Turning Blue

by Benjamin Myers

  Muncy says this with a raised voice. Some of the spittle comes loose. Flecks of it fly. Rutter thinks how odd it is to hear a man normally so confident and arrogant and preoccupied by appearance and status now swearing and raving like this.

  Don’t know what you’re on about says Rutter.

  You were there cunt. You were part of it.

  No says Rutter. Not me.

  Yes you. You and Pinder and Lister and all of the lads. You sick rotten bastards.

  Muncy continues.

  I told him. I told Pinder that I wanted no part of any of this and that one day it would all come out and now it is and the whole lot is coming down.

  Rutter stands with one arm behind the half-open door. Gripping the door. The door holding him up. His fingers curled around the old warped wood.

  It’s the not-knowing that eats you up like a parasite says Muncy. You can’t sleep you can’t eat you can’t do anything because this thing is eating away. Do you know our June has shaved her head?

  Rutter is confused.

  What?

  Oh aye. She took the scissors to her own hair. Made a right mess. Tried to cut a couple of her fingers off an all. Nearly hacked the fuckers off. You could see bone. They say she’s lost the use of two of them.

  Well what did she go and do that for?

  I told Pinder he’d get his.

  Muncy is ranting now.

  I told him that time was up for him and Lister and everyone. I told him.

  Told him when? says Rutter.

  Not long back. I couldn’t keep it in. That lot might be able to but I bloody can’t.

  The cinema’s shut now says Rutter. That’s all in the past. Larry Lister is dead.

  Aye and I wrote him a letter to tell him exactly what I thought of him. But it’s not over is it? Not for me it’s not. It never was. Not for me. Not for the parents of those kids. Not for the families of them prossies that Hood had snuffed. Not while those vile tapes still exist somewhere in the world. So I told him. Told Pinder. And now it has all become clear.

  Rutter scowls.

  What do you mean like?

  I’ve been driving myself loopy and it all keeps coming back to the same conclusion. The same thought over and over again. It’s all I can think about. You Rutter. You. I know it was you. Pinder got scared and Pinder gave the word and now my Melanie is never coming back.

  Still leaning against the door Rutter lowers his left hand and reaches round behind his back.

  Eh? It’s nowt to—

  Liar says Muncy. Course it is. Why else would they rope you into their scene? Get you into their club. They never fucking liked you. They used you. Used you to do their dirty work. You were their clean-up man. Pinder used to joke about your pigs but he wasn’t joking was he?

  I don’t know what—

  And that got me thinking. But what was in it for Rutter? What was in it for you? Not money. I don’t reckon it was ever money. And I realised: they let you have exactly what it was you couldn’t get out in the real world. Access – that’s what. When the cameras had stopped rolling and those bodies were spent they let you move in on them. And all you had to do in payment was clean up and keep your trap shut. I’m right aren’t I?

  No says Rutter.

  You’re a liar you are. A stinking fucking dog-fucking inbred liar.

  I’m not but.

  It has to be you says Muncy. It can only be you. They found her pencil case out the back of yours man. Yeah. You didn’t know that did you? They’ve had you doing their bidding for them. I know you done something to our Melanie. To pay me back for threatening to blab. That’s it isn’t it? Because I know all your secrets. Because I told Pinder that one day this would all come out – and now it is.

  Then Muncy bellows at Rutter: and that’s why Pinder’s been covering for you all along.

  He leaps forward and shoulder-barges the door which swings opens jarring Rutter’s shoulder and jamming his arm against the wall.

  What did you do with her?

  Rutter howls in pain.

  Ayaz you bastard.

  Muncy is in the house now and Rutter stumbles as Muncy goes for him with his teeth bared and his eyes wild. His hands grabbing at his face. Ray Muncy is everywhere. He is all over him. Fingers tear at Rutter’s cheek and thumbs find his eyeballs. They press. Now Rutter really howls. Muncy is blinding him – fucking blinding him the mad bastard.

  Tell us where she is he screams. Who gave the word he screams again. Where is she?

