The phone rang and Fraser picked it up.
‘Thanks. This is Detective Sergeant Fraser at Millgarth, I’d like a check on two files please.’
A pause.
‘Yes, Detective Sergeant Fraser at Millgarth. Name’s Morrison, initial C. First one is 23-8-74, Caution for Soliciting 1A.’
Another pause.
‘Yep. And the next one is Morrison, C again. 22-12-74, Murder of a GRD-P, Witness Statement 27C.’
Pause.
‘Thanks,’ and he hung up.
I looked up, the blue eyes staring back.
He said, ‘They’ll call me back in ten minutes.’
‘Thanks for doing this.’
Fiddling with the paper, he asked, ‘You got these from Preston?’
‘Yeah, Alf Hill showed me a file. He said she was a prostitute, so I asked him if she’d had any convictions and he showed me a typed sheet. Just this written on it. You been over there?’
‘Last week. And he told you she went by the name Morrison?’
‘No, only time I ever saw it was in the
‘Yeah,’ and I handed him the cutting from my pocket.
The phone rang and we both jumped.
Fraser put the cutting on the desk and read as he picked up the receiver.
‘Thanks.’
Pause.
‘Speaking.’
Another pause, longer.
‘Both of them? Who was that?’
Pause.
‘Yeah, yeah. Our arse from our elbow. Thanks.’
He hung up again, still staring down at the cutting.
‘No luck?’ I said.
‘They’re here,’ he said, looking up at the box. ‘Or at least they should be. Can I keep this?’ he asked, holding up the cutting.
‘Yeah, if you want.’
‘Thanks,’ he nodded and upended the box, files spilling over the desk.
I said, ‘You want me to go?’
‘No, be my guest,’ he said, adding, ‘Eventually all this’ll be on the National Police Computer, you know?’
‘Think it’ll make a difference?’
‘Bloody hope so,’ he laughed, taking off his jacket as we started the search until, ten quiet minutes later, everything was back inside the box and the desk was bare.
‘Fuck,’ and then, ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said.
‘I’ll call you if anything comes of it,’ he said and stood up.
‘It was just a bit of background, that was all.’
We walked back downstairs and at the bottom he said again, ‘I’ll give you a ring.’
At the door we shook hands and he smiled and suddenly I said, ‘You knew Eddie didn’t you?’
And he dropped my hand and shook his head, ‘No, not really.’
Back across the haunted city, ghosts on every corner, drinking in working-class packs, the morning gone, the day sliding away.
I stood before the Griffin and looked up at her scaffold face, at the dark windows in the grey floors above, wondering which black hole was his.
I went inside, into the lounge with its empty high-backed chairs and dim light, and I went up to the front desk and rang the bell and waited, heart beating heavy and fast.
In the mirror above the desk I watched a little boy lead an old woman with a walking stick across the lounge.
I’d seen them before.
They sat down in the same two chairs that Laws and I had seven days before.
I went over and pulled up a third chair.
They said nothing but rose as one to sit at the next table.
I sat alone in my silence and then stood up and went back to the desk and rang the bell for a second time.
In the mirror I watched the child whisper to the old woman, the pair of them staring at me.
‘Can I help you?’
I turned back to the desk, to the man in the dark suit.
‘Yes, I was wondering if Mr Laws, Martin Laws is in?’
The man glanced at the wooden boxes behind him, at the dangling keys, and said, ‘I’m afraid Reverend Laws is out at the moment. Would you care to leave a message?’
‘No, I’ll come back later.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘I’d met him before.’
‘When was that?’ asked Hadden.
‘He was the one who was here over Barry.’
‘Right,’ sighed Hadden, right back there. ‘What a terrible time.’
‘Not like now,’ I said, and we both said nothing until he handed me a piece of paper.
‘I think you’ll find I spared the knife,’ he smiled.
I sat down across the desk from him and read:
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE RIPPER
‘What do you think?’
‘George seen it?’
‘We spoke on the phone.’
‘And?’
‘Worth a shot he said.’
