Nineteen Eighty (22 page)

Angus is smiling, hands up: ‘Now just a minute. In case you weren’t aware, George Oldman is on sick leave.’
‘Sick leave? No I wasn’t aware of that.’
‘So, unfortunately, any interview would be out of the question at this time.’
‘I see. Is it serious?’
‘He has a heart condition.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I would like to know from you however,’ he goes on, ‘as to the progress you’re making and if there’s any other information you’d like to share with us?’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I say. ‘But I think it would be improper of me to speak with you before I’d spoken with either Mr Evans or Sir John Reed.’
Of course, but I did speak with Mr Evans myself yesterday and he wanted me to emphasise to you the unique circumstances here, this being an on-going investigation and the possibility of you discovering or being in possession of information that might lead to the conclusion of this investigation.’
‘Sir, I assure you, had I information that I felt would lead to the arrest of a suspect
–
I would waste no time in sharing it with the Assistant Chief Constable here.’
‘I hope so.’
‘You have my word.’
‘Then that’s that then.’
I nod.
Silence –
Silence until I say: ‘Is that all?’
‘One other thing,’ says Noble, turning in his chair. ‘There’s been a request for a press interview with you.’
‘Who from?’
‘Sunday Times
, I think.’
I look at Chief Constable Angus; he’s frowning: ‘Do you want to do it?’
‘Not bothered, unless it helps publicity-wise?’
Noble sighs: ‘We’ve got more than enough of that.’
‘Would have to be with our Press Officer,’ says Angus.
I nod: ‘Let’s see what they have to say. Any problems, I’ll talk to you and Philip Evans.’
Angus shrugs his shoulders: ‘Fine.’
Noble says: ‘I’ll have the Press Office set it up. This afternoon?’
I nod again.
‘Thank you,’ says Angus –
I take my cue and stand and leave.
I press play:
‘I’m Jack. I see you are still having no luck catching me. I have the greatest respect for you George, but Lord! You are no nearer catching me now than four years ago when I started. I reckon your boys are letting you down, George. They can’t be much good can they?
‘The only time they came near catching me was a few months back in Chapeltown when I was disturbed. Even then it was a uniformed copper not a detective
.
‘I warned you in March that I’d strike again. Sorry it wasn’t Bradford. I did promise you that but I couldn’t get there. I’m not quite sure when I’ll strike again but it will be definitely some time this year, maybe September, October, even sooner if I get the chance. I am not sure where, maybe Manchester, I like it there, there’s plenty of them knocking about. They never learn do they George? I bet you’ve warned them, but they never listen.’
Pause –
Thirteen seconds, count them:
One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen seconds of hiss, then –
‘Take her in Preston, and I did, didn’t I George? Dirty cow. Come my load up that
.
‘At the rate I’m going I should be in the book of records. I think it’s eleven up to now isn’t it? Well, I’ll keep on going for quite a while yet. I can’t see myself being nicked just yet. Even if you do get near I’ll probably top myself first. Well it’s been nice chatting to you George. Yours, Jack the Ripper
.
‘No good looking for fingerprints. You should know by now it’s as clean as a whistle. See you soon. Bye
.
‘Hope you like the catchy tune at the end. Ha. Ha.’
And then –
‘I’ll say your name
Then once again
Thank you for being a friend.’
Stop.
Silence –
Seconds, minutes of silence in the dark room –
Minutes of silence until –
Until I say: ‘This was received June 20, last year. I’m sure you’re all probably as sick to death of the sound of that voice as I am, – but I want to spend some time on this today because it has had such a bloody bearing on the investigation, both in what came next and what it meant for all that had gone before.’
Murphy, McDonald and Hillman, the three of them nodding along –
Craven in the corner –
No Marshall.
‘Right, as you know, they’d had the letters; four in all: the first three were all in June 77, two addressed to the
Yorkshire Post
journalist Jack Whitehead,’ I say, eyes on Craven –
No reaction.
‘The third one was to George Oldman, but sent to the
Telegraph and Argus
offices in Bradford. And the last one was sent in March 1978, again addressed to Oldman, but this time to the
Daily Mirror
in Manchester.’
Murphy: ‘That’s where they got the call last night?’
