Black Moss (Manc Noir Book 1), page 23
‘They treated us like animals, Karen. How can you feel sorry for them?’
‘I didn’t say I felt sorry for them. I said something terrible must have happened to make them that way.’
She got up from the table and took down a framed photo from a shelf cluttered with mementos, letters, postcards and children’s drawings. The instamatic tones and colours identified it as being from the 1970s or early 80s. In the photo, a couple smiled, their arms linked. He was around forty, dressed in a chunky brown jumper and jeans. He was broad and looked like he knew what a hard day’s work meant. She was younger, wearing a lime green dress; she had blonde hair that looked like it had just had a shampoo and set. Karen took the photo and placed it on top of the cuttings. ‘These people who took us in and raised us, the Johnstons. They were our real mum and dad.’ She prodded the press clippings: ‘Not these monsters.’
Danny took the photo from her hands. ‘I never really appreciated them. Never really thanked them for what they did – they treated us so well, got me into a good school, pushed me, encouraged me. First thing I did when I got that newspaper job after college was move out and then I barely contacted them. Then they were gone.’
She reached out, putting her hands around his as he held the photo. ‘They didn’t blame you. They understood. They kept in touch via me. It made them sad, but they understood.’
They sat in silence at the kitchen table. Danny pushed the photo to one side and pointed at the newspaper picture of John Smithdown. ‘I know him – PC Smithdown, there – I know him really well. He turned into a great cop – a detective. One of the best. He’s helping me look at an old case – a child murder from when I was at the radio station.’
‘Why wasn’t it solved at the time?’
‘Because no one cared.’
‘That’s when bad things happen, Sean.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘So, what are you going to do about it?’ Karen asked.
‘I think I’ve found the person who knows what really happened. I’m going to the police today. Right now, in fact. And I’m going to get them arrested.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Karen said.
Danny’s text alert went off. Hi Danny, it’s Beth. Some mental ex-copper woman just turned up at my door, looking for you. She was screaming and shouting. I didn’t let her in… but she was scary as hell. She says she’s coming back. Come ASAP please!!
‘Change of plan,’ said Danny. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know how I get on.’
Danny stood up and hugged his sister. Then she looked at him. ‘I don’t really know what you’re up to but promise me you’ll take care.’
‘Of course.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
FIFTY-THREE
3.10 pm Thursday 23 June 2016
It occurred to Danny that he might need to make his approach in a low-key way, so he asked the driver to stop a few streets away from Beth’s house.
Although only a few miles from his sister’s house, Didsbury was a far more upmarket affair, even more so than when Danny had lived there in 1990. The main road running adjacent to the cul-de-sac where Beth lived was peppered with a few cars, cyclists and pushchair-wielding parents, making Danny self-conscious about the way he was stealthily walking too slowly along the pavement. He made an effort to walk in a more normal fashion, which only made him feel even more self-aware of the strangeness of the situation. What the fuck are you doing? This is mad.
As he turned the corner into Beth’s street, he noticed her front door was open – only slightly – but open nonetheless. That’s not right. She’s so security minded. No way would she leave the door open. That’s not right at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Danny picked up his pace as he approached the front door. He looked around. The dead-end street had six houses on either side. Beth’s was tucked into the corner on its own. No one was around. He’d had plenty of doorstep encounters in his TV days, but they were always with a camera crew and a producer. Never on his own. Danny felt very exposed without the bravado that being in a group of people – especially one carrying a camera – can provide. He quietly took the three steps up to the front door and looked through the gap. And listened. ‘Beth?’ he asked. Then again. Louder this time. ‘Beth? It’s Danny. Is everything okay?’
He gently pushed the door wider and saw Beth’s empty wheelchair in the hallway. Stepping inside the dark hallway and squeezing past the wheelchair, he heard a radio from what sounded like the kitchen. He made his way towards the only sound in Beth’s house – the radio. ‘Beth,’ he said again. ‘Don’t freak out, it’s just Danny. I got your message and was worried. You alright?’
