One of Your Own Read online

  Myra: ‘No, it’s all right.’

  Ian: ‘Eh?’

  The music begins: a country-style tune, followed by ‘Jolly St Nicholas’ and ‘The Little Drummer Boy’, during which a voice speaks. Three loud cracks are heard and the music of ‘The Little Drummer Boy’ grows fainter. There is a sound of footsteps, fading.

  The tape ends.4

  The music, Myra insisted to Topping, came from a radio that was playing in the room. The prosecution lawyers at the trial were equally vehement that the music did not come from a radio but had been added deliberately to intensify the horror of the recording.5 The three loud cracks at the end of the tape occurred when Ian opened the tripod and set up the camera; he then stopped the tape recorder and removed the plug from the sole socket in the bedroom to switch on the bright photography light. Lesley was forced to undress and either Ian or Myra bound a scarf around the lower half of the little girl’s face, making it almost impossible for her to breathe. Ian then took a series of photographs of the child.6

  Myra described her actions that night as ‘assisting Ian in the preparation of Lesley Ann’.7 Her prison therapist noted that she did so in the same way ‘a parent may describe preparing a child to take a bath or dress for school. Her voice remained monotone as she referred to the binding and gagging of the victim and her positioning for photos and “acts of indecency”.’8 Initially, Myra told her prison therapist that she left the room when the photographs were being taken and sat on the stairs, drinking a bottle of wine, but in subsequent therapy sessions and during her confession to Peter Topping, she admitted to running a bath for Lesley at Ian’s request after the photographs were taken to get rid of any dog hairs or fibres on the child. She claimed she then waited in the bathroom while Ian raped and murdered Lesley.

  After 20 minutes, she apparently let out the water because it had gone cold and ran some more, at which point Ian entered the bathroom and Myra walked through to the bedroom. Lesley was lying on the bed, with the scarf still tied about her mouth. The little girl was dead; there was a lesion on her neck, where she had been strangled with cord, and her legs were streaked with blood. The sheet beneath her was also bloodstained. Ian returned and carried Lesley into the bathroom, where he washed the blood from her, then lay her on the bed again to remove the scarf. He told Myra to clean the bath.

  Ian’s version of Lesley’s death is very different. Author Colin Wilson, who has corresponded with Ian for many years and penned the introduction to The Gates of Janus, recounts Ian’s claim that ‘[Myra] strangled Lesley Ann Downey and later deliberately played in public with the cord used to kill the child.’9 In a letter to Jack Straw, Ian made the same accusation: ‘She insisted upon killing Lesley Ann Downey with her own hands, using a two-foot length of silk cord, which she later used to enjoy toying with in public, in the secret knowledge of what it had been used for.’10 The truth about Lesley’s death will probably never be known; what is certain is that she fought valiantly for her life before it was extinguished and that afterwards Myra self-admittedly ‘witnessed Lesley being placed in the bath, there was blood everywhere and I helped Ian to clean up’.11

  Ian wrapped Lesley’s small body in the bedsheet, together with her clothes. Outside, the flurry of snow was thickening and beginning to settle. At eight o’clock, Ian carried the bundle concealing Lesley’s body out to the car. They intended to bury her that night, but as they approached the moor the snowfall was heavy enough to cause problems on the road. They watched other cars sliding about on the ice and returned to Hattersley, where Myra rang the AA from a public call box to ask about road conditions in Saddleworth. She related their advice to Ian: no travel unless absolutely necessary. But she still had to pick up Gran, having promised to do so that morning. Ian fumed, reminding her that Lesley’s body lay in the back of the car. They drove on to Dukinfield, two hours later than promised; it was almost half past eleven when Myra, alone, knocked on Jim’s door. He recalled: ‘She came into the house and said, “I’m sorry, Gran, I can’t take you back. The roads are too bad.” I started to have an argument with Myra. As a result of going outside frequently to see whether Myra had come, I knew what the roads were like. It had been snowing, but there was only a light sprinkling of snow in the street where I lived.’12 Jim was angry; his son had died six months before his 21st birthday after a blow to the skull and neither Jim nor his wife Nellie wanted anyone else to sleep in his room, which they had turned into a shrine. Jim remembered: ‘The argument went on for about a quarter of an hour and ended when Myra said, “I can’t take Gran and that’s that.” Then she walked out. As a result, Gran stayed at my house on a bed made of cushions on the floor in the living room.’13

  At Wardle Brook Avenue, Myra parked the car and Ian scrambled up the slope with Lesley’s body, which he placed in Myra’s bedroom. She claimed afterwards that she never slept in that room again and hated going in there, even if just to dust it. Ian spent a while setting up his darkroom to develop the photographs he had taken of Lesley. They looked through them together and listened to the tape recording. Myra later insisted that she never saw the photographs or listened to the tape again, but begged him to destroy them.

