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Группа авторов. The Scapegoat: One Murder. Two Victims. 27 Years Lost.
Copyright
Contents
Cast of Characters. THE VICTIM AND HER FAMILY
THE MAIN SUSPECT AND HIS FAMILY
PERSONS OF INTEREST
PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR AND INFORMANTS
DERBYSHIRE POLICE
MATLOCK MERCURY STAFF
OTHER JOURNALISTS
OFFICIALS
WITNESSES
Map of Bakewell Cemetery
Introduction
CHAPTER 1 ‘Stephen Who?’
CHAPTER 2. The Downings
MURDER BID CHARGE
WOMAN DIES AFTER ATTACK IN CEMETERY
YOUTH ON MURDER CHARGE IS FOUND GUILTY
CHAPTER 3. What Ray Saw
CHAPTER 4. The Confession
CHAPTER 5. The Witnesses
CHAPTER 6. Stephen’s Version
The cemetery always seemed empty even when there were other people milling about – although I felt particularly isolated when I was alone. The creaking of the huge timbers in the roof structure of the unconsecrated chapel gave the place an eerie feeling, as if you were never quite alone. It was September and, while the day was warm enough to work without a jacket, the chapel had a chillness that cut to the bone. I wasted no time in getting a fire going with the hope I could push back the blanket of cold – at least enough to be able to enjoy my break. I then collected the tools I needed. I don’t have any recollection of any unusual visitors to the cemetery during the morning before my break, although I do recall one lady who regularly walked her dog in there. More often than not I would see her in the afternoon, but on that day she came in the morning. I never got to know her name but, as was customary, she stopped by me and we chatted briefly. She asked me where I had been for the past two days, as she had not seen me, and I told her that I’d been off with a cold. She told me to keep warm and I informed her that I had a fire going in the unconsecrated chapel. I remember the lady quite clearly, as it was the first time I had seen her wearing a salmon-pink wool topcoat. I think I may have commented on how nice it looked and that it went well with her blonde hair. I recall her saying it was a new one, as she normally wore a beige coat. She went on her way and I returned to work
I heard the clock strike noon and I stopped clipping grass and took out the pocket watch I had borrowed from my father. I gathered my tools and returned to the unconsecrated chapel where I had my lunch and a cup of coffee. I followed this with a cigarette and reluctantly pulled myself away from the fire’s inviting warmth to tinker with an old Allen mower. I took out my father’s pocket watch again and saw that it was about 12.55 p.m. I then lit another cigarette and went to smoke it standing by the steps to the right of the unconsecrated chapel. I noticed a woman walking up the path towards the junior school. I had never seen her before, so I continued to watch her until she went behind the hedge surrounding the Garden of Remembrance. There had been some damage caused to some of the graves, nothing too serious, just childish vandalism, so I was asked to look out for any such behaviour. By the time she passed behind the hedge I had finished my cigarette and, realising she would not be the kind of person to do any damage, I went back inside the chapel where I stoked up the fire. I then put on my jacket and picked up my lemonade bottle with the hope of getting to the shops before they closed for lunch. By the time I left the unconsecrated chapel it would be about 1.05. The shop I was heading for normally closed at 1 p.m., but had on occasions been known to stay open for a few minutes longer if they had customers in already being served. As I walked along the main drive I soon noticed that the woman, who I later learnt was Wendy Sewell, was walking along the bottom footpath that runs alongside Catcliff Wood. She was a little way ahead of me and seemed to be in no rush. She appeared to be looking from side to side at the inscriptions on the headstones. I estimate that it would have taken around two to three minutes to cover the length of the path, with the woman disappearing behind the consecrated chapel moments before I drew level with the building. As I went past she did not continue on her journey and I naturally assumed that she had turned around to retrace her steps. I didn’t turn around to look. When I came level with the lodge I saw Wilf Walker and his wife at the door. I don’t think his wife acknowledged me, but Wilf and I nodded to each other. I turned left outside the gates and passed Peter Moran crossing the road on his way back to work. We both said hello to each other without stopping. As I got nearer to the shop I passed Charlie Carman, also on his way back to work. We both greeted each other and again neither of us stopped. Moments later, I realised the shop had already closed so I went home
