Monday was a busy day because Mal had a load of paperwork to catch up on. But on Tuesday morning, after getting up at silly o'clock to see Rob off for a job on the other side of the county, Mal opened up the museum early. By nine he had cleared a space in the ground floor stores where the heavier items from the museum collection were kept. Everything from a box of cannon balls to a plough had been stacked neatly on shelves, the pieces of the farm cart were propped securely against one wall and he had an area large enough to take the cist on its pallet. The room felt cool and dry, but not too dry. Just in case, Mal set a temp/humidity monitor on the nearest shelf, and added taking regular readings to his 'to do' list. Then he went to measure up the room he hoped to refurbish. When Betty came in with coffee for him, he was sitting with his back against one of the venerable cases with his laptop in his lap, pricing paint and sketching out a layout.
Betty plonked their mugs down on the floor beside him, seated herself and peered at his screen.
"Bad computer etiquette," he complained. "How did you know I wasn't looking at something private?"
Betty made a scornful noise. "You, look at porn during office hours? Leave it out. That's a thing to do furtively after dark, except you won't have to any more because a little bird tells me that you and Rob are knocking boots again, and you won't need the porn unless it's for inspiration."
"Excuse me," Mal tilted the laptop away from her again. "Why all this interest in my sex life? If I was interested in yours it would be wildly inappropriate."
"Well, yeah, because you aren't really interested, you'd be making a creepy and inappropriate point, which I totally know you wouldn't do, okay? But I'm making the point that I'm happy you and Rob are back together again but didn't want to just come out and say it."
"You're awful, Betty, but - um - thank you." Mal swivelled the laptop back towards her. "I'm doing pricings to make this room fit to see."
"Oh Christ, about bloody time. This exhibit is so boring." Betty rolled her eyes. "I don't think anyone under the age of sixty has ever said they liked it, unless it's to say 'my granny had cups like that'. What shall we have in here? Those creepy medical specimens?"
"I'm not sure Pemberland is ready for a tapeworm in a bottle."
"Pig foetus in alcohol?"
"Please God, not that. No, I'm going to use the room for the Early Peoples exhibition."
"Fantastic." Betty peered at the screen. "We've got masses of stuff. Enough to fill the cases."
"We'd need to get a grant. Have you any idea how horribly expensive the right type of paint is?"
"So a couple of coats of Dulux is out then. Pity because I know a bloke who could get it for you at trade."
"Really?" Mal considered. "I wonder if he'd know if there's a trade equivalent of Farrow and Ball paint?
"I bet he would." Betty used his shoulder to push herself to her feet. "I'm going to get the desk sorted, and there's a package of shop stock to process, so I'll do that after. Also a message from Brian - PC Brian - asking you to get in touch when you have a minute."
"Oh? Any idea what he wanted?"
"He didn't say. Lots of engine noise, though, so I reckon he was in the car. Not driving, because, you know, Brian, but parked maybe."
"Are you sure he was as unconcerned as you made him sound, Bet?" Mal got up too, closing his laptop and tucking it under his arm. "You know Brian. He'd be moving people out of a burning building with a polite ‘if you wouldn't mind, in your own time, no rush’."
"Well yeah," Betty led the way back to reception. "But I reckon if it was urgent he would have said. Like ‘there's no rush but if he could, today, or this morning might be better, or, actually Betty could you go and fetch him now. I'll be by the phone’ but he didn't say any of that."
"Okay. You make tea. I'll ring him from the office." Mal hurried upstairs and into his room, which was, he was pleased to note, looking much more like a place to get stuff done and a little less like a junk shop. Yes, it was still chaotic round the edges, and there was one corner he was a bit scared to address because everything was so tightly packed, but the desk was clear and he could see the carpet. It needed vaccing desperately but that was a problem for later.
With a mug of tea and two bits of shortbread from the tin - Sharon had evidently been baking again - Mal found the card that Brian had given him and picked up the phone. Landline or mobile? He plumped for the mobile number and listened to it ring. It rang twice and he heard Brian's voice, breathless, against a background of conversation and car noise.
"Hi, PC Farriner?" Mal decided that formality might be more appropriate because he wasn't sure in what capacity Brian had called him. "This is Malcolm Bright from the museum. I had a message to get in touch with you."
"Oh good, thanks for being so prompt." Brian's voice faded for moment against a back drop of engine noise. "I was wondering if you are free to come out. Hey, no, you don't! DI Cowper's anxious to get the cist back where it belongs."
"Oh, that's kind of him. Just as well I spent some time this morning making space for it." He winced at another shout. "Are you all right, Brian?"