He turned into the kitchen and saw Beth lying face down on the smooth lino floor. Her eyes were closed, and she looked so still, she didn’t appear to be breathing. Danny took several quick steps towards her and bent down. As he did so, a strong arm slipped around his neck; a hand clamped onto the back of his head, locking him into a shockingly powerful choke hold. He felt the weight of the attacker’s body force him to the ground, knocking what little breath he had in his lungs out of him. The side of his face was pressed hard onto the cold kitchen flooring as he struggled. He tried to push himself upwards, but the fight was draining out of him. Danny remembered a TV piece he’d done about self-defence. An expert had told him that trying to knock someone out by hitting them over the back of the head was a piece of Hollywood nonsense. You’re more likely to enrage them – or even kill them outright. The chances of getting it just right were minimal. No. The best way to put someone into unconsciousness was a choke hold. Good to know, he thought.
Still struggling, Danny caught the shortest of breaths and the medicinal smell of soap rushed into his nostrils. The only part of his attacker he could see was their elbow, clad in a crisp, white shirt. Fuck this.
His face was close to Beth’s on the kitchen floor. She opened her eyes and looked directly at Danny. And winked. As he whited-out into unconsciousness, Danny heard Beth speak. It was the same tone she’d used to him back in the Manchester Radio days: sneery, aloof and sarcastic. Very different to the cheery voice he’d heard her use two days earlier. She said: ‘Danny Johnston. You are, without doubt, the stupidest cunt I have ever had the misfortune to come across.’
FIFTY-FOUR
5.30 am Friday 6 April 1990
‘Yeah? Umm… Hello?’
‘Danny, it’s Beth.’
‘Oh, hi. Right. Hi. I haven’t overslept, have I?’
‘No. It’s fine. We’ve got a suspicious body out near Oldham. It’s the absolute back of beyond but you’re the next reporter on shift. Sharston wants you to go and check it out. Please tell me you have a Marantz?’
‘Right. Okay. Yes, I do. That couldn’t be further away from where I live if you tried. It’ll take ages to get there. Aren’t there any reporters that live nearer? Robert Crane lives in Middleton, doesn’t he? That’s much nearer.’
‘Two words Danny: STRANGE, WAYS,’ Beth shouted. ‘Robert and the rest of the good journalists are down at the jail and will be for some time. It’s down to you.’
‘Right. Sorry. I wasn’t being unwilling – just thinking of the practicalities, that’s all. Right. Have you got an address?’
‘Yes, I have,’ Beth confirmed. ‘It’s a bit of a weird one… It’s Black Moss reservoir. I’ve got some directions. Got a pen? Right. Take the A62 out of Oldham. Pass through Diggle. Stop at Brun Clough Reservoir car park. No, not Burn, Brun. Clough as in Brian. There’s a Pennine Way sign on your right. Walk the Pennine Way path until you reach a second reservoir, that’s Redbrook. The next one is called Back Moss. There’s a smaller reservoir next to it called Little Black Moss. Then look for a beach and police activity.’
‘Beach?’ queried Danny.
‘Yes. Apparently, there’s a beach there. Probably just the low water level exposing the sand around the reservoir. I don’t know. Do I sound as if I work for the water board? That’s the information that’s come through.’
‘Okay. Probably take me an hour to get there, if I get out sharpish.’
‘Then you’d better get out sharpish then, hadn’t you?’ said Beth.
‘Right you are.’
‘Danny?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Don’t fuck it up.’
FIFTY-FIVE
3.40 pm Thursday 23 June 2016
There was a lot to take in for Danny as he came to in an alleyway close to Beth’s house. Yes, there was the thumping, swollen feeling in his head as he regained consciousness and realised where he was. There was also the sight of two young police community support officers looking down at him: ‘You alright, sir?’ one said in the overly-loud, overly-slow way that someone might speak to an elderly relative. He was in his mid-twenties with a light beard and seemed very wary of the situation.
‘Bit early for it sir, don’t you think?’ said the other, a woman who looked very disapproving indeed of Danny lying in an alleyway on a Thursday afternoon.