  Rutter kicks out but they’re both locked in too tight in the hallway. The knife is still down the back of his trousers. He can’t reach it and the point of the blade is sticking into his leg. Piercing it. They scramble and stumble and there’s no room so in desperation Rutter knees Muncy in the groin and though he barely connects Muncy releases his grip for a moment and then Rutter does it again. Harder. Muncy doubles over with a concertina face. He is retching he is gasping. Rutter’s eyes are burning from the gouging and he sees flashes of colours. Bright flashes. Through the colours Rutter sees the dog lead hanging from the hook on the back of the door. He snatches it and he takes it and he loops it and he tightens it around Muncy’s neck. Muncy is still bent double. Rutter pushes down on the back of his head with one hand and jerks the lead up with the other.

  The red leather lead is taut. The red leather lead is tight. The red leather lead is true.

  Muncy grabs for the makeshift garrotte around his neck but he can’t get his fingers beneath it. He cannot get a purchase on it and Muncy is clutching at his throat but Rutter has his knee in his back now. He is pressing down on his spine and bending it. The arm that was jammed behind the door is screaming with pain and he can taste blood in the back of his mouth but he pushes down with renewed effort on the back of Muncy’s head and jerks the dog lead harder tighter harder tighter. There is a lot of gasping from the both of them and the sound of their feet shifting on the wooden floorboard in brute movements. A tangled dance.

  Struggling and straining.

  Lurching and lunging from one wall to the other.

  There is frantic shuffling and then Rutter is tightening and Rutter is jerking and Muncy is deflating and Muncy is crumpling beneath him.

  He is bent double. His eyes bright with capillaries bursting. Quietly coughing brilliantly gagging silently slipping away

  Rutter thinks: rope chains rubber splits scars gouges holes hair ears teeth chew snarl pigs dog rats shit shit blood blood hard heavy iron steel birth mother mess blood bulging. Shit shit Muncy.

  He thinks: fucking Pinder fucking Skelton fucking Lister fucking Hood fucking corpses fucking everywhere.

  Muncy’s legs are giving and he is gurgling and their feet are shifting in smaller movements now but still it takes a long time for Rutter to extinguish him. A long long time.

  He leans and whispers into Muncy’s ear. His breath a rasp.

  Of course it was me you daft sod.

  WHAT WOULD YOU do if it was you?

  Mace asks the question. They are both tired. They are both exhausted but they are gaining momentum.

  If what was me?

  What would you do if you killed a girl? Or a bunch of people.

  I wouldn’t kill a girl says Brindle. I just wouldn’t do it.

  But if you did says Mace.

  I wouldn’t. I’m a detective. I’m meant to be one of the good guys.

  I’m asking for the purpose of research here – play along. I’m doing your job here. It’s role-playing.

  I’m capable of doing my job myself.

  Brindle is bent over the maps. There is one of the Yorkshire Dales and there are another two of the valley. The first shows old mines and cart tracks and the other is a recent Ordnance Survey map.

  Let me rephrase it then says Mace. If you were Steve Rutter and you had killed a young girl – a teenager who was the daughter of your arsehole neighbour – where would you put the body? I mean how would you get rid of it? What in your experience is a typical metho
d?

  Brindle speaks without looking up from his map.

  There is no typical way but obviously burial is the most common method of disposal. Obviously.

  So let’s say he buried it. Buried her.

  He would do it on the moors says Brindle as he sweeps a hand across the map. All this space.

  He moves from one map to the other.

  Of course agrees Mace. That seems like the obvious place. They never found all the bodies of those poor kids up on Saddleworth Moor did they? Some maybe but not all. But in the middle of winter? When the ground is frozen solid and covered in a layer of snow and the place is flooded with dibble? You’d need to burn a day-long fire to soften that soil before you could even get a spade in. And who’s going to light a fire on the moor-tops? You might as well have a sign advertising what it is that you’re doing.

  That’s a good point says Brindle. You’ve actually made a good point there.

  From you I’ll take that as high praise.

