All language subtitles for 02 Red Riding In The Year Of Our Lord 1980 - Crime [H264-mp4] English

Red Riding In The Year Of Our Lord 1980 -
Crime [H264-mp4]

What sort of man do you think
is committing these murders?

He's a cool, intelligent,
cunning individual.

As having a deep hatred
of prostitutes.

Hates prostitutes.

The killer they call
the Yorkshire Ripper.

Brutal murder, wasn't it?

Oh, yes, it was,
very brutal murder.

She's had very severe
head injuries, other injuries,

which I don't wish
to elaborate on at this time.

She has teeth marks
left on her body

that gave police
the valuable information...

In the past four years,

12 women have died
in the very same way.

I'd like to say that I curse him

and that I hope he goes rotten
from head to foot

if the police
don't get him first.

You daren't let your kids
go out in the street.

Frightened to go
over to the shops now

or anywhere near
the Chapeltown area.

It's very frightening.

We have 5,000 officers
in this force,

and I intend
that all those officers

on every day of their duty

will be contributing
to this inquiry.

This man has to be caught.

The police services
are stretched to their utmost

on the investigation.

I've got to admit to the public

that we've not been successful
up to now.

Hundreds of people are now
writing in with information.

Mail is arriving by the sackful.

Over 3,000 statements
have been taken,

and 9,000 men have already been
eliminated from our inquiry.

We have received letters
that we believe to be genuine,

and we are presently
analysing a tape

that we also believe
comes from someone

we would very much like
to talk to

in connection with this inquiry.

I'm Jack.

I see you are still having
no luck catching me.

I have the greatest respect
for you,

but, Lord, you are no nearer
catching me now

than four years ago
when I started.

I reckon...

And anyone who missed
the tape recording

can now put a phone call in
to to Leeds 469111.

Every time the phone rings,

I wonder if it's you.

If I get up
in the middle of the night,

I can't help thinking about it,

and I feel
that I really know you.

But I don't regard you as evil.

They never learn,
do they, George?

I bet you've warned them,
but they never listen.

Your voice is almost sad.

To me, you're like a bad angel

on a mistaken journey.

And while I would never
condone your methods,

I can sympathize
with your feelings.

The inevitable speculation
that Laura Baines

may be the 13th victim
of the Yorkshire Ripper.

We hope and pray

there may be no more funerals
like this one.

"And while I could never
condone his methods,

I can sympathize
with his feelings,".

Assistant Chief Constable
Bill Molloy

on national news last night.

Christ.

He's lost it.

Badger Bill is retiring.

Philip?

I've asked Peter Hunter
to join us.

I think he's our man.

He's assistant chief constable
of the Greater Manchester force.

Married, no children.

A good man, a steady man.

Squeaky-clean.

They're ready for you now,
Mr. Hunter,

if you'd care to come this way.

Thank you.

Mr. Hunter, gentlemen.

Thank you for coming,
Mr. Hunter.

Philip Evans,

regional inspector
of constabulary for Yorkshire.

Sir John Marsden,
chief inspector of constabulary.

Michael Warren
from the Home Office.

As I said on the phone,
there's been another:

Laura Baines.

Student nurse, 20 years old.

Leeds again.

It's a farce.

Now, you saw Bill Molloy
on the box last night.

What do you make of him?

I think he's under
a lot of pressure.

It's become a personal vendetta.

Can't have that.

There'll be a press conference
tomorrow.

Harold Angus will tell them
Bill Molloy's out.

And there have been calls
for outside help,

a fresh perspective and so on.

Which is why
we've asked you here today.

We want you to head up
a covert Home Office inquiry

into the Ripper investigation.

Why covert?

Don't want to go

washing our dirty linen
in public, do we?

As far as West Yorkshire
is concerned,

your squad will be there
in an advisory capacity.

Mr. Hunter,
this goes right to the top.

The home secretary
is taking a personal interest.

I'm quite sure he is, sir.

You'll hand-pick
your own officers,

be based in Leeds,

and be answerable
only to myself.

Ah, and the Home Office,
of course.

Ask.

Ask what, sir?

Why you?

That's what you want to know,
isn't it?

Okay, sir. Why me?

You've previously been
involved in investigations

into the West Yorkshire force,
haven't you?

The Karachi Club shooting,
for one.

With all due respect, sir,
that was over five years ago.

I failed to reach a conclusion.

Why was that?

I couldn't continue my inquiry
for personal reasons.

These investigations,
they make you popular

with the West Yorkshire lads,
did they?

No, sir.

What is it they call you?

"Saint Cunt," isn't it?

Bother you, that?

No, sir, it doesn't.

Then there's your answer.

♪ [Solemn piano music] ♪

[Thunder booming]

DCS John Nolan,

20 years' experience,
done two tours with me.

Good man.

And Detective Helen Marshall.

Helen Marshall?

Yes, sir.

These are the best we have.

I'd like them both,
if that's okay with you, sir.

I've been instructed
to give you whatever you need.

Thank you.

You made your mind up
pretty quickly

about doing the job.

Not something
I felt I could refuse.

You could have, Pete.

I would have.

It's a job
that needs to be done.

It's an honour
for the Manchester force.

Let's hope so, Peter.

We're working 24 hours a day,
seven days a week,

with limited time off.

So if you cannot commit,
please say so now.

I'm in.

Thanks, John.

I'll have to get someone
to feed the cat, I suppose.

Thank you.

John, me and you
will head over first thing.

Helen, we'll meet you in Leeds
Tuesday morning, 9:00 sharp.

Do they know we're coming?

Brass, yeah,
but not the lads or the press.

We're gonna keep it low-key.

Thank you.

Go and clear my desk, then, eh?

See you later, boss.

