Ian Huntley’s graveside will be a lonely one. Few will mourn a man who lurked in the darkest shadows of every parent’s imagination, occupying the same space that Ian Brady did for an earlier generation. You could raise your children in loving, stable homes; in quiet, leafy villages; teach them about stranger danger, give them mobile phones, tell them to walk in pairs – and none of it was enough, because the Devil always finds a way. 

There will be little sympathy for this particular devil and some will take satisfaction in his death and the suffering that preceded it

There will be little sympathy for this particular devil and some will take satisfaction in his death and the suffering that preceded it

There will be little sympathy for this particular devil and some will take satisfaction in his death and the suffering that preceded it. If anyone had it coming, it was Ian Huntley. The indelible image of summer 2002 was that snapshot of Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman in their matching, Vodafone-era Manchester United shirts. It resembled photographs on sideboards and in overflowing shoeboxes atop wardrobes in homes across the nation. These could have been anyone’s daughters. 

Understandable though all these emotions are, the circumstances........

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