‘You wouldn’t happen to have the Selous School for Boys yearbooks, would you?’

Her eyes gave him the once-over before she said in a rather stern voice, ‘Year?’

‘1942,’ Spokes replied.

She stood up and Spokes was overwhelmed by the smell of talcum powder. She did not say anything else to him as she creaked away into the darker recesses of the library. She was gone for so long that when the assistant librarian appeared and asked him if he was being helped, Spokes did not know exactly how to respond. As he was deciding to repeat his request, the head librarian creaked her way back.

‘Name?’ she said, hugging the yearbook to her bosom.

Spokes showed her his badge. She took it from him, looked at it sceptically, flipped it over to examine its back, and then looked him over more than once before she began very carefully and minutely to write down his details in her sign-out register. ‘Please handle it with care,’ she said as she pointed him towards the rows of readers’ desks. ‘Maximum two hours.’

Spokes sat down at a desk and turned the pages of the yearbook, not really knowing what he was looking for – until he found it. There it was. Printed in black and white. A resemblance. A striking resemblance, where he least expected it. He looked and looked, somehow hoping not to be seeing what he was seeing, but his trained eyes would not let him see otherwise. He slowly and carefully closed the yearbook as the disparate pieces of the case began to come together.

He was certain he had it, but he was also hoping that for once in his career, he was wrong. He desperately wanted to be wrong. There was only one way to be sure either way. He picked up his fedora from the reading desk and began hurrying out the library.

‘Walk, don’t run, for Christ’s sake,’ the ancient head librarian called. ‘And where is the book you checked out? It needs to be returned and signed in,’ she shouted as he ran past the front desk. There would be time for that later, Spokes decided. At this moment there was only one important thing. ‘You lot!’ the ancient head librarian screamed as Spokes ran out the door.

Spokes got there just in time to find the Peugeot 504 pulling out of its roadside parking bay. He stood in front of it and placed his hands on the bonnet, alarming the two detectives in the vehicle. Their shock gave way to puzzled concern. There was chaos and pandemonium as other cars travelling up and down Fort Street hooted their objections to the interruption.

‘Mother’s name?’ Spokes screamed, unsuccessfully trying to be heard above the din.

‘Get off the road, you bloody munt,’ someone shouted from a car that was manoeuvring around him.

It was Spokes’s job to restore order, and so he motioned for the two detectives to park again.