Beyond Innocence (18 page)

“Fate played a large part in these trials. After all, was it not fate intervening when Chambers was placed in the cell next door when they were both on remand? Was it coincidence that he confessed to Chambers, or, do you not think he had already tried to confess when he said, “has she surfaced?” The defence has tried to tell you to ignore the evidence of Chambers because he is a convicted felon. Well, why should that make any difference? Why should his word be any less reliable than Thompson’s, besides which, for all his criminal activity, he’s never been accused of perjury so why on earth should his testimony be ignored?”

“Was it fate that intervened when Thompson found a watch which, to give the man credit, he handed in at his local station, or, was it that he felt that it would be safer to do that, rather than be found in possession of it, if the police came round once the body of Angela Clarkson had been discovered? Was it another turn of fate when one of Angela’s friends positively identified the watch as belonging to her, and that she had seen her wearing it before she died. Do not be misled by the defence, making such a play about who had bought it, or, who had paid for it. That is irrelevant. The only fact that matters here is that Bridget Riley has testified that she saw her friend wearing that article shortly before she died. Please do not leave anything else to fate, or chance, return a verdict of guilty on the evidence, and facts, presented before you.”

Lord Chief Justice Ewing was waiting with his gavel for the moment when the crown submissions finished. With a swift, sharp knock, he announced a short adjournment to the day’s proceedings.

When the court reconvened, Judge Ewing took off his spectacles. He looked earnestly at the jury as he began his summing up. “In this case a number of issues have been raised, and, before you retire to consider your verdict, I think it is incumbent upon me to say a few words about those facts which appear to me to be where you may need a little guidance. First of all, there is the DNA evidence which played a crucial role in the case of the poor Wilson girl. Without that evidence there is no real case against the defendant. With no witnesses the prosecution’s case hangs in the balance and you either believe the defendant or you find against him. Counterbalancing this is the evidence of the felon Chambers. As the prosecution pointed out, because he is a convicted thief, that is no reason to assume that his evidence should not be admitted. You have to ask yourself did he stand to gain anything himself by giving this evidence, or, in making it up? The answer to that lies in the testimony of Detective Inspector Taylor who assures this court that there have been no deals made with this witness in order to get him to testify, and I have no reason to doubt that evidence. Now then what of the evidence of the prostitute Riley? Well, there’s no doubt that she was well acquainted with the deceased. I subscribe to the view of the prosecution that the purchase of the watch is immaterial. However, it is absolutely crucial that you be satisfied in your own minds that the witness Riley is telling the truth. Be sure of one thing, though, if you are not sure that Riley is telling the truth, then, that link with the defendant is broken, and the case for the prosecution hangs on whether or not you believe the evidence of the witness Chambers, and the alleged confession. In this latter case you also have to be mindful that there is no DNA evidence crucially linking the deceased Clarkson with the defendant. You have to satisfy yourself that the prosecution had no reason to pursue that line of enquiry after eliminating other people from their enquiries.”

Finally, and I have left this little bit to the end quite deliberately, you have to ask yourselves, was it just a slip of the tongue, or an unfortunate choice of words that led the defendant to utter those words,
“Has she surfaced yet?”
If you are satisfied that the defendant was simply asking whether or not his girl friend had turned up, and whether or not there had been any developments in the case, then dismiss that piece of evidence from your deliberations. But, on the other hand, if you think the defendant is guilty, then, I myself would consider that choice of words to be very damning indeed, bearing in mind, his choice of grave for her, and, the fact that only the real killer knew she had been dispatched to such a lonely and watery grave.”

With the Judge’s summing up duly completed, the jurors were dispatched to a place of security and the court adjourned to await the verdict.

The following day, after deliberating for just over three hours, a message was delivered to the court that a verdict had been reached and the jury were returning to the court. Although there was a deathly hush descending on the court there still existed a general feeling of excitement as the jury filed in.

The Clerk to the court rose and asked the jury foreman if a verdict had been reached in the case of the Crown v Thompson and the foreman indicated that they had.

The clerk then asked the same question in connection with the Clarkson case and again the answer was affirmative.

By now the atmosphere was intense as the foreman was asked,

“Do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty, of the murder of Diane Wilson?” In a low voice he answered, “Guilty.”

