Nineteen Seventy-four
Page 26
Brown turned away, fiddling with the pistol.
There was piss running down my leg.
‘I’ve fixed it. It’ll be all right this time.’
Brown pointed the pistol again.
I closed my eyes.
There was a loud bang.
I thought I was dead.
I opened my eyes and saw the pistol.
There were shreds of black material coming out of the barrel, floating down to the floor.
Brown and Grey were laughing.
‘What do you want?’
Grey stepped forward and kicked me in the balls.
I fell to the floor.
‘What do you want?’
‘Stand up.’
I stood up.
‘On your toes.’
‘Please tell me?’
Grey stepped forward again and kicked me in the balls. I fell to the floor.
Brown walked over, kicked me in the chest, and then handcuffed my hands behind my back, pushing my face towards the floor.
‘You don’t like dogs, do you Eddie?’
I swallowed.
‘What do you want?’
The door opened and a uniformed policeman came in with an Alsatian on a lead.
Grey pulled my face up by my hair.
The dog was staring at me, panting, its tongue out.
‘Get him, get him.’
The dog started growling and barking and straining on its leash.
Grey pushed my head forward.
‘He’s starving.’
‘He’s not the only one.’
‘Careful.’
The dog was getting nearer.
I struggled, crying, trying to get loose.
Grey pushed me in closer.
The dog was a foot away.
I could see its gums, see its teeth, smell its breath, feel its breath.
The dog was growling and barking and straining on its leash.
Shit fell from my arse.
Spit from its gums hit my face.
Everything was going black.
‘Tell me what I’ve done.’
‘Again.’
The dog was inches away.
I closed my eyes.
‘Tell me what I’ve done.’
‘Again.’
‘Tell me what I’ve done.’
‘Good boy.’
Everything was black and the dog was gone.
I opened my eyes.
Detective Superintendent Noble was sitting across the table opposite.
I was naked, shivering, sitting in my own shit.
Detective Superintendent Noble lit a cigarette.
I flinched.
‘Why?’
Tears welled in my eyes.
‘Why’d you do it?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s good.’
Detective Superintendent Noble gave me his cigarette.
I took it.
He lit another.
‘Just tell me why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Shall I help you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You fancied her, right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Fancied her loads, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But she wouldn’t give you any, would she?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What wouldn’t she give you?’
‘She wouldn’t give me any.’
‘She didn’t want any, did she?’
‘No, sir.’
‘But you took some anyway, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did you take?’
‘I took some anyway.’
‘Took her in the cunt, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Took her in the mouth, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Took her up the arse, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I took her in the cunt.’
‘And?’
‘I took her in the mouth.’
‘And?’
‘I took her up the arse.’
‘You didn’t care, did you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘She wouldn’t shut up though, would she?’ ‘No, sir.’ ‘Then what?’ ‘She wouldn’t shut up.’
‘Said she was going to tell the police, didn’t she?’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did she say?’ ‘Said she was going to tell the police.’ ‘We couldn’t have that could we?’ ‘No, sir.’
‘So you had to shut her up, didn’t you?’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Strangled her, didn’t you?’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did you do?’ ‘I strangled her.’
‘But she was still looking at you, wasn’t she?’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘So you cut off her hair, didn’t you?’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did you do?’ ‘I cut off her hair.’ ‘Why?’
‘I cut off her hair.’
Detective Superintendent Noble took the cigarette from me. ‘Because she was still looking at you, wasn’t she?’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘So what did you do?’ ‘I cut off her hair.’ ‘Why?’
‘Because she was still looking at me.’ ‘Good boy.’
Detective Superintendent Noble stubbed out the cigarette on the floor.
He lit another cigarette and passed it to me.
I took it.
‘You fancied her, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But she wouldn’t give you any, would she?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I took some anyway.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I took her in the cunt.’
‘And?’
‘I took her in the mouth.’
‘And?’
‘I took her up the arse.’
‘Then what?’
‘She wouldn’t shut up.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Said she was going to tell the police.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I strangled her.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘I cut off her hair.’
‘Why?’
‘She was still looking at me.’
‘Just like the other one?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the other one.’
‘You want to make a confession, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What do you want to make?’
‘I want to make a confession.’
‘Good boy.’
Detective Superintendent Noble stood up.
Then he left me alone.
Sometime later a policeman opened the door and took me down the yellow corridor to a room with a shower and a toilet.
The policeman gave me some soap and ran some hot water in the shower.
I stood in the warm shower and washed myself all over.
Then shit started falling down my legs again.
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, Detective Superintendent Noble, and the man with sandy hair.
They all sat down opposite me.
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 fucking 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 handcuffs 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.
He had the gun by the muzzle, raising it over his head.
I saw Paula lying naked face down on her bed, her cunt and arse bleeding, her hair all gone.
He brought the gun down upon my head:
‘THIS IS THE NORTH. WE DO WHAT WE WANT!’
I fell backwards seeing Paula lying naked on the road, her cunt and arse bleeding, her hair all gone.
Chapter 11
We were jumping into a river holding hands.
The water was cold.
I let go of her hand.
I opened my eyes.
It felt like a morning.
I was lying at the side of a road in the rain and Paula was dead.
I sat up, my head splitting, my body numb.
A man was getting out of a car further up the road.
I looked out across empty brown fields and tried to stand.
The man came running towards me.
‘I almost bloody killed you!’
‘Where am I?’
‘What the hell happened to you?’
A woman was standing by the passenger door of the car, looking down the road at us.
‘I was in an accident. Where am I?’
‘Doncaster Road. Do you want us to call an ambulance or something?’
‘No.’
‘The police?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t look so good.’
‘Could you give me a lift?’
The man looked back at the woman standing by the car. ‘Where to?’
‘Do you know the Redbeck Cafe, on the way into Wakefield?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, looking from me to the car and back again. ‘OK.’
‘Thanks.’
We walked slowly back down the road to the car.
I got in the back.
The woman was sitting in the front, looking straight ahead. She had blonde hair the same shade as Paula’s, only longer.
‘He’s been in an accident. We’re going to drop him down the road,’ said the man to the woman, starting the engine.
The clock in the front said six.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘What day is it?’
‘Monday,’ said the woman, not turning round.
I stared out at the empty brown fields.
Monday 23 December 1974.
‘So tomorrow’s Christmas Eve then?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
The man was looking at me in his rearview mirror.
I turned back to the empty brown fields.
‘This OK?’ asked the man, pulling over by the Redbeck.
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
‘You sure you don’t want a doctor or anything?’
‘I’m sure, thanks,’ I said, getting out.
‘Bye then,’ said the man.
‘Bye and thanks very much,’ I said, shutting the door.