Thanks, John.

Thank you.

For what?

Asking for me.

No competition.

The Yorkshire Ripper
has claimed his 13th victim

as the West Yorkshire police

confirmed that the killing
of Laura Baines

bore all the hallmarks
of Britain's most wanted man.

- Bloody Yorkshire.
- Yeah.

Republican prisoners
in the Maze prison

have again embarked
on a hunger strike

after the home secretary
refused to...

Ladies and gentlemen,

last night, an emergency meeting

of the West Yorkshire
Police Committee was called

in the light of the confirmation
of Laura Baines

as the 13th victim
of the Yorkshire Ripper.

I would like to announce

a number of internal
operational changes.

How about your resignation?

Resign!

As of today,

Detective Chief Superintendent
Maurice Jobson

will have sole responsibility
for the hunt for this man.

Would you care to comment
on allegations

that valuable time
has already been lost

on this investigation?

Was Laura Baines not reported
missing as early as 10:30?

I'm not taking questions
on this at this point.

Would you comment on rumours
that she bled to death

while officers failed to respond

to the repeated calls
from her flatmates?

How do you respond
to suggestions

that the so-called
Yorkshire Ripper tape is a hoax?

[Reporters shouting
indistinctly]

Bunch of fucking bastards!

Bloody shambles.

Like a fly to shit, you are,
Hunter.

Steady, Bill.

Can I have a word?

And you can fuck off and all,

Detective Chief Superintendent.

Don't take it personally,
Maurice.

He's had a shock.

You didn't tell him
he was going?

I've arranged a nice dinner
for this evening.

We'll talk things over then.

Nice place. Good steaks.

Just us.

I'm with John Nolan.

Oh, don't worry about John.

Dickie Alderman
and a couple of the lads

will take care of him.

Harold Angus of West Yorkshire

announced that a brains trust
of senior detectives

are being drafted in to assist

in the hunt
for the Yorkshire Ripper.

This super squad will be led...

Don't waste any time, do they?

Sorry there's no red carpet.

Didn't expect one.

That's lucky, then, isn't it?

Who was shot to death
outside his home...

You keep going back for more

until they have to roll you out.

Are you sure?

No, thanks.

Not on hunger strike, are you?

How do you mean?

Well, in sympathy, like.
The Maze.

You're Roman, aren't you?

I'm not religious.

I heard you were.

No offence.

You do know why I was
brought in by the Home Office?

I know everything, Hunter.

So you understand
that to do the job,

I need unhindered access.

I wouldn't want to limit

the scope of your investigation
in any way.

I'm gonna need to copy all files

pertaining
to the Ripper inquiry.

You know how many files
there are, Pete?

We had to reinforce the floor
to support them.

Another drink?

No.

Those files won't mean
fuck-all without a guide.

Well, if you could
supply us with a liaison,

that would be a great help.

How's your wife these days,
Hunter?

She's fine.

I heard she hadn't
been too good.

That's all.

Don't mean to pry.

No, she's fine, thank you.

I heard the casino's
worth a visit.

That's me, gentlemen.
I've had a long day.

I think I'm gonna go back
to the hotel.

You're the guest.

Maurice? Memorandum.

It's, um, terms of reference
for your investigation.

"Terms of reference"?

What do you mean?

I don't like
open-ended inquiries.

[Line ringing]

Joan?

Have I woke you up, darling?

I'm sorry.

Go back to bed, darling.

I'll talk to you in the morning.

[Sniffles] Yeah.

I miss you too.

All right, Joan.
Night-night, love.

Bye, baby. Bye. Bye.

[Sighs]

Mr. Hunter!

Jack Whitehead,
the Evening Post.

Police are still appealing
for witnesses

to a robbery and shoot-out at
the Karachi Club in Wakefield

which claimed seven lives.

Can I have a word
about the shooting, the lads?

Two police officers

were seriously injured
in the incident.

PC Tommy Douglas
was shot in the shoulder,

and Sergeant Bob Craven
suffered serious head injuries

in the attack.

Kill the fucking...
Kill them all.

It's like the papers say.

Sergeant Craven and PC Douglas
are on the mend,

but they're not
up to questioning just yet.

Kill them all.

Kill them all.

Our thoughts
go out to the families

of PC Tommy Douglas
and Sergeant Bob Craven.

An outside force
will be reviewing the actions

of the West Yorkshire Police.

And we, of course,
welcome their inquiry.

Just as they're about
to knock off,

Craven and Douglas get the call.

Call was logged
at 1:28 a.m., anonymous.

Why does it smell so bad?

What about the barmaid?

Looking for her.

Got a name?

Not yet.

Two shotguns,
one Smith & Wesson,

and two MP5s.

Craven reckoned a four-man team.

Well, we've got five guns.

I still can't get this clear.
Can you?

I just can't see it.

Something's wrong here.

Big night?

Building bridges, you know.

You?

Couple of pints
with Dickie Alderman,

a few of the lads,
friendly enough.

Learn anything?

Yeah, morale's low.

Bill's going was the last straw.

Our presence doesn't help.

[Dog barking]

There's no phone line.
They're working on it.

Christ.

Keys are on the way, apparently.

Can't be too careful, now,
can you?

Detective Superintendent
Bob Craven.

Sergeant back then, wasn't it?

Aye.

You look in a better state
than the last time we met.

You don't.

[chuckles]

[Door creaks open]

Sorry I'm late.

[Chuckles]

Right.

I'm gonna be your liaison

along with Detective Inspector
Dickie Alderman here.

I've been involved
since day one.

And we know the case
on a personal basis.

Yeah.

Probably forgotten
more than most know.

That's a pity, isn't it?

You know what we mean,
Mr. Hunter.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Okay.
Here's what we're gonna do.

