1980

returned:

Monday 29 December 1980 -

Wakefield, barren Wakefield.

Wakefield -

Laburnum Road -

West Yorkshire Police Headquarters -

The Chief Constable’s office.

I look at my watch -

13:54:45 .

I knock on the door -

‘Come.’

I open the door -

Ronald Angus is sat behind a big desk, his own big desk, Maurice Jobson and Dick Alderman sitting before him.

‘Gentlemen,’ I say -

‘Mr Hunter,’ says Angus, looking at his watch. ‘You’re early’

‘Call it a curse,’ I smile.

Angus looks at Alderman and says: ‘It’s OK. Richard was just leaving.’

Dick Alderman stands up, a hand on Maurice’s shoulder: ‘I’ll speak to you both later.’

They both nod.

Detective Superintendent Richard Alderman pushes past me and out -

Not a word.

‘Sit down,’ says Angus, gesturing to the empty chair next to Jobson.

‘You wanted these,’ I say before I sit down – tipping every official diary I’ve ever had, copies of every expense I’ve ever submitted, every other official form I’ve ever received – tipping them all over his desk.

‘Thank you,’ says Maurice Jobson.

‘And this,’ I say, handing Angus authorisations to examine my bank account, my credit card and my Post Office savings accounts -

Angus looks at it and says: ‘Thank you.’

I sit down and I wait -

Mr Angus sifts and shuffles through the mess and the mire on his desk, eventually pulling out a number of pieces of paper from under my stuff, and then he looks up at me and says: Td like to put some names to you and I’d be grateful if you could tell me if you have either heard of these people, know them, or are friends with them at all?’

I nod, waiting -

Jobson picks up a pen and opens a notebook, waiting -

Then Angus says: ‘Colin Asquith?’

I nod: ‘Local businessman. Partner of Richard Dawson.’

‘Former partner,’ says Angus.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Former.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘Not personally, no.’

‘But you have met him?’

I nod.

Angus: ‘Socially?’

I nod: ‘Through mutual acquaintances.’

Angus is staring at me -

I stare back.

He says: ‘Cyril Barratt?’

I shake my head.

Angus: ‘Barry Cameron?’

I nod.

Angus waits -

Me: ‘Never met him. Know the name.’

‘How?’

‘Newspapers. Station talk.’

Angus: ‘But you’ve never met Barry Cameron?’

I shake my head.

‘Michael Craig?’

I nod: ‘Local solicitor.’

‘You know him?’

‘Only through work.’

‘Richard Dawson?’

I stare at Angus -

Angus stares back.

I say: ‘You know I know Richard Dawson.’

‘I know you knew him,’ he says. ‘But how would you describe that relationship?’

‘We were friends.’

‘Were?’

‘Well, as you emphasised, he’s dead.’

‘But you were friends right up until his death?’

I swallow and I say: ‘Yes, we were friends right up until his death.’

‘OK,’ nods Angus. ‘We’ll come back to your relationship with Mr Dawson, the employer of Bob Douglas, the business partner of Colin Asquith, the client of Michael Craig. Come back to him, shall we?’

‘So that’s what this is about? Richard Dawson? Bob Douglas?’

He shakes his head: ‘Not only Mr Dawson and Bob Douglas, no.’

I shrug my shoulders and let it go -

But Angus won’t: ‘How about Bob Douglas?’

‘How about him what?’

Angus: ‘You knew him?’

‘You bloody know I knew him. I was over here for the Strafford, wasn’t I?’

‘The Strafford aside?’

‘The Strafford aside,’ I smile. ‘Met him once.’

‘When?’

Not smiling, I say: ‘The Sunday before he was murdered.’

Angus looks across his desk at Jobson -

Maurice Jobson shakes his head ever so slightly -

Angus looks back down at the notes sitting on the mess and mire of his desk -

Then he looks up and asks: ‘Sean Doherty?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Could you tell me if you have either heard of, know of, or are friends with a Sean Doherty?’

I shake my head.

‘David Gallagher?’

I shake my head.

‘Marcus Hamilton?’

I nod: ‘Local MP for Salford.’

‘Former local MP,’ says Angus. ‘But you know him?’