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

tray.
    'What is it?' said Israel.
    'It's food and drink,' said Hussain, getting up.
    'I'm not hungry,' said Israel. He was hungry. He was starving. But he couldn't eat.
    'It's coffee,' said Hussain, offering Israel the tray. 'And scones.'
    Scones. Scones. Always bloody scones. Around Tumdrum the scone was regarded not as a snack item or as a luxury, but pretty much as an essential food item; around Tumdrum the scone was a sine qua non . And this morning of all mornings Israel could have done with a cup of coffee and a scone.
    But even Israel couldn't manage a coffee and a scone this morning: things were really that bad.
    So, after Hussain had eaten the scones and drunk the two coffees–'Are you sure?' he said, starting in on scone two. 'They're really good. They're cinnamon. You're absolutely sure?'–he and Israel were taken into the interview room. Two police officers were present: Sergeant Friel and someone Israel didn't recognise.
    The policeman Israel didn't recognise switched on a tape recorder, said his name–Israel didn't quite catch it, was it Doggart? Hoggart?–the date, time and place and then he spoke to Israel. 'Can you introduce yourself for the benefit of the tape?'
    Israel said nothing.
    Hussain gave Israel a little nudge. Back in the cell, he'd explained to Israel that he needed to cooperate. Any questions he wasn't sure about, Israel was supposed to say, 'No comment.'
    But instead Israel said nothing. And so Hussain nudged him again. And still Israel said nothing. So Hussain spoke on his behalf, saying his name. And the police officer told the tape that Israel had refused to speak. There was a chorus of huffing and puffing around the room.
    'Where'd he get the name, Israel?' Doggart/Hoggart muttered to Sergeant Friel.
    'I don't know.'
    'What's that?' said Israel.
    'Ah! It speaks!' said Doggart/Hoggart. 'Your name. Where'd you get it?'
    'My name?'
    'Aye. You didn't get it off a bush, did you?'
    'What do you mean, I didn't get it off a bush?'
    'Why are you called Israel?'
    'Why do you think?'
    'I'm asking you.'
    'I'm called Israel after Israel, the people of Israel, in the Bible. You've heard of that, I suppose?'
    'We have to ask,' said Sergeant Friel, whose mock emollience now seemed like true balm compared to Doggart/Hoggart.
    'You are named after the state of Israel in the Middle East?' asked Doggart/Hoggart.
    'Yes, that too, I suppose.'
    'And what's your connection with the state of Israel, Mr Armstrong?'
    'What? I don't have any connection with the state of Israel!'
    'You're called Israel and you have no connections with the state of Israel or with the Middle East?'
    'No. I don't.'
    'So why are you called Israel?'
    'I thought I'd just explained! My mother's Jewish, and she thought it was a good idea at the time. It was the 1970s. We had family there. It was all the rage.'
    'So, you claim you have no contact with the Middle East and yet you have family there?'
    'Yes. Look, what has this got to do with anything? I'm from north London. I'm just called Israel: I'm not an Israeli.'
    'I see. And what's the nature of your business here in Northern Ireland?'
    'I live here. You know I live here. I work here. I'm the librarian!'
    'So, you're an immigrant?'
    'What? Well, yes. No. No, I'm not an immigrant. I'm English. I just happen to be here. I've got a job here.'
    'And your job of work here?'
    'I just told you! I'm the librarian! On the mobile library. Ask Sergeant Friel there, he gets his books out from the library once a month. Do you never get books out of the library?'
    Doggart/Hoggart did not look as though he got a lot of books out of the library.
    There was a malevolent kind of a pause for a moment then–a pause in which Israel looked pleadingly from the downcast eyes of his solicitor to the downcast eyes of Sergeant Friel and then back again to the hard stare of Doggart/Hoggart, who raised his shoulders and rearranged himself in his chair, clearly preparing for another line of questioning.
    'How many