1980
Page 17
‘What do you bloody think?’
‘How about this?’ asks Alec McDonald and reads:
‘It is desired to trace the following man who was involved in an incident with a prostitute in Preston city-centre in November 1975 and a similar described man who was seen to pick up Joan Richards, a prostitute who was murdered in Leeds in 1976. White male 30/40 years, five feet eight inches. Stocky build. Ginger-coloured hair which was untidy and a gingerish-coloured beard which was bushy round the cheeks but trimmed under the chin. Pointed nose and ruddy complexion.
‘This man was wearing a well-worn jacket and blue bib and brace type overalls with a pair of trousers underneath. It is thought he had two rings on fingers of left and possibly one on finger of his right hand. The back of his left hand is scarred. This is described as similar to a burn scar and stretches from the knuckles to the wrist. The back of his right hand is also possibly tattooed. This man has the appearance of a workman and probably spends his time in areas where prostitutes are known to loiter.
‘He has the use of a vehicle and it is thought that he had the use of a Land Rover or similar type vehicle from March 1975 to January 1976. It should be borne in mind that the Land Rover could have been in the possession of this man because of his employment and that he might not now have access to this vehicle. Also it could well be that the beard has been shaved off.
‘Suggestions to the identity of this man should be passed to the incident room in Preston or the Murder Room in Millgarth.
‘Message ends.’
Silence -
Then McDonald says: ‘Remind you of anyone we know, Bob?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ spits Craven.
‘What do you think it’s supposed to mean? Does that description remind you of anyone you know?’
‘Fuck off,’ he shouts and gets up and leaves the room -
More silence, minutes of it.
Then Hillman: ‘What was all that about?’
‘He’s had a bit of a shock has Bob,’ I say, catching Helen Marshall’s eye -
The tears in her eyes.
‘Roger?’ I say into the phone, sat on the edge of the hotel bed -
It’s almost eleven.
‘Pete,’ says Roger Hook, Detective Chief Inspector Roger Hook.
‘Pleasant journey back, was it?’
‘Delightful.’
‘Any news?’
‘We’ve let Dicky Dawson go.’
‘Good.’
‘He’ll be back in on Monday.’
‘What time?’
‘Ten.’
‘Who’s his solicitor?’
‘Michael Craig.’
‘OK,’ I sigh. ‘You haven’t called Pinderfields, have you?’
‘Wakefield? No. Did you?’
‘No, but I suppose I better.’
‘The Chief wasn’t right impressed.’
‘Didn’t think he would be. What did he say?’
‘What didn’t he say. Apparently that Papps bloke’s been raising bloody hell.’
‘What did you say?’
‘What could I say? We questioned the bloke and he lost consciousness.’
‘Sod them,’ I say.
‘Not like you, Pete,’ says Roger.
‘Bad day.’
‘Bad week?’
‘Month.’
‘Year?’
‘One of the worst,’ I laugh.
‘You said it.’
‘Don’t suppose SOCO got anything else from Ashburys?’
‘No.’
‘The tape?’
‘Sent a copy to the University.’
‘All right, I’ll let you get back to it.’
‘Cheers, Pete.’
‘Bye.’
‘Bye.’
Thirty minutes later the phone goes again -
I pick it up: ‘Hello?’
Silence -
‘Hello?’
Silence -
‘Who is this?’
Silence -
I say nothing -
They hang up.
Thirty minutes later the knock on the door -
I open it -
There’s no-one there -
Just an empty corridor, silent -
I walk to the end -
But there’s no-one there -
Nothing.
Back in the room, the phone’s ringing -
I pick it up: ‘Hello?’
‘Can’t sleep?’ asks Joan.
‘I’ve given it up.’
‘What? Sleep?’
‘Yep,’ I nod.
‘I just called to say goodnight.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I love you.’
‘Me too,’ I say.
‘Bye, then.’
‘Bye,’ I say and hang up.
Lit match, gone -
Dark Jack. Lit match, gone -
Like dark Jack, out -
Seeing through my eyes:
Winter, collapse -
Dark Jack.
