Sven returned the forms to his brief-case. He felt happier now. Even if these two morons from the Murder Squad did somehow bugger things up, they’d pay for it. Fifteen years apiece he’d get them, especially that fat one.
Sven nodded at Osmond, ‘I think you can go ahead now, Trill, old chap, and put your friends here in the picture. Afterwards,’ – he directed a toothy smile round the room – ‘perhaps they’ll reciprocate by telling us how far they’ve got with their enquiries.’
Dover signified his assent to this proposal with an evil smirk. ’Strewth, what a right gormless long drink of cold water this
joker was!
Osmond prefaced his story with an impassioned plea for understanding and restraint. ‘You won’t forget it’s my head on the chopping block, will you? The Steel Band lot don’t mess about – and I should know. They . . .’
Dover stirred impatiently on his bed. ‘Oh, get on with it!’ he snarled.
Osmond looked hurt, but he took the hint. ‘I joined my local group of the Steel Band as an ordinary member a couple of years ago,’ he began. ‘I was working under cover, of course, with the object of penetrating the organisation. I naturally don’t share their views. Well, these local groups are called Base Battalions and the members really don’t do much more than turn up at meetings and rallies and beef up demonstrations and all that sort of thing. They’re run by leaders called Base Battalion Chiefs, assisted by a couple of adjutants. There are also several jobs at what you might call NCO level – all with elaborate-sounding titles and distinguishing insignia. Well, I just bided my time. I was keen, but not too keen – if you follow me. Well, before long, I was invited to become what they call a section leader. It was a fairly speedy promotion but not all that unusual. The membership of my Base Battalion was heavily weighted on the elderly and feminine side so any fit young chap like me was bound to be singled out. Well, I just carried on as before. I was conscientious and interested, but not pushy and definitely not nosey. Well, it paid off. One fine day, the Base Battalion Chief sent for me – right out of the blue – and began sounding me out as to whether . . .’
‘And,’ interrupted Dover, having exhausted the possibilities of loud yawns and the mimed winding up of a watch, ‘to cut a bloody long story short . . .’
Osmond flushed. His was, perforce, lonely work and he got little opportunity to talk about it. He’d been quite enjoying having three stalwart colleagues hanging on his every word. ‘I was eventually appointed Deputy National Youth Controller,’ he muttered sulkily.
Sven moved in to ease the atmosphere. ‘Another cigarette, Chief Inspector? And a light? Good! Yes, we were rather bucked with young Trill when we heard the news. Deputy National Youth Controller isn’t quite at the hub of the movement, but it’s getting there and is not to be sniffed at. Oh, dear me, no! Naturally they investigated him with the utmost thoroughness and we were delighted that his cover story stood up to it all perfectly.’
‘Touch wood!’ said Osmond, piously patting the plastic top of the built-in dressing table.
But Dover was getting bored. ‘All right, laddie,’ he growled, ‘we’ve got the picture. You got yourself accepted as a top level, fully paid up, card bearing thug by this bunch of nutters. Congratulations! Now, let’s get on to the murder bit!’
Osmond risked a glance of pure hatred at his tormentor and followed it up with a glare at Sven. Well, if your own boss couldn’t protect you from fat old fools, who could?
‘Did you attend the weekend meeting at Bowerville-by-the-sea in accordance with some sort of instructions?’ asked MacGregor, only trying to be helpful and getting a scowl for his pains.
‘Yes,’ said Osmond. He would like to have limited his answer to this one curt monosyllable, but the temptation to talk was too strong. ‘Mr Pettitt sent me an invitation – well, a summons, really – about a week before it was due to take place. Certain code words were used to activate me.’
‘Did you know Pettitt?’
‘Not personally, no. I knew he was the Southern Regional Leader and Chief Judiciary Officer for the Movement, of course. That put him at least a couple of steps above me in the hierarchy.’
‘What about the others at the Holiday Ranch?’
‘I’d never met any of them before, and I’m pretty certain they were all strangers to each other as well. I did manage to run their names through the computer, though, before I went to Bowerville. There was nothing particularly remarkable about any of them. They’d all got five or six years’ service with the Steel Band, but apart from that they were clean. Except for Mike Ruscoe, that is. He’d got a couple of convictions for drunk and disorderly, but not recently. Oh, and I think Mrs Hall had collected a parking fine in Winchester once.’
‘Pettitt sent you the names of the other people who were going to be there?’
Osmond bit his lip. ‘Well, no, he didn’t, actually.’
‘I thought is was a bit unlikely,’ said MacGregor, highly gratified to have spotted this. ‘So how did you know who to run your computer check on?’
‘Well, actually, we’ve infiltrated Pettitt’s chiropody practice,’ said Osmond uncomfortably. He carefully avoided catching Sven’s eye. ‘One of his part-time receptionists, if you must know. She got hold of the list of names for us.’
‘Including Knapper’s?’
‘Of course. There was nothing to single him out in any way at this stage. He was just one of the seven.’
‘I see.’ Since Dover was now breathing deeply and
