“You make him sound like he doesn’t even have a left hand,” Gristhorpe said.
Banks smiled. “We used to call him Dirty Dick Burgess.”
“Why?”
“You’ll find out. It’s nothing to do with his sexual activities, I can tell you that. Though he did have a reputation as a fairly active stud-about-town.”
“Anyway,” Gristhorpe said, “he should be here around midday. He’s taking the early Intercity to York. There’s too long a wait between connections, so I’m sending Craig to meet him at the station there.”
“Lucky Craig.”
Gristhorpe frowned. Banks noticed the bags under his eyes. “Yes, well, make the best of it, Alan. If Superintendent Burgess steps out of line, I won’t be far away. It’s still our patch. By the way, Honoria Winstanley called before she left -at least one of her escorts did. Said all’s well, apologized for his brusqueness last night and thanked you for handling things so smoothly.”
“Wonders never cease.”
“I’ve booked Burgess into the Castle Hotel on York Road. It’s not quite as fancy or expensive as the Riverview, but then Burgess isn’t an MP, is he?”
Banks nodded. “What about office space?”
37
“We’re putting him in an interview room for the time being. At least there’s a desk and a chair.”
“He’ll probably complain. People like Burgess get finicky about offices and titles.”
“Let him,” Gristhorpe said, gesturing around the room. “He’s not getting this place.”
“Any news from the hospital?”
“Nothing serious. Most of the injured have been sent home. Susan Gay’s on sick-leave for the rest of the week.”
“When you were going through the statements,” Banks asked, “did you come across anything on a chap called Dennis Osmond?”
“The name rings a bell. Let me have a look.” Gristhorpe leafed through the pile.
“Yes, I thought so. Interviewed him myself. One of the last. Why?”
Banks explained about Jenny’s visit.
“I took his statement and sent him home.” Gristhorpe read through the sheet.
“That’s him. Belligerent young devil. Threatened to bring charges against the police, start an enquiry of his own. Hadn’t seen anything, though. Or at least he didn’t admit to it. According to records he’s a CND member, active in the local antinuclear group. Amnesty International, too-and you know what Mrs Thatcher thinks of them these days. He’s got connections with various other groups as well, including the International Socialists. I should imagine Superintendent Burgess will certainly want to talk to him.”
“Hmmm.” Banks wondered how Jenny would take that. Knowing both her and Burgess as he did, he could guarantee sparks would fly. “Did anything turn up in the statements?”
“Nobody witnessed the stabbing. Three people said they thought they glimpsed a knife on the road during the scuffles. It must have got kicked about quite a bit. Nothing I’ve heard so far brings order out of chaos. The poor lighting didn’t help, either. You know how badly that street is lit. Dorothy Wycombe’s been pestering us about it for weeks. I keep putting her onto the council, but to no avail. She says it’s an invitation to rape, especially with all those unlit side
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alleys, but the council says the gaslamps are good for the tourist business.
Anyway, PC Gill was found just at the bottom of the Community Centre steps, for what that’s worth. Maybe if we can find out the names of the people on the front line we’ll get somewhere.”
Banks went on to tell Gristhorpe what he’d discovered from Jenny about the other organizers.
“The Church for Peace group was involved, too,” Gristhorpe added. “Did I hear you mention Maggie’s Farm, that place near Relton?”
Banks nodded.
“Didn’t we have some trouble with them a year or so ago?”
“Yes,” Banks said. “But it was a storm in a teacup. They seemed a harmless enough bunch to me.”
“What was it? A drug raid?”
“That’s right. Nothing turned up, though. They must have had the foresight to hide it, if they had anything. We were acting on a tip from some hospital social workers. I think they were overreacting.”
“Anyway,” Gristhorpe said, “that’s about it. The rest of the people we picked up were just private citizens who were there because they feel strongly about nuclear power, or about government policy in general.”
“So what do we do now?”
“You’d better look over these statements,” Gristhorpe said, shoving the tower of paper towards Banks, “and wait for the great man. Sergeant Hatchley’s still questioning those people in the flats overlooking the street. Not that there’s much chance of anything there. They can’t have seen more than a sea of heads. If only the bloody TV cameras had been there we’d have had it on video. Those buggers in the media are never around when you need them.”