Winter, collapse -
Like dark Jack, out -
Seeing through my eyes:
1980 -
Out, out, out.
children play among the waste no hope of death alone this night you are the ripper why are you not married who does your washing if you are not married do you like women have you ever been with a whore transmission four at about five forty five AM on Wednesday the eighth of june nineteen seventy seven the body of rachel Johnson sixteen years of age shop assistant of sixty six saint marys road leeds seven was found in the adventure playground compound between reginald terrace and reginald street chapeltown leeds last seen alive at ten thirty PM tuesday seventh of june nineteen seventy seven in the hofbrauhaus merrion centre leeds she is described as follows five feet four inches with proportionate build shoulder length fair hair and wearing a blue and yellow check gingham skirt a blue jacket dark blue tights and high heeled clog fronted shoes in black and cream with brass studs around the front so far as can be ascertained the deceased had been subjected to violent blows about the head with a blunt instrument and had not been sexually assaulted it would appear that the person responsible may also be responsible for the deaths of theresa campbell at leeds on the sixth of june nineteen seventy five joan richards at leeds between the fifth and sixth of february nineteen seventy six and marie watts at leeds between the twenty eighth and twenty ninth of may nineteen seventy seven details of the injuries to the deceased should not be disclosed to the press there is no evidence that rachel Johnson was an active prostitute the body had been dragged a distance of some fifteen to twenty yards from where the initial assault took place her assailants clothing will be heavily bloodstained particularly the front of any shirt or trousers worn by him it is desired to trace the following described man who was involved in an incident at white abbey bradford in november nineteen seventy six and a similar described man who was seen to pick up joan richards a prostitute who was murdered at leeds in february nineteen seventy six white male thirty to forty years five feet eight inches stocky build ginger coloured hair which was untidy and a gingerish coloured beard bushy around the cheeks but trimmed under the chin pointed nose and ruddy complexion this man was wearing a well worn jacket and blue bib and brace type overalls with a pair of trousers underneath it is thought that he had two rings on fingers of left and possibly one on finger of his right hand the back of his left hand is scarred this is described as similar to a burn scar and stretches from the knuckles to the wrist the back of his right hand is tattooed and he has the appearance of a workman and probably spends time in areas where prostitutes are known to loiter he has the use of a vehicle and is thought that he had use of a land rover or a similar type vehicle from june nineteen seventy five to february nineteen seventy six it should be borne in mind that the land rover could have been in the possession of this man because of his employment that he might not now have access to this vehicle also could well be that the beard has been shaved off e
had changed my mind and danced with the boy until it was my time to go and eat chips together outside C and A and walk up to saint jimmies and lie together under the big trees and the starless endless black summer air e start walking up past grandways and the gaiety and e was startled by noise her clogs made scraping long ground as e dragged her into an adventure playground to stab her again and again she smelted so sweet so clean when she bent down to kiss me goodbye she was perfect just like a flower almost bursting with optimism and the sheer joy of life
Chapter 9
No more sleep.
No more sleep, just -
Two huge wings that burst through the back, out of my skin, torn, two huge and rotting wings, big black things that weigh me down, heavy, that stop me standing.
No more sleep, just -
Wings, wings that burst through my back, out of the skin, torn, huge and rotting things, big black wings that weigh me down, heavy, that -
And then they’re gone -
Just like that.
Just Exegesis etched into my chest, my nails bloody, broken -
Et sequentes.
The notes are everywhere, across the floor, the bed, the cheap Griffin furniture, my writing illegible even to me. I rip out and screw up the piece I’m writing, check my watch, turn the radio down, pick the phone up off the bed and get a dialling tone, check my watch against the speaking clock, put the phone back off the hook and leave it on the bed, turn the radio up, and then I start again:
At 3:10 p.m. on Friday 27 January 1978, the naked body of Candy Simon born 6/6/60, a half-caste Jamaican found partially concealed in a timber yard off Great Northern Street, Huddersfield. Severe injuries to the head with blunt instrument and stab wounds to the body. Deceased was an active prostitute, recently moved to Huddersfield from Bradford. Was reported missing from home on 26 January by flat-mate, also an active prostitute. Had last been seen on Tuesday 24 January by flat-mate at 21:00 on Great Northern Street, Huddersfield, getting into a dark blue-coloured saloon car, possibly an Audi 100LS driven by a white male about thirty-five years of age and of smart appearance.
I stop and then writing:
Bradford?
Flat-mate?
Traffic wardens’ records?
I move on:
At 8:15 a.m. Saturday 27 May 1978 the body of a female was found on wasteland in Livingston Street at its junction with April Street, Brunswick, Manchester, at the rear of the Royal Infirmary. Deceased identified as Doreen Pickles, born 8/8/40, alias Mary Brown, alias Anne Pickles. Deceased was a convicted prostitute and the area behind the Royal Infirmary known as a place frequented by prostitutes and their clients. Death due to blows to the head with a blunt instrument, a severe abdominal wound, and a stab wound to the neck. Time of death estimated to be between midnight and 3:00 a.m. May 27.
