David Peace - 1977

‘Got time for a pint?’

‘Always got time for a pint, Jack. You know me.’

‘When’s best for you?’

‘About eightish?’

‘Yeah, fine. Where do you fancy?’

‘Duck and Drake?’

‘Eight o’clock it is.’

‘Bye.’

Through the dirty afternoon streets, the breeze wind, the plastic bags birds, the newspapers snakes.

I turned into a cobbled alley out of the gale, searching for the walls, the words.

But the words were gone, the alley wrong, the only words lies.

I walked up Park Row and on to Cookridge Street, up to St Anne’s.

Inside the Cathedral was deserted, the wind gone, and I walked down the side and knelt before the Pieta, and I prayed, a thousand eyes on me.

I looked up, my throat dry, my breathing slow.

An old woman was leading a child by the hand down the aisle towards me, and when they reached me, the child held out an open Bible and I took it from him and watched them walk away.

I looked down and I read the words I found:

During that time these men will seek death, but they will not find it; They will long to die, but death will elude them .

And I walked through the Cathedral, through the double doors, through the afternoon, through the plastic bags and the snakes, I walked through it all.

Everything gone, everything wrong, only lies.

The office was dead.

I went down the hall and into records.

Into 1974.

I spun the microfilm through the reels, over the lights. Into Friday 20 December 1974. Front Page:

WE SALUTE YOU.

A photograph -

Three big smiles:

Chief Constable Angus congratulates Sergeant Bob Craven and PC Bob Douglas on a job well done .

‘They are outstanding police officers who have our heartfelt thanks.’

I pressed print and watched those three big smiles, those outstanding police officers come out.

Watched that by-line:

BY JACK WHITEHEAD, CRIME REPORTER OF THE YEAR

I knocked on Hadden’s door and went in.

Still sat behind the desk, his back still to Leeds.

I sat down.

‘Jack,’ he said.

‘Bill,’ I smiled.

‘Well?’

‘Fraser’s done a runner.’

‘You know where he is?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’

‘I have to check.’

He sniffed up and tidied up some pens on his desk.

I asked, ‘You got anything new?’

‘Jack,’ he said, not looking up. ‘You said something about Paula Garland, the last time you were in.’

‘Yeah.’

He looked up, ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘You said something about a connection, a link?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Bloody hell, Jack. What have you found out?’

‘Like I said, Clare Strachan…’

‘The Preston Ripper job?’

‘Yeah. She went by the name Morrison and under that name she’d made a statement as a witness in the Paula Garland murder.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘Yeah. Fraser said Rudkin and maybe some other officers knew this, but it’s never been officially recorded in the Preston inquiry. Or anywhere else.’

‘And there’s nothing else?’

‘No.’

‘Nothing you’re not telling me?’

‘No. Course not.’

‘And you found this out from Sergeant Fraser?’

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘Just getting it straight in my mind, Jack. Just getting it straight.’

‘You got it straight then?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, eyes on mine.

I stood up.

‘Sit down a minute, Jack,’ he said.

I sat down.

Hadden opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a large manila envelope.

‘This came this morning,’ he said, tossing it across his desk. ‘Take a look.’

I pulled out a magazine.

A nack mag, pornography.

Cheap pornography.

Amateurs:

Spunk .

The corner of one page folded down.

‘Page 7,’ said Bill Hadden.

I turned to the marked page and there she was:

Bleached white hair and flaccid pink flesh, wet red holes and dry blue eyes, legs spread, flicking her clit:

Clare Strachan.

I was hard again.

‘This morning?’ I asked, throat hoarse.

‘Yeah, postmarked Preston.’

I turned the envelope over, nodding.

‘Anything else?’

‘No, just that.’

‘Just the one issue?’

‘Yeah, just that.’

I looked up, the mag in my hands.

Hadden said, ‘You didn’t know she was doing this kind of stuff?’

‘No.’

‘You any idea who might have sent it?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t think your Sergeant Fraser’s gone west do you?’

‘No.’

‘I see,’ said Hadden, nodding to himself. I said, ‘What we going to do with it?’

‘I want you to make some calls, find out what the fuck’s going on out there.’

I stood up.

He was picking up a phone as he said, ‘And Jack?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, one hand on the doorknob.

‘Be careful, yeah?’

‘I always am,’ I said. ‘I always am.’

I dialled her flat.

No answer.

I hung up and dialled again.

No answer.

I hung up and dialled again.

No answer.

I hung up and dialled again.

No answer.

I hung up.

I looked at my watch:

Just gone six.

Slight change of plan.

Down the hall and back into records.

Back into 1974.

I spun the microfilm again, through the reels and over the lights.

Into Tuesday 24 December 1974.

Evening Post , Front Page:

3 DEAD IN WAKEFIELD XMAS SHOOT-OUT

Sub-headed:

Hero Cops Foil Pub Robbery

A photograph -

The Strafford, the Bullring, Wakefield.

A horrific shoot-out late last night in the centre of Wakefield left three people dead and three seriously injured in what police are describing as ‘a robbery that went wrong.’

According to a police spokesman, police were called after shots were reported at the Strafford Public House in the Bullring, Wakefield, at around midnight last night. The first officers on the scene were Sergeant Robert Craven and PC Bob Douglas, the two officers who last week were commended for their part in the arrest of the man suspected of the murder of Morley schoolgirl Clare Kemplay .

When the two officers entered the Strafford they discovered a robbery in progress and were shot and beaten by unidentified gunmen, who then escaped .

Members of the West Yorkshire Metropolitan Police’s Special Patrol Group arrived minutes later to find the two hero cops and another man suffering from gunshot wounds and three people dead .

Roadblocks were immediately set up on the Ml and M62 in all directions and checks ordered at all ports and airports but, as yet, no arrests have been made .

Sergeant Craven and PC Douglas were described as being in ‘a serious but stable condition’ in Wakefield’s Pinderfield Hospital .

Police are refusing to release the names of the dead until the next-of-kin have been contacted .

An Incident Room has been set up at Wood Street Police Station, Wakefield, and Detective Superintendent Maurice Jobson appealed for any member of the public with information to contact him in confidence as a matter of urgency. The number is Wakefield 3838 .

I pressed print and watched those big lies, those outstanding lies come out.

Watched that by-line:

BY JACK WHITEHEAD, CRIME REPORTER OF THE YEAR

The Duck and Drake, in the gutters of the Kirkgate Market.

A gypsy pub, in the shadows of the Millgarth Nick.

Eight o’clock.

I took my pint and my whisky to the table by the door and waited, a plastic bag on the other seat.