Upon arrival I went to unlock the door and my mother called to me to say the door wasn’t locked. I went in via the back door where my mother greeted me. She was in the process of making herself a cup of coffee and explained that she had not long arrived home. I asked if she would buy me a bottle of lemonade when the shop reopened. My mother said she would. I then counted out the money – minus the allowance on the returned bottle. She asked if I would like the bottle of lemonade bringing down to the churchyard and I said something along the lines that it would be all right either way, as I could always take it with me the next day. I then asked her if she had fed my baby hedgehogs, as that was one of the main reasons I had gone back home. She said she had. A couple more minutes passed and then I said I had better be getting back. My mother offered to make a cup of coffee, but I refused. I never liked to be away for too long in case anyone checked up on me and I had to explain the reason for my absence, as I had perhaps spent about five minutes or so with my mother before leaving and making my way back to the cemetery by the same route. As I entered the main gates of the cemetery, I noticed that Wilf and his wife had gone into the lodge and closed the door. After going a little further, I took my jacket off and carried it over my shoulder. It wasn’t until I was passing some of the first graves that something caught my eye, so I looked to my left. It took a few seconds to realise that it was someone lying on the bottom path, so I walked over. It was impossible to see the blood from the main drive or any of the external signs of injury. I threw my jacket down at the victim’s feet and then I knelt at her side. It was not possible to check for any signs of life while she was lying on her front, so I rolled her over towards me. There was quite a lot of blood on the path and her hair was heavily soaked in it. I don’t recall seeing any facial injuries. I felt for a pulse at the neck but found none. It came as a shock when she raised herself up, and I too reacted by getting to my feet. It was at this point that I had something sharp pressed into the small of my back and I began to turn to try to see who was behind me. I was ordered not to turn around and was told if I was to say anything my sister would get the same. The man said something along the lines of ‘have you found it?’, as if to address another person. No reply came and then the next thing I knew was that the person had left me, and I turned at the sound of rustling foliage as they made their escape down into the woodland area. I gave him and his companion no more attention but picked up my jacket and ran over to the lodge, whereupon I asked Wilf Walker if he was on the phone. He said he wasn’t and asked me why I should enquire. I informed him that a woman had been attacked. He asked me to show him where and he followed me to the corner of the lodge. I pointed in the direction of where she lay. He said some of my work colleagues had come into the cemetery and we should check first to see if they had already called the emergency services. As we got to within a few yards of the chapel we were met by other workers carrying out sheets of asbestos and leaning them against the outside of the building ready for loading on to a Land Rover. They had arrived in Watts’s white van. Wilf asked them if they had seen anything or called the police or an ambulance. They said they hadn’t and one of them went off to make the call. Shortly afterwards Dawson arrived in the Land Rover. As I recall, Dawson made to go over to where she was, and at the same time shouted she was getting up. I had my back to her and turned to look. She was already on her feet and managed to take a few steps, perhaps two or three, before losing her balance and falling forwards, banging the left side of her forehead on the corner of a headstone. Dawson was slow to react and had taken only a couple of steps by the time she was falling over. Watts shouted to Dawson he should just leave her alone and not touch anything. We then stood outside the unconsecrated chapel near to the steps leading to the bottom footpath. It must have been about 10 to 15 minutes before a police officer, PC Ball, arrived on the scene and came over to where we were standing. He asked a few questions as to who had found her, what we were doing there, then asked where she was. We indicated, and he went over to her and had a look and then walked part of the way back before calling me over to where he waited. He asked if I had been the one who found her, and I said I was. He then went on to ask me to say where, and I told him, and even pointed out the place from where we stood. Finally, he asked if I had touched anything. I said I hadn’t except for turning her over, and I showed him my bloodstained hands. I asked if I could wash the blood off my hands, but he said no, it would be needed for forensics. We then went over to where the rest of the group stood. I seem to recall him asking a couple of questions – if any of them had seen or touched anything. They all answered no. I think it was Dawson who asked if it was all right for me to help them load the Land Rover and the policeman said it was. The policeman then went back and placed his tunic over the body before going to his car and making a call on the radio. It would be a good 15 to 20 minutes, at a guess, before anyone else arrived and maybe as much as another 5 to 10 minutes before a Detective Inspector Younger came to ask me the same questions that PC Ball had just asked. I gave him the same answers. He went back to the others for a brief moment and then came back with someone else in a suit. I was asked if I would be willing to go with them to the station for further questioning, which I agreed to do. I was led over to a blue and white police car where I sat in the back with one of the policemen, while the other got in the front with the driver. As we were about to go through the cemetery gates the ambulance arrived
CHAPTER 7. Believing the Beebes
YOUTH ON MURDER CHARGE FOUND GUILTY
CHAPTER 8. The Running Man
CHAPTER 9. Persons of Interest: Mr Orange, Mr Oulsnam and Mr Red
CHAPTER 10. Who Was Wendy Sewell?
