The Incident Room

Olivia Hirst, David Byrne

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2020
• Print ISBN:
  9781848429291
• eBook ISBN:
  9781788503280
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

It's 1975. The Millgarth Incident Room in Leeds is the epicentre of the biggest manhunt in British history, for one of the most notorious serial killers: the Yorkshire Ripper.

With public and political pressure mounting, hundreds of officers must work around the clock and resort to increasingly audacious attempts to end one man's campaign of terror.

Olivia Hirst and David Byrne's 'beautifully crafted' ( Guardian ) play goes behind the scenes to investigate the case that nearly broke the British police force.

The Incident Room was first performed at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 2019, transferring to New Diorama Theatre, London, in 2020, ahead of an Off-Broadway run.

ACT ONE

One

An explosion of first-day conversations are cut short. GEORGE OLDFIELD enters. Silence falls.

GEORGE. Five women dead. It’s been my first decision to pull all five separate investigations under this one roof. Running one centralised Incident Room. Welcome. We won’t be doing the usual. And we might not all like it. But we’re going to work together. Something in here has been missed, and we’re going to find it. Wilma. Who’s got Wilma?

MEG has Wilma McCann’s investigation file.

MEG. Here.

GEORGE. Wilma McCann, twenty-five-year-old, mother of four. Murdered night of 30th October just one hundred yards from her home, Scot Hall Avenue, Leeds. Working as a prostitute. Emily Jackson –

JIM. Here.

GEORGE. Found eighty days later – forty-two. Also working as a prostitute. Same method. No mistaking it. Then February of this year – all the same hallmarks – Irene Richardson?

SYLVIA. Here, Mr Oldfield.

GEORGE. Almost exactly the same spot. Leeds. Aged twenty-eight. Then he’s on the move. Few months later – April – Patricia Atkinson. Bradford this time.

ANDY. Here she is.

GEORGE. What’s your name, lad?

ANDY. Laptew, sir. Andrew Laptew.

GEORGE. Known pro. Found in her own flat. In her own flat. And now, the reason we’re all here, Miss Jayne MacDonald.

DICK. She’s here, George.

GEORGE. Found last week. Just sixteen years old. Just a schoolgirl. Attacked just walking home. Because this case involves prostitutes, the response until now has been – as you might expect – muted. But Jayne MacDonald, she was no prostitute. He made a mistake. And now an innocent woman is dead. Until now, Jim has been leading on some of these investigations. Talk tyres to us, Jim.

JIM. At every crime scene there have been tyre tracks. Using plaster moulds, we’ve lifted the tracks out of the mud to analyse them. Using the latest complex, scientific techniques, the lab is trying to ascertain the make of each of the tyres, the measurements between the wheels, between axels. Nothing like this has ever been done before, but it’ll whittle down the make of car driven by our man. And we’re getting that list down.

ANDY. How many have you got it down to?

JIM. We’re still working on it. We’ve got a list of all the number plates from the possible makes of cars that could have left the tracks. And we’re taking new cars off it every week. But as I say, it’s a new way of working, never been attempted and we’re currently at – well –

GEORGE. You might as well tell him, Jim.

JIM. It will sound like a lot but –

GEORGE. I believe it’s fifty-four thousand. Am I right?

JIM. Actually – actually – it’s closer to fifty-three thousand.

GEORGE. Well, beg my pardon.

JIM. But those tyres are as good as a fingerprint.

ANDY. Do you have fingerprints?

JIM. Excuse me?

ANDY. I said: do you have fingerprints?

JIM. No, Bradford, we don’t have fingerprints. Only tyre tracks. It’s all we’ve got.

GEORGE. Right! Dick? Get this sorted.

GEORGE leaves.

DICK. Right! Meg. Get this sorted.

MEG. Let’s keep going. One last push to get everything unpacked, and filed together. Remember: A nominal index in here, The B Index, Vehicles into the C index, D index, here.

ANDY. Where do you want this?

MEG. Weren’t you listening to what I just said?

ANDY. You West Yorkshire lot: look at the amount of stuff in here. I didn’t join the force to do paperwork.

MEG. And I didn’t join the force to deal with Bradford twats like you. Actually, that’s a lie. That’s exactly why I joined.

Two

TISH MORGAN subtly enters the Incident Room. She scans the busy staff, and then seeing MEG –

TISH. There you are.

SYLVIA. Excuse me! You can’t just walk in here –

TISH. Patricia Morgan, I’m from the Yorkshire Post. My friends call me Tish. I was told you might – would – speak to me.

MEG. The press office is downstairs.

SYLVIA. Please, come with me.

TISH. It needs to be you. I’ve been told I could cover today, but only if I spoke to a… well, you understand?

SYLVIA. I’ll show her out. Come on –

MEG (softening, to TISH). Can you keep up?

TISH. Of course. Thank you. Thank you.

MEG. Sylvia – put these in those cabinets? By last name.

SYLVIA. Bloody cheek.

MEG tours TISH round the room.

MEG. We’re bringing this room together. We’re all from different forces –

TISH. Is that an issue?

MEG. No… I’m from the West Yorkshire force. So is Mr Oldfield, who’s in charge now. He wants the Incident Room run using the West Yorkshire method –

TISH. As opposed to?

MEG. The Bradford method. The Leeds method. The West Yorkshire method is big on paperwork. The Leeds method is more shoot first, write it up later. If ever.

TISH. That sounds familiar.

MEG. So you’re with the Post, are you?

TISH. Yes.

MEG. And you’re a journalist?

TISH. Yes.

MEG. My neighbour works for the news desk. Alan. You’ll know him. Actually, I’m due to ring him. I took a parcel in for him this morning. You could say hello. (Dials and waits.) Hello, I was wondering –

TISH puts her finger on the phone, cutting off the line.

TISH. Wait. I work at the Post. I’m not a journalist. Yet. But that’s why I’m here.

MEG. I can’t make you a journalist.

TISH. A story can. Normally – normally I’d only get to write up obituaries, recipes, ‘ten-minute tarte tatin’. I answered an advert saying ‘smart boy wanted’. They didn’t want a woman. I think I short-circuited them. So tell me, are the rumours true?

MEG. What rumours?

TISH. That you’ve got nothing. You’re just treading water, looking busy, just waiting.

MEG. Waiting?

TISH. For him to kill again. Hoping next time he makes a mistake. (Pause.) Tell me I’m wrong.

MEG. What recipe is this going to end up in?

TISH. Tell you a secret. I only did one recipe. Got the oven timings wrong. Came out raw. Gave people food poisoning. They had to issue an apology. Well, I can’t bloody cook, can I? Nobody died. Or if they did die, they didn’t write in to say they had. He’s got a name now, did you see? ‘The Yorkshire Ripper’. Our copy desk came up with that. It’s really caught on.

MEG. It’s not that helpful, is it?

TISH. Of course it is. For us, and for you. The team that catches the ‘Yorkshire Ripper’? It’ll be fast-track promotions all round. This is going to be good for you. You must know that. Make it good for us both?

MEG. What are you going to write up?

TISH. I’m going to pitch a hundred and fifty words. ‘The Woman Stalking the Ripper’. They’ll want a mention of your hair, and your make-up. Although, thankfully, with you, hardly going to swallow up my word count. ‘Functional’ being only one word. No offence, of course. I’ll show myself out. Nothing to be done in just waiting around, is there? (Whispered.) Thank you!

TISH exits.

Three

MEG. Hardly going to swallow up my word count…

SYLVIA. What did...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title page
• Contents
• Introduction
• Original Production
• Thank Yous
• Dedication
• Characters
• The Incident Room
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information