The Mystery of the Stolen Books

©2006 Keith Robinson

The Five Find-Outers and Dog are home for the holidays again. When Peterswood library is broken into, the gang are soon on the trail... much to Mr Goon's annoyance. Fatty and his friends find only one clue: a footprint on the windowsill where the burglar smashed a window and climbed in. Why anyone should risk breaking into a library to steal a few books is a mystery—so it's even more puzzling when the stolen books are found dumped in an old school field. Meanwhile, Mr Goon is investigating another break-in, this one at an office building in town. Valuable coins have been stolen out of a safe. Two burglaries in one night! Can they be connected somehow?

This is a completed novel which I sent to Egmont (the current publishers of the Find-Outer series) for consideration. They returned my synopsis with a hand-written note in the bottom corner saying simply, "I am sorry, I must pass." So I thought I'd make the story available here. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 15: An arrest is made

Back | Index | Next

"I think it's awful that we have to work with Old Clear-Orf," said Larry with a scowl.

They all sat together in a small tea shop on the High Street. They'd considered visiting the bakery and munching on those delicious sausage rolls again, but somehow they couldn't resist the sight of fresh macaroons as they passed their favourite tea shop. They sat around a table with a plate piled high before them. Lunchtime was at least an hour and a half away yet.

Fatty nodded. "Awful as it may be, the superintendent asked us nicely—and we don't want to get on his wrong side any more than Goon does. Besides, I really think Old Clear-Orf is in danger of losing his job. Can you imagine Buster not having those fat ankles to bite?"

Everyone laughed, and Buster—sitting patiently on the floor with his tongue hanging out—pricked up his ears and glanced at them all in turn.

"He wants another macaroon," said Bets. "Can I give him one, Fatty?"

"Certainly not!" said Fatty, shocked. "He's had three already, and they're far too fattening for him. Look at his round tummy!"

Pip wiped his hands on a napkin. "I wish I'd been able to see Old Clear-Orf's face when you went from being an old man to that young toad of a boy."

"Hey!" said Fatty, leaning across and punching Pip on the shoulder.

Pip laughed. "So tell us, what did Mr Goon say he was going to do, after you told him everything we know?"

"Just that he'd think about it all and get back to us. I think he was a little put out that the superintendent hadn't bothered to phone him and mention that Carl Westlake might be involved, but it's his own fault for being such an idiot all the time. Maybe in future he'll think for a change."

"Fat chance," said Larry.

"Anyway," said Fatty, staring at the plate of macaroons and wondering if he dare have a fourth, "he was very quiet as I left—and no wonder, after all our false clues! I thought I was going to choke with laughter when he asked to see my boots."

Everyone laughed, remembering Fatty's hilarious story.

"Anyway," Fatty went on, frowning, "like I said, he was very quiet as I left...and I got the feeling he had something on his mind, something he was feeling smug about. I wouldn't put it past him to go and solve this mystery on his own and not tell us anything more."

"But he doesn't know anything more," said Bets. "Not now we know about that clue he found in the alley—the one we missed."

"Yes, and we only missed it because we're short enough to pass by that overhanging tree without getting snagged on it," Larry said. "We were so busy staring at the ground we didn't even think to look up."

"Very remiss of us," groaned Fatty. "But anyway, apparently the burglar got caught on that branch and left a piece of his black woolly hat behind, so Mr Goon says. That's good evidence—if we find the woolly hat it came from. It would be good if we could get into Carl Westlake's house and look for that hat, and while we're at it we could check his shoes too. If we found that black woolly hat, with a thread missing, and the shoes with the correct pattern...well, that would be enough to put him away, I should think."

"Especially if we found the coins at his house as well," Pip said.

Fatty shook his head. "No chance of that, I'm afraid. People like Carl Westlake don't sell valuable coins—they just steal them and get paid for the job. I should think Carl handed them straight over to whoever hired him."

"And we still don't know who that might be," said Daisy, looking glum. "But if there's enough evidence to arrest Carl Westlake, well, surely he'll spill the beans on the man who hired him."

Everyone pondered that, and eventually decided that people like Carl Westlake probably wouldn't spill the beans. "He's been in prison a few times," said Fatty. "He's tough, and not likely to roll over on his accomplice. No, we have to figure out for ourselves who his accomplice is—and hopefully before Goon does anything silly like arrest the wrong man."