HM Prison, 7 North Square, Dorchester, Dorset. Dear Don, I would like to say thank you to you and your staff for taking an interest in my case, but above all for believing in my innocence. I appreciate that it is quite an undertaking for a small paper to take on, also in view of its limited number of readers. I hope that I am able to help you with the investigation as much as I possibly can. I trust that what I have sent will be enough to get you started. Please feel free to ask more of me. I don’t see why I should sit back and let you do all the work. Stephen Downing
CHAPTER 11. Anatomy of a False Confession
A few minutes after arriving in the police station I was escorted upstairs and shown into a room on the left of the upstairs landing. It was quite a large room and one wall was dominated by two large sash windows. The sparse furnishings consisted of two desks, four or five chairs which looked like dining-room chairs and a couple of filing cabinets. I was told to sit on one of the chairs that had been left in the centre of the room. The uniformed police then left the room and Detective Inspector Younger and another detective whose name was Johnson came in. They immediately began to ask me questions. One sat in front of me at the desk while the other sat behind my right shoulder. They took it in turns to ask questions. This went on for between 10 and 15 minutes before they got up and walked from the room saying, ‘We’ll be back.’ As soon as they left the room a couple of uniformed police would come in. On other occasions PC Ernie Charlesworth would come in alone. He would position himself just in front of me and would speak as if he was my father giving me advice. He told me that if I co-operated he would do what he could to make the penalty less severe. As I was being questioned I looked out the window and saw a workman up a ladder wiring something up. When I asked what he was doing, I was told the phone people were installing extra telephone lines as a result of the case – and he seemed to suggest this disruption was all my fault, as if I had caused the whole town and its inhabitants to change their well-ordered and disciplined routine. I asked on at least two occasions to see a solicitor, and I also asked to see my family. I was told that I didn’t need a solicitor as I was only being questioned, and I wasn’t going to be allowed to see my family, although they did inform me that they would be told where I was. That was about 10 p.m., or perhaps even a little later
I was told I didn’t need a solicitor as I was only being questioned. I have a feeling that even then they only contacted my family because they wanted me to change my clothes so that what I had on could be sent off for forensic testing. I believe it would be about 11 p.m. when my father arrived with a change of clothing, but he was kept waiting. I knew nothing about the call to my family or of his arrival. At the time I was alone with Ernie Charlesworth. I was cold, tired and hungry and in constant pain from my back. I had got to the end of my endurance and I finally gave up. I told him I would make a statement. As soon as I said that, Charlesworth left the room and within seconds came back with the other detectives. Then they began to question me further. Moments later my father was shown into the room. I was asked to change into the clothes that had been brought for me. Charlesworth remained by the door watching every move and I could see he was hanging on to every word that passed between me and my dad. I vividly recall my father asking me if I had done it – and I said that I had. He told me that he was proud of me for having the guts to admit it, though not for what I had done. It was all so confusing. One moment he was proud and the next he wasn’t. I don’t think we were allowed more than about ten minutes together before he was asked to leave. He said he would be back soon and would get a solicitor. Younger and one of the other uniformed police officers came in and I was asked to make my statement. I was asked if I would like to write it or have someone write it for me. I was deeply embarrassed at my poor spelling so I asked them to write it for me. I only learned later that this was another foolish error on my part. I took the view that the woman would be able to tell them who it was that had attacked her or at least give some kind of description, so there would be no harm in fabricating parts of the jigsaw
Younger began by asking me to tell him what happened while the uniformed guy wrote it down. During the course of the statement being taken I was stopped, and Younger made a few suggestions and led me on several occasions, saying that it would mean the same but it would read better. It may seem unlikely that I could allow myself to be so foolish or naive, but I only had a limited reading ability. It’s only now when I look back at some of the letters I wrote to my solicitor, or the forms I was required to fill in, that I realise just how backward I really was. I guess it would be well after midnight by the time I dictated my statement and they persuaded me to believe that what they had suggested would be the best wording – if only to suit them. I was so tired in the later stages of my questioning that Younger put his hand on my shoulder twice to wake me up, or just to shake me. A uniformed officer wrote it down in pencil and read it back to me. Afterwards I was given a ballpoint pen and asked to sign it. At the time I didn’t realise the full implications of what I was signing. If I had actually carried out the attack, I wouldn’t have lied about the number of blows. A number of witnesses saw me leave the cemetery with my pop bottle in my hand and without a single bloodstain on my clothes. The police seemed to think I was capable of committing such an act and walking away calmly
When I read the statement later I knew there were things in it that I should change, but my reading was poor and I was very embarrassed. I had been told I would be questioned all night if necessary, and I just wanted it all to be over so I could get some sleep. I know it sounds silly now, but I knew I hadn’t done it and that I wouldn’t be kept in for long. I was very naive
CHAPTER 12. On the Trail of Mr Orange
CHAPTER 13. Walking with Witnesses
CHAPTER 14. The Bombshell