I'm going
to give each one of you

a year or two
of the investigation

and 24 hours to get to grips
with the files.

I want details of cars sighted,

descriptions of all witnesses,
suspects, whatever.

And this time round,

I want them
irrespective of blood type.

I want us to forget
all previous investigations,

and that includes
the Geordie accent on that tape.

Well, Bill Molloy
was very, very certain

that tape was genuine.

Well, Bill Molloy
is off the case.

We're starting from scratch.

Right, John,

I want you to do
1974, '75, and '76.

'76 was a very quiet one.

That's favouritism from the boss,
I reckon.

What do you reckon?

- Helen, you get
the short straw: '77.

Busy boy that Jubilee,
weren't he?

Four in a row.

Why don't I do one of Helen's?

Here you are.

I'll do this one,
Clare Strachan.

No, no, we'll keep it as it is.

You got a problem with that,
Helen?

No, it's fine.

Okay.

I'll take '78, '79,
and Laura Baines.

Okay, listen.

The Yorkshire Ripper's name
is in those files.

Trust me.

We've had him in and let him go.

What makes you so sure of that?

Well, here's the problem, Bob.

You've been looking for some
hunchbacked lorry driver

with a Geordie accent
and flesh between his teeth

and a hammer in his back pocket.

Who do you think
we should be looking for, then?

Before this latest,

he was quiet
for 15 months, right?

Makes you wonder
what he was doing all that time.

Exactly.

What do you do
in your spare time, Bob?

What?

What's your hobby?

I like chewing minge,
Mr. Hunter, why?

You don't get out as much
as you'd like to, right?

Obviously.

Why's that?

This job, I suppose.

He's the same.

He's got the same bollocks
in his life as we've all got:

Work, the wife, kids, holidays.

Oh, married with kids?

Oh, right, yeah.

Married. No kids.

No one would cover up for him,
what he's done.

She doesn't think she's doing,

doesn't see him
for what he really is,

but neither do we.

[Knock at door]

Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Hunter.

Your wife left a message.

She wants to know

if you're coming home
for dinner tonight.

Thank you.

You better hop to it,
Mr. Hunter, eh?

Don't want winter in the house,
now, do we?

God.

You couldn't get more normal
than Laura Baines.

He changed all that, didn't he?

Laura gets off the bus at 9:29,
crosses the road.

He comes up behind her,
hits her on the head,

drags her over there.

She's got to be the last.

You know people are gonna talk.

About what?

You punishing me with '77.

Bob Craven clocked it.

Yeah.

I don't like Mr. Craven.

He's a nob.

According to the lads, he hasn't
been right in the head

since the Karachi Club shooting.

Yeah.

I think they left some bits out
when they rebuilt him.

God, that was a mess.

So what's up?

How do you mean, "what's up?"

You said you wanted to see me.

That was it.
I wanted to see you.

Helen.

No, look.

I'm just finding it
a little difficult

pretending nothing
ever happened between us.

That's all.

Well, it didn't really, did it?

Well...

Well, it did
from where I'm standing.

Look, I'm not going
to cause a scene.

I'm not going
to contact the wife.

- Helen.
- It was a joke.

Look.

I don't regret anything.
It's done.

Just don't pretend it didn't.

It was disloyal.

It was unprofessional.

And it was unforgivable.

And I do regret it.

Well, that's your problem,
isn't it?

It still happened.

57 times, he stabbed her.

77, Mr. Hunter?

Yes, please.

Thank you.

64, please.

Thank you.

[Elevator dings]

[Elevator dings]

Night, then.

[door clicks open]

I wasn't expecting you home,
love.

What's this? A Vietnamese baby?

Oh, not now.
Let's talk another time.

I thought I'd put the tree up.

Oh, we're a bit late.

Everything's up in the attic.

It's all right.

I'll get the steps
from the garage.

Have it up in no time.

Those lights are so old.

Shots fired in the private bar
of the Karachi Club.

Sergeant Craven
and PC Douglas respond.

Down the stairs, eight dead,
smoke,

four blokes in hoods
with shotguns.

More shots.

Beaten. Left for dead.

Dougie still
can't remember a thing.

Bob,

well, he's in a bit of a state.

Craven and Douglas
knew shots had been fired,

knew the SPG are on their way,

and still they go
charging in there?

Strange.

Hero cops, remember?

It don't quite add up, does it?

It's your investigation, Hunter.

I want to talk to them.

And you will but not just yet.

[Knock at door]

Sorry to interrupt, sir.

Telephone call for Mr. Hunter.

It's your wife, sir.
It's urgent.

Joan?

Oh, okay.

I'll be right back, okay?

I'm leaving now.

I'm so sorry, love.
I'm so sorry.

Joan, we can try again.

Been over to the other side,
boss?

No Helen?

No, she's on the rag, isn't she?

Now, I do like gravy
with my beef, don't you?

Oh, cheers for that, Bob.

Get started, shall we?

Joan Richards,

found on February the 6th, 1976,
in an alleyway

on the Manor Street
Industrial Estate, Leeds.

Structure of the investigation?

Fish and chip job,
as it was then.

Yeah.

They still had.

Chief Superintendent Jobson
on it, though.

[Door creaks open]

You were on this one,
right, Bob?

Yeah, yeah, I were.

So why don't you
talk us through it?

Eh?

It would be a great help
if you could.

Uh...

She had boot prints on her legs,

you know, Wellingtons.

Pulled her bra up over her tits,

shoved a piece of wood
up her fanny,

that kind of thing.

Who was running it?

The Owl were running it.

Jobson.

And two other names
that are gonna keep coming up:

Detective Inspectors
Alderman and Prentice.

Good team?

Oh, yeah. Good team.

