“Zoë Wells, the library assistant. You’ll have seen her as you came in. And Alec Cole, one of the trustees. Other people were in and out of the building, but just five of us were around all morning.” The librarian paused. “And now, I suppose, there are only four.”
The Silence Room was reached by more stone steps at the back of the library. This time they were narrow and dark. The servants’ exit, Joe thought. It felt like descending into a basement. There was no natural light in the corridor below. The three of them paused and waited for Cath to unlock the heavy door. Inside, the walls were lined with more books. These were old and big, reference texts. Still no windows. Small tables for working had been set between the shelves. The victim sat with his back to them, slumped forward over one of the tables. There was a wound on his head, blood and matted hair.
“Murder weapon?” Vera directed her question to both of them. Then: “I’ve been in this room dozens of times, but this is the first time I’ve ever spoken here. It seems almost sacrilegious. Weird, isn’t it, the habit of silence?” She turned to Joe. “That’s the rule. We never speak in here.”
“I wondered if he could have been hit with the book.” Cath nodded towards a huge tome lying on the floor. “Could that kill someone?”
Vera gave a barking laugh. “Don’t see why not, with enough force behind it. Appropriate, eh? Gilbert Wood killed with words.”
“You knew him?” Why am I not surprised? Joe thought.
“Oh, our Gilbert was quite famous in his own field. Academic, historian, broadcaster, writer. He’s been knocking around this place since I was a bairn and he’s turned out a few words in his time.” She turned to Cath. “What was he working on now?”
“He was researching the library’s archives. The Lit and Phil began its life as a museum as well as a library and there’s fascinating material on the artefacts that were kept here. Some very weird and wonderful stuff. We thought it might make a book. Another boost to our funds.”
Outside there were quick footsteps and a man in his sixties appeared in the doorway. He was small and neat with highly polished black shoes, a grey suit and a dark tie. Joe thought he looked like an undertaker.
“I was working upstairs,” he said. “The accounts for the AGM next week. Zoë had to tell me that the police had arrived.” There was a touch of reproach in the voice. He was accustomed to being consulted.
“Please meet Alec Cole.” Cath’s words were polite enough but Joe thought she didn’t like him. “He’s our honorary treasurer. It’s Alec who makes sure we live within our means.”
“A difficult task,” Cole said, “for any charitable organization during these benighted times.”
“You knew the deceased?” Joe had expected Vera to take charge of the conversation, but she was still staring at Wood’s body, apparently lost in thought.
“Of course I knew him. He was a fellow trustee. We were working together on the restructuring plan.”
Now Vera seemed to wake up. “What did you make of Gilbert? Got on all right, did you?”
“Of course we got on. He was a charming man. He had plans to make the library more attractive to the public. His research into the archives had thrown up a variety of ideas to bring in new members.”
“What sort of ideas?”
“He wanted to develop a history group for young people. History was his passion and he was eager to share it, especially since he retired from the university. He thought we could run field trips to archaeological sites, invite guest lecturers.”
“Aye,” Vera said. “He tried something like that once before. I remember an outing to Hadrian’s Wall. My father thought it would be good for me. It was bloody freezing.”
“It’s not so easy to set up field trips these days,” Cath said. “There are implications. Health and Safety. Risk assessment. I wasn’t sure it was worth it. Or that we could justify the cost.”
Joe sensed that this was an argument that had played out many times before. He was surprised at Vera allowing the conversation to continue. Today, it seemed, she had no sense of urgency.
“Perhaps we should go upstairs,” he said, “and talk to the other witnesses.”
“Aye,” the inspector said. “I suppose we should.” But still her attention was fixed on the dead man. It was as if she were fascinated by what she saw. She bent forward so she could see Wood’s face without approaching any closer. Then Ashworth led them away, a small solemn procession, back to the body of the library.
They sat around a large table with the vacuum jug of coffee and a plate of digestive biscuits in the middle. There were six of them now. Sebastian Charles had been called in from the landing and Zoë had emerged from the counter. Joe Ashworth thought she looked hardly more than a child, her face bare of make-up. He saw now that she was tiny, her bones frail as a bird’s. The pink hair made her look as if she were in fancy dress.
“This is where the old ones sit,” Vera said. “The retired men and the batty old ladies, chewing the fat and putting the world to rights. Well, I suppose that’s what we’re doing too. Putting the world to rights. There’s something unnatural about having a murderer on the loose.” She looked at them all. “Who was the last person to see him alive?”
“I saw him at lunchtime,” Zoë said. “He went out to buy a sandwich, and for a walk, to clear his head, he said. Just for half an hour.”
“What time was that?”
“Between midday and twelve-thirty.” Zoë wiped her eyes again. She made no noise, but the tears continued to run down her face. Like a tap with a dodgy washer, Joe thought, only leaking silently. No irritating drips. “He brought me a piece of cheesecake from the bakery. A gift. He knew it was my favourite.”
“Any advance on twelve-thirty?’’
Joe found it hard to understand his boss’s attitude. She’d known the victim yet there was this strange flippancy, as if the investigation were a sort of game, or a ritual that had to be followed. Perhaps it was this place, all these books. It was easy to think of the murder as just another story.
“We had a brief discussion on the back stairs,” Alec Cole said. “Just after Gilbert had gone out for lunch, I suppose. He was on his way down to the Silence Room to continue his work on the archives. I’d just gone to the gents. I asked how things were going. He said he’d made a fascinating discovery that would prove the link between one of the early curators of the Lit and Phil Museum and the archaeology of Hadrian’s Wall. Esoteric to the rest of us, I suppose, but fascinating to him.”
“Did you notice if anyone else was working in the room?” Vera asked.
“I couldn’t see. The door was shut and I was on my way upstairs when Gilbert went in.”
“And if there were anyone inside he wouldn’t greet Gilbert,” Vera said. “Because of the rule of silence. So you wouldn’t hear anything either way.” She paused. “What about you, Cath? Did you see him?”
“Just first thing when he arrived. He must have passed the office when he went out to lunch and I always have my door open but I didn’t notice him. I’m snowed under at the moment and I only left my desk to go to the ladies or to pour myself a coffee.”
“And then you found him, Sebastian.”
The poet gave a slow, cat-like smile. “I went down to start work and there he was, just as you saw him. It was a shock, of course, and rather horrible even though I’ve felt like killing him myself a few times.”
“You don’t seem very shocked!” At last Zoë’s tears stopped and now she was angry. “I don’t know how you can sit there and make a joke of it.”
“Not a very good joke, sweetie. And you all know I couldn’t stand the man. It would be stupid to pretend otherwise just for the inspector.”