  Despite the volume of words Myra wrote about her life, she failed to account conclusively for Lesley’s murder. Her prison therapist noted that the killing of Lesley was ‘difficult and painful for Myra to relate . . . because of three factors. It occurred at Christmas, which is normally a period of peace and joy. It happened not on the desolate moors but in the home that she shared with Ian, and thirdly she had witnessed events first hand “up to the point of death”.’14 Myra told her prison therapist that Christmas was always ‘the anniversary of many bad memories, not least of all the killing of little Lesley Ann, which gives me the deepest shame . . .’15 By her own admission, she would later concede that the lengthy description she gave of Lesley’s last hours in a statement to the Home Office was a pack of lies. She knew that the abuse and death of Lesley Ann Downey could not be explained without incriminating herself unreservedly: the tape recording condemned her forever as having been party to the little girl’s unmitigated, prolonged torment.

  On Boxing Day evening, while Myra and Ian curled up together on the sofa bed in front of the fire, with Lesley’s lifeless body in the bedroom above, Ann Downey grew almost demented with anxiety about her daughter’s whereabouts. She and her partner Alan had spent the evening running between the flat on Charnley Walk and the fairground. They called on Mrs Clarke, and Ann screamed at her for not having accompanied the children that afternoon, then left the flat to report Lesley’s disappearance at Mill Street police station. Finally, they returned again to the fair after it closed, picking their way around the mute, empty rides and shuttered stalls, shouting for Lesley.

  Gritting lorries rumbled along Mottram Road early the following morning as Ian carried Lesley’s body to the car again. Myra drove to Hollin Brown Knoll. She recalled: ‘There was thick snow covering the moor and the road was icy and there was very little traffic. When he’d checked up and down the road and made sure there was no traffic, he picked up the child’s body, which was wrapped in a sheet, hoisted the bundle onto his shoulder and made his way up and over the rocks until he was out of sight. I waited for him in the [car].’16 Ian returned to the car for a spade, burying Lesley just behind the jutting rocks, on a part of the moor known as Higher Wildcat Lowe. When he reappeared at the roadside, pushing the spade into the back of the car, he told Myra that he’d buried Lesley’s clothes with her in the grave, at the child’s feet.17 They drove home, and Ian washed the spade before making a start on dinner. At half past ten, they arrived in Dukinfield to collect Gran. Elsie popped in later and Ian left to visit his mother in Longsight. He didn’t return to Hattersley that evening but was probably aware of the extensive search taking place in Ancoats for Lesley since it was reported on the local news and in the press. The fairground had been torn apart by detectives, who aimed to interview every visitor. Crofts, empty house
s and abandoned factories were scrutinised and the canal dredged.

  On Monday, 28 December, the Manchester Evening News picked up the story: ‘Tracker Dogs Join Giant Search for Girl.’18 The following day, Millwards opened for the first time since the holidays and Tom Craig recalled that Ian and Myra turned up for work as usual, and that Ian kept asking after his daughter – whose name happened to be Lesley Ann. On 30 December, Lesley’s friend Linda Clarke appeared on the Granada television children’s programme The Headliners as part of the appeal. The Manchester Evening News kept the story on its front page, noting that police also feared the worst for a 15-year-old girl called Diane Minham, who went missing on Christmas Eve on her way home from a dance in another area. On New Year’s Eve, the Manchester Evening News reported: ‘Lesley: 100 Police with Dogs in Big Hunt’.19 Six thousand posters bearing Lesley’s image had been printed, along with five thousand flyers to be handed out in cafes, pubs, shops, etc. Lesley’s Uncle Patrick had 200 posters printed at his own expense and distributed them personally. Over 6,000 people were interviewed and the search spread out. Sightings of Lesley came in from Blackpool to Belgium.