Some of the best men we've got.

And then you came on board.

And then I came on board,
Mr. Hunter, yeah.

And?

And the pathologist linked it
with the other murders, right?

That's about it, yeah.

Thanks for that, Bob.

Yeah.

Take a break, shall we?

Bob?

Can I have a word?

Been around all this
a long time, haven't you?

Ripper?

Mm, too bloody long.

In deep, aren't you?

Eats me up, yeah.

Same for a lot of the lads.

That's not a crime, is it?

No.

You must have your own theories.

Oh, I do, yeah.

So why don't you share them?

With you?

No, I don't think I will.

We'll catch our Ripper,
not you, Mr. Hunter.

You're taking your time
about it, aren't you?

Yeah, well, it's not just
about the Ripper,

is it, Mr. Hunter?

Not for you.

And that's not why you're here,
is it?

Not really.

What do you mean?

You know what I mean.

It's about seeing

how many of us
you can take down with him.

Why would I want to do that?

Because it's in your nature,
isn't it?

No, like I said,

we will catch our Ripper,
Mr. Hunter,

not you.

Can I go now?

Yeah.

[Knocking]

You okay?

Yeah, working late, '77.

There's a lot to do.

Yeah.

Can I come in?

Isn't convenient.

Right.

Right, I'll see you tomorrow.

Yeah, see you.

[Latches clicking]

Mr. Hunter?

My name is Martin Laws.

Could I have a word?

What can I do for you, Mr. Laws?

I have a young man outside.

He's an unsettled lad,

but he's desperate
to speak to you.

About what?

A young woman
called Clare Strachan.

It'll only take a minute.

You best get in round that door.

I'll wait out here.

Lock the doors.

It's okay.

What happened to you?

Occupational hazard, Mr. Hunter.

What's your name, lad?

No names.

Did you come alone?

You on the run?

Oh, always.

You knew Clare Strachan.

Bit late, Mr. Hunter.

She's been dead three years.

Oh, I'm aware of that.

How did you know her?

She were a friend,

sister, really.

She didn't deserve
what happened to her.

Is that what you wanted
to tell me?

Ask Eric the pimp
if you want to know more.

A pimp?

I think you're wasting my time,
aren't you, son?

She had two little daughters,

and she were loved.

I mean, that's more than
a lot of people, isn't it?

BJ.

[Tap at window]

They call me BJ.

Mr. Hunter?

[Door slams shut]

Hope that wasn't
a complete waste of your time,

but BJ was very insistent.

What exactly
is your line of work, Mr. Laws?

Community work.

I work with the sick,
the lonely, dispossessed.

Oh, goodness,
I'm not under arrest, am I?

You don't like
the police much, do you?

No love lost, no.

So when someone
kicks down your front door,

kills the dog,
and rapes the wife,

who are you gonna call?

Well, it certainly wouldn't be
the West Yorkshire police.

They'd already be in there,
wouldn't they?

I might want
to talk to you again.

I stay in Fitzwilliam.

It's a little mining village
not far from here.

Wouldn't think it was
your type of place, really.

Take care, Mr. Hunter.

"Dear Bill, I warned you
and Jack from the Post,

"there's a surprise
waiting for you in Preston.

"Whores getting younger
all the time.

Yours respectfully,
Jack from Hell."

This letter was received

at the offices
of The Telegraph and Argus,

13th June, 1977.

Helen?

1977 was a hell of a Jubilee.

The "surprise in Preston"
was Clare Strachan,

convicted prostitute
and registered alcoholic.

Clare wasn't immediately
linked to the Ripper.

The type of injuries
didn't correspond.

She was taken
to some disused garages

on Frenchwood Street, had sex,

and was then hit on the head
with a blunt instrument.

She was kicked
in the face, head, breasts,

legs, and body.

Her attacker jumped up and down
on her chest,

causing a rib to puncture a lung
and kill her.

She had bite marks
on her breasts

and had been penetrated
by a variety of objects,

twice sodomized,
once post-mortem.

Sergeant Bob Craven was sent
to Preston to investigate

but found no evidence to connect
Strachan to the others.

Correct, Superintendent?

Mm.

Thank you, Mr. Craven.

Her pimp was Eric Hall,

Detective Inspector Eric Hall.

This force?

Eric Hall was murdered
in an unconnected incident.

But before that,
he was a suspect.

Yeah, but I think you'll find
that the tests later revealed

that the killer of Strachan
and the writer of that letter

were the same person,
weren't they?

Same blood type: B.

I mean, that's very rare.

But initially you didn't think
it was the same man.

No, at the start,
the only links we had

were that they were all slags.

Until the letter.

And the sample.

Then Strachan was in.

Yeah.

Ooh, that felt like
I were in court, then.

Relax, Bob.

You're amongst friends.

Yeah, I know.

Do you want
to add anything else?

No, thank you.

I'm not convinced.

You're not convinced...

[Chuckles]

[Clears throat]

The semen found in Strachan,

the saliva off the letter,

the blood group all match.

That's neat.

No, that's forensics, love.

The point is,

either Strachan
was killed by the Ripper,

or she wasn't.

And if she wasn't,
then that would mean

we've got ourselves two Jacks,
not one.

Love.

[Knock at door]

Sorry to disturb you.

What's up?

Can I come in?

Yeah.

That was an excellent job
you did today.

Do you really think
we're looking for two Jacks?

Well, it's a possibility,
isn't it?

Do you want something to drink?

I've got tea or coffee.

No, someone's just contacted me

on behalf of Libby Hall,
Eric Hall's wife.

But it's you she really wants
to speak to, apparently.

Aye?

You know what happened to her?

I know a bit, yeah.

Things they did to her,

things they made her do.

