‘Just that kitchen looked dark, so I thought maybe there were more than two.’
‘And can you remember what they were saying?’
‘One was telling other to go upstairs.’
‘Did you hear any names or anything?’
‘No, but after they’d put bag on my head and tied me up, they seemed angry like, that there wasn’t more money, angry with someone.’
‘Can you remember exactly what they said?’
‘Just that…’ she purses her lips. ‘Exactly?’
‘I’m sorry. It’s important.’
‘One of them said that someone had, you know,
‘And what did the other one say?’
‘Well, that’s what I mean. I think there was a third voice and he said that they’d deal with it later.’
‘A different voice?’
‘Yes, deeper, older. You know, like he was boss.’
I look at Mr Hurst, but he shrugs, ‘I was out cold. Sorry.’
I turn back to Mrs? and ask her, ‘These voices, where do reckon they were from?’
‘Local, definitely local.’
‘Anything else?’
She looks at her husband and then, slowly, shaking her head, says, ‘I think they were, you know, black men.’
‘Black men?’
‘Mmm, I think so.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Size. They were big and their voices, they just sounded like black men’s voices.’
I keep writing, wheels turning.
Then she says, ‘That or they were gypsies.’
I stop writing, wheels braking.
A nurse comes up, plain but pretty. ‘The doctor says you can both go home now if you want.’
Mr and Mrs Hurst look at each other and nod.
I close my notebook and say, ‘I’ll give you a lift.’
We turn into Gledhill Road, Morley, my old stomping ground and I’m thinking Victoria Road’s not far, wondering if they remember Barry Gannon, certain they remember that Clare Kemplay lived on Winterbourne Avenue, wondering if they were out that night looking for her, then thinking I must remember to call Louise, tell her I’ll probably be late, thinking maybe we can work this out, and that’s what I’m thinking when I see the squad cars parked in front of the post office, still thinking that when I see Noble and Rudkin getting out of the first car, that’s what I’m thinking when I turn to Mr Hurst and say, ‘It wasn’t me,’ that’s what I’m thinking when it gets really fucked up, forever, and -
Part 4. What’s my name?
Radio Leeds
Sunday 12th June 1977
Chapter 16
– I turn and ask Mr Hurst where it’s best to park and the wife is looking sideways at him, us pulling up next to the squad cars, the Hursts looking at the three big men coming towards our car, us stopping there in the middle of the street, me getting out, Mr Hurst too, Mrs Hurst her hand to her mouth and me turning, straight into Rudkin’s fist, Noble and Ellis pulling him off, me reeling, coming back, him another arm loose and smashing it into me with a low kick to my balls and then there are some uniforms dragging me back by my jacket and bundling me into the back of a tiny Panda, Rudkin still screaming, ‘You cunt, you fucking cunt!’ and our car pulls off and I turn and watch them push Rudkin head down into a car, Ellis and Noble in behind him, my car sitting there in the middle of Gledhill Road, doors open, Mr and Mrs Hurst shaking their heads, hands on hips or at their lips.
The uniforms drive me into Leeds, into Millgarth, no-one speaking, lots of glances in the mirror, me with a wink, wondering what the fuck Maurice must have said, bracing myself for Complaints and the love of my Brother Officers.
Inside, the uniforms take me straight down to the Belly, the whole station deserted. They sit me down in one of the cells we use for interrogations and close the door. I look at my watch, it’s gone six, Sunday 12 June 1977.
Thirty minutes later I get up and try the door.
It’s locked.
Another thirty minutes later and the door opens.
Two uniforms who I’ve never seen before come in.
One of them hands me a pale blue shirt and pair of darker blue overalls and says, ‘Can you change into these please, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Can you just do it, sir.’
‘Not until you tell me why’
‘We need your clothes to run some tests.’
‘What kind of tests?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know.’
‘Well, can you please get someone who does.’
‘I’m afraid there are no senior officers on duty.’
‘I’m a bloody senior officer.’
‘I know, sir.’
‘Well then, until someone can be good enough to tell me why I should hand over my bloody clothes to you, you can go and fuck yourself.’
The uniforms shrug and leave, locking the door behind them.
Ten minutes later the door opens again and four uniforms come in, grab my arms and legs, gag me and strip me.
Then they remove the gag and toss the shirt and overalls at me and leave, locking the door behind them.
I lie naked on the floor and look at my watch, but it’s gone.
I get up and put on the shirt and overalls, sit down at the table and wait, aware something’s gone wrong.
Very wrong.
I look up, the door opening.
Detective Superintendents Alderman and Prentice come in.