  Myra and Ian saw in the New Year at Wiles Street, partying with Maureen and Dave, Bob and Nellie. Ian had brought along whisky, wine and rum, and was in jocular mood, kissing Maureen on the cheek to wish her luck in 1965, even stroking baby Angela Dawn’s soft hair. On New Year’s Day, the Gorton & Openshaw Reporter devoted most of its front page to the inquiry: ‘Have You Seen 10 Year Old Lesley? Big Search for Lost Girl’.20 The article mentioned the disappearances of Pauline Reade, John Kilbride and Keith Bennett. Myra bought the newspaper herself, and when Patty Hodges visited them that morning, Ian’s tape recorder picked up the ensuing conversation.21 Between idle chatter about Paul McCartney, telly, Sandie Shaw’s hairdo, Ready Steady Go! and confusion on Patty’s part over how to pronounce ‘omelette’, Myra drew her attention to the search for Lesley:

  Myra: ‘Want to read the paper? Do you ever get that – to read all about the news?’

  Patty: ‘Is it about Gorton?’

  Myra: ‘Gorton, Openshaw, Ardwick, Bradford, Clayton and all over.’

  Patty: ‘You see that girl [Lesley] at Ancoats?’

  Myra: ‘Yes – just now.’

  Patty: ‘She lives near my friend.’

  Myra: ‘She lives near her house?’

  Patty: ‘Yes.’

  Myra: ‘Did she know her?’

  Patty: ‘I don’t know.’22

  Ian and Myra retained the recording among their ‘souvenirs’.

  The search for Lesley continued, with policewomen visiting schools to warn children about Stranger Danger. Alan West was eliminated from police inquiries after a series of harrowing interviews and a thorough search of the family home at Charnley Walk. Ann kept her daughter’s bedroom exactly as she had left it, with Lesley’s dolls Patsy and Lynn slumped next to each other on the bed. Mary Waugh, who ran the grocery nearby, started a collection to offer a reward to anyone who could provide police with the breakthrough they needed. She raised £100, an enormous sum in those days. Ann called in at Mill Street police station at least twice a week on the off-chance that they had news about Lesley’s whereabouts. She told the press: ‘It’s a nightmare. I can’t sleep or eat. If I close my eyes, I can see her all the time.’23 She clung to the forlorn hope that if Lesley had been abducted, then it was ‘by some childless couple who would take care of her, love her’.24 Three weeks into the new year, Ann issued an appeal through the Gorton & Openshaw Reporter: ‘To whoever is holding my Lesley, if only they knew the agony that myself and my family are going through. Her little brothers keep asking when she is coming home . . . I plead with all mothers never to let their children out of their sight because they do not know the heartbreak of losing them until it happens.’25 The voice of Lesley’s elder brother Terry joined his mother’s: ‘Whoever is holding our Lesley, please look after her because she will be very sad and ill being away from Mum.’26

  A little over a year later, Maureen Smith told a hushed courtroom about an incident that occurred in February 1965, when she and Myra were climbing into bed during one of their frequent get-togethers: ‘Mrs Downey [had] offer[ed] a reward of £100 to anybody who could give any information as to where her daughter, Lesley, was. I said to Myra: “Her mother must think a lot of the child.”’27 Prompted by William Mars-Jones QC as to Myra’s response, Maureen said flatly, ‘She laughed.’28

  14

  In light of the evidence, I hope that you will be satisfied that in this case the power of the written word was clearly demonstrated and that clearly it did corrupt the mind of that young man, David Smith . . .

