1983

Shaw’s election as Chairman of the first Wakefield Metropolitan District Council had been widely welcomed as ensuring a smooth transition during the changeover from the old West Riding.

Local government sources last night expressed consternation and dismay at the timing of Mr Shaw’s resignation.

Mr Shaw is also Acting Chairman of the West Yorkshire Police Authority and it is unclear as to whether he will continue.

Home Office Minister of State Robert Shaw was unavailable for comment on his brother’s resignation. Mr Shaw himself is believed to be staying with friends in France.

Read that front page, stare at photo of his face:

Face not smiling -

Remembering when it was always smiling, smiling and laughing, laughing and joking -

That trip to Spain, mornings on beach and siestas in his arms, evenings full of fine wines and dodgy bellies, nights of -

Nights of love:

His grey hair and gentle words, his firm kisses and soft caresses before -

Before BJ fucked it all, fucked it all:

All because of what and who BJ be.

Coach slows -

BJ lean into aisle -

Blue lights up ahead in grey:

Fuck.

Single-lane traffic, red sticks waving in dawn:

Fuck.

Driver has his window down, shouting: ‘What is it?’

‘IRA,’ comes a copper’s voice.

‘Not again?’

‘Irish bastards,’ says copper, but he waves coach through and coach picks up speed again.

Clare is staring at BJ, heavy rain against windows of coach.

‘We there?’ she asks, rubbing her black eyes.

‘Roadblock,’ BJ say.

‘Jesus,’ she says. ‘Where are we?’

‘Heading down into Manchester.’

She wipes window, but it doesn’t help.

BJ say: ‘Not very Christmassy, is it?’

‘Used to have good ones, did you?’

BJ sigh: ‘Not really. And you?’

She shakes her head: ‘I’d love to see the girls though.’

‘I bet,’ BJ say, thinking -

Poor, poor fucking cow.

‘Said I’d be back by Christmas, you know.’

‘Give them a ring,’ BJ say.

She sucks in her lower lip and nods.

BJ put newspaper back in bag as coach pulls into Chorlton Street Bus Station.

‘Be half an hour,’ shouts driver. ‘You getting off?’

‘Aye,’ shouts Clare and walks down aisle with BJ and jumps off.

It’s going up to eight and fucking freezing is Manchester.

BJ and Clare cross Portland Street into Piccadilly Gardens and go into first cafй BJ and Clare find:

Piccadilly Grill.

Clare has a breakfast and BJ have her toast, stomachs full of hot sweet tea.

At eight o’clock radio turns them stomachs, turns them inside out:

‘West Yorkshire Police today launched a massive manhunt following an armed robbery on a Wakefield pub last night which left four people dead and two policemen seriously injured.

‘The incident took place at approximately one a.m. last night at the Strafford Arms public house in the centre of Wakefield when a masked gang of armed men broke into a first-floor private party. Officers responding to initial reports of shots fired interrupted the robbery and were themselves attacked.

‘The gang are believed to have escaped with the contents of the till and some cash and jewellery stolen from customers.

‘Roadblocks were immediately set up across the county and on the M62 and M1 and initial reports that the attack might be linked to armed Irish Republican terrorists have yet to be discounted.

‘Detective Chief Superintendent Maurice Jobson, the man leading the hunt for the gang, asked members of the public with any information whatsoever to contact the police as a matter of some urgency, but he also cautioned the public not to approach these men as they are armed and extremely dangerous.

‘Mr Jobson admitted that the police were also taking very seriously suggestions that the attack upon the Strafford may be linked to a recent escalation in Yorkshire gangland violence which may also be behind the death early yesterday morning of local Wakefield businessman Donald Foster at his Sandal home.

‘Mr Jobson further confirmed that the two policemen injured in the attack were Sergeant Robert Craven and PC Robert Douglas, the two policemen who recently made headlines following their arrest of Michael Myshkin, the Fitzwilliam man charged with the murder of Morley schoolgirl Clare Kemplay. Mr Jobson described the condition of the officers as “serious but stable,” but he refused to release the names of the dead as police were still trying to contact a number of relatives.

‘Mr Jobson also added that he believed that some relatives may even have gone into hiding for fear of reprisals and he appealed for them to…’

Two steaming teas, two empty seats.

Chapter 10

Gotcha -

Dark night -

Day 11:

One in the morning -

Sunday 22 May 1983:

Yorkshire -

Leeds -

Millgarth Police Station:

The Belly -

Room 4:

James Ashworth, twenty-two, in police issue grey shirt and trousers, long, lank hair everywhere, slouched akimbo in his chair at our table, a cigarette burning down to a stub between the dirty black nails of his dirty yellow fingers -

Jimmy James Ashworth, former friend and neighbour of Michael Myshkin, child killer -

Jimmy Ashworth, the boy who found Clare Kemplay.

I asked him: ‘For the thousandth fucking time Jimmy, what were you doing in Morley on Thursday?’