The policeman didn’t say anything.
He gave me another bar of soap and ran some more hot water.
I stood in the shower and washed myself all over again.
The policeman gave me a towel.
I dried myself.
Then the policeman gave me a pair of blue overalls.
I put them on.
Then the policeman took me back down the yellow corridor to a ten by six interrogation room, with four chairs and a table.
“Sit down.”
I did as I was told.
Then the policeman left me alone.
Sometime later the door opened and three big men in good suits came in: Detective Chief Superintendent Oldman, Detec tive Superintendent Noble, and the man with sandy hair.
They all sat down opposite me.
Detective Chief Superintendent Oldman sat back in his chair with his arms folded.
Detective Superintendent Noble placed two cardboard folders on the desk and began flicking through papers and big black and white photographs.
Sandy had a pad of A4 paper open on his knee.
“You want to make a confession, do you?” said Detective Chief Superintendent Oldman.
“Yes, sir.”
“Go on then.”
Silence.
I sat on the chair, listening to the humming of the lights.
“You fancied her, didn’t you?” said Detective Superintendent Noble, passing a photograph to his boss.
“Yes, sir.”
“What?”
“I fancied her.”
Sandy began writing.
Detective Chief Superintendent Oldman was looking at the photograph and smiling.
“Go on,” he said.
“She wouldn’t give me any.”
Detective Chief Superintendent Oldman looked up at me.
“So?” said Detective Superintendent Noble.
“I took some anyway.”
“What did you do?” asked Oldman.
“I took her in the cunt.”
“And?” said Noble, passing another photograph to Oldman.
“I took her in the mouth.”
“And?”
“I took her up the arse.”
“Then what happened?”
“She wouldn’t shut up.”
“What was she saying?”
“Said she was going to tell the police.”
“So what did you do?”
Noble passed another photograph to Oldman.
“I strangled her.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I cut off her hair.”
Detective Chief Superintendent Oldman looked up from the last photograph and said, “Why’d you do that?”
“She wouldn’t stop looking at me.”
“Same as the other one?” said Detective Superintendent Noble, opening the second cardboard folder and passing more photographs to Oldman.
“Just like the other one,” I said.
Detective Chief Superintendent Oldman flicked through the photographs and then handed them back to Noble.
Oldman sat back in his chair, arms folded, and nodded at Sandy.
Sandy looked down at the pad and began to read:
“I fancied her but she wouldn’t give me any, so I took some anyway. I took her in the cunt and in the mouth and up the arse. Then she wouldn’t shut up. She said she was going to tell the police, so I strangled her. Then I cut off her hair because she wouldn’t stop looking at me. Just like the other one.”
Detective Chief Superintendent Oldman stood up and said, “Edward Leslie Dunford, you are charged first that on or about Tuesday 17 December 1974, you did rape and then murder Mrs Mandy Denizili of Flat 5, 28 Blenheim Road, Wakefield. Second, you are charged that on or about Saturday 21 December 1974, you did rape and then murder Mrs Paula Garland of 11 Brunt Street, Castleford.”
Silence.
Detective Superintendent Noble and Sandy stood up.
The three men left the room and I think I began to cry.
Sometime later a policeman opened the door and took me down the yellow corridor.
Through the open door to another room I saw Scotch Clare from two doors down.
She looked up at me, her mouth open.
The policeman took me down another yellow corridor to a stone cell.
Above the door was a noose.
“Inside.”
I did as I was told.
On the floor of the cell was a paper cup filled with tea and a paper plate with a quarter of a pork pie on it.
He shut the door.
Everything was black.
I sat down on the floor, kicking over the tea.
I found the pork pie and began to nibble at it.
I closed my eyes.
Sometime later two policemen opened the door and threw a bundle of clothes and a pair of shoes into the cell.
“Put these on.”
I did as I was told.
They were my own clothes and shoes, smelling of piss and covered in mud.
“Hands behind your back.”
I did as I was told.
One of the policemen came into the cell and put a pair of handcuffs on me.
“Hood him.”
The policeman put a blanket over my head.
“Move.”
The policeman pushed me in the back.
I began to walk.
I was suddenly gripped under each arm and led along. Through the blanket I could see only yellow.
“Let me at him. I haven’t fucking touched him yet.”
“Get him out of here.”
Then I hit some doors with my head and I was outside.
I fell over.
They picked me up.
I thought I was inside a van.
I heard doors slam and an engine start.
I was still under the blanket but in the back of a van with maybe two or three other men.
“Fucking bastard.”
“Don’t be going to sleep under there.”
I was punched in the head.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make bloody sure of that.”
“Fucking bastard.”
Another punch.
“Keep your fucking head up.”
“Fucking bastard.”
I could smell cigarette smoke.
“He fucking coughed, I don’t believe it.”
“I know, fucking bastard.”
I was kicked on the shin.
“We should stretch his rucking balls.”
“Fucking rapist bastard.”
I froze.
“Do what we did to that other one.”
“Aye, fucking bastards the pair of them.”
The back of my head hit the side of the van.
“Fucking bastard!”
“What about here?”
I heard banging inside the van.
“Take the fucking bastard’s hood off.”
“Here?”
The van suddenly seemed colder.
They took off the blanket.
I was alone with Moustache, Grey, and Brown.
The doors to the back of the van were open.
It looked like dawn outside.
“Uncuff the fucking bastard.”
Moustache pulled me forward by the hair and took the hand cuffs off.
I could see flat brown fields flying past.
“Kneel him over here,” said Brown.
Moustache and Grey pulled me to the doors of the van, kneeling me down with my back to the open brown fields.
Brown crouched down in front of me.
“This is it.”
He took out a revolver.
“Open your mouth.”
I saw Paula lying naked face down on her bed, her cunt and arse bleeding, her hair all gone.
“Open your mouth!”
I opened my mouth.
He shoved the muzzle into my mouth.
“I’m going to blow your fucking head off.”
I closed my eyes.
There was a click.
I opened my eyes.
He took the gun out of my mouth.
“There’s something fucking up with this one,” he laughed.
“Lucky fucking bastard,” said Moustache.
“Get it done,” said Grey.
“I’ll try again.”
I could feel the air, the cold, the fields behind me.
“Open your mouth.”
I saw Paula lying naked face down on her bed, her cunt and arse bleeding, her hair all gone.
I opened my mouth.
Brown shoved the muzzle back into my mouth.
I closed my eyes.
There was a click.
“Fucking bastard must have a charmed life.”
I opened my eyes.
He took the gun out of my mouth.
“Third time lucky, eh?”
“Fuck that,” said Moustache, grabbing the revolver and pushing Brown away.