He remained there, admiring the empty space on the board between Cancer Survivors’ Circle and the Model Aeroplane Club.

‘Lot of groups you’ve got here,’ Joe said, noticing the Kirklees Library Services badge on the breast pocket of the guy’s faded denim shirt.

The young man did a what’s it to you? shrug.

‘Actually, the one I’m interested in doesn’t seem to be here. Modern society. Open minds. Lobsters?’

The guy turned away from Joe, speaking as he rummaged in the bin.

‘There’s a bunch of fascists use the meeting room. Can’t stop ’em, long as they book it through the proper channels. I can take their posters down, though. Here. He’ll be back to put another one up. Little Saturday ritual we’ve got going.’

He handed the ball of paper to Joe.

‘Actually,’ Joe asked as he straightened it out, recognizing the same glossy poster from the bus stop, ‘I’ve already got one of these.’

The librarian didn’t even dignify that with an answer.

‘I’m not a sympathizer,’ Joe added, wondering why he’d felt the need to explain himself.

The young man stopped, mid-step, and looked Joe right in the eye.

‘I don’t care.’

‘I think you might, Mark Sugden,’ he said, reading the name from the library name tag as he held his warrant card up close to the young man’s face.

Sugden was probably around thirty. But he had the pallor of a student who’d been left out in the rain a bit too long, the faint air of crusty radicalism, the whiff of protest marches full of white guys with dreadlocks and bad teeth.

‘These lobster people, tell me about them. You know Daniel Cullen? Tall guy, alpha-male type?’

Sugden shook his head.

‘You know anyone else in the group?’

Again, a shake of the head.

‘I know nothing, officer.’

‘They take a vigilante line. Cleaning up the streets, that kind of thing.’

‘That’s the police’s job, isn’t it? Cleaning up the streets, keeping everybody in order, nobody stepping out of line?’

He snorted like a sarcastic teenager and looked down at the floor.

‘You don’t like the police?’

‘Got my opinions. It’s a free country. Sergeant.’

‘One last question, Mr Sugden. Indoor curling? Is that really a thing?’

‘See for yourself. They’re through the library. The meeting room’s at the back on the right.’

Joe checked the time on the poster. That was it. The old fellas had been getting ready to go curling. Competitive curling too, judging by the way they’d been ribbing each other a few minutes ago.

With the librarian now making a great show of ignoring him, Joe stepped cautiously into the reading room, saw that there was hardly anyone there and wandered down between the stacks.