do,” he said quietly, “OK, off you pop. I’ll follow on when I’ve finished this pint.”

Jennie stood up, smoothed down her skirt, flicked her long hair is a way she thought just might be seductive and made her way out of the bar.

“It’s a bit of a conundrum,” she said to Poiry when she got back to the office. “Look, I know it’s late, but have you got any time to mull over the case?”

“Is it a case?” he asked.

“I know Cyril. He’s short of manpower, very short if the truth be told, and he’ll do the right thing and turn to us for the odd bit of paid help if he gets stuck.”

“I can’t stay for long anyway,” Poiry told her, “I’m having a drink or three with Damsel. She’s ever so sweet and handy with a date stamp, but she does daub too much bright red lipstick on her mouth.”

“The library assistant?”

“The same. I don’t think she knows any more than she’s already told me, but it might be worth it just to check on the colour of her underwear!”

“I’m betting it’s not white.”

“Probably not. I’m nipping home to get changed and tell my folks I might be late.”

“Are you going to wear that rather fetching pair of shorts that I bought you?”

He looked at her, and frowned. “Do I look as if I want to be seen out on the town in shorts?” he asked.

“Then you don’t know what you look sexy in.”

“Bah!” And, grinning from ear to ear because he thought that somewhere in her words there might be a compliment of sorts, he made his way out of the office.

He was looking forward to an hour in the company of Damsel Eagerhill and her bright red lips.

© Peter Rogerson 30.09.21

...