Nineteen Eighty (37 page)

Me: ‘What did he say?’
‘Fine. No sweat. Said he’d been seen half a dozen times already.’
Me: ‘What’d you say to that?’
‘I’m rubbing my bleeding hands, aren’t I? But I say, is that right? You’ve got nowt to bloody worry about then, have you? And he says, only bloody missus. But I tell him she’s already phoned and she thinks it’s just about some dodgy plates and you’ll be right.’
Me: ‘What time she phone?’
‘About ten minutes after he got here.’
Me: ‘Then what?’
‘Jim Prentice gets here after lunch, been up Bradford way for some funeral or something. Takes one look at our man and he’s like: know him, seen by John Murphy about that fiver, clocked in Bradford, Leeds, and Manchester, and last time they did all local engineering firms. So Jim goes in and has a bit of a chat and he’s in there twenty, thirty minutes, and he comes back out and he says, Mike I’m not happy. And I’m like, fuck we’ve screwed up and I say, why – what’s up? But Jim’s like, not happy about Peter David Williams and he goes gets Millgarth on blower.’
Me: ‘What time’s this?’
‘Be about three o’clock.’
Me: ‘And what did Dick Alderman say?’
‘Test him.’
Me: ‘And what did Williams say when you went down to test him?’
‘Wasn’t me, it was Jim Prentice, – but apparently he goes, what if it’s same one you’re wanting? And Jim says, calm as can be like, you Ripper are you? And feller he just says, no. Then you’re all right then, aren’t you laughs Jim.’
Me: ‘So he’s in the frame by now?’
‘Oh aye. And then when test comes back and it’s B – well then it was pints all round, wasn’t it?’
Me: ‘What time was that?’
‘Test results? Actually I can’t remember which was first: Chainey finding hammer and knife back in Sheffield or blood type. Any road, must have been gone twelve.’
Me: ‘Midnight?’
‘Yeah, cos then Dick Alderman turns up, Pete Noble – and I mean no-one’s going home, we’re all just hanging around.’
Me: ‘All night?’
Ellis nodding: ‘Once in a lifetime thing, this. I mean, all night they’re having top-level meetings, planning it all out.’
Me: ‘Who?’
‘Brass: Noble, Alderman, Prentice – and phone never bloody stopped.’
Me: ‘And what they doing with the suspect?’
‘Suspect? He’s bloody sleeping like a baby, isn’t he? First thing though when he woke – he must have noticed something was up.’
Me: ‘Why’s that?’
‘Well minute he’s had his breakfast – there’s Alderman and Prentice and me sat there.’
Me: ‘You?’
‘Oh aye, first interview today I was taking it all down.’
Me: ‘What’d he say?’
‘Nowt much, they were just trying to get him relaxed, you know.’
Me: ‘How?’
‘Talking about cars, sex.’
Me: ‘Sex?’
‘Aye, Alderman was asking him all about him and his missus – how often they have a bit, because he’d been on to them saying like she was always nagging him and stuff like that. But he reckoned they were at it regular – nowt kinky mind. Said they forgot about rows and all that minute they went to bed.’
Me: ‘Getting a bit personal then?’
‘Oh aye, but he didn’t seem to mind. Dead relaxed, he was. Best bit was when, this was lunchtime, – just before you and George Oldman got here. Jim Prentice says why don’t we send out for some fish and chips and Ripper, he’s a cocky bastard, he grins at him and says, I’ll go if you want – but I reckon they might be a bit cold by time I get back.’
Downstairs I go –
Through the double doors and down the stairs –
Downstairs –
Underground –
Until I come to a corridor –
Bright lights overhead –
Walls half green, half cream –
Floors, black and polished –
Come to the cells –
Eight cells –
Four in a row on the right –
Four in a row on the left –
Doors open –
No-one –
No guards, no coppers –
No-one.
I walk down the corridor –
Looking left, then right –
Left, then right –
Left then right –
Until I come –
Come to the last two cells –
And I look to the left –
No-one –
And I look to the right –
And –
And there he is –
The Yorkshire Ripper –
The Yorkshire Ripper asleep on the bed in the cell –
His back to the door, curved –
Curved in a blue sweater, grey trousers –
Alone –
No-one inside the cell –
No-one outside –
And I stare at the back of the Yorkshire Ripper –
The back of the Yorkshire Ripper moving up and down, in and out, ever so slightly –
Ever so slightly under that blue sweater –
And then I hear footsteps –
Footsteps on the black polished floor –
And I turn –
Turn and there they are –
Alderman and Murphy, John Murphy –
A shotgun each –
A small woman between them –
A small woman with black hair.
