One of Your Own

by Carol Ann Lee

  The estate was coming to life on that cloudy morning. People were running for buses and climbing into cars, children were walking to school and Housewives’ Choice drifted from open kitchen windows. Just after eight, Elsie Masterton popped out of number 12 to empty her tea leaves into the dustbin and was seen by Fairley and Carr, who gesticulated for her to ‘keep in the house’.6 She stared, open-mouthed, then backed indoors, calling for Duke to stop barking. Among the mobile delivery vans going around the estate was Sunblest; Talbot stopped the driver and asked if he could borrow his coat and basket of bread. He pulled on the white jacket and approached number 16 from the back. It looked as neat as a new pin, with the cheery floral curtains at the bedroom window and the fern-filled rockery.

  ‘It’s good drama, that bread man’s coat, isn’t it?’ Fairley reflects. ‘But why did he do it, really? Because Brady might have had a gun? No. Seriously, I’ve no idea. Jock Carr and I just looked at each other in amazement. We went across the green, climbed the fence and stood to the side. Bob Talbot knocked at the back door.’7 From inside the house came the sound of dogs barking, setting off Duke further down again.

  The door opened.

  Myra stared at her caller, then frowned. She was dressed for work in a skirt and blouse, with thick black eye make-up and her hair lacquered into a careful beehive. She eyed the Sunblest logo on the caller’s white coat, wondering why he was bothering to knock when they always had Mothers Pride.

  ‘Is your husband in?’ Talbot asked.8

  ‘I haven’t got a husband.’

  Talbot put down the basket of bread and awkwardly slipped off the white coat. ‘I’m a police superintendent and I have reason to believe that there is a man in this house.’

  If Myra was alarmed, she didn’t show it. ‘There’s no man here,’ she said.

  Talbot stepped up into the pantry. ‘I’m not satisfied. I want to come in.’ He pushed past her into the dark little kitchen and Myra followed. ‘He’s in the other room,’ she said.

  Fairley and Carr entered through the front door. The three policemen converged in the sitting room, where the weak sunlight seeped in on Ian, who was sitting on the unmade sofa bed in his underwear, writing a letter with a green biro. He looked up.

  Myra recalled: ‘I’ll never forget his face when I took the police into the living room the morning after the murder of Edward Evans. It was expressionless, as it often was, but I saw him almost shrink before my eyes, helpless and powerless . . . it was all over.’9

  In a letter to Colin Wilson many years later, Ian recalled the strategy he and Myra had discussed: ‘We planned to exit by gunshot if cornered beyond salvage. But the revolvers and rifle were upstairs and I was in bed downstairs when the police poured in through the back door.’10 It had always been his intention to shoot the police who captured him, then turn the gun on himself and Myra. But he remembered that he had taken the revolver in its shoulder holster off the night before, when he and Dave had carried Edward’s body upstairs.

  Ian swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the sofa bed. He saw the policemen glance at the cloth wrapped around his ankle.

  ‘I’ve received a report that an act of violence took place in this house last night and we’re investigating it,’ Talbot said. Ian glanced from Carr to Fairley and back to Talbot, but didn’t respond.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong here,’ Myra said.

  Talbot turned to her. ‘Who lives in this house?’

  ‘My gran,’ Myra replied. ‘She’s upstairs in bed. And myself and Ian.’

  ‘I’m going to search the house. Have you any objection?’

  Myra shook her head, ‘No.’

  Talbot went into the hallway and upstairs, followed by Myra. There were three doors on the small landing, all closed. He reached out for the handle of the one on the right. Myra hesitated, but he pushed it open and saw an elderly, frail lady sitting up in bed, the curtains not yet drawn. Her eyes widened at the sight of his uniform; Myra bobbed her head in and told Gran she wasn’t to worry, she would bring her a cup of tea and explain later. Talbot looked at the doors to his left. One was just slightly ajar: a cold little bathroom lay beyond it, so he tried the other door. It was locked.

  He looked over his shoulder at Myra. ‘What’s in here?’

  Myra’s reaction was swift: ‘I keep my firearms in there and I keep the door locked for safety.’

  Talbot realised that David Smith had been telling the truth about the guns at least. He asked, ‘Can I have the key?’