WHAT CAN YOU TELL ME ABOUT THE MAN WHO THREATENED YOU? I only saw the man who threatened me from the back as he ran off into the woods. He was wearing denim trousers and jacket, and I could see he had on a lemon-coloured T-shirt. From the back view I calculated he would have been around five feet ten to six feet four, heavily built though not overweight, and agile for his size. I didn’t see his face, but I feel it must have been someone who knew me because he knew I had a sister. I would say he had a local accent. That is to say, I didn’t notice anything to indicate he was an outsider. His voice was fairly deep in tone, though this could have been distorted as he spoke through clenched teeth in a vicious manner. As for the sharp instrument I felt in the small of my back, I had the impression that it could have been a knife. However, a knife was not used in the attack on Wendy Sewell. The police found two splinters of wood from the pickaxe shaft, each said to be around six inches in length. He could have pushed one of them into my back. WHY DID YOU TELL NO ONE ABOUT HIM AT THE TIME? I didn’t tell the police or my solicitors because I thought I would eventually be released, and I was frightened because the man had threatened the same would happen to my sister if I told anybody. WHEN DID YOU FIRST TELL SOMEONE ABOUT HIM? The first person I told was my father in February 1974 after I had been convicted. I think he told my solicitors. WHY DID YOU WAIT 13 DAYS TO RETRACT YOUR CONFESSION, AND WHAT PROMPTED YOU TO DO IT AT THAT POINT? I strongly believed that I would not be kept in Risley for very long before being released. I know this seems rather silly, but I was that naive as to believe it. It was several days before I realised that I was not going to be let out. And with Wendy Sewell dying, it had reduced my chances of the police finding out who was really responsible, as she was not able to tell them. This was quite devastating for me. It was like not being able to swim and getting thrown in the deep end. You believe someone will come along and save you, but when they don’t you realise it is up to you to do something. I had been terrified of saying anything about the man who threatened me in case the same happened to my sister. A few days after my arrest I had asked my parents to get police protection for Christine on her way to and from school and so on. But the police had refused. When I realised I was going to be held in prison and couldn’t do anything to protect her, I had to change my plea so I would be released and could watch over Christine. That’s when I changed my plea … I broke down and cried and told my father I hadn’t done it. Even this failed to get me released – but at least the truth was out. I certainly wasn’t going to go back to taking the blame
INNOCENT OR GUILTY?
Thank you for the copy of the Matlock Mercury. I should like to express my sincere gratitude both to you and your team for putting together an excellent article. I understand from my mother that it has sold 150 copies over and above the normal circulation in the local shop. At least it proves that a great many people are showing an interest, even if it is only to see if they are linked with it, as I suspect there will be a few who are worried that their names might appear
CHAPTER 15. The Smoking Gun
Dear Don, Thanks for sending the copies of the submission. I have read it several times so that I am familiar with the contents. It puts across a very strong argument to support and uphold my claim of innocence. Hoping that your time-honoured efforts will not have been in vain. Best regards, Stephen Downing
22 YEARS IN JAIL – BUT IS HE INNOCENT?
TELL-TALE FINGERTIP SCRAPINGS COULD PROVE THAT STEPHEN DOWNING HAS BEEN WRONGLY JAILED FOR 22 YEARS
5 February 1995. Dear Don, It really is amazing the power the press has on people. I never would have thought for a minute that one of the four suspects would have come forward to tender evidence, perhaps even against his own friends. I find it equally hard to believe that the police have allowed vital evidence to remain in a vault for almost 22 years. It seems that they were desperate to secure a conviction and a fast one, with little regard for who shouldered the blame. It has often been said that the truth will always prevail, and it now looks as if I am on that path. It wasn’t until the Daily Star took up my plight in a bid to establish my innocence that I began to have reservations about the kind of reception I would get from my fellow inmates. Any fears I had can certainly be laid to rest. This has become big news and a buzz of excitement ripples through the wing at mail call, with a number of eager lads jostling to be the next in line to read the following instalment in what has become Dorchester prison’s very own soap opera. Even staff are wishing me well in the fight to have the Home Secretary exercise a Royal Prerogative of Mercy. The wealth of evidence contained in the dossier would appear to offer the Home Secretary little choice in what action he can take. Whether or not Mr Howard will view it as a case of Hobson’s choice remains to be seen. Stephen Downing
Please excuse this letter being handwritten, only I’m not really in the mood for typing after hearing of the threats to you, Richard Brailsford and his family, and also against me if I am released. What is really bugging me is not knowing if my family have also been receiving threats. It is not something my mother would admit to me if asked. Can you enlighten me? If my family is under threat too, do you think the police will give them round-the-clock protection and move them to a safe house? The last thing I want is for one of them to answer the door and take the full impact of a shotgun. I don’t want that to happen to anyone, not just my family. I know that it sounds rather dramatic and something you would come to expect in a film script, but I am desperate to know that they are safe
CHAPTER 16. Getting to Know Stephen Downing