And the three of them –
Alderman, Murphy and the woman, they stare –
Stare until Murphy says: ‘What you doing here, Pete?’
‘After your hundred quid, are you?’ snorts Alderman.
I say: ‘There was no-one on. There should have been someone.’
Murphy: ‘They’re short. We just went to get Mrs Wilhams here.’
But Mrs Williams here –
Mrs Williams isn’t looking at me –
She’s looking past me into the cell –
And I turn back –
Turn back to look into the cell –
And there he is –
Upright on the edge of the bed in the cell –
The Yorkshire Ripper, upright.
And she goes past me –
Past me and into the cell –
And she says: ‘Have you had anything to eat?’
And Alderman shouts after her: ‘Oi, we’re not bloody inhuman you know?’
And she’s holding his hand, asking him about his clothes –
And I’m walking backwards away from them –
Walking backwards away from them, when he says –
The Yorkshire Ripper says: ‘It’s me.’
And she says: ‘Is it Peter? Is it really?’
And he nods and she lets go of his hand.
She turns back to Alderman and Murphy and me, standing in the corridor with the guns, and she says –
The wife of the Yorkshire Ripper says: ‘My priority is to let my parents know. Not on the telephone, face to face.’
Alderman: ‘I wouldn’t advise you to do that.’
‘Why?’
Alderman: ‘The press will get you.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Alderman: ‘We’ve had a press conference. They’re all waiting outside.’
And I’m saying –
Saying for her: ‘What? You’ve done what?’
Looking at Murphy, turning, walking –
I’m walking away –
Walking away, then running –
Up the stairs –
Running.
to intensify the anguish for the tears they first wept knotted in a cluster and like a visor made for them in crystal filled all the hollow part around their eyes o lord break off these hard veils and give relief from the pain that swells my heart and rains down blows upon my flesh where then new tears freeze again his body in the world above for whenever a soul betrays the way he did a demon takes possession of his body controlling its maneuvers from then on for all the years it has to live and e who am dead must lead thee through this hell these scenes of blood and wounds for memory and vocabulary are not enough to comprehend the pain the bodies ripped from chin to arse between their legs their guts spilled out with the heart and other vital parts the dirty sacks from inside hear another with her throat slit her nose cut off as far as where the eyebrows start she steps out from the group and opens her throat which runs red from all sides of her wound and says bring back to those on earth this message of the things you have seen take back this from those who stained your world with blood your world now containing approximately five pounds in cash all this and heaven too missing a lorry driver called peter who drives a cab with a name beginning with the letter C on the side he lives in bradford in a big grey house elevated above the street behind wrought iron gates with steps leading up to the front door number six in its street peter committed crimes before and is connected to the containerbase at stourton he will kill for the last time in leeds on Wednesday the tenth of december nineteen eighty the thirteenth and last transmission one final picture from the atrocity exhibition from the shadows of the sun out of the arc of the searchlight laureen bell in headingley leeds eating kentucky fried chicken e saw her and followed her and e took hammer from my pocket and e hit her and then e dragged her to some waste land and she was moving about and e pulled most of her clothes off and e had the screwdriver with the yellow handle and e stabbed her in the lungs her eyes still open she seemed to be looking at me with an accusing stare which shook me up a bit so e stabbed her in the eye the taste of the chicken in my mouth the taste of salt everything salt in my mouth clueless e scream the weather is letting me down again for e am not ripper e am the streetcleaner locked in the red room poor old oldman looking for the wrong man noble but no choice misled by a voice release of drury arouses fury preston was not me but just you wait and see Sheffield will not be missed next on the list my nails already dead of colour this exegesis complete and illuminated e stand upon souls fixed under ice some bent head to foot shaped like bows the distorted jackknife postures their bras pushed up now the time has come this the place where no light is e cannot write e cannot tell memory and vocabulary not enough here neither dead nor alive before the king of the vast kingdom of grief once as fair as he is now foul all grief springs from him one head wearing three faces one red one white one blue beneath which two mighty wings stretch out not feathered wings but like the ones you would expect a bat to have and he flaps them constantly keeping three winds continuously in motion saying over and over and over again and again and again this is the world now containing approximately five pounds in cash all this and heaven too missing from the deceaseds handbag one edge sharper than the other this is the world now the weather letting us down again and again and again in a yorkshire way he says this is the world now this is the world now this is the world now this is the world we be
Chapter 21
New Year’s Eve, 1980:
Dawn or dusk, it’s all fucked up –
The End of the World –
Fucked up and running –
Running from Dewsbury Police Station –
Dewsbury Police Station –
Modern lies amongst the black –
Crowds gathering –
Posters out:
The Ripper is a Coward –
Defaced:
Hang him!
