A Necessary End by Peter Robinson

surprised how hard it hit.
    â€œPolice,” Osmond said. But Jenny had already turned back and shut the door behind her.
    Burgess, who had watched all this, made no comment. “Can we sit down?” he asked.
    â€œGo ahead.” Osmond gestured to the armchairs and pulled a black T-shirt over his head while they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The decal on the front showed the CND symbol—a circlewith a wide-spread, inverted Y inside it, each branch touching the circumference—with NO NUKES written in a crescent under it.
    Banks fumbled for a cigarette and looked around for an ashtray. “I’d rather you didn’t,” Osmond said. “Second-hand smoke can kill, you know.” He paused and looked Banks over. “So you’re Chief Inspector Banks, are you? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    â€œHope it was good,” Banks said, with more equilibrium than he felt. What had Jenny been telling him? “It’ll save us time getting acquainted, won’t it?”
    â€œAnd you’re the whiz-kid they sent up from London,” Osmond said to Burgess.
    â€œMy, my. How word travels.” Dirty Dick smiled. He had the kind of smile that made most people feel nervous, but it seemed to have no effect on Osmond. As Banks settled into the chair, he could picture Jenny dressing in the other room. It was probably the bedroom, he thought gloomily, and the double bed would be rumpled and stained, the 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.
    â€œWhat do you want?” Osmond asked, perching at the edge of the sofa and leaning forward.
    â€œI hear you were one of the organizers of Friday’s demonstration,” Burgess opened.
    â€œSo what if I was?”
    â€œAnd you’re a member of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament and the International Socialists, if I’m not mistaken.”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œDon’t be so touchy.”
    â€œLook, can you get to the point? I haven’t got all day.”
    â€œOh yes, you have,” Burgess said. “And you’ve got all night, too, if I want it like that.”
    â€œYou’ve no right—”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œYou don’t?” Burgess narrowed his eyes. “There’ll be a lot worse names than that flying around, sonny, if you don’t start to co-operate. Whose idea was the demonstration?”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œExactly what I said. There are plenty of people around here opposed to nuclear arms, you know.”
    â€œAre 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.
    â€œWell, 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