Mr Dixon Disappears. Ian Sansom

to be arriving in his cab, his old Austin Allegro with its illuminated orange bear on the roof (‘Ted’s Cabs: If You Want To Get There, Call the Bear’). Ted was supposed to have been there over an hour ago, helping Israel set up the exhibition. He was too late now.

      Ted wound down his window.

      ‘What’s he done now then?’ said Ted, as if all he could expect from Israel was trouble, and as though the sight of him being escorted handcuffed by armed police officers was pretty much a normal turn of events.

      ‘Ted!’ said Israel.

      ‘Ted,’ said Sergeant Friel.

      ‘Brendan. What’s the trouble?’

      ‘There’s been a theft, Ted. This is a crime scene now.’

      ‘Aye, well,’ said Ted, who made the fact of Dixon and Pickering’s having turned into a crime scene sound no more interesting than a change in the weather. ‘But what’s he to do with it?’

      ‘We’re to bring him in for questioning.’

      ‘Ach, him?’ Ted laughed. ‘Are you away in the head, Brendan? He’s the librarian, for goodness sake.’

      ‘Aye.’

      ‘And he’s English,’ added Ted, as if that were some further excuse or a disability.

      ‘Right enough, Ted, but I’m closing this area down.’

      Ted got out of the car. His bald head glistened, in the dawn. He drew himself up to his full bearish height, and towered over Sergeant Friel.

      ‘Now, what would you want to be taking him away for, Brendan? We’ve the exhibition to be sorting here.’

      ‘Sorry, Ted. This is a serious crime.’

      ‘Aye, but he’s not going to have anything to do with anything, is he?’

      ‘That’s what we’re trying to establish, Ted.’

      ‘Come on, Brendan. You wouldnae send him to fetch a loaf, would you? Look at him.’

      ‘Sorry, Ted, we’ve to get on here.’

      ‘Well, let me come with him then,’ said Ted, putting out an arm to block Sergeant Friel’s way. ‘I’ll follow yous in the car.’

      ‘I don’t think that’d be a good idea, Ted, would it? You’re hardly going to want to be seeing the inside of the station now, are you?’

      ‘Ach, Brendan.’

      ‘This isn’t your business now, Ted. You’ll be obstructing us if I’ve to speak to you again.’

      Ted dropped his arm.

      ‘Ach, honest to God, Brendan. The boy’ll not be able to tell you anything. I mean, look at him. He’s not a baldie notion.’

      ‘Hello?’ said Israel. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘You keep out of this,’ said Ted.

      ‘This is serious, Ted,’ said Sergeant Friel. ‘We’re taking him in.’

      Sergeant Friel and his accompanying officers began hurrying Israel away.

      ‘Ach. No. Brendan!’ shouted Ted. ‘Hold on, Brendan! Israel! D’ye have a lawyer, Israel?’ called Ted.

      ‘What?’ Israel was starting to panic now.

      Israel was bundled into an unmarked police car.

      ‘It’s all right!’ called Ted. ‘I’ll get on to me cousin. Don’t panic, son. We’ll have this sorted in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

       4

      He was driven away in the car, Sergeant Friel to the left of him, an armed policeman to his right, another armed policeman up front, and the driver. As they pulled off, Israel saw more policemen sealing off the entrance to Dixon and Pickering’s with tape.

      ‘Shutting up shop?’

      Sergeant Friel wrote this down.

      ‘Are you writing everything down?’

      Sergeant Friel wrote this down.

      ‘You’re like my recording angel.’

      Sergeant Friel wrote this down.

      ‘Oh, God.’

      Sergeant Friel wrote this down.

      ‘That’s it. Look.’ Israel shut his mouth. ‘My lips are sealed. Look. Mm mmm mm mmm.’

      Sergeant Friel wrote this down.

      They were driving out of Tumdrum on the coast road, the dark sea up high and fretting beside them. Israel was straining to see in the rear-view mirror, to see if Ted was following in his cab; he didn’t seem to be.

      ‘Now, why don’t you just tell us what happened, Israel?’ said Sergeant Friel, once they’d cleared the last of the housing estates and were out on the open road.

      ‘What do you mean, what happened?’ said Israel. He didn’t like the way things were developing. ‘Where are we going?’

      ‘You just tell us what happened.’

      ‘Nothing happened. I—’

      ‘We’re here to help you, you know.’ Sergeant Friel had adopted a horrible, oily, emollient tone, cut through sharply with sarcasm.

      ‘Right,’ said Israel, who disliked a tone of sarcastic emollience as much as the next man. ‘You’re here to help me, and I’ve been accused of something I didn’t do, and handcuffed, and bundled into the back of an unmarked police car—’

      ‘Are you not comfortable, Mr Armstrong?’ oozed Sergeant Friel.

      ‘No, I’m not comfortable! I’m squidged up here between you and…whatever his name is here, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to have done.’

      ‘Do you want us to speak to anybody?’

      ‘Yes.’ Israel wanted to speak to his mother, but he guessed she might not be the best person to help him in these circumstances. He had no idea what his mother would say. And his father – God – his father would be turning in his grave.

      ‘Would you like me to open a window?’

      ‘No.’ It was freezing cold.

      ‘Would you like a cigarette?’

      ‘What? No. I don’t smoke. Why would I want a cigarette?’

      Sergeant Friel wrote all this down. The sea passed silently to their left. Israel was still straining to see if anyone was following the car. They weren’t.

      Sergeant Friel cleared his throat, a sure sign of his being about to deliver some more of his rehearsed lines.

      ‘What is it now?’ said Israel.

      ‘Mr Armstrong. You may have seen me making notes. This is a contemporaneous record of our conversation.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Israel, ‘I know. You told me already.’

      Sergeant Friel held the small black notebook open towards Israel. ‘I would like you to read them and tell me if you agree with them.’

      It was light outside but it was too dark to read anything clearly in the back of the car.

      ‘I can’t read them. It’s too dark,’ said Israel. ‘I can’t read anything in this dark.’

      ‘I’ll read them to you then, and you can tell me if you agree with them.’

      Sergeant Friel began to read.

      This really