‘George!’
The glass, the mirror -
On the other side of the glass, the other side of the mirror -
Where Prentice is asking: ‘You feel better now Peter, do you?’
And the Yorkshire Ripper -
The Yorkshire Ripper looks up as the door opens -
The door opens and in steps George -
And he walks up to him -
To the Yorkshire Ripper and he says -
Says to the Yorkshire Ripper: ‘I’m the one you almost bloody killed as well.’
And the Yorkshire Ripper -
The Yorkshire Ripper, he looks at George and he says: ‘They are all in my brain, reminding me of the beast I am.’
Prentice saying: ‘You’ll feel better now.’
‘Just thinking about them all reminds me of what a monster I am.’
And Alderman stands up and takes George by the arm, leading him away, Jim Prentice asking the Yorkshire Ripper -
Asking him: ‘You want anything, Peter?’
‘I want to tell Monica,’ says the Yorkshire Ripper -
Says the Yorkshire Ripper with a glance into the glass -
A glance into the glass -
The glass -
The glass, the mirror -
The other side of the glass, the other side of the mirror -
On the other side of the mirror where Angus -
Chief Constable Angus is saying -
Shouting -
‘Get the whiskey out!’
Noble giving the orders: ‘Put him in a cell – someone inside and someone outside the door, round the clock.’
Maurice Jobson in his ear, whispering -
Noble nodding along: ‘Yeah, and get out a couple of shotguns.’
Maurice, whispering -
Noble, another nod, calling the shots: ‘We’re taking no chances tonight, so I want the paperwork and the guns out.’
Angus shouting -
‘And the bloody whiskey!’
Up the stairs -
Beaming coppers at every turn -
At every turn only too glad to point the way -
To point the way, to shake your hand, to pat your back and crack another can -
Shaking hands, patting backs, cracking cans -
Cans, backs, and hands until -
Until we’re all in an upstairs office:
Ronald Angus, George Oldman, Maurice Jobson, Peter Noble, Dick Alderman, Jim Prentice, Alec McDonald, John Murphy -
No Craven, no Bob -
And twenty faces I don’t know -
Twenty faces I don’t want to know -
Plus the two faces I do -
The two familiar faces I want to know -
Murphy introducing me: ‘This is Sergeant John Chain, he’s the one who nicked him.’
‘Me and John Skinner,’ nods Chain.
‘And this is DS Ellis, here at Dewsbury.’
‘Call me Mike,’ says Mike, hand out.
I take Murphy to one side: ‘What the fuck’s going on? What happened?’
‘Pulled him in Sheffield, didn’t they?’
‘Sheffield?’
‘Yeah,’ nods Murphy, a big whiskey in his fist.
‘Who?’
‘That Sergeant Chain and some PC Skinner.’
‘Which station?’
‘Hammerton Road, I think.’
‘When?’
‘Sunday night.’
‘How?’
But then there’s boots up the stairs, telephones ringing -
Head around the door: ‘She’s here, sir!’
And everyone’s heading out the door -
Back down the stairs -
Me saying: ‘Who? The wife?’
This Sergeant Ellis, Mike, he’s shaking his head: ‘Slag he was with.’
‘Luckiest bitch alive,’ laughs someone else and then -
Then we’re all heading back downstairs -
Beaming coppers at every turn -
At every turn only too glad to point the way -
To point the way, to shake your hand, to pat your back and crack another can -
Shaking hands, patting backs, cracking cans -
Cans, backs, and hands until -
Until we’re downstairs -
Underground -
Back underground -
In the dark room with the one wall half glass -
Behind the glass, the two-way mirror -
Light from behind the glass -
The stage set -
Act II:
Three chairs and a table -
The players -
Alderman and Prentice and -
Today’s special guest:
Sharon Yardley, a 24-year-old convicted black prostitute and mother of two from some Sheffield shit-hole.
‘What’s going on?’ she’s asking.
Prentice, ever the gent: ‘Have a seat Miss Yardley.’
‘It’s a fucking jungle out there,’ she’s saying -
Alderman smiling, best behaviour: ‘Cigarette?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
He leans forward, his back to us, lighter out: ‘There you go.’
‘Ta very much.’