I was led downstairs after giving my statement and locked in one of the holding cells. My bed was a large wooden bench about 6 by 3 feet. It had a filthy blanket tossed over one corner and from the smell of it I would say it hadn’t been washed since the day it was first put there. The only other item in the cell was a toilet – a true luxury for its day, as I was to learn later. Even though I was fairly snug in this dimly lit cell, sleep was impossible. At intervals of about 15 minutes I was asked if I was all right. I said I was, and then Charlesworth and another PC came in. They asked for a sample of pubic hair and head hair. They told me they were being taken for forensic analysis. Soon after this I was taken back upstairs to the same interview room. Fingernail scrapings were then taken with the pointed blade of a surgical knife. This operation was not without some pain and discomfort – enough to cause me to pull my fingers away. I was told it had to be done and to keep still, but I think the sadistic sod took great pleasure in my pain. As each fingernail was scraped, the contents were put into a separate envelope and labelled. With the tips of my fingers still stinging and spots of blood showing beneath my nails I was returned to the cell. About another half an hour went by and another two visits were made to make sure I was okay. The next interruption was again to take me away from my cell and any hope of sleep. Where to now? I wondered. But my question was soon answered. I was bustled into a van and taken to Buxton police headquarters. On my way out, I caught a brief glimpse of the station clock and it was about 3 a.m. I was pushed out of the door to be met by the cold and black of early morning. A yellow transit van with black one-way windows waited at the kerb. I was flanked by two police officers and driven away to Buxton. I think it took us about 20 minutes to get there. The Buxton police centre was brightly lit and seemed a hive of activity. I was beyond sleep now as I was taken to the counter and fingerprinted. A small sink was mounted on the wall to the side and I was told I could wash the ink off in that. After several attempts I gave up. My fingers seemed as black as when I had started. I was then taken along and put in a very large cell. The door slammed behind me and I was left there with my thoughts. It was several days before I realised that I was not going to be let out, and when Wendy died it reduced the chances of the police finding out who was really responsible. As I started to grow used to my surroundings I realised this cell was worse than the one at Bakewell. Although much cleaner, the only means of sleeping was on an angled concrete slab topped in wood and no more than two feet wide. My dress boots were taken from me and I was asked if I had a tie or a belt. I hadn’t either. I was then given a rub-down search. About ten minutes later I was disturbed again and was given a full examination by a doctor. Then I was left alone for a few minutes before some blankets were thrown at me – with apologies they didn’t have any pillows. The cell was freezing cold and I couldn’t see any heating pipes or radiators. It must have been hell in winter if it was this cold in September. I counted seven blankets and folded two up as a makeshift mattress to help take some of the hardness out of the wooden bench. I used two more as pillows and three to cover myself up. I don’t know how long I lay there before I fell asleep, but it wasn’t long. I woke to the sound of the door being unlocked and a pint-sized mug of lukewarm tea and a blue plastic plate with two burnt slices of toast were thrust at me. Time dragged slowly by. The door finally opened and I asked if I could use the toilet. They showed me where it was. I was told it was a good job there were only two of us in the cells, otherwise it would have meant a longer wait. I spent much of the time pacing my cell like a caged animal. I had not been asked to remove my boots when I returned from the toilet, so at least my feet were warm. I wrapped a blanket round my shoulders like a Mexican poncho to keep my circulation going. As I left my cell I was asked where my boots were, and I told the sergeant I was wearing them. He gave me a bit of an ear bashing about that, as I was not allowed them in case I used the laces to hang myself. So on returning to my cell they were taken away again. On the Friday I was to make my first appearance before the magistrates at Bakewell Town Hall. I was handcuffed and taken back to Bakewell police station where I was put back in the same cell. I thought my case was to be heard about ten o’clock so, after being re-cuffed, I was marched 400 yards through the streets of my hometown in full public view to the town hall. We sat through a few applications for extensions to pub licensing hours, then it was my turn. Very little was said by the police or my solicitor Paul Dickinson, who had met me shortly before I left the police station. The magistrate turned out to be my former headmaster, Harry Schofield. Without any further ado, he then remanded me back to Risley Remand Centre for a week. The cuffs were put back on and I was then escorted through the streets again back to the cell at the police station. My parents and sister, who had been present at my court appearance, were brought to my cell and locked up alongside me. We were allowed about an hour together before they had to leave. It was an emotional meeting and I cannot remember what was said, but I know they were supportive and wished me luck before they had to go. The drive to the remand centre, near Warrington in Cheshire, took just under two hours. And when I got there it became obvious to me why anyone who has had the misfortune to spend time at Risley, even for just one night, will never forget the experience and will know how it became known as ‘Grisly Risley’ When we arrived at the reception area at the remand centre, I stood sandwiched between two police officers. A fat screw sat behind a high counter. One or two other particulars were taken. I was then ordered into another room and told to strip off. As I did my clothing was all noted on a property card before being tossed into a cardboard box. Wrapped in a towel, I was given my prison number, 797501, and told to go to the stores for some clothing and then to go on to the bathhouse. The kit I was given was not my size, but when I asked if it could be changed my request was denied. ‘Nonce coming through,’ bellowed one of the screws. Of course, the word meant nothing to me, but a few moments later a scream rang out from the bath area. I entered to find this guy standing in front of me naked and lobster red from head to toe. I asked one of the others what had happened to him and I was told he was a ‘nonce’ and that he’d slipped getting into the bath. I was new to this kind of language, but I was told that a nonce was someone who had raped a woman or molested a child. A scalding hot bath awaited each one that came through. The tap was left running so the bath overflowed and the water remained at the same excruciatingly high temperature. If the nonces didn’t like it they had the alternative choice of a hose-down, which consisted of a naked fire-hosing from a water jet so powerful that they couldn’t stand up. The victims would ‘dance’, spending more time on their backsides because it was impossible to keep their footing on the slippery surface of the bathhouse