The clerk continued, without any trace of emotion, “Do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty, of the murder of Angela Clarkson?” And again the foreman replied, “Guilty.”

The Lord Chief Justice banged down his gavel repeatedly in a desperate bid to restore order, and, eventually, the noise subsided as he delivered his sentence. “Harry Marcus Thompson, you have been found guilty of the murders of two young women. Have you anything to say before I pass sentence upon you?”

Harry was standing now. He looked grey faced as he stood before the judge and mumbled, “All I can say is that there has been a terrible mistake, and I did not commit either of these crimes.”

The judge was suitably unimpressed as he addressed him once more.

“Quite rightly, in my view, you have been found guilty on two counts of murder by a court of your peers, and I sentence you to two terms of life imprisonment. I also authorise that you serve at least twenty years in prison. Then, with a loud bang of his gavel, he gave the order, “take him down,” and the whole procedure was over.

Irene and her team hurried out of court and down below in order to spend as much time as possible with Harry before he was taken away.

Below the courts it was bedlam. Everybody appeared to be shouting at each other and the officials were trying to hustle Harry Thompson away whilst the defence team were arguing for a few moments’ delay. During the ensuing mêlée it was finally decided that his departure would be delayed by fifteen minutes to allow his defence team time to brief him on their plans for launching an appeal at the earliest opportunity.

Harry Thompson was in a deep sense of shock. The trial itself had been an ordeal, but now, with a guilty verdict, and a sentence of twenty years minimum hanging over him, it still hadn’t fully sunk in. Irene and Michael kept trying to reassure him they would leave no stone unturned in their efforts to free him, but, nothing seemed to register with him. Although he had made a specific request before the verdict was delivered that he did not wish to see his adoptive mother if he was found guilty, Irene and Michael had ignored his plea, and now she was standing in the small room provided for them. Although he was handcuffed to a warder, and there was another warder present, both Harry and his adoptive mother were crying unashamedly. For a moment, there was nothing either person could say, they were both too upset. Harry felt the heavy hand of the warder on his shoulder, and a voice telling him it was time to go. They had moved away from the interview room provided, leaving Sally behind. Knowing there was little time left he began to issue instructions to his lawyers saying, “Please come and see me as soon as you possibly can. Please ensure that Sally never comes anywhere near the prison. I can’t bear the thought of her having to endure that indignity. I’ve told her I’ll write to her and, although she knows I am innocent, please tell her yourself, from me, I really am innocent, and, I love her. Tell her she must make a life for herself, and, if necessary, forget about me until the day I win my release. By now they were outside the building and he was being bundled into the waiting vehicle which, in turn, sped through the crowds of waiting reporters as soon as the gates were opened.

Not knowing what to expect next, Harry Thompson found his resolve strengthening on the journey to Strangeways Gaol. Already he was telling himself if this was the fate he now had to suffer, then, it was going to be a very rough ride for those people assigned to look after him, and he was determined that, from now on, there was no way he would cooperate with any person in authority. He vowed to show them all, right from the start, he was determined to make life as difficult as possible for all the staff, and no amount of punishment would make him change his mind. It would certainly make no difference to him now if any person in authority threatened to withdraw any privileges because he reasoned he had just lost his biggest privilege – his right to freedom.

All too soon the vehicle arrived at its destination, Strangeways Gaol, and the tall steel gates swung open to allow the van inside. Almost immediately, the gates closed and the prisoner Thompson was ushered inside. His sentence, and incarceration, had begun.

Royston Chambers was back inside. Straight after giving his evidence, and, once it was established that his presence was no longer required in court he was rushed back to Walton to await his trial. Already he was feeling rather pleased with himself because he had been told that the charges against him could possibly be reduced. To him, and his way of thinking, this meant he might even escape another spell in prison.

Paula Harris got out of the taxi, she looked up at the shabby premises of the Manchester and District Children’s Adoption Society offices, paid the driver, and started to enter the building. At first, she shivered with apprehension, then, putting it down to nerves, she began to walk up the dimly lit stairs to the first floor offices where she was expected.

