‘I warned you in March that I’d strike again. Sorry it wasn’t Bradford. I did promise you that but I couldn’t get there. I’m not quite sure where I’ll strike again but it will be definitely some time this year, maybe September, October, even sooner if I get the chance. I am not sure where, maybe Manchester, I like it there, there’s plenty of them knocking about. They never learn do they George? I bet you’ve warned them, but they never listen.’
Thirteen seconds of hiss, count them:
One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen seconds of hiss, then -
‘Take her in Preston, and I did, didn’t I George? Dirty cow. Come my load up that.
‘At the rate I’m going I should be in the book of records. I think it’s eleven up to now isn’t it? Well, I’ll keep on going for quite a while yet. I can’t see myself being nicked just yet. Even if you do get near I’ll probably top myself first. Well it’s been nice chatting to you George. Yours, Jack the Ripper.
‘No use looking for fingerprints. You should know by now it’s as clean as a whistle. See you soon. Bye.
‘Hope you like the catchy tune at the end. Ha. Ha.’
Then -
‘I’ll say your name -
‘Then once again -
‘Thank you for being a friend.’
Silence -
The tape still turning -
Still turning in the portable tape recorder -
The portable tape recorder on the table -
The table -
Between the table and the bar -
Bob Craven -
His head blown off -
Head off, face gone, beard gone -
Blood across the wall -
Across the shadows -
Across the swastikas and across the sixes -
Six six sixes -
(The shadows talking).
Beside the portable tape recorder, the tape still turning:
Pause, hiss -
HISS -
Piano -
Drums -
Bass -
‘How can this be love, if it makes us cry?’
STOP .
HISS -
Cries -
Whispers -
Helclass="underline"
‘How can the world be as sad as it seems?’
STOP .
HISS -
Cries -
Whispers -
More helclass="underline"
‘How much do you love me?’
STOP .
HISS -
Cries -
Cries -
Cries:
‘Spirits will kill Hunter!’
STOP
Silence -
Tape over.
Silence -
Between these walls, silence -
Walls tattooed with shadows silent, silent pain -
Maps, charts, photographs of pain -
The silent pain of the photographs -
Grace Morrison, Billy Bell, Paul Booker, and Derek Box -
Across the maps, the charts, and the photographs -
Swastikas and sixes -
Shadows, swastikas and sixes -
Six six sixes -
(Silent shadows, silent sixes).
Sat among the silence, sat upon the table -
The smashed and splintered, stained and shattered table -
Sat upon the low table in the centre of the room -
Wings, huge and rotting things -
Big black things that weigh me down, heavy -
Stop me standing -
Sitting on the table, his shotgun on my knees -
Staring at the sixes -
Silent sixes, waiting -
Six six sixes.
Across the sixes -
Across the swastikas, across the shadows -
Across them all -
The blood across the wall -
Head off, face gone, beard gone -
His head blown off -
Bob Craven -
Between the table and the bar -
Bob Craven, silent -
Tape off.
Silence -
Silence until -
Until outside I hear car tires on the car park -
The rotten, uneven car park -
Puddles of rain water and motor oil under wheels -
Car lights illuminating a door -
A door to an upstairs room -
A door banging in the wind, in the rain -
The car lights stop before the door -
The door to an upstairs room -
The door banging in the wind, in the rain -
More doors banging, slamming -
Car doors slamming -
Boots across the car park -
The rotten, uneven car park -
Puddles of rain water and motor oil underfoot -
Boots upon the dark stone stairs;
I look down at the shotgun across my knees -
Sat among the silent sixes, on the table -
On the table -
Wings, huge and rotting things -
Big black raven things that weigh me down, heavy -
Stop me standing -
Sitting on the table, the shotgun on my knees -
Staring at the sixes -
Silent sixes, waiting -
The door banging in the wind, in the rain -
They open the door -
Two figures in the doorway at the end of the passage -
Two shotguns -
The passage is dark and they can smell the stink of another shotgun -
The stink of bad things, the stink of death -
The stink of the Strafford.
They step inside -
A rotting, eaten mattress against a window -
They walk down the passage to the front -
To the bar -
They pull open another door -
The door to the bar -
The last door -
Two figures in the doorway -
Two shotguns -
Two figures and two shotguns:
Alderman and Murphy -
Richard Alderman and John Murphy -
The shotgun across my knees -
The silent sixes, the shadows -
Wings, huge and rotting things -
Big black raven things that -
That weigh me down, heavy and burnt -
That stop me standing -
That stop me -
Stop me -
– a shot.
David Peace
David Peace is the author of The Red Riding Quartet, GB84, The Damned Utd, and Tokyo Year Zero. He was chosen as one of Granta’s Best Young British Novelists, and has received the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, the German Crime Fiction Award, and the French Grand Prix de Roman Noir for Best Foreign Novel. He lives in Yorkshire.
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