David Peace - 1983

(We keep pain on inside round here) -

‘Dream on,’ I say.

She sits on settee. She looks up at me, chest rising and chest falling -

Little lad watching us both.

‘Hello,’ I say. ‘Hello from one that got away.’

She just sits and stares.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

She sits. She stares. She says: ‘I thought you were dead?’

‘Oh no, not me,’ I say.

She starts to cry.

I sit down beside her. I put my arm around her.

Her hair smells of fat and smoke -

They are big tears that are falling on her old clothes.

‘Oh, don’t start with them waterworks, now will you?’ I smile.

She stops. She sniffs. She rubs her red nose. She dries her red eyes -

Little lad still watching us both.

‘Do you believe in ghosts, little Barry?’ I ask him.

He shakes his head.

‘Well, you bloody ought,’ I swear. ‘Didn’t he, mum?’

Then I hear them -

Hear them coming;

Coming to our house -

Our house in middle of our street (our house in middle of our hell) .

Sirens down the Doncaster and Barnsley Roads, into Wakefield:

Two cars, a van, and an ambulance -

No sirens on the ambulance.

Piggott cuffed and bagged on the floor of the van as we swept into Wood Street, taking him underground before the pack had either a hint or a whiff -

Just our lot all lined up and waiting for him, punching and kicking and spitting on him as we dragged him by his heels up and down the corridors -

Up and down the corridors.

Then we stripped him. We fingerprinted him. We photographed him -

Threw him in a cell.

‘Keep him sweet,’ I told Dick.

‘With the exception of the slight ligature marks on the ankles and wrists,’ Dr Alan Coutts was saying, ‘there are no wounds.’

I stopped writing. I said: ‘Cause of death then?’

‘Preliminary -’

‘What?’

‘Starvation and -’

‘What?’

‘Hunger and -’

‘What?’

‘Possibly vagal inhibition.’

‘Strangled?’

He shook his head: ‘A sudden and unexpected shock can also be enough to stimulate the vagal nerve and cause death -’

‘She died of fright?’

‘Or hunger.’

‘When?’

‘I can’t be precise yet,’ he said. ‘But -’

‘Approximately?’

‘Within the last 72 hours.’

‘Where?’

‘Initial examination of particles from the skin and nails have revealed the strong presence of coal dust.’

‘Local?’

He nodded.

‘Underground?’

He nodded.

I looked down at my hands -

History and lies .

They were standing at the end of the corridor, black shadows under the white lights -

‘ Under the spreading chestnut tree -’

I walked down the corridor towards them.

They were waiting for me.

‘Mr and Mrs Atkins,’ I said.

They were staring at me.

I gestured to the four grey plastic seats against the cracked magnolia wall. I said: ‘I think we should sit down.’

There were staring -

‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you that we have found a little girl and -’

They were waiting -

‘The little girl is not alive.’

They held each other’s hands in their own. They squeezed them.

‘The body was discovered earlier today in a disused room at the old Redbeck Cafй on the Doncaster Road.’

They both looked at the linoleum. They shook.

I had nothing more to say to them.

Mr Atkins looked up. Her father said: ‘How did she die?’

‘It would appear she died from a combination of a lack of food and water and -’

They were both looking up at me now.

‘Fright.’

‘When?’

‘Possibly within the last 72 hours but -’

Mrs Atkins’ mouth was open, contorted and screaming and howling -

She was slapping and scratching and punching me, trying to murder me -

Murder me -

Murder me -

Murder me -

Murder me -

I wished her mother would murder me -

‘ Where I sold you and you sold me .’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Can I see her?’ asked Mrs Atkins, quietly.

I looked up.

WPC Martin had her by the arm, trying to ease her away.

I nodded.

Dr Coutts opened the door.

He switched on the overhead lights.

They flickered and then came on.

She was lying under a sheet on a gurney in the middle of the room.

Dr Coutts pulled back the sheet as far as her shoulders.

They stepped forward.

They fell on her.

They take you naked into a ten by six interrogation room with white lights and no windows. They sit you down behind a table. They handcuff your hands behind your back. They throw a bucket of piss and shit across your face. They hose you down with ice water until you fall over in the chair. Then they leave you alone.

You are lying on the floor, handcuffed to the chair.

You can hear screams from other rooms -

You can hear laughter -

Dogs barking .

The screaming goes on and on for what seems like hours.

Then it stops.

You close your eyes.

You have dreams -

And in your dreams -

In your dreams, you have wings -

But all these wings in all your dreams -

Are huge and rotting things -

The room red .

The door opens. Three men in suits come in. They are carrying chairs.

One man has a grey moustache. The other is bald but for tufts of fine sandy hair:

Moustache and Sandy .

The last man you know:

Maurice Jobson; Detective Chief Superintendent Maurice Jobson -

Thick lenses and black frames:

The Owl .

They pick you up. They sit you in the chair. They undo your handcuffs.

‘Put your palms flat upon the desk,’ says Sandy.

You put your palms flat upon the desk.

Sandy sits down. He takes a pair of handcuffs from the pocket of his sports jacket. He passes them to Moustache.

Moustache walks around the room. Moustache plays with the handcuffs. Moustache sits down next to Sandy. Moustache puts the handcuffs over the knuckles of his fist. Moustache stares at you.

Maurice closes the door. He leans against it, arms folded. He watches you.

They all smile.

Moustache jumps up. Moustache brings his handcuffed fist down on to the top of your right hand.

You scream.

‘Put your hands back,’ says Sandy.

You put them back on the table.

‘Flat,’ says Sandy.

You try to lie them down flat.

‘Nasty,’ says Moustache.

‘You should get that seen to,’ says Sandy.

They both smile at you.

Sandy stands up. He goes out of the room.

Maurice follows him.

Moustache says nothing. He just stares.

Your right hand is red and throbbing.

Sandy comes back in with a blanket. He puts it over your shoulders. He sits back down. He takes out a packet of JPS from his sports jacket. He offers one to Moustache.

Moustache takes out a lighter. He lights both their cigarettes.

They sit back. They blow smoke at you.

Your hands are shaking.

Moustache leans forward. Moustache dangles the cigarette over your right hand. Moustache rolls it back and forth between two fingers.

Your hand is twitching -

You pull your hand back a bit.

Moustache reaches forward. Moustache grabs your right wrist. Moustache holds down your right hand. Moustache stubs his cigarette out in the bruises on the back of your hand.

You scream.

Moustache lets go of your wrist. Moustache sits back.

‘Put your hands flat,’ says Sandy.