  ‘It’s at work.’

  They returned to the sitting room, where Ian was still sitting on the sofa bed under the watchful gaze of Carr and Fairley. ‘There’s a locked room upstairs,’ Talbot said, addressing himself to Ian. ‘I’ll have to search it. Have you got a key here?’

  Myra parroted, ‘It’s at work.’

  Talbot turned to face her. ‘Then get your coat on and we’ll take you in the car to work and bring you back again.’

  She raised her chin slightly. ‘I don’t want to. It’s not convenient.’

  Talbot spoke more firmly, ‘I’m afraid you must get the key. I’m not leaving this house until I’ve searched that bedroom.’

  Myra and Ian stared at each other in silence.

  Talbot nodded his head at Fairley: ‘You go to Manchester with her to fetch it.’11

  The younger man looked at him incredulously. ‘Just kick in the door.’

  Talbot glanced at Ian, who remained silent.

  ‘Kick in the door,’ Fairley repeated.

  Her eyes still locked on Ian, Myra said, ‘You’d better tell him.’

  Ian rose immediately from the sofa bed. ‘There was a row last night. It’s in the back bedroom.’ He nodded at Myra. ‘Give them the keys.’ She was already feeling in her handbag and handed the keys to Talbot, who went quickly upstairs and unlocked the door. He later testified: ‘The room was furnished with a single bed, wardrobe, table and chair. Underneath the window, on the floor, was a bundle wrapped in a dark-coloured blanket. I went to it and saw the shape of a human foot . . .’12

  He straightened up again and stared at the bundle. On top of it was a pile of books and beside it a bulky Adesga carrier bag and a long stick. Carr appeared. The two men looked at each other and returned to the front room. Carr spoke first, to Ian: ‘We’ve found a body in the back bedroom and I’m taking you to Hyde police station for further inquiries.’13 He began to caution him, and Ian said impatiently, ‘Yes, I know.’14 Talbot quickly made arrangements for Dr Ellis of Hyde to examine the body: ‘He arrived shortly afterwards and pronounced life extinct. I examined the bedroom and found two loaded revolvers; each gun was fully loaded.’15

  Ian unwound the cloth from his ankle and dressed, declaring, ‘Eddie and I had a row and the situation got out of hand.’16 Myra hadn’t been cautioned, but now she knew the story she had to build upon if they took her in. She insisted on going to the police station anyway, even though Talbot told her it was unnecessary. She didn’t want to be parted from Ian, and Talbot sent for WPC Slater, who arrived promptly. Gran was sent round to the Hills’, at Wardle Brook Walk, with Lassie. Myra lifted Puppet into her arms and followed Ian out. He managed to whisper to her that it was the two of them against the world now.

  Several neighbours had gathered on the path outside and stared curiously as the small group left the house. Fairley borrowed a pair of handcuffs from another policeman who had arrived to stand guard outside and clapped them on Ian’s wrists. Further along the road, another police car had drawn up. Inside sat David Smith. Ian and Myra passed directly by him; Ian inclined his head and smirked, while Myra fixed him with a glare.

  ‘Is that them?’ asked the officer with Dave, and he nodded.

  Ian Fairley recalls, ‘Jock drove the car back to the nick, and I sat with Brady. He was handcuffed to my left wrist. I didn’t like the fact that I’d been told to handcuff him to myself – all right, cuff him, but not to me. He was quiet, though, no problem.’17 Myra held Pup
pet on her knee throughout the journey into Hyde. She and her dog were shown through to the station canteen while Ian was ushered into the CID room. Until a suitable policewoman could be found to question her, Myra sat sipping endless cups of tea and cadging food for Puppet.

  In the CID room, Fairley recalls, ‘We sat Brady down. He wanted a fag, so I gave him a fag. I chatted to him and he was very easy, very calm. Jock Carr came back, sat down and said, “What happened last night?” Brady repeated the same thing, that it had just got out of hand, that’s what he kept saying, it had just got out of hand. He was asked if he wanted to make a statement and he said he did.’18 Ian’s statement was taken that morning, formulated by him with two aims in mind: to absolve Myra and incriminate Dave.

