He’s red-faced is Alderman -
Red-faced and ready to fucking pop -
‘Lucky he fucking wrote that letter,’ I say. ‘Else you’d never have put it together. She’d have just been another one of those many unsolved…’
And he’s across the table again, shouting: ‘Because it wasn’t the fucking Ripper, was it. It was fucking Fraser, everyone knows that. Tell him Jim.’
‘Shut up, Dick. Shut up,’ Prentice is saying, the last of the Smart Men -
Dick Alderman out of his tree and control: ‘No, you fuck off. I’m not having this fucking piece of shit stroll into here and tell me I can’t…’
Murphy: ‘Jim? Jim? What’s he talking about?’
Prentice: ‘He’s talking bollocks, course it was Ripper.’
Alderman: ‘Fuck off!’
‘No, you fuck off Dick!’
I stand up and say: ‘I think we’d better leave you gentlemen to it.’
They stop arguing, staring up at me -
‘We’ll come back another time,’ I say. ‘When you’ve got your stories straight.’
I’m sat in our room, the one next to the Ripper Room -
Hillman and Marshall are cross-checking cars from the Joanne Thornton inquiry.
The door opens, no knock -
It’s Peter Noble, a face of bloody black thunder.
‘Pete?’ I say.
‘Can I see you in my office?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Give us a minute, will you?’
He nods and slams the door -
Hillman and Marshall are looking at me.
‘What’s all that about?’ asks Hillman.
‘Can’t imagine,’ I smile and stand up.
I knock on Noble’s door -
‘Come,’ he says and I do.
‘Pete,’ I say. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You spoke with Dick Alderman and Jim Prentice, right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What happened?’
‘What do you mean,
‘What I say I mean,
‘Nothing,’ I shrug.
‘Nothing?’
‘Look, no offence, but I’m not obliged to report to you on interviews conducted for a Home Office review.’
He’s furious, absolutely seething, fucking livid: ‘No, but you are obliged to disclose information you might have that would assist in an on-going investigation.’
‘And who told you that?’
‘The Chief Constable, just after he’d got off the phone with Philip Evans, the man who drew up the parameters of your review.’
‘Well firstly, I’d have to check that myself with Mr Evans and, secondly, it’s an academic argument anyway seeing as we don’t have any information that is not already available to your inquiry.’
‘Bollocks,’ he shouts.
‘There’s no need for that,’ I say.
‘No need for that,’ he laughs. ‘What about this?’
And he tosses a copy of
I ask him: ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Manchester, who tell me you’ve had it at least two bloody days.’
‘So what? You’ve had it best part of three bloody years.’
‘What?’
‘Ask George and Maurice.’
‘Ask George and Maurice what?’
‘Copies were given to them by Eric Hall’s widow.’
He’s shaking his head: ‘You should have said something.’
‘I thought you knew.’
He lights a cigarette: ‘This still doesn’t mean you can come in here and intimidate my officers.’
‘Intimidate your officers?’ I say. ‘Like who?’
‘Prentice and Alderman.’
‘Intimidate Dick Alderman? Now that is bollocks, Pete.’
‘No it’s bloody not,’ says Noble, gathering steam again. ‘I’ve had Dick in here threatening to resign, saying you insulted him, insulted his reputation.’
‘Look,’ I say. ‘Dick lost his temper. He said things I’m sure he regrets and we will need to speak to him again. But that’s as far as it went.’
‘Not according to Dick and Jim.’
‘What did they say?’
‘Said you made insinuations about their handling of the Janice Ryan inquiry.’
‘Yep, I did. And Dick Alderman refuted those
‘Come on Peter, that’s rubbish.’
‘Is it?’
‘In my opinion, absolute rubbish.’
I shrug: ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Nothing,’ he says, furious again.
‘OK,’ I nod.
‘Nothing until we speak to the Chief Constable tomorrow.’
‘Fine,’ I say and leave him to it.
The Griffin, the bar downstairs -
It’s late and everyone else has gone to bed, everyone but me and Helen Marshall and the bloke behind the bar who wishes we would:
‘I’d have liked to have seen the look on his face,’ she’s laughing -
‘Priceless,’ I’m saying, miles away – no idea who or what we’re talking about.
She’s drunk I think, saying: ‘They don’t like us, do they?’
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘It’s late. You should go up.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’ve got some things to do.’
‘What?’ she laughs, looking at her watch.
‘Just going for a drive, that’s all.’
‘Can I come?’ she says, not looking so drunk anymore.
‘If you want,’ I say and stand up, my hand out.
It’s gone midnight -
We walk through the deserted city centre, freezing.
‘Horrible place,’ she says, looking up at the ugly black buildings, then down at the dirty pavement.
