1977

In the lobby, under the on and the off, I hang.

The John Shark Show

Radio Leeds

Wednesday 15th June 1977

Chapter 19

I sat in the Redbeck car park between two Bird’s Eye lorries, my head spinning from that room, those memories, and these options:

See Rudkin and Hall, or tail Fraser.

Heads or tails:

Heads.

I took out the scribble Fraser had given me:

Rudkin lived nearer, Eric Hall further.

Rudkin dirty, Hall dirtier

Hall dirty, Rudkin dirtier.

Heads or tails.

Staring across the car park at that room.

That room, those memories.

The writings on those wailing walls.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, always back to Eddie.

In the rearview mirror, Carol waited on the back seat; white flesh and bruised tones, red hair and broken bones, the pictures from the wall, the pictures from my Nursery Walls, the pictures from down the Memory Lane.

I sat there in a car full of dead women, a car full of Rippers, and tossed the two-pence coin again.

Heads or tails:

Heads.

Durkar, another Ossett, another Sandal:

Another piece of White Yorkshire -

Long drives and high walls.

I drove past Rudkin’s, saw two cars in the drive and pulled up on Durkar Lane and waited.

It was 9.30 on the morning of Wednesday 15 June 1977.

I wondered what I’d say if I walked up that drive, rang that bell:

‘Excuse me, Mr Rudkin. I think you might be Yorkshire Ripper and I was wondering if you had any comment to make?’

And just as I was thinking that, another car pulled into his drive.

Five minutes later and Rudkin pulled out of his drive in his bronze Datsun 260, another man in the passenger seat, and headed down Durkar Lane.

I followed them down into Wakefield, stalling at the lights on the way in, out along the Dewsbury Road, over Shawcross, past the tip, down through Hanging Heaton and into Batley, through the centre until they pulled up outside RD News on the Bradford Road, on the outskirts of Batley.

Batley, another Bradford, another Delhi:

Another piece of Black Yorkshire -

Low walls and high minarets.

I drove past RD News and pulled up just beyond a Chinese take-away and waited.

Rudkin and the other man stayed inside the car.

It was 10.30 and the sun had come out.

Five minutes later and a maroon BMW 2002 pulled up just past Rudkin’s Datsun and two men got out, one black, one white.

I span round in my seat and made sure:

Robert Craven.

Detective Inspector Robert Craven -

‘They are outstanding police officers who have our heartfelt thanks.’

Craven and his black buddy went over to Rudkin’s car and Rudkin and a fat man got out.

Mike Ellis, I was guessing.

Then the four of them went inside RD News.

I closed my eyes and saw again rivers of blood in a woman’s time, umbrellas up, bloody showers, puddles all blood, raining cats and blood.

I opened my eyes, the sky blue, clouds moving fast up the hills behind the shops.

I got out of my car and crossed the road to a telephone box.

I dialled her flat.

She answered: ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me.’

‘What?’

‘I want to know. About the pictures, I need to know.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘It’s important.’

‘What?’

‘Everything. Who took them? Who arranged it? Everything.’

‘Not on the phone.’

‘Why not?’

‘Jack, if I tell you on the phone, I’ll never see you again.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it?’

I stood in the red telephone box, in the middle of the red river of blood, below the blue sky, and I looked up at the window above the newsagent’s.

John Rudkin was looking out of the window, one hand on the frame, the other square, palms open, smiling from ear to ear.

‘Jack?’

‘I’ll come over then.’

‘When?’

‘Soon.’

And I hung up, staring at John Rudkin.

I went back to the car and waited.

Thirty minutes later, Rudkin came out of the shop, shirtsleeves, jacket over his shoulder, followed by the fat man and Craven.

The black man didn’t come out.

Rudkin, Craven, and the fat man shook hands, and Rudkin and the fat man got into the Datsun. Craven waved them off. I sat there, waiting.

Craven went back inside the newsagent’s.

I sat there, waiting.

Ten minutes later, Craven came back out.