  So let’s think about it for a moment then. If he didn’t bury the body he either stored it somewhere and then got rid of it when the ground had softened – or he used a different method. One that didn’t involve digging into rock-solid ground. And if he stored it at the farm we didn’t find it. Maybe because—

  Mace cuts in.

  He was tipped off.

  He leans over Brindle and looks at the maps. He adjusts the desk lamp to get a better look.

  Brindle runs his fingers across the map again then Brindle coughs and then he shakes his head. Then he laughs. James Brindle starts to laugh. Mace looks at him. It is the first time he has seen the detective laugh. He thinks it is like seeing a cat or a dog laugh.

  What is it?

  Brindle’s laugh fades to a tight uneven smile.

  I’m losing it. I must be.

  Why?

  I’m such an idiot. A blind idiot.

  He runs a finger across the map

  How do you mean? says Mace.

  Weeks I’ve been working this case. Months. Months of sending myself mad thinking about that hillbilly. I’ve barely slept you know. And all the while the answer was right under my nose.

  What do you mean?

  This is the easiest case I’ve ever worked on. It was me that made it difficult. Me.

  You’re not making sense.

  Brindle taps the map.

  He dumped her in the reservoir.

  How do you know?

  He practically fucking told me.

  How?

  When I first questioned him. I asked him what had changed up round that way during his lifetime. He said not much. I asked him about the reservoir and how it had affected the farm. He said it hadn’t. That he never went up there.

  He said that?

  He said that and I didn’t even follow it up.

  Brindle shakes his head and then he continues.

  He might as well have told me: that’s where she is. That’s where I put her. Sometimes it’s like they want to be caught. When murder is their only achievement for people like Rutter it becomes a milestone event in their lives; becomes a totemic moment. Some invest it with spiritual meaning. Because they have impacted on the world and naturally they want the world to know. Of course he has been to the reservoir. Of course he has. He’s a bog-man. A moorland clod-hopper. He’s a lurker. He’s bound to have been up to the reservoir. It’s on his doorstep. And that was the signal.

  Signal?

  Yes. His signal to me. I never took his lead though. Never read the sign nor received the signal.

  That’s because you came with your city head and attitude says Mace. All you had to do was ask around.

  They fall silent then Mace asks: but why Melanie Muncy?

  It has to be payback of some sort says Brindle. Pinder or Lister or whoever is really behind all this knew Muncy was the weak link in the chain. He wasn’t on the inside like everyone else. They didn’t have enough over him. So they struck.

  They got Rutter to do it?

  Yes.

  Why him?

  That I don’t know. But I would say that our pig man is the stooge in all this. Money or fear or intimidation or blackmail – take your pick.

  How will you ever find the girl? There are drifts and undertows. There will be hidden caves and all sorts.

  No says Brindle. You’re wrong. It’s man-made isn’t it – the reservoir. A modern construction.

  Yes.

  So it will likely be stone-lined. All the modern reservoirs around here are. I looked into it. We’ll find it eventually. We’ll drain it if we have to. Have you seen one of those things emptied?

  No says Mace.

  I have. It’s like looking down into hell.

  WHEN ROY PINDER gets home late and glassy-eyed his wife is not there but Skelton is. Skelton is sitting in the living room and Skelton is smoking a cigarette and watching a game show.

  Hello Roy.

  Pinder starts. Pinder freezes. Pinder immediately knows. Knows everything changes from now. This moment. The moment that he has visualised for years is here.

  How did you get in? Where’s Val?

  Your wife has gone.

  Pinder’s knees go slack. He reaches for the sideboard to steady himself.

  On the television fifteen or more women are lined up and vying for the attentions of a man who looks like a shaved gorilla. Skelton is watching with a small smirk on his face. The gorilla man is dancing suggestively and the women are dancing along too. The audience are clapping in time.

  She’s having a lie down somewhere for a bit says Skelton. Don’t worry.

  Where is she you bastard?

