Empty TV sets, black birds and -
‘What?’
I open my eyes -
The car – the air dirty, the dawn grey.
‘What did you say?’ Helen Marshall is asking me -
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Think I must have nodded off.’
‘You said my name, that’s all.’
‘Sorry, must have been dreaming.’
She laughs: ‘Should I be flattered?’
‘No, it was a nightmare,’ I say.
‘Charming first thing, aren’t you?’
‘Sorry,’ I smile. ‘I better go.’
‘Taxi?’
‘Have to be,’ I say and get out of the car.
‘What about these?’ she asks, pointing at the pile of
‘Best pass them here,’ I say.
‘You got a bag for them?’
‘In the boot,’ I say and go and get it -
After we’ve done that, I lean back into the car and say: ‘Take care and thank you.’
‘Mention it,’ she says again, an echo.
‘Call Millgarth or the Griffin if you see anyone.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ she’s saying.
‘And get the plates,’ I say, handing her the keys and closing the door, – her sliding into the driver’s seat.
And then I turn away and walk off towards Batley Bus Station and as I go she presses the horn once and I turn back and wave – but I can’t actually see her, and in the Bus Station I use the phone and call Joan and then I get a taxi back to the Griffin, eleven issues of a pornographic magazine on my lap but, as I count them there in the back of the taxi, there’s only ten and for a sudden moment my blood runs cold thinking I left
from a greenhouse and e smell bad lying there for over a week and he vomits and tries to cut off my head with a hacksaw because he wants to make a big mystery of me but alas this is still nineteen seventy seven and it is december now and e am cold down garthorne terrace hoping to do a bit of business outside the gaiety before e go home and now e am on gipton avenue a dark coloured car driving slowly along looking for love the car parked by the kerb the driver waving to someone in a-house bye now see you later take care and he is all right about thirty years old stocky around five feet six inches tall with dark wavy hair and beard wearing a yellow shirt and a dark anorak with a zip and a pair of blue jeans he turns to me he says are you doing business e say yes and he says five pounds e say yes and e get in his car he says he knows a right quiet place on spare ground off scott hall street and e know it is about a mile and a half away and he is very chatty and friendly and says his name is david but he prefers dave e say very well dave it is and he says what is yours e say carol but my name is really kathy kathy kelly e ask him what he was doing back on frankland place he says he was saying goodnight to his girlfriend who is sick and he has his needs you know e say yes e know do not we all and he has them come to bed eyes and it might sound daft now but e quite fancy him a bit of a good looking and he knows it type and he would not frighten anybody because he knows a lot of the girls he is a regular punter and he is talking away about hilary and gloria and is not hilary the one with Jamaican boyfriend so e am thinking that he cannot be leeds ripper can he we get to spare ground off scott hall street and dave says we should have sexual intercourse in the back of the car e say ok but you must pay me first and he says he will pay me after e say you can fuck right off e know your plan my knickers off with your muck up me and fuck all else as you drive off with your bloody fiver and e get out but wait he says there is no need for that he has his wallet out so e try the back passenger door but it is locked and he says he will come round and open it and as he passes behind me e feel a searing sickening blow on top of my head and e am screaming loudly holding my head e am falling to the floor trying to grab hold of his blue denim jeans and e can feel more blows coming until there is only darkness blackness dirty prostitute bitch you whore you bitch you dirty stinking prostitute bitch e can hear a dog barking and him walking back to his car the slam of the door the back wheels skidding with a lot of spin as he drives off e just lie there on the spare ground the terrible pain in my head the dog barking no one coming no siren so e try to stand walk across the rough ground on to road try and get to a telephone e see this lad and lass and they see my head and face all covered in blood and she starts screaming he runs off to phone an ambulance and e am sitting there in street with this girl who is hysterical and one of girls e know comes up asks me what has happened here e tell her and she says you have come in your hair with the blood e say it was the ripper then that is rippers come she says you are luckiest woman in england and e sit there in road with blood and come in my hair my head with a hole young lass screaming freezing to death and e say e do not feel lucky she says you will mark my words you lucky cow with a depressed fracture behind my ear on the left side of my head measuring one and a half inches by one inch and the seven lacerations each about two inches long plus a four inch scar on my left hand where bruises were and police said it was definitely him ripper because they found
Chapter 12
The Ripper Room -
Millgarth, Leeds -
Monday 22 December 1980:
Standing room only -
Smoke, sweat, and no smiles on 150 sad bloody faces.
Chief Constable Angus and Temporary Assistant Chief Constable Noble down the front -
Me at the back, by the door -
No Alderman or Prentice.
‘It was a long weekend,’ Noble is saying. ‘I know a lot of us were at the funeral, Saturday.’
‘And I know like me, for all of us who were there it’s only strengthened our resolve to catch this bastard. But now we’ve got this -’
Noble picks up a piece of paper off the table and reads aloud:
‘Sunday 21 December, 9 p.m., Manchester offices of the
Noble stops reading, looking up at the room -
The Ripper Room:
Smoke, sweat, and 150 bloody curses.
‘Jim Prentice and Dick Alderman are in Manchester now talking to the people at the
150 more bloody curses, louder and louder until -
