The atmosphere was warm and dry, with that subtle but delicious aroma of paper, the smell of calm, of order, of casual discovery. He hadn’t been a particularly dedicated scholar in his youth, but now, so many years later, those evenings in Nottingham University Library came back to him. Lazily reading Giovanni Guareschi’s Don Camillo stories for the sheer, innocent pleasure, unhindered by any worries about tuition fees, student debt for the rest of his life. It seemed like a distant wonderland that he’d drifted through, and right out of, never to return. He’d chosen a career in teaching, but five years after that he was in the police. Now he was back in a library, looking for the killer of a drug dealer who no one seemed to know or care about. More Divine Comedy than Don Camillo.

He didn’t need to look very hard to find the indoor curling. The raised voices led him right to it. In a long, carpeted room at the back of the library he found a sea of silver hair, muted corduroys and hunched backs. About a dozen men and women were playing, sending small curling stones on wheels across the carpet, each shot accompanied by winces and groans. Yet there was also laughter, a great deal of it, the sound of people having a bloody good time doing something a little bit ridiculous in a location decidedly not intended for it.

‘Fancy a go?’ asked a ruddy-faced man in a maroon Harvard sweatshirt and brown slacks.

Several others stopped to look.

‘Unfair advantage!’ shouted one of the ladies. ‘Look at him! He’s half our age!’

‘And able-bodied!’ someone added.

‘I’ll leave it to the experts, if that’s all right,’ said Joe, sitting down in one of the plastic chairs against the wall.

He watched as a woman sent a wheeled stone along the carpet, garnering praise from the crowd, several of whom were not only able-bodied but spritely. He hoped he’d be in that kind of shape when he was drawing his police pension.

A large, portly man came across and lowered himself down into the adjacent seat.

‘A bit young for this crowd, aren’t you?’ he asked, wheezing a little as he shifted his weight in an attempt to get comfortable.

‘Curling in a library? It’s… it’s a strange one!’

‘That it is!’ He paused. ‘Looking for anyone in particular, officer?’

Joe thought about it.

‘That obvious, is it?’

‘A man your age in a suit and tie on a Saturday morning? Few days after a murder just down the road?’ He held out a hand. ‘Dave Bannister. I was a local councillor for more years than I care to remember. Spent a lot of time with the police. I can spot you lot a mile off!’

‘I’m looking into the Lobster Pot,’ Joe said, lowering his voice a touch.

Bannister considered the information, nodding appreciatively.