Dragged to the bathroom,
tried to drown her.

Left her on the floor
for her son to find.

She turned religious after that,

like a lot of them do.

Can't blame her.

You'd think she'd have moved.

Oh, I hope you don't mind.

I've invited Reverend Laws.

We've already met.

Mr. Laws.

Mr. Hunter.

Reverend Laws is a comfort.

This is Detective
Helen Marshall.

- How are you?
- Okay.

You work your team too hard,
Mr. Hunter.

I'll be the judge of that.

Do you want to sit down?

Thank you.

Mrs. Hall, would you mind
if we had a word in private?

Well, there really
isn't anything

that Reverend Laws
hasn't already heard.

All the same.

No, it's okay.

It's fine. It's fine. On you go.

[Whispering] Okay.

Eric was a suspect

on the Clare Strachan murder,
wasn't he?

Yeah.

Until that letter came,
supposedly from the Ripper.

You don't think Strachan
was killed by the Ripper?

Eric knew it wasn't the Ripper.

He never did shut up
about things, did he?

He was calling people up,
papers,

anybody who'd listen.

So someone put them on to him...

shut him up.

Eric kept notes.

He kept recordings
and everything.

I gave everything

to Detective Superintendent
Jobson.

Okay.

It was three years ago.

And you've heard nothing?

Just a minute.

Okay.

I found these in the garage.

Clare Strachan is page 13,
I think.

It's my husband's
business interests.

I didn't-
didn't ask any questions.

Did Eric have any
particularly close friends?

Not really, no. Only Dougie.

Dougie used to come over

and play a round or two
with Eric every now and again.

Dougie?

Tommy Douglas?

Yeah, and his wife, Sharon.

She was much younger
than him too.

I think she was model, I think.

What would you do

if they threw you out?

I don't know.

Did some bad things, did Eric.

But he didn't deserve
what happened to him.

You look tired.

I haven't been sleeping.

Isn't that
the worst kind of hell?

Good night, Mrs. Hall.

What did he say to you?

Nothing, really.

He was just kind.

Kind? What do you mean?

Kind about what?

He was just friendly, Peter.

You're supposed to be on duty.

[Footsteps approaching]

[Keys jingling]

Your wife's been calling,
Mr. Hunter.

And 64.

I'm going up.

You sure you don't want
a quick drink?

No, thank you.

Well, I'd better go
and say hello.

Don't forget to call the wife.

Evening.

Want a drink?

Ah, okay, Bob,
I'll have a quick one.

Looks like
you had one of them already.

Steady on, Bob.

Out of order.

Oh, I don't know.

I mean,
I fucking definitely would.

Wouldn't you, Dickie?

Yeah.

Get him a drink.

I'll have a bitter,
please, mate.

[Laughs]

Yeah, well, Eric,
bent as a two bob note,

gets involved with this gang
knocking off post offices.

All goes belly-up.

They take it out on him.

Brought it on himself, really.

Yeah, and onto her.

Poor cow.

She reckoned Eric got done
'cause he kept bleating on

about Clare Strachan
not being one of Ripper's.

Not Yorkshire Post, is it, boss?

It's part of Eric's stash.

Nice.

My guess is that

Eric Hall and Tommy Douglas
were running it.

Dougie gets pensioned off,

sinks all his comp
into wank mags.

Makes sense.

Listen, John, are you okay
holding the fort for a while?

Yeah, yeah,
good place to pause, take stock.

Okay, I want to talk to Dougie.

Douglas is fucked.

He's a bitter man.

Take care, Peter.

And as they do so,
it's Bill Ady's Miss Hunter.

Gaintree going wonderfully well
on the outside in third.

She's a lovely-looking kid.

You're a lucky man.

She keeps me young,
does our Karen.

You got any yourself?

No, no, just me and the wife.

You came through all right,
Dougie.

You think so?

I'm on three different kinds
of painkillers

for this useless bugger.

Bastard.

Never found them neither.

Not likely to, are they?
Not now.

Least the force saw you
all right.

Bollocks.

All this is all on
the never-never, isn't it?

Business didn't work out
with Eric, then?

What business?

Spunk magazine.

[Door clicks open]

Hello, love.

Who's this?

Peter Hunter, Sharon, love,

assistant chief constable.

Yeah?

Ten bloody years
he gave you lot.

Come on, Karen.

Let's get some dinner.

It was hard on her and all.

Some cunt tried to kill me.

Can you imagine
what that does to you?

Tell me about it, Dougie.

I never got the chance
to ask before.

That night at the Karachi Club?

I don't remember a thing.

What the fucking hell
is he doing here?

Sharon, please.

I'm not fucking having it.

I don't want you involved.

Not now. In the house, come on.

Pete. Hi, good to see you.

You look well.

You know why I'm here, Maurice?

Um, short straw?

Eric Hall.

Three years, Leeds have had
Eric Hall's notes.

Yeah, well, he were always up
to his fucking neck in shit,

were Eric.

Those notes his wife sent over,

they were just ramblings,
to be honest.

Ramblings?

Like the fact
that he pimped Clare Strachan?

Yeah, well,
nothing was ever proved.

What about this?

Like I said, he was
up to his fucking neck in it.

Maurice, that rag features
one of the Ripper's victims.

Occupational hazard, isn't it?

What happened, Maurice?

How do you mean?

When did we start to be
on opposite sides of the fence?

We aren't.

It feels like it,
though, doesn't it?

Whoo!

Down into the fucking belly
we go!

Is it all right if we smoke?

Oh, yes.

Right, Detective Inspector
Richard Alderman,

Detective Inspector
Jim Prentice,

I'd like to thank you
for coming-

- We got any sandwiches?

Let's get started, shall we?

