by Robert White
Jamie wiped his tears. “I’m so sorry Dad, I’ve let the family down.”
Harry sat opposite his son, reached across the table and gripped his hand. “Don’t talk like that now lad. I know you, probably better than you know yourself. Come on, talk me through this.”
And Jamie did just that. He told his father exactly what had happened, how he and Bird had been compromised, how they’d been fired upon and how they’d given chase to Barry McGuire. Slowly, Jamie talked his father through the final moments of the contact. When he had finished, there were more tears.
Harry watched his son cry. He sat back in his seat, his head full of conflicting emotions.
“And what did you tell the RUC?”
Jamie lifted his head from his hands. “That the boy came down the escape with his gun, and Bird had no option.”
Harry nodded. “But the boy threw down?”
“Yes Dad.”
“So, you lied to protect Valance?”
“Yes Dad.”
“But there is a witness… a girl?”
Jamie nodded.
Harry rubbed the top of his head with his hands. He knew his son had done wrong, but he also knew the pressure he was under to protect his fellow marine. Even if the Irish conflict had been declared a war, Valance had broken the Geneva Convention on the taking of prisoners. But the Troubles were not a declared war, the soldiers deployed over the water were peacekeepers, policemen in army uniform, who must follow strict rules of engagement.
Harry considered his words carefully.
“Listen son, there is no doubt in my mind that McGuire deserved to go; he’d fired on you, not knowing if you were armed or not. If you had put two in his back as he ran off after the first challenge, we wouldn’t be here now. But the point is this, once a man surrenders to you, you must take him prisoner. It doesn’t matter if you are fighting a full-blown war or not. A man has surrendered himself, and even though he has done his best to kill you, he had the rights of either a prisoner of war, or, in McGuire’s case, a civilian criminal. Valance knew that, you knew that.”
Jamie stayed silent.
“So, what are you going to tell your lawyer? This guy Kane. What will you tell him? What you told the RUC? Or what you just told me?”
“I don’t know Dad. It’s driving me crazy.”
Harry took his son’s hand again. Jamie had never seen his father so intensely serious.
“Listen to me son. Your first priority as a Royal Marine is to queen and country. To uphold the values and reputation of the Crown and the colours, to follow your orders, to do your duty, and to defend the good name of the British Armed Forces.
“What Valance did was to tarnish the good name of the Royal Marines, and with that act, disgrace the whole of 40 Commando.
“Now, I fully understand that the friendships formed in conflict, are some of the strongest bonds a man can hold, but I still believe that the reputation of the Royal Marines comes first. What Valance did was nothing short of murder. I brought you up to know right from wrong Jamie. If you don’t want to listen to my advice, then that is your prerogative, you are a grown man, but you asked my opinion, and now you have it.”
Jamie squeezed his eyes closed and held the bridge of his nose between thumb and finger. His tears had dried, but as he opened his eyes to look at his father they were red with salt. He bit his lip, then spoke.
“I know what you are saying Dad, but that lad didn’t think twice about shooting at us. We weren’t in uniform, we weren’t showing arms. His whole plan was to walk up to two guys sitting in a car and wipe them out. Cold and calculated. Now, I owe Bird Dad… I know he did wrong, but I owe him big time. He saved my life.”
“You never mentioned this lad.”
Jamie nodded. “I know, he did. He… he saved me that day on the Galahad. I’d gone back down below to try and get some more lads out and got myself trapped in the fire. Bird pulled me free… protected me… without him, I’d be a goner for sure. Now I’m expected to hang him out to dry for some little shit terrorist?”
Harry’d had a feeling that there had been a special bond between the two lads, he’d just not realised it was one so close.
The closest possible.
Harry grabbed Jamie’s hands again. “I can’t tell you what to do son, but just think on this. What would your mum want you to say?”
Jamie blew out his cheeks and sat back in his chair. He was about to speak when there was a sharp rap on the door and one of the guards entered. Standing with him was Montague Kane.
“I’m sorry to interrupt gentlemen,” he said sharply. “But there has been a major development in the case and we need to change our arrangements forthwith.”
He sat, reached across the table, took Jamie’s hand and shook it. “My apologies Mr Strange… Kane, Montague Kane, I’m acting as your defence barrister… not the best introduction, but a necessary one.”
