In the green paint, another etched tract:
Hex’d, I die.
Down the last corridor, long, to the last door, locked -
Dr Papps, keys out -
Hook, a free hand on the doctor’s sleeve: ‘Has Whitehead left the hospital in the last twenty-four hours?’
Papps: ‘Of course not.’
‘In the last week, the last month.’
‘Inspector, Mr Whitehead hasn’t left his bed, let alone his room, since he got here.’
‘He’s loose,’ I shouted.
‘Jesus,’ said Leonard. ‘Not again.’
Me: ‘How can you be certain?’
Papps gives the dangling keys a shake: ‘How could he?’
‘But…’ starts Hook, but I give him the wink and he stops -
Papps looks from Hook to me and back again -
I nod at the door -
Papps shrugs, turns the keys, and then the handle -
He pulls back the door -
Silence -
‘After you,’ gestures Papps and we enter the room.
It’s cold this time and lighter, the toilet in the corner still dripping, the chair gone.
I follow Hook’s gaze to the bed, to Jack Whitehead -
On his back in a pair of grey striped pyjamas, hands chained to the sides of the cot, eyes open.
Hook is clutching the black bag, searching through the grey light, searching through the shadows, searching Whitehead’s scalp, searching for the hole he’d made.
‘Mr Whitehead,’ I say. ‘It’s Peter Hunter. I was here the day before last?’
Silence, just the dripping, dripping of the toilet in the corner -
‘Mr Whitehead?’ I say again. ‘I’m here with Inspector Hook.’
More silence -
‘Jack?’ says Papps.
Dripping, dripping, dripping -
I turn to Dr Papps and tell him: ‘We have to ask Mr Whitehead a number of questions. Would you mind waiting down the corridor, sir?’
‘He’s probably not going to talk.’
‘Even so, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Fine,’ shrugs Papps, like it’s not, and he leaves the room.
Dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping -
I say: ‘Mr Whitehead? Jack?’
Dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping -
Hook coughs and steps forward -
Dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping -
‘Mr Whitehead,’ says Hook. ‘Your fingerprints were found on a cassette tape in Manchester yesterday. We’ve travelled here today to ask you how your fingerprints could have ended up on this cassette tape.’
Silence, complete silence until -
Until Jack sighs, eyes watering, tears slipping down his face, his cheeks, his neck, and onto the pillow -
Dripping -
We both step forward, closer to the bed -
‘Mr Whitehead?’ asks Hook.
But the tears are streaming now -
Dripping, dripping -
Hook opens the black doctor’s bag and takes out a portable cassette recorder.
‘Roger,’ I say. ‘I don’t think that’s such a good…’
He presses play:
HISS -
Piano -
Drums -
Bass -
‘How can this be love, if it makes us cry?’
STOP .
HISS -
Cries -
Whispers -
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‘How can the world be as sad as it seems?’
STOP .
HISS -
Cries -
Whispers -
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‘How much do you love me?’
STOP .
HISS -
Cries -
Cries -
Cries:
‘Sti rip sll iwl lik Hunter!’
STOP .
Silence -
Just tears -
Jack’s tears -
Dripping -
Until -
‘That’s you,’ Hook is shouting, over at the bed, shaking Whitehead. ‘That’s you, isn’t it? You knew Bob Douglas, didn’t you?’
Then suddenly a shot, a bolt -
Whitehead’s chest rises, his body twitches, his teeth gritted and bleeding -
And Hook’s turning to me: ‘What is it? What’s wrong with him?’
Again another shot, another bolt -
Chest risen, body twitching, teeth gritted and bleeding -
‘What is it?’ Hook is screaming. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Get Papps!’
A last shot, a final bolt -
Chest risen then fallen, a body twitching then still, teeth gritted then mouth open, blood bleeding -
A bloody stream down his face, his cheeks, his neck, and onto the pillow -
Dripping -
Hook is down the corridor shouting for the doctor -
Whitehead still, frozen -
I lean in close to the bed, feeling for the heart -
His mouth opens, bloody bubbles bursting on his lips and gums -
I lean in closer to the mouth, listening -
‘What?’ I say. ‘What is it?’
Closer to the mouth -
‘What?’
Listening -
‘Futures and pasts,’ he whispers. ‘Futures past.’
Hook and Papps are tearing back up the corridor -
‘What?’ I say, but he’s gone -
Silence, just their feet down the long, long corridor, then through the door, Papps pushing me to one side, panting, just questions, questions, questions, Papps pushing Hook back down the long, long corridor, for help, help, help, panting, Papps pushing down on Whitehead’s chest, breathe, breathe, breathe, panting, pushing open his mouth, kissing him, kiss, kiss, kiss, panting, then pushing me back into the wall, more questions, questions, questions, pushing down on his chest again, thump, thump, thump, panting, more feet down the long, long corridor, doctor, doctor, doctor, panting, Hook to me to Hook to Papps to Hook to me to Papps, questions, questions, questions, panting -
Just questions -
Questions and no answers.
Standing on the gravel in the cold drizzle, the bare trees and empty nests, watching the blue lights take him away, the woman in white from behind the desk handing Papps his blue blazer as he gets in the back of the ambulance with Jack for the short ride next door.
We walk to our cars.
‘Inspector!’ shouts the woman in white -
We both turn and she comes across the gravel to hand me two pieces of paper:
‘Leonard’s address,’ she says. ‘And Dr Papps said you wanted a list of Jack Whitehead’s visitors.’
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘You’re welcome,’ she smiles, but she doesn’t mean it, she can’t, why would she.
Lit match, gone -
Dark Jack.
Lit match, gone -
Like dark Jack, out -
Seeing through her eyes: Winter, collapse -
Dark Jack.
Winter, collapse -
Like dark Jack, out -
Seeing through her eyes:
1980 -
Out, out, out.
Millgarth, Leeds -
Outside the Ripper Room:
‘Inspector Craven? Can I have a word?’
‘Certainly Assistant Chief Constable Hunter,’ he says, saluting.
I walk over to the top of the stairs, Craven limping behind.
‘See much of Bob Douglas, do you?’ I ask him.
‘Every now and again, why?’
‘And how’s he doing?’
‘Fine. Last I heard.’
‘You’re not in touch much then?’
‘On and off, like I say. Less so now he’s over your way’
‘What’s he up to?’
‘Think it’s security work these days.’
‘Before that?’
‘When he quit he -’
‘When was that?’
‘75 sometime. He didn’t want to, mind – they made him.’
I nod: ‘So what did he do?’