  William Mars-Jones QC, ‘The Moors Murder’ address to the Medico-Legal Society, 9 November 1967

  Myra described the months that elapsed between Lesley Ann Downey’s murder and the brutal killing of 17-year-old Edward Evans as ‘the most peaceful time of my life’.1 Ian insists that Lesley’s death marked the end of their murder spree: ‘Contrary to popular perception, the so-called Moors Murders were merely an existential exercise of just over a year, which was concluded in December 1964 . . . The final ten months of our freedom in 1965 were entirely preoccupied with return to mercenary priorities, reorganising logistics and eradicating liabilities.’2 He offers the acquisition of the pistols, the sale of the Tiger Cub and Myra’s purchase of a new car as supporting evidence: ‘All these facts testify that the Moors Murders ended in December 1964, and that throughout 1965 we were hurrying to make up for wasted time, cutting reliance on others down to the bone, with Myra doubling as driver and sole armed back-up. All we required was a “mule” to pick up and carry during robberies.’3

  The mule he had in mind was Dave Smith, but Ian’s purpose in befriending him went deeper than he is willing to admit. Dave himself reflects on what he was unable to see at the time: ‘Looking back, I think Brady was trying to control me . . . [Myra] had already gone along with murder with him and I think he was almost grooming me to become part of their sickening gang.’4 Ian passed him books to read, including those he had shared with Myra at the start of their affair, and at his suggestion Dave duly took notes from his small library. During the trial, one of the extracts, from The Life and Ideals of the Marquis de Sade, was read to the court: ‘Should murder be punished by murder? Undoubtedly not. The only punishment that a murderer should be condemned to is that which he risks from his friends or the family of the man he has killed. “I pardon him,” said Louis XV to Charolais, “but I also pardon him who will kill you.” All the bases of the law against murderers is contained in that sublime sentence . . . In a word, murder is a horror, but a horror often necessary, never criminal, and essential to tolerate in a republic. Above all it should never be punished by murder.’5 In his address to the Medico-Legal Society, William Mars-Jones QC commented on Dave Smith: ‘It is clear that this was a lad of above average intelligence. He had the misfortune to be born illegitimate, as was Brady. It may well be that the fact that they were brought up by relatives gave them cause to have some grievance against society . . . I hope that you will be satisfied that in this case the power of the written word was clearly demonstrated . . . I have no doubt that it contributed to producing the sadistic killer Ian Brady.’6

  Although their evenings together were not as frequent nor as alcohol-fuelled since the birth of Angela Dawn, whenever the two couples met Ian would take the opportunity to air his views on politics to Dave. He bought a bottle of Drambuie to celebrate the death of Winston Churchill in January 1965 and referred to the former prime minister as ‘that cigar-smoking twit’, while Myra agreed, ‘The best thing Churchill did for Britain was dying.’7 Discussing politics led on to race and religion. ‘I didn’t think he was cracked,’ Dave recalls of Ian. ‘I thought he was intellectual. I thought he was impressive.’8 Their corrosive friendship wasn’t always intense; Dave would tease Ian for being ‘a real square’ in his musical tastes and Myra noted resentfully that Dave had the abil
ity to make Ian laugh and relax in a way that she could not.9

  In early 1965, Myra and Ian began planning their Whit holiday, hoping for company – not Dave and Maureen, but Patty Hodges. Myra asked Patty’s mum Elsie if the girl could go with them to Scotland, explaining that while Ian stayed in Glasgow, she and Patty would camp in the van at Loch Lomond. Although the two households were still close (Myra spent hours training Patty’s dog, Duke, not to bark constantly), Elsie declined the offer. Soon afterwards, when Elsie’s son James invited Myra and Ian to his wedding to Anita, Myra turned him down flat: ‘I’m not going to no bloody wedding.’10 By the end of February, when Ian moved in permanently with Myra, Patty was no longer speaking to them, having made friends with twin sisters her own age who had recently moved into the neighbourhood: ‘About three weeks after I stopped going around with Ian and Myra, I climbed over a wall at the side of their house – a lot of people do that. I remember meeting Ian. He said that Myra’s gran had said that me and my friend Margaret had been in the garden. I said, “We weren’t in the garden.” He said, “You were.” I said, “Only over the wall.” He said, “Don’t let me cop you in the garden again.” He was telling me off. He said, “I’ll break your back if I cop you in there again.” I never spoke to Myra and Ian again after that.’11

  On 5 April, Myra sold her Mini-Traveller to a garage in Stretford and bought a turquoise Mini-Countryman on hire purchase. In their new car, which had the same fold-flat rear seats, the couple travelled to Scotland mid-month for a long weekend ahead of their Whitsun holiday. The impromptu trip was funded by a sum of money Ian had recently won in a bet on the horses.