"Just shooshing some bullocks off the road. G'wan, hup! To be honest, the cist is taking up a lot of floor space." Brian shouted over the sound of a heavy lorry driven very slowly. "We'd be doing formalities today, really. Get over you bugger! We need a formal identification of the goods and some paperwork filling in. You'll have to arrange your own transport, but I'm sure that won't be a problem. I know Glyn was really keen to help out. The thing is, I can come and pick you up and run you back after, if we can do it this morning." There was a squeak of metal and a clang. "There, that's got them. All right, Mal?"
Mal chuckled. "Well done. You do realise I'm sort of imagining you in Stetson and chaps now."
"Well, whatever blows your skirt up." Brian chuckled. "I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."
It amused Mal that 'behind the scenes' storage areas just about everywhere had the same slightly chaotic air about them. The place into which he was led by DI Cowper looked very much like a museum storage area - sensible flooring, Dexion shelves, and cardboard archive boxes alternating with bagged up bundles of stuff too bulky to box. The big difference was that most of the recognisable items were much more modern. Flat screen TVs, for instance, seemed popular. Likewise game consoles. But there was only one massive well-wrapped cist on a pallet.
"Okay then," Mal said in reply to Cowper's suggestion that he look the bulbous parcel over. "That's exactly the packaging as I remember it. There should be a packet taped to the side - yes, round here - that should have all the documentation. Exit forms, a description of contents with a CD of photos, and the signatures of Culmstock and the owner - er, of the putative owner."
Cowper made a soft sound in his throat that could have been a cough but that sounded to Mal far more like a startled laugh. "You've heard that, have you?"
"From Mrs Gaskell herself." Mal smiled. "Perhaps she's also been in touch with you?"
"Well, yes, as it happens. So you can formally state that this is the item taken from the High Rifles building site on the evening of fifth November."
"I can't believe that there'd be more than one, but, yes, I remember the pattern of tape on this side." Mal patted the top of the package, looking forward to having it safely in his stores. "Can I arrange for it to be collected now? You aren't still intending to press charges, are you?"
Cowper shook his head, his lips tight. "There seems to have been a genuine misunderstanding plus some drunken, knee jerk do-gooding and some petty vandalism. We could get them on charges of conspiracy to commit a crime except it turns out it wasn't actually a crime. Wasting police time is an offence but I had it pointed out to me that I'd have to arrest half the population of Pemberland to be sure of getting the right ones. The most serious charge would be unlawful imprisonment, for locking Rother in the Portaloo, but the same problems apply." DI Cowper scowled. "Frankly, I've got better things to do with my time than throw more man hours at this sorry business. Well, since you're satisfied it's the same package, you can make arrangements to collect it."
Dismissed, Mal went to fill in the necessary forms, then found Brian, but it wasn't until he was in the car and the engine was running that he let out his tension in a long sigh.
"Don't worry about Tim," Brian said. "His bark is worse than his bite - most of the time. It's pretty clear that you weren't involved with - um - whatever happened."
"I wasn't worried about me," Mal said. "I can't help feeling that there could still be some trouble. Especially from Brian Rother."
"Oh Mal, I can't really discuss an open case," Brian's voice was serious but the look he shot at Mal was pure mischief, "but you can safely assume that DI Cowper feels much about Rother as we do. Nobody enjoys being told how to do their job."
Mal wanted to ask Brian how he coped, knowing that shenanigans had occurred, knowing whodunnit, knowing the aim of the conspirators, but never being able to speak up because of the way this odd little town regulated itself. Instead he said, "Well, that's a relief. I was worried I might end up in an orange jumpsuit somewhere."
Brian snorted. "Have you been watching too many US police dramas, or what? No, the boss would love to administer some good hard smacks on the wrist for wasting police time, up to and including jail last week, he was so annoyed. But we've got far too many other, more damaging, things on our plate to waste time gathering enough evidence to gain a conviction."
"I can't imagine what you're up against," Mal said. "Is crime very different in rural areas?"
"Not much. Same sort of nastiness you find everywhere. Car theft, drug dealing, loads of burglaries, plus your genuine sheep rustling is on the rise. Not big money, usually, but it all has to be policed."
"Define ‘big money’," Mal said. "I'd imagine the theft of a pensioner's purse could be far more devastating. Or a kid sold rat bait instead of meow meow. Missing archaeology feels so trivial in comparison. To have never got the burial assemblage back would have been a huge disappointment, both personally and professionally. I had a lot of emotional investment in getting the best possible display made and seeing that those two men were - "
"Celebrated," Brian suggested. He was smiling, calm and a little bit wistful as he took the turn towards the old bridge.
"Yes, celebrated is the right word.”
"I - er - never said how much I appreciated what you said in Lisa's bit in the paper, that thing about understanding priorities. We all have our own tragedies." Brian smiled and paused to let a woman with a milling bunch of spaniels cross the road. "But at least this turned out well. I'll look forward to your exhibition."