1983

RL Star’s Sister Murdered – by Jack Whitehead, Crime Reporter of the Year.

Police found the body of Mrs Paula Garland at her Castleford home early Sunday morning, after neighbours heard screams.

STOP -

Tuesday 24 December 1974:

3 Dead in Wakefield Xmas Shoot-out – by Jack Whitehead, Crime Reporter of the Year.

STOP -

STOP -

STOP -

Back in their bogs, burning and bleeding -

Retching.

Puking.

Spewing -

Knowing what you know, damned to go back one last fucking time -

You thread the last film. You wind the last spool. You flog the dead:

STOP -

Friday 21 November 1975:

Myshkin gets life.

In a telephone box on Balne Lane, the relentless sound of the hard rain on the roof, you make two calls and one appointment, thinking -

Jack, Jack, Jack -

The relentless sound of the rain on the roof, thinking -

Not here.

There is a Leeds & Bradford A-Z open on your lap. Your notes and photocopies are on the passenger seat beside you. You are driving through the back and side streets of Morley -

It is Saturday but there are no children.

You come down Church Street to the junction with Victoria Road and Rooms Lane. You turn right on to Victoria Road. You park outside Morley Grange Junior and Infants School, under the steeple of a black church -

The rain falling through the dark, quiet trees.

You look at your notes. You start the car.

‘Clare Kemplay was last seen on Thursday 12 December 1974, walking down Victoria Road towards her home -’

You follow Victoria Road along -

Past the Sports Ground, past Sandmead Close.

‘Clare was ten years old with long straight fair hair and blue eyes, wearing an orange waterproof kagool, a dark blue turtleneck sweater -’

You glance at your notes again -

You indicate left.

‘Pale blue denim trousers with a distinctive eagle motif on the back left pocket and red Wellington boots -’

You turn into Winterbourne Avenue -

It is a cul-de-sac of nine or ten houses; some detached, some not.

‘She was carrying a plastic Co-op carrier bag containing a pair of black gym shoes.’

A cul-de-sac.

You park outside number 3, Winterbourne Avenue.

There is a For Sale sign stuck in the tiny front lawn.

You get out. You walk up the drive. You ring the doorbell.

There is no answer.

A woman in the next house opens her front door: ‘You interested in the house?’

‘No,’ you shout back over the low hedge and drives. ‘I’m looking for the Kemplays?’

‘The Kemplays?’

‘Yeah.’

‘They moved years ago.’

‘You don’t know where, do you?’

‘Down South.’

‘You remember when?’

‘When do you bloody think?’ she says and slams her front door.

You stand in the drive of a house that nobody wants to buy and you wonder what the Atkins will do, if they’ll go down South or if they’ll stay around here, stay around here and watch their neighbours’ children grow, watch their neighbours’ children grow while their own daughter rots in the ground, rots in the ground of the very place that took her away.

You stand in the rain in the cul-de-sac and you wonder.

You go back to the car. You get in. You lock the doors. You open the A-Z again.

You start the car. You turn right out of Winterbourne Avenue. You go back down Victoria Road -

Back past the Sports Ground, back past the school.

You turn right on to Rooms Lane. You go up Rooms Lane -

Past the church -

The rain falling through the dark, quiet trees.

You come to Bradstock Gardens. You turn right again.

Bradstock Gardens is a cul-de-sac, just like Winterbourne Avenue.

A cul-de-sac.

There are two policemen sat in a police car outside number 4.

The curtains are drawn, the milk on the step.

You turn to look at your notes:

‘A ten-year-old girl with medium-length dark brown hair and brown eyes, wearing light brown corduroy trousers, a dark blue sweater embroidered with the letter H, and a red quilted sleeveless jacket, carrying a black drawstring gym bag -’

Sat beside you on the passenger seat -

Hazel looks at you -

Looks at you and says -

‘Help me -’

The rain falling through the dark, quiet trees -

‘We’re in hell.’

You reverse out of the cul-de-sac -

The Leeds & Bradford A-Z open on your lap, your notes and photocopies on the passenger seat beside you, out of Morley -

It is Saturday but there are no children -