[Recorder clicks]

Both of you have been involved
in the Ripper inquiry

from the off, so obviously,

you both have
a tremendous amount of knowledge

about the different
investigations,

the methods, and procedures.

You were the senior detectives.

Still are.

Right, and the other detective
involved was Bob Craven?

So I'm interested to know
what you feel,

given that you've worked under
Bill Molloy and Maurice Jobson.

What we feel?

This is my first Sunday off
in three months.

Is that your best fucking
question, Mr. Hunter?

[Recorder clicks]

Sit down.

Sit down, Detective Inspector.

[Recorder clicks]

I'd like to know the differences

in the styles of operations,
if you don't mind.

Everything was different.

This was five years ago.

Much smaller op.

So Clare Strachan wasn't in
at this stage?

Not until after
the blood tests and the letters.

Yeah, like you didn't know.

Strachan was in and out
for quite some time, wasn't she?

Initially, yeah.

That's also true

of a number of the other
murders and attacks, isn't it?

What's your point?

My point is, who's in,
who's out, and who decides?

So you want me and Jim
to go through

every fucking unsolved murder
in Yorkshire

and tell you why
or why they're not Ripper cases?

Just one. Clare Strachan.

Lucky the Ripper
wrote that letter, eh?

Otherwise, Clare would have been
just another unsolved.

It wasn't the fucking Ripper.

- Shut up, Dick.
- Shut the fuck up.

I'm not having this
piece of shit strolling in here

telling me
what I can and can't say.

Come on, John. You know.

Everyone knows.
He's talking bollocks.

Of course it was the Ripper.
Fuck off.

Strachan was knocked up
with Eric's kid, wasn't she?

So he did her.

So what's the Ripper doing

claiming Clare
as one of his, then?

It was only ever a rumour
about Strachan being knocked up,

just hearsay.

You still
should have told me, John.

Yeah, I know. Sorry, boss.

Jobson's not going
to be very happy, is he?

Way we've treated his lads.

Maurice can piss off.

It's a Home Office review.

Do you think
you're up for all this, Pete?

How do you mean?

Well, it's getting dead murky,
isn't it?

No one takes the bone off me
this time round.

Well, I'm going to get
an early night.

See you in the morning, boss.

- Okay.
- Night.

Yeah.

[Phone ringing]

Hello.

Hunter?

Tommy Douglas.

I need to see you right away.

What is it, Dougie?

I need to see you.

Right now?

I've got serious information.

Concerning?

Concerning me, for fuck's sake.

Not on the phone.

I need to see you.

[Dial tone humming]

[Line clicking]

[Humming resumes]

[Line ringing]

[Door squeaking]

[Hinge creaking]

[Drill whirring]

[Screaming]

No!

[Muffled screaming]

[Agonized screaming]

[Recorder clicks]

Do they know who died first?

No.

Preliminary post-mortem revealed

Karen Douglas died of a single
stab wound to the heart.

You said Douglas called you.

He had information.

About what?

We'll never know now, will we?

Ex-copper and his kid.

Top policeman.

Sniff of the Ripper in there.

Right fucking mess.

Doesn't look good, does it?

You sound like
you're blaming me.

Word is, you've been
intimidating Jobson's officers,

questioning their integrity.

Well, I've certainly been
questioning their capabilities.

There've been threats
of resignation.

Oh, good.

Pete, it's a lousy job.

No one would blame you
if you pulled out.

Absolutely not, sir. No way.

Not now.

So long as you're not
letting it get to you, Peter,

letting it get personal.

[Thunder booming]

[Crowd murmuring]

[Camera shutters clicking]

Mr. Hunter,
I wonder if you could comment

on the catalogue
of bungling and neglect

that has characterized
this investigation.

These issues
are a matter of concern to us

and are part and parcel
of the review,

but it would
be unprofessional of me

to comment any further
at this time.

Are you, at present,
investigating any connection

between the murders
of Clare Strachan

and a vice detective
called Eric Hall?

Not at all.

So there's no truth
that those murders

are linked to the recent murder

of ex-policeman Thomas Douglas
and his daughter, Karen?

Absolutely not.

Are you able
to confirm or otherwise

rumours circulating to the effect

that you're about to be removed
from the so-called super squad

due to personal conflicts
with senior police officers?

[Laughter]

Interview's over. Thank you.

[Crowd shouting]

Where's Helen?

She should have been here.

I thought she would be.

When are you going back
to Manchester?

Thank you.

Miss Marshall not in her room?

No, sir, not since yesterday.

Oh, this was left for you, sir.

I heard they're closing
all the shops early again, sir,

because of him.

Thank you.

Hello, Mrs. Hall.

Hello.

So sorry to bother you again.

I was just wondering

if Miss Marshall
had been back here at all.

Helen, yes.

She came back last night
at about 9:30, I think.

She wanted to see, um,
Reverend Laws.

He's helped me so much
at least...

I'm really pleased
that they've become acquainted.

They met after we were here?

Yes, yes.

She's become quite the convert.

Oh, yeah?

He lives in Fitzwilliam,
doesn't he?

Netherton Close.

I've never been there myself,
mind.

[Animal howls]

[Dogs barking]

[Guns popping]

Where have you been?

I had to go home.

What for?

I was worried about you.

I don't want
to talk about it, Peter.

I went to see Mrs. Hall.

She said you were looking
for Martin Laws.

He's just been very supportive.

About what?

Just leave it, Pete, please!

I've got some bad news.

Any of this gets out,
and I'm finished.

Is it blackmail?

Was there a note?

No, no note.

Well, then it's just
someone trying to rattle you.

That's all.

Well, it's worked.

What a fucking mess.

Hey, hey.

It'll be all right.

It's nothing.

It's just two people in a park
after a rough day.