Up until now, this had been quite a busy time for her. As promised by her erstwhile, and errant, husband the divorce papers had arrived, and she had decided straight away to allow the action to proceed. Again, as he had promised, his solicitors had intimated he would pay all of the costs, and a reasonable settlement would be arranged. Her solicitor had indicated to her that he would ensure this would be a mutually agreed settlement by both parties, and he didn’t anticipate any difficulties arising.

As a result, she was now doing what she had promised herself all those years ago. She was about to embark on the search for the first born son she had given up for adoption so long before. As she slowly climbed the stairs, she didn’t notice the paint peeling from the walls, or the single electric light bulb which hung, without a shade, barely casting any light. She paused for a moment on the first floor landing, not for breath, even though her heart was pounding; she paused because she was becoming increasingly excited at the prospect of her quest, and the outcome. Now she had reached her destination. She was standing outside the office door. Even though her baby had been adopted so many years ago, she had never actually set foot inside this building. At the time, all the arrangements had been made in the ladies hospital where she had given birth. Again, she paused outside the door, reading the yellowing, and fading, lettering, “The Manchester and District Children’s Adoption Society.” Her heart was pounding, but, there was no mistake, this was the right place, and there was no going back now. She obeyed the
please knock and enter
instruction on the door, then she walked straight in.

Facing her was a varnished wooden partition containing a glass window. As she closed the door behind her, she could she a woman walking towards the door directly in front of her. As this door opened, a smartly dressed lady in a matron’s uniform quickly introduced herself.

“Hello my name is Edith Farrell and I’m the matron in charge. You must be Mrs Harris. Please, do come in.” Showing the way to Paula, Matron Farrell urged her visitor to sit down whilst she arranged refreshments.

Edith Farrell was a typical matron. Like most matrons she had a large round figure, but, she had a most warm, and welcoming, smile. Within minutes she was back with a tray of tea. Once the tea had been poured, Mrs Farrell got straight down to business. “We always ask people, who are tracing offspring, or offspring who are tracing parents, to come down here first. This is not a vetting procedure in any way; it’s just that we feel we need to see the people concerned in order to explain to them, face-to-face, what happens next, and how our enquiries are conducted. In addition, we always have to point out not all people wish to be traced. Indeed, we find some people quite resent the fact that they have been adopted, and, in some cases, some children do not get told they have been adopted, so we have to tread very warily at all times. I’m sure you will understand. When you’ve finished your tea, I’ll take down all your details, then you’ll have to leave things in our hands. We will then contact the people who adopted your child. Whenever we make these enquiries, we always endeavour to be as discreet as possible, but you must understand that, if your child doesn’t wish to make contact, there is nothing we can do in those circumstances, and we certainly cannot divulge any information to anybody.”

Although Paula nodded in agreement with this, she was praying desperately that this would not happen to her.

All too soon, the formalities were completed, and the interview was over. Paula began to descend the depressingly dark staircase, still in a state of excitement, but, with her mind focusing on what developments might lie ahead.

It was six months since the trial, and, it was old news, apart from the fact that Harry Thompson was on hunger strike, and Royston Chambers was just leaving court after being sentenced to five years’ imprisonment. Royston Chambers heard his sentence with a sense of alarm, and foreboding, which only increased when he heard that he was being sent to Stafford prison. As he listened to his defence lawyer, Peter Ravenscroft QC telling him he would definitely get his sentence reduced on appeal, his mind was elsewhere. Two years would have been bad enough, especially when he was expecting a minimal custodial sentence, bearing in mind his evidence for the prosecution in the Thompson case, but he had been relying upon Detective Sergeant West to put in a good word for him at his trial, and, for some unknown reason, the detective failed to turn up. Apart from this, Stafford prison was the last place on earth he wanted to serve his time, due to the fact there were at least two people doing time in there who would be very interested in his arrival. As a result, he knew he could anticipate quite a period of time in the sick bay. As he addressed his lawyer he was very agitated saying, “whatever happens, when you get this appeal, you make sure that bent copper is in court. Thanks to that bastard not turning up, I’ve got to serve five years, in bleeding Stafford of all places, and the chances are I won’t survive five frigging weeks. You just make sure that you talk to him and tell him, in no uncertain manner, he owes me and, if he doesn’t deliver this time, I’ll grass him up. You just be sure to tell him that! I’ll withdraw every word of that confession, and I’ll tell the press it was all a load of lies, and, bollocks. Ignoring his lawyer’s plea for restraint, he continued, “Tell him, and his boss, that I know they were the ones responsible for it, and I don’t care who I upset now. Make sure he knows this, and you make certain you speak to the bastard straight away, because if you don’t I’ll just have to get myself another brief, and the lady I have in mind, will do very nicely indeed, plus she’ll be over the bloody moon when she hears what I have to say.”

