1980

and parcel of the review that we’ve undertaken but, honestly and I hope for the last time, let me say that it would be unprofessional of me to pass comment on these matters at this time.’

‘Unprofessional?’

‘Yes.’

Driscoll hands McNeil a piece of paper from his briefcase and McNeil says: ‘May I read you something?’

‘Feel free,’ I sigh.

McNeil reads: ‘So much about the Ripper is ifs and buts – one cannot be 100% certain, for instance, that all the murders are linked. What we are saying is that they are all similar and are the ones we are most interested in. For reasons obvious to all officers there is a certain amount of information that has to be kept back for the vital confrontation with the man responsible for the killings.

‘On the balance of probability the man who sent the tape and wrote the letters is the Ripper but there can always be a question mark and it would be wrong for officers to eliminate suspects because they had not got a Geordie accent. We give certain guidelines but in the end, I feel, it will be some officer’s intuition that leads us to the killer. Hopefully, some officer will be in the right place at the right time and give us the break we need. So let’s make that break and nail him.’

McNeil stops reading.

Silence once again -

Until Driscoll says: ‘You’ve never heard that before, have you Mr Hunter?’

I shake my head: ‘No, that’s the first time. Who said it?’

‘Assistant Chief Constable Noble in this month’s issue of the West Yorkshireman.’

I glance over at Evans, who says: ‘It’s the West Yorkshire Police newspaper.’

‘Right,’ I nod.

‘Do you have any comment to make about that?’ asks McNeil.

‘It’s good advice.’

‘What about him saying that all the murders might not be linked, that the tape might be a hoax?’

‘He didn’t actually say that. But what he did say was good advice.’

‘What about the murders not all being linked, what about that?’

‘He’s right, you can’t be 100% certain.’

‘Janice Ryan? What about her? Always been a big question mark over her.’

‘Like I just said, you can’t be 100%.’

‘So you’re not at present investigating any connection between the murders of Janice Ryan and a Bradford Vice detective called Eric Hall?’

Evans is on his feet, trying to interrupt -

I’m shaking my head: ‘No we aren’t.’

‘That’s not what his widow is saying.’

Me: ‘You’ve spoken to Mrs Hall?’

McNeil and Driscoll both nod -

‘She’s mistaken then,’ I say.

‘And so there’s no truth in reports that the murders of Hall and Ryan are being linked in any way to raids earlier today on premises in Greater Manchester, which are in turn being connected to the murders there of Robert Douglas and his six-year-old daughter Karen last week?’

‘I don’t know anything about any raids.’

Driscoll: ‘Well we’ve received information that the offices of Asquith and Dawson and various city centre premises belonging to them were raided at dawn today’

I’m looking at Evans, who’s still stood up and looking at me, our eyes and hands all over the place -

‘I wasn’t aware of that,’ I say, eventually.

McNeil: ‘Are you aware that there are rumours circulating to the effect that you are to be removed from this so-called Brains Trust, this Super Squad, due to your personal connections to Richard Dawson, the man targeted in today’s raids?’

‘That’s it,’ says Evans. ‘I’ve heard enough of this.’

They both stand up, McNeil and Driscoll, their hands raised in apology -

Mouthing and whispering this and that about getting off on the wrong foot -

Foot in their mouths, no offence intended -

But I’m just sat there, reeling -

When Anthony McNeil leans across the desk, hand out: ‘Thank you for your time.’

I put my own hand out automatically, unable to speak -

And then he tightens his grip on my hand and whispers: ‘You think the tape’s a hoax, don’t you?’

Evans: ‘Mr McNeil -’

‘Yes or no?’

Evans: ‘He’s not going to be drawn into -’

‘Yes or no?’

Silence again, fucking silence -

McNeil, Driscoll, and Evans, all staring at me -

Staring at me sat there behind Noble’s desk -

In Noble’s chair -

‘Yes or no Mr Hunter?’

‘No.’

*

Searching for a phone and a car, upstairs and down, Millgarth giving me the bloody run around, the finger -

At last, long bloody last, into a phone in a corner of the Ripper Room: ‘Roger?’

‘Pete? Thank Christ for that.’

Me: ‘What the fucking hell’s going on?’

‘Smith’s only had Vice raid Dawson’s office and that place you went on Oldham Street.’

‘Shit.’

‘And he’s told the press of possible links to the Douglas murders.’

‘Fuck!’

‘Gets worse, mate.’

‘What?’

‘Dawson never showed up this morning.’

‘Where was he?’

‘Fuck knows. His solicitor knows nothing, sat there waiting like us, couldn’t get in touch with him.’

‘You called his wife?’

‘Not a clue. Hysterical.’

‘Shit, she’ll have been onto Joan.’

‘He called you has he?’

‘No.’

‘You heard about the raids?’

‘From the Sunday bloody Times.’

‘Fucking hell.’

‘Yeah, told me I was going to be removed from the Ripper because of it.’

‘Because of Dawson?’

‘Yep.’

‘Bollocks. You coming back over?’

‘Can’t,’ I say, looking at my watch again -