“Glenys,” the barmaid said. She gave him a coy smile with his change and turned to serve another customer.
“Nice,” Burgess said. “Not exactly your buxonbarmaid type, but nice nonetheless.
Lovely bum. A fiver says I’ll bonk her before this business is over.”
Banks wished he would try. The muscular man drying glasses at the far end of the bar was Glenys’s husband, Cyril. “You’re on,” he said, shaking hands. Though how Burgess would prove it if he won, Banks had no idea. Perhaps he’d persuade Glenys to part with a pair of panties as a trophy? The most likely outcome, though, would be a black eye for Burgess and a fiver in Banks’s pocket.
“So, I hear you had a riot on your hands last night.”
“Not quite a riot,” Banks said, “but bad enough.”
“It shouldn’t have been allowed.”
“Sure. It’s easy to say that from hindsight, but we’d no reason to expect trouble. A lot of people around here have sympathy with the cause and they don’t usually kill policemen.”
Burgess’s eyes narrowed. “Including you? Sympathy with the cause?”
Banks shrugged. “Nobody wants any more air-base activity in the Dales, and I’m no great fan of nuclear power.”
“A bloody Bolshy on the force, eh? No wonder they sent you up here. Like getting sent to Siberia, I’ll bet?” He chuckled at his own joke, then sank about half a pint in one gulp. “What have you got so far, then?”
Banks told him about the statements they’d taken and the main groups involved in organizing the protest, including the people at Maggie’s Farm. As he listened, Burgess sucked on his lower lip and tapped his cigar on the side of the blue ashtray. Every time Glenys walked by, his restless eyes followed her.
“Seventy-one names,” he commented when Banks had finished. “And you think there were over a hundred there. That’s not a lot, is it?”
“It is in a murder investigation.”
“Hmmm. Got anyone marked out for it?”
“Pardon?”
48
“Local troublemaker, shit-stirrer. Let’s be honest about this, Banks. It doesn’t look like we’ll get any physical evidence unless someone finds the knife. The odds are that whoever did it was one of the ones who got away. You might not even have his name on your list. I was just wondering who’s your most likely suspect.”
“We don’t have any suspects yet.”
“Oh, come on! No one with a record of political violence?”
“Only the local Conservative member.”
“Very good,” Burgess said, grinning. “Very good. It seems to me,” he went on, “that there are two possibilities. One: it happened in the heat of the moment; someone lost his temper and lashed out with a knife. Or, two: it was a planned deliberate act to kill a copper, an act of terrorism calculated to cause chaos, to disrupt society.”
“What about the knife?” Banks said. “The killer couldn’t be sure of getting away, and we’ve found no traces of it in the area. I’d say that points more towards your first theory. Someone lost his temper and didn’t stop to think of the consequences, then just got lucky.”
Burgess finished his pint. “Not necessarily,” he said. “They’re kamikaze merchants, these bloody terrorists. They don’t care if they get caught or not.
Like you said, whoever it was just got lucky this time.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
“But unlikely?”
“In Eastvale, yes. I told you, most of the people involved were fairly harmless; even the groups they belonged to have never been violent before.”
“But you don’t have everyone’s name.”
“No.”
“Then that’s something to work on. Sweat the ones you’ve got and get a full list.”
“DC Richmond’s working on it,” Banks said, though he could hardly see Philip Richmond sweating anyone.
“Good.” Burgess gestured to the barmaid. “Another two pints, Gladys, love,” he called out.
49
“It’s Glenys,” she said, then she blushed and lowered her head to keep an eye on the pint she was pulling.
“Sorry, love, I’m still train-lagged. Have one for yourself, too, Glenys.”
“Thank you very much.” Glenys smiled shyly at him and took the money for a gin and tonic. “I’ll have it later when we’re not so busy, if you don’t mind.”
“As you will.” Burgess treated her to a broad smile and winked. “Where were we?”
he asked, returning to Banks.
“Names.”
