1980

‘Are you alone?’ a man’s voice asks – young.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Well then, I’ll make this brief.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I’ve got some information concerning one of the Ripper murders.’

‘I’m still listening,’ I say, thinking -

ASSUME THIS PHONE IS TAPPED.

Him: ‘Be in Preston tomorrow lunchtime.’

‘Where?’

‘St Mary’s? It’s a pub on Church Street.’

‘What time?’

‘One?’

‘Fine.’

The line goes dead.

I hand the phone, the phone that was my phone until yesterday afternoon, I hand it back to Ronald Angus -

He takes it from me, his eyes black and burning to know who that was, Jobson the same.

I say nothing and turn and walk to the door, the door that was my door, the door to the office that was my office, that was my office until yesterday afternoon.

‘Mr Hunter?’ says Angus as I open the door. ‘One thing for you.’

I turn around -

‘We will be asking you for authorisation to go directly to your bank and we will also be asking you to turn over official diaries and expenses, not forgetting all files pertaining to the Ripper.’

I nod and turn back to the door -

‘Is that a yes, Mr Hunter?’

I nod again, my back to him, and I step out into the corridor and shut the door, shut the door to the office that was my office, that was my office until yesterday afternoon.

I pull into the drive of Joan’s parents’ house at almost six o’clock and I can see Joan watching for me in their front room.

She comes out into the drive as I’m locking the car -

‘Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me?’

I can see her parents standing in the hall, her father with his arms around her mother -

‘What?’

‘It’s all over the papers, the news. It’s everywhere.’

‘What is?’

‘Your suspension,’ she says, holding out the evening paper -

‘What?’

‘You didn’t know?’

I take the paper from her and stand in the dark and the rain of her parents’ drive straining to read the front page of the Manchester Evening News under a headline that’s as large as it is a lie:

Suspended.

In big, black, bold type -

With my photograph underneath, one taken of me wrestling a student to the ground during a recent demonstration when Keith Joseph came North on a visit to Manchester Polytechnic.

Manchester Assistant Chief Constable Peter Hunter was today suspended from duty due to what police sources are describing as serious allegations.

In a carefully worded statement, Mr Donald Lees of the Greater Manchester Police Authority told reporters that, Information has been received in relation to the conduct of a Senior Police Officer which disclosed the possibility of a disciplinary offence. To maintain public confidence, the Chairman of the Police Committee, Councillor Clive Birkenshaw, has requested the Chief Constable of West Yorkshire, Mr Ronald Angus, to investigate this matter under the appropriate statutory provisions. The Assistant Chief Constable involved is on temporary leave of absence whilst the matter is being investigated.’

Mr Lees repeatedly refused to confirm or deny that the officer was Peter Hunter, but police sources confirmed that Mr Hunter had been suspended from duty. Attempts were made to contact Mr Hunter for comment, but he was unavailable at the time of going to press.

Councillor Birkenshaw meanwhile was quoted as describing the complaint as ‘very trivial’ and had ‘blown up over the last two days’.

However Mr Clement Smith, the Chief Constable of Greater Manchester, told the Evening News that the allegations were, ‘very regrettable indeed and it is my hope that they will be cleared up as quickly as possible.’

Mr Lees was unable to give details of the allegations involving Mr Hunter but he did deny conflicting newspaper reports that the suspension was a result of a fire two days ago at Mr Hunter’s Alderley Edge home or his handling of the inquiry into the Yorkshire Ripper or rumoured links to the recent horrific murder of former Yorkshire policeman Robert Douglas and his young daughter in the Ashburys area of the city.

I stop reading and look up at Joan standing there, standing there in the drive of her parents’ house, her own arms around herself.

‘You didn’t know?’ she’s asking me -

I shake my head and say: ‘Bastards, the fucking bastards.’

And she’s crying and so am I, unable to hold back my tears, unable to catch hers, unable to stop them, and all the things we’ve lost, there’s so much, we’ve lost so very much, too much, the things we’ve lost, there are so many, we’ve lost so very many things, too many, and I put my arm around her and lead her back up the drive and into her parents’ house, her parents’ house like the house that was our house, the house that was our house until Thursday night, her mother and father stood in the hall, his arm round her, her hands to her face, my arms round Joan, her hands to my face, my black ash face, and I look at the three of them and I say -

‘I’m sorry.’

is hard to hear e will stand real close and say thank you for being a friend and when we die and float away into the night the milky way you will hear me call as we ascend hear me cry but surely we were meant to win this fight not howl like dogs in the rain transmission eleven received on ash lane bradford on Sunday the ninth of September nineteen seventy nine identified as dawn Williams a large laceration on the back of her head and seven stab wounds in her trunk three of them round her umbilicus the knife reintroduced into the chest wound on a number of occasions she had numerous bruises and abrasions and had been struck on the head with a hammer and stabbed with a giant three sided screwdriver new suffering in the round of rain eternal a piteous sight confusing me to tears cursed cold and falling heavy unchanging thick hail and dirty water mixed with snow coming down in torrents through the murky air the earth stinking from this soaking rain wherein a ruthless and fantastic beast with all three of his throats howls out doglike above the drowning sinners of this place his eyes red his beard slobbered black his belly swollen he has claws for hands and he rips the spirits flays and mangles her in the shadows of the yard behind number thirteen pulling at her blouse lifting her brassiere pulling down her jeans and panties putting away the hammer taking out the screwdriver the knife stabbing stabbing stabbing stabbing stabbing stabbing stabbing replacing the blouse under a piece of carpet some leaves the rain welcome back to bradford said the sign above the door round the back in an old carpet a dead girl in a distorted jackknife posture in a cheesecloth shirt bra pushed up to expose her breasts and her jeans undone and partly pulled down stabbed seven times in the stomach and the shoulder blade with a four inch blade he is thirty two dark five feet eight inches tall calls himself ronnie or Johnnie related to the detective no he is an electrician from durham no he is a former sailor now electrician who