It's nothing.

We all need a break, Pete.

It's Christmas, isn't it?

Come on. We should get a drink.

[Laughter]

Here, young couple
just got married, right?

And he comes home
on a Friday night from the pub,

and he says,

"I want to try
a new sexual position."

She says,
"Oh, aye, what's that?"

He says, "It's called
wheelbarrow, right",

"and what you have to do is,

"you have to get down,
like, on all fours,

"and I'll get your legs,
and I'll slide in,

and then I walk you round."

And she went,
"All right, I'll do it,

as long as we don't
go past me mum's."

To the super squad.

The brains trust.

The fuckwits.

Merry Christmas.

Helen.

That was fun.

Yeah, it was.

I just-I just wanted
to say thank you, really.

Thanks for everything.

And I wanted to say I'm sorry.

I'm sorry if I insulted you.

I'm sorry if I hurt you.

Pete.

I do like you, too much.

That's why what happened
happened.

Please, Pete, don't.

I just wanted to tell you
how I felt, you know?

Lot of bloody good
screwing the boss did me, eh?

God, what a pair.

You have a merry Christmas,
Helen.

You too.

Pete?

I fell pregnant.

What?

I got rid of it.

When?

Um, Sunday.

Manchester.

Martin Laws helped me.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Why didn't you come to me?

I want to know what the fuck
you're gonna do about this mess.

You let us worry about that,
yeah?

You just keep it together, lad.

I am not going to be
the fucking goat.

There's always a goat,
and it ain't going to be me.

It won't come to that.

Fucking right, it won't.

Is that a threat? Are you...

You threatening me, Dickie?

I am just saying
that it's got out of hand.

Right, he's going to rip
this whole fucking thing open.

Not a word, Dickie, eh?

Not a word.

Now, you'll shut up,
and you'll listen to me.

We will take care of everything.

That's what you say, isn't it?

You will do as I say.

Or else I will start
fucking about with you.

I'm upset.

We all are.

I can't do time.

I can't take a fall.

You won't have to, yeah?

I'll look after you.

[Door squeaks open]

Gentlemen.

What do you want,
you fucking poof?

Out.

Get out.

What's the matter with him?

[Clears throat]

Bad day.

Aren't they all?

"Always got to be a goat,"
eh, Bob?

You know that, son.

You've had a few,
haven't you, Mr. Hunter?

So who's it gonna be, then?

Who's gonna take the fall
for Dougie?

Tommy Douglas was my best mate.

Mate with a grudge
and a big mouth.

Shall I tell you
what I do know, eh?

You're fucked.

You're fucking finished.

Merry Christmas, Bob.

[Door slams shut]

[Film reel clicking]

♪ [Peaceful music] ♪

8:31 and 8 seconds.

[Giggles]

Thought Carl was gonna
have it off your wrist.

Took a shine to it, didn't he?

They're lovely, aren't they?

Yeah, they are.

[Sirens wailing]

[Explosion roaring]

Someone burnt my house down.

My fucking house!

I know. I know.

Well, what the fuck
are you gonna do about it?

- Peter, please.
- It was my house.

They could've killed us,
could've killed my wife.

Where's Joan now?

Are you asking me to trust you?

What's this?

Mr. Hunter.

Sit down, please.

[Sighs]

Hear about the house?

Yeah, yeah, we know, Pete.

What's going on?

Allegations
have been made against you

that indicate
a disciplinary offence.

What allegations?

We're making
a number of inquiries.

Peter, we would like
to invite you

to take extra leave.

Extra leave?

What about the Ripper inquiry?

Chief Superintendent John Nolan

will take over your team.

[Sighs]

Has this anything to do
with Detective Helen Marshall?

Can't say, Mr. Hunter.

We'd like you to provide us
with the details

of your bank accounts,
you know, savings account,

any credit cards you might have.

I'm afraid I can't give you
that information.

Peter.

The fire took the lot.

Very convenient.

Yeah, it is, isn't it?

Very convenient.

You think about that, sir.

Take it easy.

Passport?

We lost everything.

Pity.

Fucking hell.

It is now my intention
to ask you

to clear out your office

and to leave these headquarters
immediately.

You will have
to make yourself available

for an interview tomorrow, 2:00,

Leeds Street, my office.

I'll give you a hand, eh?

I'm, uh, sorry about your house.

This is your mail.

Still on the same side, Maurice?

Pete.

How deep does the rot go,
Maurice?

Eh, how deep?

And who stops it?

Mr. Hunter.

Welcome back, sir.

Whether Mr. Hunter's suspension

is in any way linked
to an apparently hostile report

he was preparing into
the management complexities

of the West Yorkshire police

in regard to their handling
of the Ripper inquiry.

Well, in this pizza parlour,

they've noticed
a very sharp falloff in trade

since the Ripper's last victim.

Hello, is Mr. Evans available,
please?

It's Peter Hunter again.

Yeah, I know that, love,
but it's quite urgent.

The prime minister
has taken a personal interest

in the hunt for the Ripper.

Okay, thank you.

Series of photo fit pictures

of a man they would
like to question

in connection with the killings.

[Wheels clanking]

Pete, I was worried
about you, mate.

Hey, John. I'm okay.

Listen, mate, go home.

I haven't got a home.

Go to Joan's folks' or wherever.

Just go.

They're not finished
with me, mate.

I've got a meeting
with Angus and the Owl at 2:00.

This whole thing is bollocks,
isn't it?

The whole thing,
absolute bollocks.

What about you?

Shouldn't you be getting them
all together, back to work?

Monday week,
if we're allowed to.

They're talking about
bringing another force in.

I don't even care.

Don't even care.

Aye.

