Читать книгу Torn Apart - The Most Horrific True Murder Stories You'll Ever Read - Tim Miles - Страница 5

The glorification of the criminal is a multimillion-pound industry. TV series, movies, books and newspapers feed the obsession with predators whose grotesque acts have earned them a lucrative notoriety. A quick trawl through the murkiest corners of the internet reveals literally thousands of websites dedicated to charting in intimate detail the twisted and brutal lives of the infamous.

For decades in which the rights of the criminal have taken precedence over those whose lives they destroyed, new laws in Britain – based on the experience of the American courts – allow the families and partners of crime victims to tell judges and juries of the devastating impact wreaked by acts of evil.

The repercussions of impassioned victim impact statements are being felt across all sections of society.

As a crime reporter and a former US correspondent for national newspapers, I covered a number of notable trials in Britain and America over thirty-five years, ranging from the most savage of murders to terrorist atrocities, abductions and rapes.

One clear recollection is that of a sexual psychopath accused of raping, mutilating and murdering a young girl in south London. For over a month within the confines of the Old Bailey, I got to know her father well over cups of tea in the courthouse canteen.

He was in despair at how the killer’s defence counsel had muddied the waters, using every legal manoeuvre and exploiting every loophole in a bid to secure an acquittal for his client.

What caused the father added anguish was how his daughter had become a mere sideshow in the trial, a victim with a crime reference number but no voice. To the prosecution and the defence, she was the subject of dry, unemotional legal dissection. Nothing of her character emerged from the trial. Moreover, the searing loss felt by her family was never explored.

Justice was dispensed, the police closed their files, and the day’s dramatic headlines quickly faded from public memory.

After the verdict, the father told me, with tears in his eyes, ‘No one in that courtroom learned what she was like, the person she was, her very essence, her spirit. The whole clinical process in a way dehumanised her further. She was just another faceless victim. I wanted to tell everyone what we had lost – a loving, generous, talented, beautiful daughter, someone who would have made a vital contribution to society, someone whom we deeply loved. I wanted them all to understand what had been taken from us.’

It would have taken a hard heart not to share his sense of rage and despair at the inequalities of the system.

During the 1980s and 1990s I watched with great interest as the US government effected nationwide legislation allowing victims’ relatives to have their say during the sentencing phase of the trial.

The system there has its vocal critics. Defence lawyers and jurists have argued that an emotional victim impact statement to the jury prior to sentencing can make all the difference between a criminal’s incarceration for life or his execution. The sight of a weeping relative burning with retribution is, say some detractors, enough to persuade a jury to hand down a death sentence.

Yet, as the voices of the bereaved echo across a courtroom, their raw passion has struck a resounding chord. From Britain and abroad, I have focused on those victim impact statements whose acute poignancy and soaring, narrative power bring to life those they have lost. In many cases, their notable campaigns for justice have made the world a safer and better place for their fellow citizens, often at a high personal price.

Lying at the heart of this new approach to victims is the ability to personalise them so that we are left not only believing we did share part of their lives but also that their stories, their hopes and their dreams left a lasting legacy. That the deaths of loved ones created lightness out of the dark. That out of evil came a force for good.