I nod: ‘Right, but that call aside for now, the tape and all four letters are without any real doubt the work of the same man. All five items share the same handwriting, blood groupings from saliva tests, and the same traces of oil and minerals. The first three letters and the tape make specific reference to the murder of Clare Strachan in Preston, while the fourth letter talks about the murder of Doreen Pickles in Manchester.’
‘May I?’ interrupts Hillman.
‘Go on.’
‘That fourth letter was also postmarked Preston.’
I nod: ‘And that is?’
‘Scene of the Strachan and Livingston murders.’
‘Good point, Mike,’ I say. ‘So the amount of publicity the recording, the letters generated, the sheer number of leads as you’ve all seen – it’s staggering.’
‘Overwhelming,’ says Alec McDonald.
‘But let’s remember,’ says Murphy. ‘It was a bloody leak that got them into this.’
‘That’s right,’ I say, again with a glance at Craven. ‘They’d made no decision on whether to go public with the tape. In fact, word is George was dead against it, especially since he’d always claimed the June 77 letter to the
Argus
had been a hoax. But then there was the leak, again to the
Argus
, and they had no choice.’
‘Bad time for them,’ Murphy continues. ‘They were leaking like a bloody sieve, all them stories about faked overtime, dubious expenses, it was all coming out.’
Craven in the corner has his eyes closed, head forward.
‘And three months later,’ I say, quietly. ‘It got even worse.’
I open the notebook and read:
‘On the morning of Sunday 9 September last year, the body of Dawn Williams was found hidden in a pile of rubbish behind an empty terrace house in Ash Lane, behind the Bradford University at which the deceased was a student.
‘She had been killed by a single blow to the back of her skull. Her clothing had then once again been repositioned and she had been stabbed nine times in the trunk, mostly in the abdominal area.’
I stop and hand them the copies I’ve made of the lists of witnesses, the lists of police officers, the lists of vehicles, lists of the possible tyre widths and so on –
Twenty-three pages of lists.
I continue: ‘It was after this murder that Oldman issued the following information and instructions to all police forces in the North of England –
‘Taken from the introduction to the revised and updated
Murders and Assaults upon Women in the North of England
it said:
“It is significant that although most of the early victims are prostitutes or women of loose moral character, in the majority of cases no obvious sexual interference has taken place, and the motive for each time is a pathological hatred of women. In the most recent cases, innocent women have been attacked. In the majority of these offences, vicious hammer blows to the back of the head have occurred, and it is generally thought that this precedes the stabbing of the victim. In some cases the clothing of the victim is moved to expose the breasts and lower abdomen, prior to stab wounds being inflicted. No stabbing has occurred through clothing
.
“The three common factors in all the crimes are:
a) The use of two weapons: a sharp instrument and a 1ź pound ballpein hammer
.
b) The absence of sexual interference, except in one instance
.
c) The clothing moved to expose breasts and pubic region
.
“Through evidence gathered, the following five-point list should be used for the purposes of elimination:
1. The man was born before 1924 or after 1959
.
2. The man is an obvious coloured person
.
3. The man is a size nine shoe or above
.
4. The man has a blood group other than type B
.
5. The man does not have a Geordie or North Eastern accent
.
“It should be remembered that it may be that the man responsible has come to police attention in the past for assaults on prostitutes and women which did not result in serious injury, and suggestions regarding the identity of the person responsible, or any other information about similar assaults, not necessarily fatal, would be appreciated.”’
I stop.
Silence.
I say: ‘And that brings us to here and Laureen Bell.’
I close the folder and look at my watch:
Noon –
Fuck –
I need another car, need to get back over to Batley, to Marshall –
Murphy, McDonald, and Hillman looking at me –
Craven’s fucking asleep in the corner –
‘OK,’ I say. ‘We need to now start compiling the crosschecks, completing various lists, speaking to the officers involved. We’ll start now and then meet tomorrow morning, first thing, see how far we’ve got.’
‘Wake him, shall I?’ grins Hillman, nodding at Craven –
I put my finger to my lips: ‘Better let him sleep.’
I’m at the desk downstairs, trying to get a car, when there’s a word in my ear:
Tress are here, sir.’
I turn round –
It’s one of the Yorkshire Press Office, Evans I think –
‘Sunday Times?’
he says.
‘Shit,’ I say, looking at my watch again.