  ‘Last night I met Eddie in Manchester. We were drinking and then went home to Hattersley. We had an argument and we came to blows. After the first few blows, the situation was out of control. When the argument started, Dave Smith was at the front door and Myra called him in. Eddie was on the floor near the living-room door. Dave hit him with the stick and kicked him about three times. Eddie kicked me at the beginning on my ankle. There was a hatchet on the floor and I hit Eddie with it. After that the only noise Eddie made was gurgling. When Dave and I began cleaning up the floor, the gurgling stopped. Then we tied up the body, Dave and I. Nobody else helped. Dave and I carried it upstairs. Then we sat in the house until three or four in the morning. Then we decided to get rid of the body in the morning early next day or next night.’19

  While Ian gave his statement, Talbot made a few telephone calls, including one to his boss, fifty-two-year-old rotund and balding bachelor Arthur Benfield, who had been appointed Detective Chief Superintendent of Cheshire six days earlier.

  ‘If it had been left to Benfield, there would have been no Moors Murders inquiry,’ Fairley asserts. ‘I hesitate to criticise the dead, but if he was here I would say the same. By the time Benfield arrived that day – he was based in Chester and booked himself into the Queen’s Hotel in Hyde – he’d already decided he could wrap everything up in a couple of days. He took charge because he was the senior investigating officer. Various other people came and went during the course of the day. But what I want you to understand is this: there were not a lot of troops, only a handful of us. To run a full murder inquiry takes 48 detectives. We had nothing like that, but initially what we were looking at was one body and a prisoner who admitted hitting the victim with an axe. Hindley wouldn’t speak to anyone. Smith was our witness. He kept telling us, “She came and got me, this murder happened, and I helped them tidy up because I was bloody frightened.”’20

  At lunchtime, Talbot and Benfield visited 16 Wardle Brook Avenue with Home Office pathologist Dr Charles St Hill. Detective Constable Leighton from Cheadle Hulme was there, photographing the process of unwrapping Edward’s body from its crude shroud. St Hill lifted the books that had been placed on the youth’s ruined skull and Leighton’s camera captured the titles: The Red Brain (Tales of Horror), Among Women Only (La Dolce Vita – Love and Sensation in Post-war Italy) and The Road Ahead, a volume of children’s poetry. St Hill removed the blood-drenched cushion cover from Edward’s head. His mild features had been distorted beyond all recognition. Wound tightly about his throat was the length of electrical flex. His knees had been pushed up under his chin and tied with the cord from the dog-stick. The pathologist made a note that Edward’s trousers were unfastened; at the trial, forensic evidence would show that at some point his lower clothing had probably been removed, leading to speculation about what occurred before the murder. St Hill removed a bloodstained letter from Edward’s pocket. It was from a girl called Wendy in north Wales and addressed to the dead youth: ‘. . . You know that girl from the farm shop, her name is Val, well, she wants to go out with Brian, will you ask him for her. When will you be coming down, I hope it will be soon, I miss you. The weather here is awful, it rains most of the time. I’m going to Liverpool on Sunday for the day to my aunty’s. Well I can’t think of much to say now. Love Wendy. PS. Write soon. Lots of kisses.’21

  Despite Ian’s and Myra’s efforts, there was plenty of ‘forensic’ for the police to find in the sitting room and Myra’s bedroom. Into a series of plastic bags went samples of hair, blood and clothing, two tape recorders and tapes, hundreds of photographs and negatives, a tartan-covered photo album, a photographic lightbulb, two revolvers and bullets from a cardboard box and the Adesga carrier bag containing the murder weapon. The letter Ian had been writing when Talbot knocked on his door was discovered under the sofa bed: ‘Dear Tom, sorry I could not phone yesterday. My family are at Glasgow this week. I was crossing the road in town last night when someone on a bike came round a corner and knocked me down. Except for a few bruises I was all right until I got up this morning. I could not put my weight on my ankle. I must have weak ankles or something. If it is no better tomorrow, I will see the doctor. Ian.’22

  By half past two, Benfield and Talbot were back at Hyde station, where Detective Policewoman Margaret Campion had been called in from another case to question Myra. Irish-born, one of only two detective policewomen in Cheshire, and with sixteen years of experience in the force, she was the ideal person to interview Myra, whom she suspected would be difficult. She began questioning her just after two o’clock: ‘This morning a man’s body was found in your house. Who is that person?’23

  Myra replied: ‘I don’t know and I’m not saying anything. Ask Ian. My story’s the same as Ian’s.’