"So where do we start?" asked Larry, pushing the macaroons away. "Ugh, I can't manage another. My lunch is already ruined."

Fatty pondered for a while. "I'm afraid it's out of our hands. We can't very well search Carl's place for shoes and woolly hats, but Goon can if he gets a warrant. And—"

"A warrant?" said Bets. "What's that?"

Pip rolled his eyes. "It's when policemen get permission from the authorities to barge into someone's house and search the place. They have to have reasonable grounds to do so first, which I think Goon does—but if Goon turned up on Carl's doorstep without a warrant, then Carl has the right to refuse entry. And if Goon went away and came back with a warrant, then Carl might have got rid of any evidence by then."

"Quite right," said Fatty approvingly. "So Old Clear-Orf had better get it right first time, or else." He sighed. "There's something else Goon can do—something he thought of himself, actually, which I thought was pretty smart. He can check Carl's phone records, to see who called him in the afternoon before the robbery."

There was a silence, and then Larry nodded slowly. "You think his accomplice phoned him that afternoon?"

"Well, it's likely, don't you think?" said Fatty, a little impatiently. "Carl received a phone call and wrote down something on the back of a book, something worth breaking into the library for. It must have been related to the break-in at Mr Johnson's office. What could have been written on that book? Come on, everyone. Think!"

"If it was Carl's employer or accomplice telling him to go and do a job," said Daisy slowly, "maybe he was supplying directions to the building. Or an address."

"Good," said Fatty, nodding. "Could be. But how difficult can it be to remember an address? The address is Room 22, Green Meadows. You might write something simple like that down as someone's telling you over the phone, but I doubt it could be forgotten so easily. No, it must be something else, something he can't hope to remember."

"Wait—what was it Peter Westlake said?" asked Pip. "He said something about numbers and letters?"

Fatty smacked the table with the palm of his hand and everyone jumped. "I'm an idiot! Yes, he did say that. All right, then—a string of numbers and letters. Any ideas?"

"Numbers and letters," said Larry, frowning.

Everyone was silent for what seemed an age, but no ideas sprung to mind. Fatty cleared his throat. "All right. Consider this: it was something vital to the job he was about to do. Carl Westlake never had any intention of stealing a bunch of books from the library—he intended only to do one job that night, at Green Meadows. But he had to get back that dust jacket, because the string of numbers and letters was vital to the job. He couldn't do the job without it."

"And it had to be that night," Pip said thoughtfully. "Mr Johnson said he put the coins in the safe that evening before he left, and the owner was due back the following day to pick them up. That means Carl must have known the coins would only be there that night—so he had to break in and steal back that dust jacket because he couldn't wait until the library reopened the next day."

Fatty nodded slowly. "Pip, you're absolutely right. Gosh, I need another macaroon. We're doing well, Find-Outers."

He bit into a macaroon and chewed slowly, with the others lost in thought.

"How did Carl know the safe's combination?" asked Daisy. "He's a crook, but is he clever enough to get into a safe without even damaging it?"

"And yet, Mr Johnson was the only one who knew the combination," said Larry, nodding. "So unless he phoned Carl and told him—"

Fatty jumped up with a yelp. Everyone in the tea shop glanced around, alarmed, and Fatty hurriedly sat down again. His heart was beating fast. "That's it," he whispered fiercely. "Mr Johnson must have phoned Carl with the safe's combination number—and Carl wrote it on the first thing that came to hand, which was his son Peter's library book. Peter said it was string of numbers and letters—probably something like 'R23, L37' or whatever—'L' for 'left' and 'R' for 'right'. See? You turn safe dials backwards and forwards, left and right, to certain secret numbers...and that's what the string of numbers and letters are for. That's why Carl had to have that dust jacket back! He couldn't open the safe otherwise!"

"Fatty!" said Bets, her eyes shining. "You've done it! You've solved the mystery!"

"We've done it," said Fatty warmly. "All of us. We discussed it, tossed ideas back and forth, and finally happened on the truth. We need to go and see Mr Goon straight away."