I was shown the scalding bath as a warning to behave, but an ordinary bath was reserved for me on that occasion. The threat was made, however – behave or you’ll get the same treatment. I enjoyed the bath – my first since being taken into police custody. There hadn’t even been any facilities provided for washing and shaving at Bakewell or Buxton. After bathing, I dressed and collected my bedding along with a set of plastic cutlery, plate, bowl and mug. I was then put into a large holding cell with about 20 other blokes. The walls were covered in graffiti and in places slices of bread had been stuck to them with knobs of margarine. From time to time, some of the occupants would spit on the floor, which was covered with dirty paper and fag ends. After about two hours a screw appeared and read out some names – mine was one of them. We took it in turns to go before the doctor who asked if we were well. That was the extent of our medical examination. When the last man in our group came out of the doctor’s office, we were all taken to the hospital. I found out there that I was considered a suicide risk so I had to be kept in the hospital where I could be watched every minute of the day and night. The ward had partitions throughout with two beds in each section, making room for 24 beds in all. But because of chronic overcrowding, several camp beds had been erected in the centre of the ward, so there were 52 of us sharing a space for half that number. The time passed quickly and soon Friday came round. I was checked through reception and told to get back into my own clothes before being handed over to the police, who took me back to Bakewell for my regular weekly court appearance, which was followed by a visit from my family. I reminded them to ask for a hospital visit when they came again. That way, we would not have to try to talk through the mesh of a heavy wired glass on a closed visit. After travelling for thirteen weeks to the magistrates’ court, I was finally committed for trial. This put an end to my weekly excursions. However, my family began to visit me on the Friday at Risley as well as on the Monday. One of the worst nightmares I had while still on weekly visits to the magistrates’ court was to pick up a dose of head lice. They gave me some shampoo from the sick bay but it didn’t help, and I had to have my long hair cut off. They shaved my head. It had taken me over a year to grow it long – and suddenly it was all gone in just a few minutes. It was a sad day for me
My trial was at Nottingham Crown Court on 15 February 1974. To make it more convenient, they transferred me to HMP Lincoln. I was again put in a hospital. This time it had a single cell, number 13. I was there for two days and then moved to number 9, which I shared with two other men who were up on charges of murdering a prostitute. They told me they strangled her for the money she owed them. In court, I was asked how did I plea, and I told them, ‘Not guilty.’ I remember very little of the trial itself, except for the feeling of humiliation at being the focal point of everything. Looking back, I didn’t feel the defence put up much of a fight. I was led downstairs to one of the cells to await the verdict. The jury was out for less than an hour to deliberate. I had lit a cigarette and only smoked about half of it when the door opened and I was told the jury were coming back. I sat in the rear of the dock and the clerk told me to stand before turning to the foreman. He asked him if he’d had time to consider. He said he had and passed him a piece of paper. The judge slowly unfolded it and handed it back to the clerk. They had found me guilty by a unanimous verdict. They asked me if I wished to say anything before sentence was passed. I was too numb with shock to say anything. I think I said no and then just shook my head
Reporting staff are now saying that I am immature. Yet in 1990 I was considered mature. Presumably these observations are made by the same reporting staff. I don’t think it is unfair to say that I am out of touch with the real world – especially when one considers the length of time I have been away
CHAPTER 17. Face to Face at Last
CHAPTER 18. Just Because You’re Paranoid Doesn’t Mean They’re Not After You
Thank you for your most recent letters and the books that accompanied them. What a pity we are having such wonderful weather. I hanker after the walks I used to be able to take at the Verne and now I’m stuck indoors and behind bars, though hopefully not for much longer
The Home Secretary would not normally consider it right to exercise this power of reference unless presented with new evidence, or a new consideration of substance that has not been before the courts and which appears to cast doubt on the safety of the conviction. We will be looking to see whether the representations disclose grounds on which it would be appropriate for the Home Secretary to take any action. It may be necessary to make further enquiries into the conviction. Although the enquiries will be carried out as quickly as possible, this may take a little more time. We understand that Derbyshire Constabulary are not actively looking at the allegations made in your case, but will do so if our consideration of the case reveals any matters that require further investigation
CHAPTER 19. Walking in Robert Ervin’s Shadow
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN OR THIS TYPE OF CAR?