♪ [Organ music] ♪

[Rotary dial clicking]

[Line ringing]

Yes?

This is Peter Hunter.

Oh, yes, I've been
watching you on the telly.

Took your time.

What have you got to tell me?

You have a date in Preston,
Frenchwood Street.

Tonight.

[Dial tone humming]

[Crowd shouting]

String that bastard up!

Calm down. Back up.

You've got to string him up,
the bastard!

What's going on?

They've got him, haven't they?

- What?
- Ripper.

They've got fucking Ripper,
haven't they?

The Yorkshire bloody Ripper,
he's down in the belly now.

Hey, steady. Come on.

Get back.

Come on! Back off.

It's over, Pete.

It's all over.

I know. I've heard, John.

It's great news.

[plastic bag rustling]

I think you're in
serious trouble, Peter.

Well, they're all in my brain,

reminding me of the beast
that I am.

You'll feel better now.

I should tell Monica.

Who's Monica?

Monica's my wife.

Tart pulls this punter.

"Looks like a good-looking
Bee Gee," she says,

luckiest bitch alive.

So I get up here,

and I remember him saying
he needed a slash

and going behind the tank,
so that's where I go.

And fuck me if there ain't
an hammer and a bloody knife

on the ground by the back wall.

I says to myself,

"I've just caught
the Yorkshire bloody Ripper."

Well done, Sarge.

[Laughter]

How about that, then?

Result.

- Well done.
- Cheers.

Right, Peter, I'd like to get

straight to who it is
we're talking about, okay?

Okay.

Good.

So first off, Myrtle Thompson.

I think, yes.

You think?

I know. Yes.

Good.

Anita Bird?

Yes.

Teresa Campbell?

Yes.

Joan Richards?

Yes.

Marie Watts?

Yes.

Rachel Williams?

Yes.

Dawn Johnson?

Yes.

Katie Burden?

Yes.

Clare Strachan?

Yes-no.

You sure? '77?

I said I didn't do her.

Elizabeth McQueen?

Yes.

Dianne Pickles?

Yes.

Laura Baines?

Yes.

It's a lot of women,
isn't it, Peter?

Think we've left anybody out?

Yeah. We have.

You best tell us, then.

Okay.

I saw her in The Oak.

And she annoyed me,
probably in some minor way.

I took her to be a prostitute.

So I hit her,

not on the head,
and then it was on the head.

I scratched her buttocks.

It was with a piece
of hacksaw blade.

She was drunk.

She was laughing at me,
and she said,

"Come on. Get it over with."

I said, "Don't worry. I will."

And I hit her with the hammer.

She made a lot of noise.

So I-I hit her again.

She was wearing
very strong and cheap perfume.

Then I pushed a piece of wood
up her vagina

to show her
how disgusting she was,

that she was dirty.

She just talked about sex.

I got some filling from a sofa,

and I pushed it down her throat,

and I held her nose.

She was making a lot of noise,
and there was a car there.

It drove up
while I was hiding her, like.

So I used
a Phillips screwdriver,

a big one.

I let go of her nose
after a while,

but she was still breathing
and making a lot of noise,

so I held it again.

I pulled all her clothes off,
and I stabbed her in the lungs.

I was steaming with anger.

Her eyes were open.

She seemed to be looking at me.

So I did the strangest thing.

I-I stabbed her in the eye.

I remember,
I-I put it to the lid,

and I sat down, jerked it in.

I said, "I'm sorry."

Then I had sex with her.

Her eyes
were looking at me body.

She went into the back,

and I tried to hit her.
But I missed, and then I cried.

I caught
the side of the door instead.

I kicked her.

"There's no need for that,"
she said.

And I hit her on the head.

I took her clothes off,
and I said to her,

"You can't trust anyone
these days."

Clare were just
so tired of running.

This is where she ended up.

Not very nice, is it?

Well, what do you think?

What do I think?

Obstruction,
withholding evidence, murder.

I think I'll fucking arrest you.

Arrest me? They want BJ dead.

Tell me!

She wasn't one of the Ripper's.

Then why was she killed?

Was it because of the porn?

Was it something
to do with that?

It wasn't because of the porn.

It was because of what she saw.

I just want them to stop.

Help me.

No, they'll kill me.

I'll fucking kill you!

Six years ago, the Karachi Club,

BJ were there and Clare.

She were a barmaid.

There were bad men there,

John Dawson, policemen,

Bob Craven, Tommy Douglas.

We saw what happened.

We saw my friend Eddie
come for his revenge.

[Gunshots]

Eddie settled his score,

and then we saw him leave.

And then BJ and Clare
saw what came after.

[Gunshot]

Kill the cunts!

Kill them all!

Clean it up.

Now!

Men came with guns.

We heard their voices.

They were policemen.

[Gunshot]

Bill Molloy, men you know.

Kill the fucking cunt.

Kill them all.

No eyes. No questions.

They got Clare.

I'm next.

You're lying.

Fuck off!

You're hurting me.

Talk to someone else.

There's nobody else left.

They're all fucking dead.

Who killed her?

Tell me.

You know.

[Door squeaking]

You came, and you went.

No one else asked questions.

My wife had a miscarriage.

I had to leave.

Well, you're back now.

And now you know.

[Coin jingles] John?

How are you doing, mate?

Are you still with me?

Come in.

Be careful, mind.

You don't work here anymore,
remember?

Craven's out of control, John.

It's got to stop here.

He's here.

He's down in the belly.

Like you said, Pete,
he's out of control.

Five men. Five guns.

Got it clear now, Pete?

Not you, John.

[Gunshot]

[Crowd shouting]

You bastard!

Dirty fucking Ripper!

He's found peace, Mrs. Hunter,

peace at last.

♪ [Mellow rock music] ♪