I stop, thinking:
Next murder would be one year later -
Re-check case files on other prostitute murders in North of England, 1970 to 1980, not attributed to YR.
I stare across the floor, the bed, the cheap Griffin furniture. I check my watch, turn the radio down, pick the phone up off the bed and get a dialling tone, check my watch against the speaking clock, put the phone back off the hook, turn the radio back up, and I lie upon the notes, upon the bed -
Et sequentes.
No more sleep.
No more sleep, just -
Two huge wings that burst through the back, out of my skin, torn, two huge and rotting wings, big black things that weigh me down, heavy, that stop me standing.
No more sleep, just -
Wings, wings that burst through my back, out of the skin, torn, huge and rotting things, big black wings that weigh me down, heavy, that -
And then they’re gone -
Just like that.
Just Exegesis etched into my chest, my nails bloody, broken -
Et sequentes.
No sleep, just -
Dark heart of the night, dark corner of the room:
I check my watch, turn the radio down, pick the phone up off the bed and get a dialling tone, check my watch against the speaking clock, put the phone back off the hook, turn the radio back up, and I walk across the dark room to the dark corner -
Here sits the box from Mrs Hall.
I put the light back on and I open it:
Eric’s box -
Files, piles and piles of files, and a couple of cassettes:
A & B .
I take the Memorex cassettes over to the Boots portable cassette machine. I turn the radio off and put the first one in -
I press play -
I sit back down on the bed and I take out the files and begin to read as the cassette plays:
‘He beat the fucking shit out of me. Right there in the fucking car park.’
‘Eric, Eric
‘Don’t fucking Eric, Eric me. This cunt’s got my fucking car. Broke into my fucking house.’
‘Eric, Eric
‘I want Eraser done and done fucking right’
‘Eric, shut up and listen.’
‘No, you shut up and you listen: I’m telling you he broke into my house, my own bloody house, he’s driving around in my fucking car, and he knows everything. Everything. So you tell me what the fuck you’re going do about the cunt.’
‘Eric, I mean it. Listen: it’s done.’
‘Done? What is?’
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s finished.’
‘Finished? What about the car? Where the fuck’s my car?’
One of the lads’ll bring it round.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Eric, another time. Not now.’
I want to know?’
‘No, you don’t Eric’
Eject, flip, press play -
‘I’ve had enough. I can’t take anymore of this shit. First Eraser and now fucking Hunter.’
I stop reading -
‘Eric, you worry much too much.’
Same voices:
‘Peter Hunter’s coming and you’re telling me I worry too much. I’m already fucked up thanks to that fucking Fraser twat and now I’ve got to fucking talk to Hunter the Cunt.’
‘Don’t say a bloody word, Eric’
‘It’s alright for you, isn’t it? Not Leeds or Manchester, is it? Has to be sodding Bradford.’
‘Eric, for fuckssake.’
‘Look what happened to Porn Squad, – Moody and Virago.’
‘Eric, I know Peter Hunter and he’s not a problem.’
‘That’s what you say.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I say and you’ll fucking do what I say.’
Or what?’
‘Eric, don’t fucking start.’
‘No. I want to know what you’ll do if I’m not a good boy, if I don’t do what I’m told.’
‘Eric, we’re the only friends you’ve got. So stop fucking around.’
‘Or what?’
‘Or we’ll start fucking around with you.’
A pause, silence -
‘I’m sorry, I’m just upset.’
‘I know you are. We all are.’
‘I’m going to have to take a fall, aren’t I?’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘I can’t do fucking time, Richard. I can’t.’
‘It won’t come to that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We’ll look after you.’
Stop.
My heart’s beating fast, mouth dry -
I’m thinking:
June 1977.
I’m wondering:
Richard?
I’m writing:
Leeds? Manchester?
I say out aloud, say alone:
‘Saint Cunt.’
I take out cassette A and replace it with B:
‘She’s dead.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
A different voice, familiar -
‘I want to know who fucking did it?’
‘Eric, she’s dea
d. Just leave it.’
‘Was it Eraser?’
‘Eric, you’ve got to fucking get it together mate. Eraser’s saying it was you. They’re going to come and have a word.’
‘I can’t do this.’
