the rest of the day.
I lie down on the bed, my thoughts scrambled messages, a migraine headache sparring with the pains in my back, jarring with the radio:
Old science fiction and future histories, the news from nowhere, the screams from somewhere
Hoping for something more, I close my eyes.
When I open my eyes its 12:30, the pain still here
In my back, behind my eyes.
I get up, wash my face, and take the lift downstairs.
Outside its stopped snowing but the sky is almost black with heavy cloud and premature night.
I walk through the sludge and the mud to the Kirkgate Market and Millgarth, freezing.
The rest of them are waiting for me by the desk.
I lead the way upstairs.
Noble is waiting outside the Ripper Room, waiting to introduce us.
I believe youve actually met?
Bob Craven has his hand out, half the Ripper Room crowding out into the corridor.
What were you back then, Bob? laughs Noble.
Just a plain old Sergeant, Craven smiles.
Well, times change; Assistant Chief Constable Peter Hunter meet Detective Superintendent Robert Craven.
We shake hands, the grip cold and tight:
The Strafford Shootings
Christmas Eve 1974:
The pub robbery that went wrong.
Four dead, two wounded policemen
Sergeant Robert Craven, wounded hero cop battles for life etc, etc , etc .
You look a little better than the last time we met, I say.
He laughs: You dont.
Bobs going to be the liaison, says Noble.
I say nothing.
Your guide.
Nothing, waiting for Noble to keep on justifying it:
Bobs been involved from day one. Hes worked a lot of the cases, worked Vice, probably forgotten more than most of usll ever know.
That would be a shame, I say.
Noble stops: You know what I mean, Mr Hunter.
Yep, I say. I know what you mean.
Well then, Ill leave you to it.
The keys? I ask. Did you get the keys?
Bobs got them, Noble says, walking off, leaving Craven dangling them from the end of his finger.
I ignore him and go to open the door
Its locked.
Cant be too careful, smiles Craven. Allow me.
By three the tables are covered in piles of files, Craven going back and forth to the Ripper Room next door, my team scratching and scribbling away for dear life under the low blue clouds of cigarette smoke hanging by the bare bulb.
Telephone, says Craven, coming back with another stack of manila folders.
For me? I say.
Yeah, next door. Line 4.
I get up.
Its the wife, he winks as I get to the door.
I walk next door
Next door into the Ripper Room
Into the photos on the walls, the maps and the faces
The charts and the boards, the chalk and the pen on every surface
The mugs on the desks, the cigarettes in the ashtrays
Everywhere:
Repetition, tedium
Indexes, cross-index
Files, cross-file
References, cross-reference
Everywhere:
Process
Repetitious, tedious process
Second after second
Minute after minute
Hour after hour
Fifteen, sixteen hours a day
Day in, day out
Six, seven days a week
Week in, week out
Four weeks a month
Month in, month out
Twelve months a year
Year in, year out
Year after year, month after month, week after week, day after day, hour in, hour out, minute in, minute out, second in, second out, for
Five years.
A fat man in a sports coats holding out the receiver
Joan? I say, taking the phone.
Im sorry, love, she says. But the Chief Constables office just called.
The Chief Constables office?
About tonight? They wanted me to tell you that theyve arranged for the tux to be sent round in about an hour.
The tux? Tonight?
Yes. I said I didnt know when youd be back so they wanted me to let you know.
The Christmas Ball
Id forgotten.
I thought you might have, she laughs. Shall we cancel?
No, we cant. Youre sorted out?
Yes. Id completely forgotten too but
Well, itll be good. Ill be back in a bit,