‘That’s all I can tell you, Mr Hunter.’
‘Mr Lees, what’s going on? What allegations?’
‘Mr Angus will give you the necessary details this afternoon. Goodbye.’
‘Mr Lees -’
The line dead, the room spinning -
The Christmas cards and the unopened post in the tray, the photographs and certificates on the wall, the awards and commendations, spinning -
My whole office -
But it doesn’t feel like my office -
It feels like I’m choking in someone else’s office -
And I try to stand -
But I stumble -
I walk to the door -
I open it -
Roger Hook is in the corridor, Roger Hook talking to John Murphy -
I look at them -
They look away.
I’m outside, outside in the car park -
Outside in the car park, looking at my new digital watch:
10:27:09 -
Struggling with the car door -
Slumped behind the wheeclass="underline"
Fucked.
Struggling, slumped and fucked -
In the reserved space that says:
Peter Hunter – Assistant Chief Constable.
Back upstairs, the corridors dead -
I dial his home number:
He picks up: ‘Clement Smith speaking.’
‘It’s Peter Hunter.’
‘Good morning, Mr Hunter.’
‘You know we lost the house?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I know.’
‘And I suppose you know I’ve also had a call from Donald Lees?’
‘Yes.’
‘I want to know what the bloody hell is going on?’
‘It would be inappropriate of me to say anything to you at this point.’
‘So you do know what these allegations are then?’
‘I can’t say anything. It would not be appropriate.’
‘So you’re not going to tell me what this is all about?’
‘Mr Angus will give you all the information you’re entitled to later on today, I believe.’
‘But what about the Ripper Inquiry? It’s to do with that, isn’t it?’
‘Peter,’ he says, quietly. ‘You must, from now on, worry only about yourself.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Duty dictates I can say no more.’
‘What?’
‘Goodbye to you Mr Hunter.’
Speechless, I slam down the phone.
The office of one of the Assistant Chief Constables of the Greater Manchester Police force -
My office:
Friday 26 December 1980 -
Boxing day:
13:54:45.
A knock -
Chief Constable Ronald Angus and Detective Chief Superintendent Maurice Jobson are shown in -
Nods and handshakes:
Angus: ‘Mr Hunter.’
‘Peter,’ says Maurice Jobson, the Owl.
Angus is looking at my chair behind my desk but I gesture at the two chairs in front of the desk -
We all sit down.
I look across my desk at Mr Ronald Angus, the Chief Constable of West Yorkshire, and I wait -
He says: ‘Maurice is here because unfortunately George Oldman, as you know, has not been well and Pete Noble is a bit busy.’
He’s smiling, the tables turned.
I say: ‘That explains why Maurice is here. But what about you?’
He’s not smiling now, not smiling as he tells me: ‘I have been invited here today by your own Police Committee to investigate certain matters affecting yourself. This is not a formal interview and I will be taking no notes.’
I hold up my pen: ‘I will be.’
‘As you wish.’
I say: ‘My wish Mr Angus is that I wasn’t here at all, that I was with my wife. As you may or may not know, may or may not even care, our house was destroyed in a fire last night, a fire that followed a threatening letter from a man claiming to be the Yorkshire Ripper, a letter that you are aware of. So I would be very grateful if you could tell me what these certain matters are that you’ve been asked to investigate, so that I can clear this whole thing up as quickly as possible.’
‘I cannot at this moment tell you what these matters are. They amount only to rumour, innuendo, and gossip about your associations with various people in Manchester.’
‘Who?’
‘I cannot tell you.’
‘Cannot or will not?’
‘I am not able to tell you. We have a number of inquiries to make.’
‘I have done nothing wrong and I would like you to note that here and now.’
He doesn’t -
He says: ‘No evidence or written statements have been provided to me, but I’m sure this investigation…’
‘Investigation?’
‘No, that’s too strong a word – this inquiry - I’m sure it shouldn’t take too long.’
‘How long?’
‘About a month, I should think.’
‘I have to be back in Leeds on Monday’
He coughs and sits forward slightly in his chair and says: ‘I have been authorised by your Police Committee to invite you to take extra leave. You will not be going back to Leeds and you can consider yourself off the Ripper Investigation.’
‘For now or forever?’
‘Forever.’
‘You’ve spoken to Philip Evans, Sir John Reed?’
‘Yes. It’s been agreed that Chief Superintendent Murphy will take over the investigation, using your team.’
I say: ‘What am I supposed to have done?’
‘I cannot say.’
I look at Maurice Jobson -
He’s looking at the floor.
Angus says: ‘I can tell you that it has absolutely nothing to do with Leeds or the Ripper Investigation.’
‘I didn’t ask.’
‘Well, I’m telling you.’
‘Well, let me tell you something: I have no intention of accepting any free leave. If you have the grounds for a suspension, then suspend me. Otherwise, I will continue with my duties as an Assistant Chief Constable.’
Ronald Angus stands up: ‘Mr Hunter, it is now my intention to ask you to leave your office and these headquarters right away’
‘What?’
Maurice Jobson stands up next to him.
Me: ‘You’re joking?’
Angus shakes his head.
Jobson is looking past me, out of the window behind me.
Slowly I stand, looking around the office -
The Christmas cards and the unopened post in the tray, the photographs and certificates on the wall, the awards and commendations, my whole office -
But it doesn’t feel like my office -
Because it isn’t my office -
I’m choking -
Trying not to sway as I stand there -
Trying to think -
Think, think, think.
I reach for my briefcase and I open it, sweeping the cards and the unopened post into it -
And I stare at the photographs and the certificates on the wall, the awards and commendations; their awards, their commendations, thinking:
Fuck ‘em – fuck ‘em all.
And I walk to the door -
Trying not to stumble, briefcase under my arm -
And I open the door.
Angus says: Two o’clock tomorrow.’
‘What?’
‘Meet us here at two o’clock tomorrow please.’
And I just nod and walk out into the corridor -
And I stand there, in the corridor, until Jobson comes up behind me.
This way,’ he says and leads me over to the lift.
He presses the button and we wait.
The lift arrives and the door opens -
He says: ‘Sorry about your house.’
I look at him -
He looks away.
Outside, outside in the car park -
Outside in the car park, looking at my new digital watch:
14:36:04 -
Struggling with the car door and my briefcase -
Slumped behind the wheeclass="underline"
Fudged.
Struggling, slumped and fucked -
In the reserved space that still says:
Peter Hunter – Assistant Chief Constable.
Someone’s tapping on the glass -