MAYO CASE STILL UNSOLVED
CHAPTER 20. Clandestine Meetings
CHAPTER 21. Battling Bureaucracy
I have looked very carefully at what you, Mr Downing senior and Mr Hale have said about Stephen Downing’s case and the various documents, which have been submitted to us. I have to say at the outset that I have not found anything in these representations that provides grounds for the Home Secretary to refer the case. As you will appreciate, the points raised in the representations have been considered, or could have been considered, by the courts already. I am sorry, for I know this will be a disappointment to you and Mr Downing’s family
1 January 1996. Dear Don, First, I should like to wish you, your family, and all at the Mercury a very Happy New Year. I am looking forward to the outcome of the Parole Board’s recommendations and whether or not the Secretary of State will agree to their decision. I also live in hope that it will not be long before you are able to publish an exclusive ahead of any story another paper may print. Before I close I would like to say a special thank you to you for all the support and hard work you have put into fighting the case on behalf of my family and myself. I hope that you are keeping well, and that the year ahead will be a good one for you. Stephen Downing
Dear Patrick, Thank you for your letter of 30 November about Stephen Downing, a mandatory life-sentence prisoner. I am aware of your interest in the case and your previous contact with my predecessor Michael Forsyth. When he wrote to you on 5 July, he told you that psychological and psychiatric reports were being prepared. These have been received and disclosed for Downing, who has made written representations to the Parole Board. The board will consider his case in early January. At this stage, I cannot give you any guarantee as to when Mr Downing can expect the final decision on his review. This will obviously depend on the nature of the Board’s recommendation. For example, any Parole Board recommendation for a lifer’s transfer to open conditions requires approval at ministerial level. I can assure you, however, that following the Board’s decision, all necessary action will be carried out expeditiously in this case. Yours, Ann Widdecombe
Dear Don, The main purpose of writing is to ask if you would like to be called to give evidence at my Parole Board tribunal in November. I have received copies of most of the reports. It is hoped for your part you will be able to shed light on the case as you see it from your own investigations. Hope something comes out of it by the end of the year. After all, we have been waiting too long for a breakthrough. Best wishes, Stephen Downing
The government are committed to ensuring that those who are convicted of this uniquely heinous crime of murder are punished appropriately. The Home Secretary is disappointed that the European Court of Human Rights has found the current procedure for deciding on the releases of juvenile murderers – which has been in place since 1908 and which has worked well – breaches the European Convention on Human Rights. However, the judgment does not affect the Home Secretary’s power to set the tariff, the maximum period to be served for the purposes of retribution and deterrence, for juvenile murderers
HM Prison, Dartmoor, Yelverton, Devon. Dear Don, I thought you would like a few words from me? I have gone down with a cold again. The cell is quite spacious though sparsely furnished. There is no light switch on the inside so lights are turned off at 11 p.m. I have had to wedge closed one of the windows – but even that doesn’t ward off the bitter cold. I am typing this with my denim jacket on. It’s just as well a donkey jacket is part of the clothing issue, as I might have to start wearing that too. All outgoing letters are censored and all phone calls monitored. The regime here is very much different from other places I have been to. Best wishes, Stephen Downing
14 October 1996. Dear Don, As much as I appreciate all that everyone is trying to do for me, the mere mention of any other establishment is likely to have the Allocations Unit considering it as a possibility. I have already had to write, pleading with them to send me to Littlehey rather than anywhere else. It is true that I would be closer to home if I was at Nottingham, but that is a Category B prison and would be a step backwards for me in terms of progression through the system. The reason I feel so strongly about Littlehey is that they offer education seven days per week and part of the curriculum includes law and chemistry, which I would like to study. I know of no other prison which offers those. At the end of the day I am the one stuck behind bars, so I want my incarceration to be as comfortable as possible. Stephen Downing
2 November 1996. This will be my fifth Christmas without a visit from my family. It’s supposed to be prison policy to promote family ties. If it wasn’t for my family, I would withdraw any attempts of an appeal, and say, ‘You’ve kept me this long, you can keep me for the rest of my life.’
