1980

I follow Hook’s gaze to the bed, to Jack Whitehead -

On his back in a pair of grey striped pyjamas, hands chained to the sides of the cot, eyes open.

Hook is clutching the black bag, searching through the grey light, searching through the shadows, searching Whitehead’s scalp, searching for the hole he’d made.

‘Mr Whitehead,’ I say. ‘It’s Peter Hunter. I was here the day before last?’

Silence, just the dripping, dripping of the toilet in the corner -

‘Mr Whitehead?’ I say again. ‘I’m here with Inspector Hook.’

More silence -

‘Jack?’ says Papps.

Dripping, dripping, dripping -

I turn to Dr Papps and tell him: ‘We have to ask Mr Whitehead a number of questions. Would you mind waiting down the corridor, sir?’

‘He’s probably not going to talk.’

‘Even so, if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Fine,’ shrugs Papps, like it’s not, and he leaves the room.

Dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping -

I say: ‘Mr Whitehead? Jack?’

Dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping -

Hook coughs and steps forward -

Dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping -

‘Mr Whitehead,’ says Hook. ‘Your fingerprints were found on a cassette tape in Manchester yesterday. We’ve travelled here today to ask you how your fingerprints could have ended up on this cassette tape.’

Silence, complete silence until -

Until Jack sighs, eyes watering, tears slipping down his face, his cheeks, his neck, and onto the pillow -

Dripping -

We both step forward, closer to the bed -

‘Mr Whitehead?’ asks Hook.

But the tears are streaming now -

Dripping, dripping -

Hook opens the black doctor’s bag and takes out a portable cassette recorder.

‘Roger,’ I say. ‘I don’t think that’s such a good…’

He presses play:

HISS -

Piano -

Drums -

Bass -

‘How can this be love, if it makes us cry?’

STOP .

HISS -

Cries -

Whispers -

Hell:

‘How can the world be as sad as it seems?’

STOP .

HISS -

Cries -

Whispers -

More hell:

‘How much do you love me?’

STOP .

HISS -

Cries -

Cries -

Cries:

‘Sti rip sll iwl lik Hunter!’

STOP .

Silence -

Just tears -

Jack’s tears -

Dripping -

Until -

‘That’s you,’ Hook is shouting, over at the bed, shaking Whitehead. ‘That’s you, isn’t it? You knew Bob Douglas, didn’t you?’

Then suddenly a shot, a bolt -

Whitehead’s chest rises, his body twitches, his teeth gritted and bleeding -

And Hook’s turning to me: ‘What is it? What’s wrong with him?’

Again another shot, another bolt -

Chest risen, body twitching, teeth gritted and bleeding -

‘What is it?’ Hook is screaming. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Get Papps!’

A last shot, a final bolt -

Chest risen then fallen, a body twitching then still, teeth gritted then mouth open, blood bleeding -

A bloody stream down his face, his cheeks, his neck, and onto the pillow -

Dripping -

Hook is down the corridor shouting for the doctor -

Whitehead still, frozen -

I lean in close to the bed, feeling for the heart -

His mouth opens, bloody bubbles bursting on his lips and gums -

I lean in closer to the mouth, listening -

‘What?’ I say. ‘What is it?’

Closer to the mouth -

‘What?’

Listening -

‘Futures and pasts,’ he whispers. ‘Futures past.’

Hook and Papps are tearing back up the corridor -

‘What?’ I say, but he’s gone -

Silence, just their feet down the long, long corridor, then through the door, Papps pushing me to one side,