That was as far as he got as the warders appeared on the scene, and he was quickly bundled out of the building, and into the transport which awaited him.

Although quite accustomed to dealing with people from all walks of life, Peter Ravenscroft was still taken aback, not by the outburst, but the information it contained. He knew he was duty bound to lodge an appeal on behalf of his client, but he could hardly go marching into the Merseyside police HQ and threaten anybody, let alone a detective sergeant or his boss, that unless he was prepared to give some support to the appeal cause, the shit was going to hit the fan. Already, a plan was formulating in his brain, which might ensure the presence of the policeman in court, but whether that, alone, would do his client any good was a matter of sheer conjecture and speculation. However, if he gave up the case to another QC, then perhaps, the interests of justice would be better served. Besides which, that would resolve his difficulty concerning the information Royston Chambers had just imparted. This would certainly be in better hands if a certain Irene Yarwood was informed. On his journey back to the office, he resolved to telephone her without delay in order to set up a meeting.

Irene Yarwood sat in the sparsely furnished prison interview room facing Harry Thompson, who had just entered the room accompanied by a warder who then remained by the door. With a curt, “Hello,” she opened the interview and, without waiting for a reply, continued, “Harry I have come to see you about your appeal, and, quite frankly, this hunger strike of yours isn’t going to help either of us.”

She held up her hand to stop him interrupting, saying, “If we can get an appeal hearing what will be the point if you are at death’s door? I know I can’t order you to stop it, all I can do is ask you to help me to help you.” She held her hand up again, because she was in no mood for any interruptions until she finished what she wanted to say. “I also have a message for you from your mother, Sally. She says she is desperate to come and see you, and she wants you to reconsider your decision not to allow her to visit. She noted with interest the change in him at the mention of this, but, before he could reply, she had resumed again, “Let me finish please, then, I’ll listen to you. Now, about your appeal. I think we have a very good chance of getting an appeal hearing, but I’m going to try to arrange for your appeals to be heard separately. This way I think we might stand a better chance on the basis of, if the verdict in one case can be overturned, then the other case could be weakened quite considerably, and the second verdict might even be considered unsafe. What do you think about that then?”

Harry sat for a moment before replying, “About the appeal, I’m in your hands there, and I can only be advised by yourself. If you think that’s the way forward then, so be it. Regarding myself, I appreciate what you say, but at the end of the day, I’m the person incarcerated here for crimes I didn’t commit and, immediately after I was convicted, I resolved to make life difficult for any person in here that I came into contact with. I know I am suffering too as a result, but I’m also suffering as a result of being here, and it may well be that I will achieve as much satisfaction by adopting an approach of non-cooperation, but please leave that to me. Just get me those appeals, and get me out of here. Regarding my mother, Sally, please tell her I really do know what she is going through, and how much she is suffering, but I can’t face her coming down here and seeing me in this stinking hole. Please ask her to wait a while longer whilst I see if I can come to terms with the situation myself. If I can, well, who knows? I’ll tell you what, ask her to wait until the appeal date has been fixed, then I’ll see if I can reconsider. One thing you can tell her though concerns a letter she sent me which she had received from an adoption society in Manchester. Apparently, my real birth mother wishes to make contact with me. I think it’s quite ironic, because this was something we had discussed before the case, and it was something I would have liked to pursue, but, under the circumstances, not now. So tell her that I will write myself telling them not to bother.”

Straight away, Irene saw this might be just the opening needed to lift the flagging spirits of her client as she countered, “No Harry. I think that could be a mistake. Why don’t you write? Say you would desperately like to meet her, but also tell her you can’t meet due to your present circumstances. Tell her exactly what those circumstances are, and then she can judge for herself. Don’t forget to tell her you are not guilty, and you are going to appeal. This way, it might give you, and your adoptive mother, a little bit of something to cling to.”