CHAPTER 22. The Tea and Cakes Department
CHAPTER 23. The Cover-Up
Mr Downing gave a long history of the case and his reasons for believing that his son was innocent. A great many of the matters he raised had been dealt with in the initial inquiry. His main points were that he considered Mr Red, a former associate of the deceased, may have been responsible for the murder. Where possible, having regard to the length of time which has lapsed since the murder, I have found an answer to each of the points Mr Downing senior has raised. Mr Red was apparently eliminated from the inquiry during the initial stages of the investigation. On Saturday, 30 January 1982, I saw Mr Downing at Matlock police station. I discussed the various matters he had raised and advised him of the outcome
CHAPTER 24. Multiple Murders
CHAPTER 25. The National Interest
2 September 1997. I have had to hand in my typewriter after being told I am not allowed it after no less than 5 years – and some 7 months of which have been spent in here. After submitting a complaint to the governor, I was told I could have my mechanical one handed in on a visit. I believe it all began when John Atkins asked if he might be permitted to see me again in the afternoon. He was told no. John had phoned the prison and was told by the Lifer Governor that he could see me. I am sure it was one of the Wing SOs who refused and was niggled at getting his decision overruled. Next, I was told I could no longer have any letter-headed paper, even though I showed them the invoice. I am still awaiting a reply to my complaint. I would also like the strike removed. Given the recent way I have been treated, I am washing my hands of helping the prison do anything for charity. I do hope there will be news of a major development soon, particularly to say there will be an appeal. I would also like bail to be granted, as I want to be with my family
Thank you for the additional papers and account of my case. I am most grateful for all the time you have put in to aiding my case along. Hopefully, something positive will come out of it. I am not quite sure how the BBC is going to manage this without my account of events. Even if they allowed me out for a couple of days on a temporary licence, I would not cause the Home Office or prison any concern. As from this Saturday, I will be able to function as a listener affiliated to the Samaritans but will not get my ID card and badge until after the full six weeks training. As you rightly say, this year looks like it could be of interest. Given the knowledge of the BBC programme being put together, I think the CCRC will hold back until it has been shown. I was pleased to hear the lawyers should have their legal submission ready for the CCRC this month
17 February 1998. Dear Don, I am pleased to say that I was given a private screening of the video last week. I was really impressed with the way it was put together and highly delighted with what everyone said. It’s not surprising it made quite an impact. Two members of staff who watched it said it was powerful stuff and said it was difficult to treat someone when you know they’re innocent. Best wishes, Stephen Downing
It was most heartwarming to read the two letters published in last week’s Matlock Mercury of the public support. My case officer said he was interested watching the video. I had a wonderful visit today from my family and they told me the commissioner had also seen the video
Dear Mr Downing, Thanks for your letter to the editor of The Times. I am sorry they did not publish it. It was a good clear letter. I do talk with Don Hale from time to time and he keeps me in touch. But I have told Don and must say the same to you that it is best for me to keep out of this now. I do not want to jump on the bandwagon so late on. As you know, I wish you well. As I said in my article, I do not think there was anything that could be done in those early years after your conviction – and even if I had made more of a fuss, I am sure I would have failed until new evidence came forward as it now has, but I am sorry that I did not at least try, and repeat those apologies to you personally. Matthew Parris, The Times Room, House of Commons
CHAPTER 26. The Waiting Game
I have recently been approached by the Criminal Cases Review Commission who I’m sure you are aware are reviewing your case. I gave some information 22 years ago. I wasn’t aware that it related to your case until a police inspector came to visit me. He impressed on me at the time how convinced he was that you have been serving time for someone else’s offence
I appreciate and understand why you are reluctant to reveal your sources within the police force. However, I wonder if you would be able to speak to each of the officers concerned to ask them if they are willing to contact me. Their approaches will be treated in confidence. When you have done that could you please tell me and let me know how many officers you have spoken to
I should perhaps say in response to your protest that I had always assumed that what you were telling me was available for me to use in any further enquiries. I have mentioned your name to others whom you say told you that they have changed their evidence over the years, since I believed that by doing so they might be willing to confirm to me, rather than deny it, not knowing that I had been told otherwise by you. As you will appreciate, I need to hear it from them and not as hearsay from you. It was never my intention to put you in any danger or difficulty, and I apologise if you feel this has happened
29 August 2000. Dear Don, As you can imagine, I am well pleased with all the publicity and have nothing but support from all the inmates. I would like camera crews to go to Jack Straw and ask him what he proposes to do. I am sure that being put in such a compromising situation will force him to make a positive move or face severe ridicule. I have written to my solicitor about my mail being delayed. One letter postmarked 4 August was not given to me until 22 August. I have made efforts to complain but my applications have been returned by the same member of staff. I understand you are making good headway with your own investigations. I also hear you uncovered details of the love child’s birth certificate. I now understand it is likely to be October before the CCRC make their decision, but you only have to look back to them saying it would be July. I take little notice of such empty promises. I want to propose release on licence and consideration of transfer to open conditions as an alternative. I am still no closer to getting my own computer for legal and educational studies but hope the solicitor will be granted legal aid to take a judicial review against the prison. Best wishes, Stephen Downing
19 October 2000. I had a letter today from my solicitor who tells me the CCRC have set 13 November to preside over my case. Barry Capon said they may come to a decision or they could call for further disclosures of documents or investigations. One can only wait and see what the outcome will be
CHAPTER 27. The Longest Day
CHAPTER 28. Face to Face Again
8 December 2000. Dear Don, This is just a personal note of thanks for all the support you have given me and my family over the last 12 months, and at times when you have put aside your own problems. I don’t know who would have devoted so much time to a campaign as you have, and I should like to extend my note of gratitude to your long-suffering family for their understanding. I hope that we have at last come to the end of what has seemed a neverending journey. I would like you and your family to enjoy the best Christmas you have ever had, and I hope the coming New Year holds lots of joy and happiness. With warmest best wishes. Stephen Downing
CHAPTER 29. Welcome Home
CHAPTER 30. Freedom
Epilogue
About the Publisher