They paid hurriedly, jumped on their bikes, and headed over to Mr Goon's house. But to their surprise, his housekeeper open the door and told them he was out. "Gone to make an arrest," she said excitedly. "He has half the police force out!"

"Where's he gone?" asked Fatty urgently. "To the Westlake's?"

"Westlake, yes," the housekeeper said, nodding rapidly. "He left fifteen minutes ago."

"Let's hurry," said Fatty grimly, tearing off down the road with Buster in his basket. "We might get there just in time to see Carl being taken away. I can't believe Old Clear-Orf went ahead without us, after all the help we've given him!"

It was a ten minute ride to Springwater Close. As they tore around the corner into the cul-de-sac they were startled to see such a buzz of activity—three police cars, constables everywhere, neighbours standing out on their doorsteps gossiping. And in the middle of it all was Mr Goon, looking very important indeed, ordering people about.

The Find-Outers got as close as they could before policemen blocked their way. If only Superintendent Jenks were here, thought Fatty. How annoying to be left out of all the fun at the last minute!

Mr Goon caught sight of them at last and spent a few moments ignoring them with a smug look on his face. Then he marched ponderously towards them, obviously enjoying himself. "Ho!" he said loudly. "Here to watch the police in action, are you? Well, it's all over now, I'm afraid. I got a warrant, see, and I marched straight in there and searched the place. Found Carl Westlake's shoes in the cupboard within minutes—and of course the soles match the prints found at both crime scenes."

Fatty tried to contain his annoyance. "That's all very good, Mr Goon, but what else?"

"The woolly hat, you mean?" said Mr Goon majestically. "A black balaclava, same as all criminals wear. I guessed as much. It's a woolly hat that you pull down over your face, and it becomes a mask with eyeholes and—"

"Yes, I know that," Fatty snapped. "But what about the dust jacket? Did you find that?"

Mr Goon raised an eyebrow. "Think I'm stupid? Of course I did. It's been bagged as evidence, same as the woolly hat and the shoes. Ho, yes—very important clue, that. Unless I'm very much mistaken, the combination number to Mr Johnson's safe is written on the back, which connects Mr Westlake very firmly to the burglary at Green Meadows as well as the library."

"And Mr Johnson...?" asked Fatty.

"Mr Johnson is being apprehended as we speak," Mr Goon said haughtily. "I was right all along. I have instincts, you know, and my instincts told me from the start it was a put-up job. Well, since Mr Johnson was the only one who knew the combination to the safe—by his own admittance, I might add—he's landed himself right in the soup."

"What about the phone records?" asked Larry suddenly. "Do they show a phone call from Mr Johnson's office to Carl's house?"

Mr Goon shook his head. "No, but someone phoned from a public phone booth. Covering his tracks, see? But no matter, we have what we need—except the coins, which are still missing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. The superintendent will be here shortly and I want to have everything nice and wrapped up."

He sauntered off, whistling in an annoying way.

Fatty turned to the others and shrugged. "Well, there's nothing more we can do here. Mr Goon won through in the end."

Bets was almost in tears. "But it's so unfair!" she wailed. "We worked it all out—everything, just now in the tea shop—and Mr Goon's going to take all the credit!"

Fatty put his arm around her and glanced about at all the onlookers. "Perhaps it's for the best. If Mr Goon hadn't solved this, he might have lost his job. And he did, you know—solve it I mean. After I told him everything we knew at his house, he must have pondered everything the same way we did and came to the same conclusion—and beat us to it."

They stood for a while, watching the activity. Carl Westlake was finally marched out of his house looking extremely bad tempered. His hands were cuffed behind his back as three policemen escorted him to one of the police cars. In the doorway of the house stood a forlorn figure, Carl's son Peter. He looked confused.

"Poor thing," said Daisy, when Fatty confirmed who he was. "His mother died some time ago, and now his father's being marched back to prison. I wonder what will become of Peter."

Nobody knew, but they felt sorry for him. On the other hand, he was a college student so was probably getting on for eighteen, if he wasn't already—so at least he wouldn't be in foster care for long. He was an adult, and could make his own way in the world. He might even be better off without his father's bad influence, thought Fatty.

They decided not to wait around for Superintendent Jenks. Let Goon have the glory. The Five Find-Outers would get the better of him next time.

Back | Index | Next