1980

I run my hand across the heavy bench, across the dark stains, across the etchings and the carvings, the messages, the signs and the symbols -

The cry of the wind through the pane -

The torchlight across the chains, a searchlight:

DEATH -

All this and heathen too -

The beam falls upon the door, ajar -

I walk across the floor to the door and push it open, a third time -

The muddy bath, the dirty water, the light from up above, from:

DEATH -

On the dark stair, we miss our step -

I bend down and nm my hand over the dark sides, over the heavy water, across the scratchings and the markings, the messages, the signs and the symbols -

In my hand, black and bloody water -

I turn the torch upon my own hands, looking:

DEATH -

Never let her slip -

I turn and walk back out towards the door, following the light from the torch, ceiling to floor, wall to wall, and back to the floor -

Above the door, in the beams above the door -

Swastikas, huge white swastikas and two words: HTAED -

Yrotcaf htaed.

I’m sat in the car in the drive outside my house.

The Christmas tree lights are on inside.

I switch off the radio and go in -

Joan’s watching the TV.

‘Hello,’ I say.

‘I wasn’t expecting you back tonight,’ she says, getting up, kissing me on the cheek. ‘You’re cold, freezing.’

‘Had some stuff to take care of at the office.’

‘Should have said,’ she says, going into the kitchen. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘No,’ I say.

‘Sandwich?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

She comes back in with a cup of tea: ‘There you go.’

‘What are you watching?’ I ask.

‘Christmas at Robin’s Nest,’ she laughs, sitting down beside me on the settee.

‘Funny?’

‘Mm, suppose,’ she shrugs.

I lean forward and pick up the pamphlet on adoption from the coffee table -

‘A Vietnamese baby?’ I ask.

She nods: ‘What do you think?’

‘I told you, I think it’s a good idea.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ I say. ‘What do we have to do?’

She hands me an application form and says: ‘We both have to complete one of these, send it off, and then they’ll call us for an interview.’

‘Sounds straightforward enough,’ I say. ‘Better pass me a pen then hadn’t you.’

‘You’re sure then?’ she asks.

‘Positive, love.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiles. ‘Thank you.’

I catch him, stop him murdering mothers, orphaning children, then you give us one, just one.

In the middle of the film, the telephone:

‘Peter Hunter speaking?’

‘Peter? This is Richard.’

Fuck -

‘What can I do for you, Richard?’

‘You were at the office today?’

‘Yes.’

‘What the bloody hell were you doing there?’

‘Looking for you.’

‘Me? Why? What now?’

‘Look, calm down.’

‘Fuck off, this has got completely out of hand.’

‘Richard, look: I just wanted to ask you about some property you rented to a company. That was all.’

‘Company? Which company?’

‘Not on the phone, Richard. We’ll talk about it on Monday.’

‘No we bloody won’t. We’ll talk about it now.’

‘That’s not a good idea.’

‘Well neither was gaining entry to my office without a warrant.’

Fuck, fuck -

‘Richard -’

‘Which company?’

Fuck, fuck, fuck -

‘MJM Publishing.’

A pause, silence, then: ‘What about them?’

‘Look Richard, we’ll go into it on Monday.’

‘Fuck off, Peter. What about them?’

‘Look, it’s probably nothing to do with you.’

‘Probably nothing to do with me? What then?’

‘OK, look: their name came up in connection with something to do with the Ripper Inquiry.’

‘The Ripper? The Leeds Ripper?’

‘Yes.’

‘So?’

‘So when we did a check it turned out the building they’d been renting was one of yours.’

Another pause, silence, then: ‘And that’s it?’

‘You tell me?’

A longer pause, silence, finally: ‘There’s nothing to tell; Colin dealt with them anyway.’

‘Fine. Don’t worry about it then.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Goodbye Richard.’

‘See you on Monday,’ he says and hangs up -