“Fair enough, but it’s up to us to make a charge that sticks, if only to stop us looking like prize berks in court.”
“I think we’re solid on Boyd if we need to be. Like I say, give it a couple of days. Find anything interesting on the funny-farm lot?”
“No.”
“Those students puzzled me. They’re only bloody kids-cheeky bastards, mind you-but their little minds are crammed full of Marx, Trotsky, Marcuse and the rest. They even have a poster of Che Guevara on the wall. I ask you-Che fucking Guevara, a vicious, murdering, mercenary thug got up to look like Jesus Christ.
I can’t understand what they’re on about half the time, honest I can’t. And I don’t think they’ve got a clue, either. Pretty gutless pair, though. I can’t see either of them having the bottle to stick a knife between Gill’s ribs. Still, the girl’s not bad. Bit chubby around the waist, but a lovely set of knockers.”
“Osmond’s place was broken into yesterday evening,” Banks said.
“Oh?”
“He didn’t report it officially.”
“He should have done. You talked to him?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should have made a report. You know the rules.” He grinned. “Unless, of course, you think rules are only for people like me to follow and for Jack-the-lads like you to ignore?”
“Listen,” Banks said, leaning forward, “I don’t like your methods. I don’t like violence. I’ll use it if I have to, but there are plenty more subtle and effective ways of getting answers from people.” He sat back and reached for a cigarette. “That aside, I never said I was any less ruthless than you are.”
Burgess laughed and spluttered over a mouthful of recently dunked doughnut.
“Anyway,” Banks went on, “Osmond didn’t seem to give a 228
damn. Well, maybe that’s too strong. At least, he didn’t think we would do anything about it.”
“He’s probably right. What did you do?”
“Told him to change his lock. Nothing was stolen.”
“Nothing?”
“Only a book. They’d searched the place, but apparently they didn’t find what they were looking for.”
“What was that?”
“Osmond thinks they might have been after some papers, files to do with his CND
stuff. He’s got a touch of the cloak-and-dagger about him. Anyway, he keeps most of his files at the local office, and Tim and Abha have all the stuff on the demo. It seems they’re having a meeting up at the farm this afternoon to plan their complaint strategy. It looks like the thieves wasted their time, whoever they were.”
“Who does he think it was? KGB? MI5? CIA?”
Banks laughed. “Something along those lines, yes. Thinks he’s a very important fellow does Mr Osmond.”
“He’s a pain in the ass,” Burgess said, getting up. “But I’ll trip the bastard up before I’m done. Right now I’m off to catch up on some paperwork. They want everything in bloody quadruplicate down at the Yard.”
Banks sat over the rest of his coffee wondering why so many people came back from America, where Burgess had been to a conference a few years ago, full of strange eating habits and odd turns of phrase-“pain in the ass” indeed!
Outside on Market Street tourists browsed outside shop windows full of polished antiques and knitted woollen wear. The bell of the Golden Grill jangled as people dropped in for a quick cup of tea.
Banks had arranged to meet Jenny for lunch in the Queen’s Arms at one o’clock, which left him well over an hour to kill. He finished his drink and nipped over to the station. First, he had to enlist Richmond’s aid on a very delicate matter.
II
Mara was busy making scones for the afternoon meeting when Paul walked into the kitchen. Her hands were covered
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with flour and she waved them about to show she’d embrace him if she could. Seth immediately threw his arms around Paul and hugged him. Mara could see his face over Paul’s shoulder, and noticed tears in his eyes. Rick slapped Paul on the back and Zoe kissed his cheek. “I did the cards,” she told him. “I knew you were innocent and they’d have to let you go.” Even Julian and Luna, caught up in the adults’ excitement, did a little dance around him and chanted his name.
“Sit down,” Seth said. “Tell us about it.”
“Hey! Let me finish this first.” Mara gestured at the half-made scones. “It won’t take a minute. And it was your idea in the first place.”
“I tell you what,” Paul said. “I could do with a cup of tea. That prison stuffs piss-awful.”
“I’ll make it.” Seth reached for the kettle. “Then we’ll all go in the front room.”
Mara carried on with the scones, readying them for the oven, and Seth put the kettle on. The others all wandered into the front room except for Paul, who stood nervously behind Mara.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You know…”