  As I said she’s having a little sleep and keeping her mouth shut until everything is settled. You knew I was going to pay you a visit didn’t you Roy? I mean you must have known Mr Hood would be in touch Roy. Surely you must have known that?

  On the TV programme the gorilla man has dismissed some of the women. The lights above their heads have gone out. They are cast in shadow now. The TV presenter has an inane look on his face. His hair is combed in such a way as to look less bald.

  Lister says Pinder. Was that your doing?

  Skelton slowly turns away from the television programme. He feigns an innocent look. In the dull light he looks particularly cadaverous.

  Was what my doing?

  He stands.

  Now Roy. Forget all that and listen to me.

  Pinder steps back.

  The pig man says Skelton. Smelly Steve Rutter. Is he going to be a problem for us?

  He did what was asked of him says Pinder. Mr Hood shouldn’t be concerned.

  And what was asked of him?

  You know what. Do I have to say it?

  Yes says Skelton. Say it.

  The girl. Personally I thought—

  You thought what?

  I thought it was a bad idea that says Pinder. That it would only bring trouble to the valley. Unwanted attention. And it has.

  Mr Hood doesn’t give a shit about your backward valley Roy. You should know that. Mr Hood is a long way away from here. You should know that too.

  Why Rutter though? Why get him to do it?

  Because there’s no one around to miss him.

  I’ve had to run round covering up his tracks says Pinder. He was this close to getting rumbled by some cunt they sent up from the city.

  Oh you mean James Brindle.

  You know about him?

  Of course says Skelton. Of course. Mr Hood has been watching Detective Brindle for some time. They say he’s tipped for the top. Could go all the way. He’s young too. That must feel strange for you Roy.

  Strange. Why?

  Skelton leans back in his chair. The TV casts a cold glow across his face.

  Well. You’ve been a copper – how long? A lifetime. And here you still are. Policing the same people you grew up with. Stuck in the same arse-end town. Small fish in a small pond.

  Pinder tries not to look hurt.

  I ha
ppen to like it here. And I run things here now. You should remember that.

  Skelton stands. Skelton moves closer to Pinder.

  You run fuck all. You run what Mr Hood tells you to run. That’s why he’s chosen you to tie this all up for him. Tie off the loose ends.

  There is much cheering coming from the television. The gorilla man has picked a woman. She is orange and now the two of them are walking up a staircase adorned on either side with rows of flashing lights. The lights flash across Skelton’s face. The woman wobbles on her high heels. The pair stop to turn and wave and wink at the camera and then they disappear into an unknown future.

  What are you on about?

  Skelton rubs out his cigarette.

  Rutter’s time’s up.

  I thought you said he was trusted?

  With lovely Larry a national news story and this Brindle not giving up Rutter is the weak link in the chain. So you’ve got the job. Rutter goes tonight.

  Pinder looks at Skelton.

  Tonight? How?

  However. Like you said – you run the valley so you’ve got the job.

  Look. I’m a policeman.

  Exactly. You’re a policeman and you’re in on this. And Rutter knows you’re in on this. So it won’t look odd when you turn up at his house in the middle of the night.

  On the television the end credits of the game show are rolling. Behind them the host is gyrating and mugging for the camera. The audience are on their feet loving it.

  IT’S THE SAME rope he wrapped her up with. Bound and trussed. Tied and tangled. It’s the last of it. It makes sense this way. To symbolically bind the two of them together like that. Father and daughter. Makes Muncy look accountable somehow.

  The body of Ray Muncy is heavier than the body of Melanie Muncy and Rutter can only carry him for a minute or two before he needs a rest but at least Muncy’s not shat himself in his passing. This is what Rutter tells himself. At least he has not shat.

  They’re going to need to hide them scissors from June Muncy again he thinks.

  It’s not far to where he is going. It is the nearest copse to the Muncy place. It’ll do. A five-minute walk that takes Rutter a half-hour. His left arm and shoulder ache and his thigh is cut from the blade of his own knife. His fingers feel numb but he tries to ignore the pain. His bag with his bits in is strung to his front.