Unable to stop the fear.
The telephone on the desk is ringing -
The telephone on my desk, my telephone -
I pick it up: ‘Hello?’
‘Mr Hunter? Mr Lees is on line two.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, pressing the flashing button, thinking:
I say: ‘This is Peter Hunter speaking.’
‘Mr Hunter, allegations have been made against you that indicate a disciplinary offence on your part and these allegations are to be investigated by Mr Ronald Angus, the Chief Constable of West Yorkshire.’
‘What?’
‘Mr Hunter, you are to be in your office at two this afternoon.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That’s all I can tell you, Mr Hunter.’
‘Mr Lees, what’s going on? What allegations?’
‘Mr Angus will give you the necessary details this afternoon. Goodbye.’
‘Mr Lees -’
The line dead, the room spinning -
The Christmas cards and the unopened post in the tray, the photographs and certificates on the wall, the awards and commendations, spinning -
My whole office -
But it doesn’t feel like my office -
It feels like I’m choking in someone else’s office -
And I try to stand -
But I stumble -
I walk to the door -
I open it -
Roger Hook is in the corridor, Roger Hook talking to John Murphy -
I look at them -
They look away.
I’m outside, outside in the car park -
Outside in the car park, looking at my new digital watch:
10:27:09 -
Struggling with the car door -
Slumped behind the wheel:
Struggling, slumped and fucked -
In the reserved space that says:
Back upstairs, the corridors dead -
I dial his home number:
He picks up: ‘Clement Smith speaking.’
‘It’s Peter Hunter.’
‘Good morning, Mr Hunter.’
‘You know we lost the house?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I know.’
‘And I suppose you know I’ve also had a call from Donald Lees?’
‘Yes.’
‘I want to know what the bloody hell is going on?’
‘It would be inappropriate of me to say anything to you at this point.’
‘So you do know what these allegations are then?’
‘I can’t say anything. It would not be appropriate.’
‘So you’re not going to tell me what this is all about?’
‘Mr Angus will give you all the information you’re entitled to later on today, I believe.’
‘But what about the Ripper Inquiry? It’s to do with that, isn’t it?’
‘Peter,’ he says, quietly. ‘You must, from now on, worry only about yourself.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Duty dictates I can say no more.’
‘What?’
‘Goodbye to you Mr Hunter.’
Speechless, I slam down the phone.
The office of one of the Assistant Chief Constables of the Greater Manchester Police force -
My office:
Friday 26 December 1980
13:54:45.
A knock -
Chief Constable Ronald Angus and Detective Chief Superintendent Maurice Jobson are shown in -
Nods and handshakes:
Angus: ‘Mr Hunter.’
‘Peter,’ says Maurice Jobson,
Angus is looking at my chair behind my desk but I gesture at the two chairs in front of the desk -
We all sit down.
I look across my desk at Mr Ronald Angus, the Chief Constable of West Yorkshire, and I wait -
He says: ‘Maurice is here because unfortunately George Oldman, as you know, has not been well and Pete Noble is a bit busy.’
He’s smiling, the tables turned.
I say: ‘That explains why Maurice is here. But what about you?’
He’s not smiling now, not smiling as he tells me: ‘I have been invited here today by your own Police Committee to investigate certain matters affecting yourself. This is not a formal interview and I will be taking no notes.’
I hold up my pen: ‘I will be.’
‘As you wish.’
I say: ‘My wish Mr Angus is that I wasn’t here at all, that I was with my wife. As you may or may not know, may or may not even care, our house was destroyed in a fire last night, a fire that followed a threatening letter from a man claiming to be the Yorkshire Ripper, a letter that you are aware of. So I would be very grateful if you could tell me what these
‘I cannot at this moment tell you what these matters are. They amount only to rumour, innuendo, and gossip about your associations with various people in Manchester.’
‘Who?’
‘I cannot tell you.’
‘Cannot or will not?’
‘I am not able to tell you. We have a number of inquiries to make.’
‘I have done nothing wrong and I would like you to note that here and now.’