But the number one source of confusion was the explosive, orangey and utterly forbidden taste of vodka that filled his mouth and was busily setting fire to the inside of his chest. There was barely enough to wet the inside of his mouth, but it was mixing with his saliva and Danny had swallowed it as a reflex action. There was barely a shot’s worth, but it was enough to knock his senses sideways.
As Danny sat upright, he noticed his light black t-shirt was wet through, so much so he could feel moisture seeping into his trousers and underwear. He reeked of alcohol. The smell of it, the taste of it, the feel of it against his skin, thrilled and shocked him in equal measure.
‘We’ve had a complaint, sir,’ PCSO number one said. ‘Been causing a nuisance, have we?’
‘She fucking sent me out there!’ shouted Danny. ‘Sent me out to the Moss, all those years ago. She’s right – I am stupid! A stupid, stupid cunt. Jesus Christ Almighty what a mug.’
Danny tried to get to his feet but lurched sideways, leaning heavily into a hedge running down one side of the ally. ‘Take it easy, sir,’ said PCSO number two. ‘And tone down the language – there’s a police station just around the corner on Elizabeth Slinger Road. I’m sure our friends there would be happy to accommodate you if you persist in causing a public nuisance.’
Copperspeak. Never changes, thought Danny. And they’re not even real coppers. Although distracted by the notion of the alcohol that had been poured over and into him, it was clear that Danny was going to get nowhere telling what he knew to the PCSOs. He pulled himself up straight, trying to shake off the effects of being choked into unconsciousness. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep it down. Am I under arrest?’
‘Well, we could detain you while one of the local officers get here, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to…’
‘Good!’ Danny turned around and sprinted unsteadily back towards Beth’s house, half fell up the steps and banged on the door with his fist. The PCSOs were right behind him. He alternated between banging on the door with his first and jabbing at the intercom button. ‘Out!’ he shouted. ‘Come the fuck out, right now!’
Unsurprisingly, there was no reply. ‘Please, sir,’ said one of the PSCOs. ‘We’re happy to listen to your side of the story, but you’re not doing yourself any favours here.’
Danny stopped banging and jabbing. Several people were now watching proceedings from a safe distance. Danny heard some of their chatter.
It’s him off the telly.
The alkie?
Yeah, that’s him.
Danny felt the fury drain away. He looked at the PCSOs. Both were in their mid-to-late twenties. Both seemed slightly frightened. They reminded him of the policemen out on Black Moss all those years ago. ‘Really?’ Danny said, the anger almost gone from his voice. ‘My side of the story? You want to hear my side of the story? Somehow, I don’t think you’d believe me.’
He held up both of his hands to the officers, palms facing them, in a peaceful gesture: defeat rather than surrender. ‘It’s probably best if I just get myself home. Sleep it off.’
‘A grand idea, sir.’
Danny walked backwards from the scene, his hands still in the air. When he turned the corner, he started to walk quickly in the direction of the tram stop, pulling out his mobile phone as he went. A note was wrapped around the phone, secured with a thick elastic band. It was written in bland block capitals with a marker pen. It said:
BE ON THE TRAIN BACK TO LONDON BY SIX TONIGHT OR PEOPLE YOU KNOW WILL DIE
First, he rang Gary. Then he rang Kate. He asked both the same question. How quickly can you meet me at my hotel?
Then he started to run.
FIFTY-SIX
6.35 pm Thursday 23 June 2016
‘Right,’ said Danny, raising his voice over the chatter that filled his hotel room. ‘Can I get a fucking word in edgeways here, please?’
‘Sorry, Danny,’ said Kate, pointing at Gary. ‘But I haven’t talked to this bastard for twenty-odd years, we’ve got some catching up to do.’
‘That’s because you turned your back on a proper job in radio to become a zillionaire, you capitalist cow,’ Gary replied, rifling through Danny’s replenished mini-bar.
‘Dead right. That was stupid of me, wasn’t it?’ she said.