‘Problem, sir?’
‘No. Where are they?’
‘The Assistant Chief Constable’s office. Mr Noble said we could use that.’
‘Fine,’ I say and follow him back upstairs.
There are two journalists waiting for us:
‘Anthony McNeil,’ says a tall man in glasses.
I shake his hand.
‘Andy Driscoll,’ says the other man as I take his hand.
‘I’ve never been interviewed by two people at the same time,’ I say, smiling at Evans as he sits down at the back of the room.
‘Well,’ says McNeil. ‘Andy’s just along for the ride.’
I sit down at Noble’s desk: ‘Is that right?’
‘No, he’s only joking sir.’
‘Well, OK. Shall we make a start?’ I ask.
‘Do you mind?’ asks Driscoll, putting a small pocket cassette recorder on Noble’s desk.
‘Should get one myself,’ I smile, switching on the one in my pocket.
‘OK,’ says McNeil. ‘You were brought in here as part of the
Brains Trust
and –’
‘Your words not mine,’ I interrupt.
McNeil smiles: ‘Right, fair enough. So I wonder if you could tell us what progress you and the other members of this
Super Squad
have made so far?’
I smile:
‘Super Squad
is it now?’
‘Well, it is supposed to be the top detectives from across the country’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘But,’ he says, sitting back in his chair. ‘Is it deserved?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Progress; that’s what people want to hear about,’ he says. ‘What progress you have or haven’t made.’
I say: ‘Is that a question?’
He closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them and says: ‘Yes, that’s a question.’
‘Mr McNeil,’ I say as quietly and calmly as I can. ‘Our job is to look at the operation and to advise and to make appropriate recommendations.’
McNeil smiles and gives me a bloody wink: ‘Is that an answer?’
‘That’s putting it a touch mildly, is it not?’ interrupts Driscoll.
I try and smile: ‘I thought you were along for the ride?’
‘I’m not – but can the same be said of you and this so-called
Super Squad?’
laughs Driscoll.
Before I can respond, McNeil’s already telling me: ‘What I mean to say is, this team were brought in for what was described as, and I quote:
“a complete and thorough review of past and present police strategy in the hunt for the Ripper.”
Was that or was that not the brief?’
‘That is the brief and that’s what we are in the process of doing.’
‘Thank you,’ snorts McNeil. ‘So would you mind telling us then how much progress you’ve made in the course of this review.’
‘It’s on-going, Mr McNeil.’
Obviously.’
‘Well,
obviously
, if it’s on-going it is therefore not complete and so I can’t comment,’ I say, my voice rising, looking at my watch, thinking about Helen Marshall. ‘What more do you want me to say?’
But then he pounces: ‘Something to give hope to the thousands of students fleeing the cities of the North tonight; something to give hope to the millions of women who aren’t lucky enough to be able to flee from the cities of the North, who must spend another Christmas, their sixth, trapped inside their homes, dependent on lifts from fathers and brothers, husbands and sons, any one of whom might be the Yorkshire Ripper himself; something to say to these mothers and sisters, these wives and daughters, not to mention something for Mrs Bell and the twelve other mothers who have no daughters and the nineteen children who have no mothers, all thanks to him; him and your inaction.’
Silence; silence but for the noises of the station around us –
The station where somewhere men’s voices can be heard singing an obscene version of
Jingle Bells –
The man at the back from the Press Office or Community Affairs or whatever they call it, he gets up and leaves the room –
I look up at McNeil who’s shaking his head, his eyes on me –
Outside the singing stops, leaving just the silence until Evans returns and takes his seat at the back again.
McNeil sighs and says: ‘If you’ve nothing to say in response to that, then I wonder if I might ask you for comment on a number of fundamental criticisms that have been levelled in the direction of West Yorkshire and the inquiry in general?’
I’ve got my hands up, but to no avail –
‘Firstly,’ he presses on. ‘There’s the issue of Miss Bell’s missing bag and it turning up covered in blood and marked as lost property a good twenty-four hours after her body was discovered, despite being handed in to police officers prior to the discovery of her body, not to mention the statements given by her flatmates insisting that officers look for Miss Bell when she failed to return home on time.’
‘The Chief Constable has already publicly addressed those criticisms, as you are fully aware.’