Here's Pete again, plastered all over the tabloids--who care less about the public well than they do about a good story, and the opportunity to roll out the same tired roster of epithets.
We KNOW he's evil, and even I said when he was arrested--when I recognised him--that I would be willing to tie the noose around his neck. But this country has laws. He, Brady, Hindley and their ilk should have received the ultimate punishment, but the law decreed otherwise. As such, whether some like it or not, if he's ill he has to receive the same treatment as any other patient.
Today I'm reading stories from various hospital spokespeople--never named, of course--that he should be left to suffer. Doctors may think such things, but it's more than their careers are worth to make public comments. Therefore consider the statements made up--probably uttered by a woman cleaning the corridor.
I have written a book about Pete and me. I have been criticised for knowing him, on more than one occasion by members of my family who should know better, particular as they have their own horror stories to tell.
But how can you be criticised for knowing someone, years before they committed a crime, at a time when they seemed perfectly normal and rational? Pete was very close to my mother, and to me--he sent flowers to her funeral. More than this I will not say extant of the book. So, let's take a look at those people who live in glass houses and throw stones...
How did my father know, when he married for the first time in 1948, that his best man--his name was Steven Collier--would, a few years down the line, be arrested for having sex with a cow?
How did my father know, when he married for the second time in 1972, that two members of the new family that he was fond of, and who seemed quite normal at the time, would in a few years time be sent to prison for very serious sex crimes?
Did we have crystal balls to gaze into the future? No, we didn't. And although I loathed the old bastard, I am pretty certain what his reaction would have been, the same as it was when he found out that Pete Coonan was in fact The Yorkshire Ripper.
Some years ago, a celebrated actress friend pulled the string to get me visitation rights to see Pete. I never went through with it. The man I had held very dear had become a monster. My reaction towards him when meeting him would have been unpredictable, to say the least--particularly as my own wife was one of those he is believed to have attacked.
Even so, I still consider Pete worth a million of the stalkers who have hounded me over the years. They only ever wanted to wish me and my family harm--Pete wanted only to protect us. Will I weep when he dies? Probably, despite what he went on to do. Will I weep if any of these other genuine monsters dies, as happened recently with one particular thorn in the side? Certainly--with laughter and relief.
Until then, don't moan about Pete getting so much attention when no one would have known about that hospital visit if the tabloids had not been obsessed with following his every move--for no reason than to get a good story.