‘You’ve got to.’
‘Was it him?’
‘Fuck knows. Doesn’t matter.’
‘Course it fucking matters.’
‘No, it doesn’t. What matters is you keeping it together and getting through this.’
Stop.
Eject, flip, press play:
‘He had the fucking mag, didn’t he?’
‘What did he want?’
‘Money. Brass, what else.’
‘How much?’
‘Five grand.’
‘Pay him.’
‘But he’s a fucking journalist, he’ll just keep coming back.’
‘No he won’t.’
‘You sure?’
‘Trust your Uncle Bob.’ Stop.
My heart’s beating fast, mouth dry -
Wondering:
June 1977.
Thinking:
Uncle Bob?
Writing:
Detective Inspector Robert Craven?
At the bottom of the box, a magazine -
A porno mag:
Spunk.
Issue 13, March 1976.
65p .
Inside -
SPUNK is published by MJM Publishing Ltd, printed and distributed by MJM Printing Ltd, 270 Oldham Street, Manchester.
I turn the pages, the bodies and the hair, the faces and that stare -
A dark-haired girl with her legs spread, mouth open and eyes closed, a cock in her face and come on her lips -
Saying out loud, alone:
‘Janice Ryan.’
No more sleep.
No more sleep, just -
Two huge wings that burst through the back, out of my skin, torn, two huge and rotting wings, big black things that weigh me down, heavy, that stop me standing.
No more sleep, just -
Wings, wings that burst through my back, out of the skin, torn, huge and rotting things, big black wings that weigh me down, heavy, that -
And then they’re gone.
Just like that -
Just Exegesis etched into my chest, my nails bloody, broken -
Et sequentes.
embedded in her chest a broken bottle of pop the screw top still on the cuts that will not stop bleeding the bruises that will never heal thoughts lost and thoughts found transmission twelve noon Sunday the twelfth of june nineteen seventy seven the body of Janice ryan a twenty two year old known prostitute found secreted under an old settee on waste ground off white abbey road bradford death due to massive head injuries caused by a blunt instrument or boulder or rock and is thought that death occurred some seven days before due to partial decomposition of the body the killer had jumped on her chest causing broken ribs which ruptured the liver there were no stab wounds and is thought from the pattern of the injuries that this death is not connected with the other circulated prostitute murders publicly referred to as ripper murders the cuts that will not stop bleeding the bruises that will never heal occult dreams psychic themes war crimes to map out the demon spheres with webs and wires that bind the days together man in amongst the golems dwells and scars them with his thoughts lost and thoughts found such terror can his hammer do her brassiere had been pulled above her breasts her panties pulled down to the pubic region her skirt which had been removed was found under her body she was killed in some other place and had then been dragged by her collar to the settee her handbag not found when her body was discovered her left arm was tangled in the springs of the settee indicating that the killer had placed it on her body after rigor mortis had set in a period of at least four hours after death some days after death the body had been moved and a yorkshire post dated Saturday the eleventh of june nineteen seventy seven headline victims of a burning hate placed underneath it could not have blown there it had been deliberately placed there the body then moved on top of the cuts that will not stop bleeding the bruises that will never heal occult dreams psychic themes war crimes to map out the demon spheres with webs and wires that bind the days together man in amongst the golems dwells and scars them with his thoughts lost and thoughts found such terror can his hammer do six six six times a killer more victims as murder hunt police say there is no copy cat dear george from hell e am sorry e cannot give my name for obvious reasons e am the ripper e have been dubbed a maniac by the press but not by you you call me clever because you know e am you and your boys have not a clue that photo in the paper gave me fits and that bit about killing myself no chance e have got things to do my purpose is to rid streets of them sluts my one regret is that young lassie Johnson did not know cause changed routine that nite but warned you and jack at the post up to five now you say but there is a surprise in bradford get about you know warn whores to keep off streets cause e feel it coming on again sorry about young lassie yours respectfully jack the ripper might write again later e not sure last one really deserved it whores getting younger each time old slut next time hope initially the corpse had been well concealed soil rubble turf had been piled on top of it then the abandoned sofa placed on top of the heap apparently some time after rigor mortis had set in because the arm was well entangled in the sofa springs horse hair from the sofa had been stuffed into her mouth and the autopsy revealed she was also pregnant and told a friend e was going to earn some money and he was cruising along slowly when he had to brake suddenly because of the car in front e recognised the car and e tapped on the window and got in and he said where did you spring from so sud-