Sunday Times review section spread out over the creased sheets. He took out his notebook and settled down as best he could for the interrogation.
“What do you want?” Osmond asked, perching at the edge of the sofa and leaning forward.
“I hear you were one of the organizers of Friday’s demonstration,” Burgess opened.
“So what if I was?”
“And you’re a member of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament and the International Socialists, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I’m in Amnesty International, as well, in case you don’t have that in your file. And as far as I’m aware it’s not a crime yet.”
“Don’t be so touchy.”
“Look, can you get to the point? I haven’t got all day.”
“Oh yes, you have,” Burgess said. “And you’ve got all night, too, if I want it like that.”
“You’ve no right-“
“I’ve every right. One of your lot-maybe even you-killed a good, honest copper on Friday night, and we don’t like that; we don’t like it at all. I’m sorry if we’re keeping you from your fancy woman, but that’s the way it is. Whose idea was it?”
Osmond frowned. “Whose idea was what? And I don’t like you calling Jenny names like that.”
“You don’t?” Burgess narrowed his eyes. “There’ll be a lot 67
worse names than that flying around, sonny, if you don’t start to cooperate.
Whose idea was the demonstration?”
“I don’t know. It just sort of came together.”
Burgess sighed. “‘It just sort of came together,’” he repeated mockingly, looking at Banks. “Now what’s that supposed to mean? Men and women come together, if they’re lucky, but not political demonstrations-they’re planned.
What are you trying to tell me?”
“Exactly what I said. There are plenty of people around here opposed to nuclear arms, you know.”
“Are you telling me that you all just happened to meet outside the Community Centre that night? Is that what you’re trying to say? ‘Hello, Fred, fancy meeting you here. Let’s have a demo.’ Is that what you’re saying?”
Osmond shrugged.
“Well, balls is what I say, Osmond. Balls to that. This was an organized demonstration, and that means somebody organized it. That somebody might have also arranged for a little killing to spice things up a bit. Now, so far the only somebody we know about for sure is you. Maybe you did it all by yourself, but I’m betting you had some help. Whose tune do you dance to, Mr Osmond?
Moscow’s? Peking’s? Or is it Belfast?”
Osmond laughed. “You’ve got your politics a bit mixed up, haven’t you? A socialist is hardly the same as a Maoist. Besides, the Chairman’s out of favour these days. And as for the IRA, you can’t seriously believe-“
“I seriously believe a lot of things that might surprise you,” Burgess cut in.
“And you can spare me the fucking lecture. Who gave you your orders?”
“You’re wrong,” Osmond said. “It wasn’t like that at all. And even if there was somebody else involved, do you think I’m going to tell you who it was?”
“Yes, I do,” Burgess said. “There’s nothing more certain. The only question is when you’re going to tell me, and where.”
“Look,” Banks said, “we’ll find out anyway. There’s no need to take it on yourself to carry the burden and get done
68
for withholding information in a murder investigation. If you didn’t do it and you don’t think your mates did, either, then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?” Banks found it easy to play the nice guy to Burgess’s heavy, even though he felt a strong, instinctive dislike for Osmond. When he questioned suspects with Sergeant Hatchley, the two of them switched roles. But Burgess only had one method of approach: head on.
“Listen to him,” Burgess said. “He’s right.”
“Why don’t you find out from someone else, then?” Osmond said to Banks. “I’m damned if I’m telling you anything.”
“Do you own a flick-knife?” Burgess asked.
“No.”
“Have you ever owned one?”
“No.”
“Know anybody who does?”
Osmond shook his head.
“Did you know PC Gill?” Banks asked. “Had you any contact with him before last Friday?”
