he had an orgasm he was still inside her body half leaning away from him when he smashed her on the back of the head and she fell forward onto the floor he zipped up his trousers and began to kick her on the face on the head on the breasts on the body on the legs he kicked her and went on kicking her he dragged her body a few yards further away from the door put her legs back into her trousers and pulled them up leaving the second brassiere above the breasts he pulled down the first one stuffed one boot tightly between her thighs he removed her overcoat and placed it over her body and over her face he picked up the shiny black plastic handbag left the garage and hid the handbag in a refuse tip four hundred yards from the garage the purse he tucked under a bush in avenham park he kept her three rings and lighter swabs from the vagina and anus indicated semen had been deposited by a secretor of the rare blood group B the blood group of the man at the hostel who had had sexual intercourse with the dead woman the previous day was discovered to be group A her shiny black plastic handbag and purse missing a diary thought to be in her bag could hold the clue to the womans killer and e am anxious about anyone who has been missing from preston since last thursday up to four now they say three but remember preston nineteen seventy five come my load up that one
Chapter 4
In the War Room I switch on the cassette recorder:
I put the thirteenth photograph on the wall, the smell of earth and damp in the twelve photos, in the map, in the files, the smell of earth and damp in the floor and in the walls, and I sit back down in the earth and damp, eyes closed.
No more sleep, no more dreams, no more blood on the sheets -
Just on the floor and on the walls -
On the walls, all over the walls.
I lock the shed door behind me and go back inside.
I wash, dress, and don’t wake her.
I drive back into the centre of Manchester, the radio playing:
And the lies -
The murder and the lies, the cries and the whispers, the screams of the wires and the signals, of the voices and the numbers:
In the car park at Manchester Police Headquarters there’s a car in my space, the reserved space that says:
There are a lot of empty spaces but I still park next to the other car.
There are two men sat in the car.
I don’t recognise either of the men, though the driver’s staring at me -
He smiles.
I get out of my car, lock it, and go inside.
I sign in and ask the Sergeant on the desk to go and have a word with the two men in the car outside.
I go upstairs to my office -
It’s locked.
I take out my keys and open it.
It’s just as I’d left it.
I sit down behind my desk and begin to make the necessary calls:
But no-one’s answering at Richard Dawson’s house -
Roger Hook is unavailable -
And the Chief Constable’s at chapel until twelve, half past at the latest.
I look at my watch:
It’s nine o’clock -
Sunday 14 December 1980.
The phone rings: ‘Yes?’
‘Sir. It’s the desk downstairs. That car, sir? It wasn’t there. But your space is free so would you like me to arrange to have your car moved?’
‘It’s OK. Thank you.’
I hang up.
The phone rings again:
‘Sir. It’s your wife.’
I press the button, the flashing orange button: ‘Joan?’
‘Peter?’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s the Dawsons, love. Linda’s been on the phone, hysterical. Their house was raided first thing…’
‘Raided?’
‘Police. Manchester Police. Turned the place upside down.’
‘When?’
‘This morning, five o’clock. Taken away all their papers, photos.’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll make some calls.’
‘I’m sorry, after what you said last night, but Linda’s in pieces…’
‘It’s OK. Where’s Richard?’
‘He was at Linda’s parents I think, but…’
‘OK,’ I say again. ‘I’ll make some calls, try and find out what’s going on.’
‘What shall I tell her?’
‘Tell her not to worry, that I’m dealing with it.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’d better go.’
‘Bye,’ she says.
‘Bye.’
I hang up and reach straight for the phone book -
I find Bob Douglas’s home number -