The homemade nooses, the studded wristbands –
The skinheads and their mums, the mohicans and their nans.
Running to the car park up the road from the police station, puddles of rain water and motor oil underfoot –
The car park already full –
Journalists, TV crews, the word spread –
Birds overhead, screaming –
Rain pouring –
The clouds black above us, the hills darker still –
Hills of hard houses, bleak times –
Warehouse eyes, mill stares –
Unlocking the door, running –
Engine running,
running scared –
The North after the bomb –
Murder and lies, lies and murder –
War
.
Ml into Leeds –
Radio on:
‘A Bradford man will appear before Dewsbury magistrates later this afternoon in connection with the murder of Laureen Bell in Leeds on December 10. The man was arrested by officers in Sheffield on Sunday night in connection with the theft of some car number plates. A jubilant Chief Constable Ronald Angus told reporters:
‘“This
man is now being detained in West Yorkshire, and he is being questioned in relation to the Yorkshire Ripper murders. He will appear before Dewsbury magistrates later today. We are all absolutely delighted, totally delighted with the developments at this stage. The officers who detained the man in Sheffield were outstanding police officers; these lads are real heroes, who have my heartfelt thanks. They did a wonderful job. We know the girl the man was with when he was arrested and she’s very lucky indeed. She could easily have been his next victim.”
‘When asked if the hunt for the Yorkshire Ripper was now over, Chief Constable Angus said:
‘“You are right. The hunt for the Ripper is being scaled down.”
‘Meanwhile a crowd of almost 4000 people has already gathered outside Dewsbury Town Hall in the hope of catching a glimpse of the man whose five-year reign has brought terror to the streets of every Northern city. A reign that would now appear to be at an end.’
Radio off, thinking –
What looks like morning, it is the beginning of the endless night
.
Leeds, fucking Leeds:
Medieval, Victorian, Concrete fucking Leeds –
Decay, murder, hell –
Dead city:
Just the crows and the rain –
The Ripper gone –
The crows and the rain, his meat-picked bones –
Leeds, fucking Leeds –
The King is dead, long live the King.
I park under the dark arches with the water and the rats –
Out of the car, coat up –
Running up through the arches, past the Scarborough –
Into the Griffin –
Ringing the bell, waiting –
Fuck it –
Snatching the key from behind the desk –
Into the lift –
Pressing 7 –
1,2,3,4,5,6 –
Out of the lift –
Down the corridor –
Tripping –
On the dark stair, we miss our step:
Room 77 –
Key in the door –
Into the room –
Checking my watch, radio on, picking up the phone, getting a dialling tone, pulling the numbers round –
Ringing, ringing –
‘Joan?’
‘Peter? Where are you?’
‘Leeds.’
‘Is it true? They’ve caught him?’
‘Yes.’
‘You coming home?’
‘Home?’
‘Here.’
‘Yes.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘I had that nightmare again – the girl…’
‘I’m coming now, love.’
‘Oh be careful, Peter.’
‘Yes.’
‘Please –’
Phone down –
Sweeping the
Exegesis
, the loose notes,
Spunk
, the photographs –
Sweeping everything into the carrier bags –
The pages from the
Holy Bible
, the
Exegesis, Spunk –
Everything in bags, everything ready –
One last look around –
Opening the door –
Opening the door and there she is:
‘Helen?’
Hair tied back, raincoat still dripping, she asks: ‘Can I come in?’
On the dark stair –
‘Yes,’ I say and hold open the door.
She steps inside and I close the door behind us.
She undoes her raincoat and takes out an envelope –
Flat and manila –
She holds it up –
In slanting black felt-tip pen:
Photos Do Not Bend
.
I’m nodding, asking her: ‘When?’
‘Boxing Day.’
‘Boxing Day?’
‘By hand.’
‘Who?’