‘Shut the fuck up and listen.’ Danny had spent the last half hour in the shower, trying to wash away the smell of alcohol from his skin and hair – and the sense of fear and lack of control that the small amount he’d swallowed had given him. He’d only stopped showering when Gary and Kate had arrived. His teeth and gums tingled from the scrubbing he’d given them with his toothbrush. He’d used half a tube but could still taste vodka.
Gary and Kate sat side by side on Danny’s double bed and looked at him. ‘Okay. Here’s what I know. Beth and Jan Cave are tied into this together somehow. I don’t know how, but they are. It was Beth that sent me out to the Moss that morning in 1990 when the kid’s body was discovered, and it was Beth that conned me into going to her house today. I’m pretty sure it was Jan that choked me into next week back at the house and it was probably her that played basketball with my head against a couple of brick walls back in the day. Plus… she collects kids’ teeth. Which is a bad thing, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Agreed,’ said Gary.
‘Plus,’ Danny added, ‘they doused me in vodka to make me look like a drunken headcase. Who’s going to believe me? No fucker, that’s who. I couldn’t even convince a couple of volunteer community cops that I was worth listening to. So, as a great man once said – fuck the police.’
‘It’s getting really weird this,’ Gary whispered to Kate. ‘Really, really weird. I’ve known Beth most of my life. Okay, she was a cow in the old days but, covering up child killings? Jesus Christ. She’s got M.S.’
‘They also gave me this,’ Danny said, throwing the note onto the bed.
Gary and Kate read it. ‘I assume you aren’t going?’ Kate said.
‘You assume correctly,’ Danny confirmed.
Gary pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘So, what’s the plan? Whatever it is, I’m bang up for it. I’m serious. Heads need breaking here.’
FIFTY-SEVEN
1.25 am Friday 24 June 2016
‘There you go,’ said Gary. ‘I got the most expensive ones they had. I think you get what you pay for when it comes to baseball bats, I really do.’
Danny looked at the bat Gary had handed him.
‘That’s sixty quid’s-worth of Louisville Slugger, that is,’ Gary said, giving his bat a slow-motion swing through the air. ‘Whammy,’ he whispered. ‘Fucking whammy…’
‘Sure. Whammy,’ Danny said in reply. This is mad.
‘Here’s the genius bit,’ Gary added. ‘I bought a ball and a glove too, so if we get stopped we can legitimately say we’re just out for baseball practice.’
‘At midnight?’ queried Danny.
‘We’re very keen,’ Gary countered.
‘Of course we are. Kate, come on, what are you doing?’
‘Just texting Dad with a few reminders about Jonathan for the morning. The pair of them are like two kids having a sleepover.’
She looked at the two men, testing out their baseball bats. ‘Don’t I get one?’ she asked, stepping down from the front seat of Gary’s van. ‘Or are women not allowed to smash heads in, you sexist bastards?’
Gary handed Kate a bat. ‘Of course I got you one,’ he confirmed, speaking in a slow, patronising voice. He handed Kate a rounders bat that was half the size of the other two weapons. ‘Not quite a Slugger, but you don’t mind, do you?’
Kate looked at the bat. ‘Wow. Had they run out of My Little Pony ones? I would have preferred something with a bit of glitter on it, but it’ll have to do, I suppose.’
She briefly gave the bat a swing back and forward, then, slightly embarrassed, tucked it into the pocket of her overcoat. ‘Okay,’ said Danny, getting out his iPhone and switching it to video mode. ‘I’m on camera. Kate, you’re on lighting, but wait until we’re at the door. We want every scrap of evidence we can gather. Gary, you’re in charge of twatting anything that moves.’
‘I can do that,’ the engineer confirmed.
‘Thought so,’ said Danny. ‘Let’s go.’ The three walked quietly to the front door of Beth’s house. Danny, Kate then Gary. There was a warm breeze and the moon was bright, lighting their way along with the orangey glow of the street lights. Kate was tapping the bat against her leg and whispering something under her breath. Danny walked a little slower, holding back so he could hear: ‘Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,’ she said.
‘Okay, Kate?’ he asked.