  ‘Come on. What’s the story of last night?’

  Myra took Ian’s initial statement at the house that morning as her brief: ‘We came home from work about six o’clock, then went out about eight o’clock and then went to the outdoor [off-licence] in Stockport Road, Longsight, for some wine. We often go there. Then we went up to Glossop way near the moors and sat talking for ages. It was just a normal evening out before all this happened. It was the same as hundreds of other evenings out.’24 She didn’t realise that her version of events already differed from the one given by Ian; he told police that they’d spent the entire evening in Manchester prior to meeting Edward.

  Campion didn’t mention the discrepancy. ‘Would you care to tell me what happened at your house last night?’

  ‘All I’m saying is that I didn’t do it and Ian didn’t do it,’ Myra responded. ‘We are involved in something we didn’t do. We never left each other. We never do. What happened last night was an accident. It should never have happened.’

  ‘An accident? If what you say is true, it’s in your interests to tell the truth of what did happen.’

  Myra shook her head, ‘No. Ask Ian. His story is the same as mine. We never left each other. Ian can’t drive and that’s that.’ Then she asked urgently, ‘What are they going to do with Ian, because what he has done I have done.’

  Campion paused, then asked, ‘Do you realise how serious this matter is?’

  ‘Yes,’ Myra shot back. ‘And I also know David Smith told you all this and he’s a liar.’

  ‘David Smith alleges you cleaned up the mess in the living room after the murder of this man.’

  ‘Yes, and I suppose he told you he sat on the chair benevolently looking on while I cleaned up.’

  ‘Is it true that you went to David Smith’s house last night and he walked home with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time did you go there?’

  ‘I’m not saying. All this happened because there was an argument and that’s that.’

  ‘How did this man get to your house? Who brought him there?’

  ‘I’m not saying how he got there or when. I’ve told you before, I’m not saying anything.’25

  The interview was terminated. Myra would repeat the same words – ‘I didn’t do it, Ian didn’t do it, ask David Smith’ – like a mantra in the weeks ahead. Ian occasionally made a few minor blunders, but Myra refused to be drawn. She came close to blurting something out when the police suggested that she was a prosti
tute and Edward was killed because he’d refused to pay up, but she recovered herself.

  Various people came and went that day. Dave and Maureen remained cloistered in one of the rooms, away from Myra. Nellie arrived, ferried in by the police with Myra’s Uncle Bert, and pleaded with her daughter: ‘Myra, they say you’re in a lot of trouble because you won’t talk to them. They’re talking about bodies being buried on the moors.’26 At this, Myra became upset. Nellie told her that Gran was staying with the Hills for the time being, but no one believed the story they’d concocted about Myra causing an accident by dangerous driving. At four o’clock, Nellie and Bert left, promising to return that evening.

  Half an hour later, a small, stooped woman in spectacles and a pillbox hat arrived at the station. She was shown into a building across the yard. Alex Carr stood watching Myra as the sound of loud sobbing filtered through the window. Myra went on sipping her tea as Edward’s mother, Edith, identified the savagely wounded body of her eldest son in the mortuary. Carr formed an opinion of Myra that didn’t waver until his own death decades later: ‘She was totally lacking in emotion. She never showed any remorse at any time when I spoke to her. She was hard and evil.’27

  At half past six, Benfield returned to Hattersley for another poke around the house. Lights were on in almost every window across the estate, with families settling down for tea and telly. He walked down to where Myra’s car was parked at the foot of the slope and found a dog-eared brown wallet on the dashboard. He felt inside and pulled out three sheets of paper.

  He knew immediately that he was holding in his hands a blueprint for murder. Some of the abbreviations were immediately obvious – GN for gun, HAT for hatchet and so on – but others were more obscure. He tucked the papers into his pocket. At eight o’clock, he slid the notes across the desk in the CID room to Ian, who struck him as ‘a normal fellow [who] looked a bit worried’.28 Ian asked after Myra, but Benfield pressed him on the list. Ian admitted it was his but claimed to have written it after the murder.