Jamie shrugged. “That’s okay Mr Kane.”
The lawyer shook his head. “Monte… call me Monte please… yes, anyway, as I was saying. I’ve just been informed that the prosecution is now looking to make a deal, and avoid a trial.”
Harry screwed up his face. “Why such a swift change of heart? You led me to understand they were determined to make an example of the lads.”
Monte opened his briefcase and removed a file. “And they were Harry, indeed they were, but as I said, things have changed.”
Kane took a swift glance toward the door to ensure they had privacy.
“It would appear, that Valance has stated, off the record, that he did indeed shoot McGuire after he had thrown down his weapon, and that he placed your son here under duress to support his story.”
Kane’s eyes burned into Jamie. “Is that the truth Mr Strange? Did Valance pressure you to lie for him?”
Jamie nodded, and a wave of relief that only the telling the truth can allow you flowed through him.
Kane appeared emotionless. “Good, at least we are on the same page. Now here is the crux of the matter. The reason that everyone suddenly wants to play ball.
“Valance is adamant that if he is put in the dock, charged with the murder of Barry McGuire, he will testify to the fact that he was under orders to kill him, armed or not.”
“You mean this ‘shoot to kill’ business on the news?” blurted Harry.
“Exactly,” said Kane again looking directly at Jamie.
Jamie shook his head. “Not to my knowledge sir… in fact we were briefed just prior to deployment, and our rules of engagement were spelled out in no uncertain terms.”
Kane jotted on a pad. “And who gave this briefing?”
“I’m sorry Mr Kane,” said Jamie, “but in our line of work, real names and ranks are rarely used. We are briefed by different faces all the time.”
“So, this ‘face’ couldn’t be named?”
“No sir.”
“So, Valance is lying?”
Jamie considered his words carefully.
“There has been a… a mood around the barracks for some time Mr Kane… I mean Monte…”
Kane pushed. “A mood? What kind of mood?”
“Well the lads are fed up with having their hands tied behind their backs. I mean, we all know who the terrorists are, we know where they live, where they drink. They come and go almost at will, and our side are losing good blokes to snipers and car bombs.”
The brief scribbled some more. “So, there is a policy.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Jamie flatly.
“No,” muttered Kane. “No, you didn’t. But the fact that Valance is prepared to say it in court has got the whole of Whitehall jumping through hoops to settle this case quietly. Apparently, the powers that be are under terrific pressure to appoint a senior British policeman to head an official inquiry.”
Harry St
range had listened intently to what was said. He lay both palms on the table, his voice measured.
“What exactly are the prosecution offering?”
Monte pushed his pad back into his case.
“Valance to plead to the accidental discharge of his weapon, therefore the murder charge commuted to manslaughter, maximum term five years, and Jamie to plead to a charge of attempting to pervert the course of justice with the guarantee that he will serve no more than twelve months.”
There was silence in the room.
Kane broke it. “If you want my professional opinion chaps, it is what the Americans call a ‘slam dunk’, a ‘no-brainer’. Of course, both Valance and Jamie will be discharged with disgrace as a matter of course.”
Jamie rubbed his face with his palms.
“Twelve months?”
“Better than life,” said his father flatly.
Jamie couldn’t think straight. “And what will I do without the Marines? Without the service? What am I going to do when I get out?”
Kane snapped his briefcase shut.
“If you turn down this offer, I will fight your case with everything I have Jamie. With the evidence from Valance, and your previous antecedence, I believe we would have a chance at a not guilty verdict; that said, a jury is always a gamble, and nothing is certain.
“I believe this agreement is for the best.”
Jamie looked at his dad.
Harry nodded, and the deal was struck. Jamie would go to jail for a year.
* * *
The military trial of Richard Valance and Jamie Strange was listed for a guilty plea from both parties as agreed. Montague Kane sat in the judge’s chambers, alongside his colleague Reginald Gold, who acted for Valance. The meeting no more than a rubber stamp, to confirm the agreed sentencing policy after pleas were submitted.
There had, however, been a sticking point, not considered when the deal was struck with prosecuting council.
If a soldier, sailor or airman is convicted of a criminal offence, and sentenced to fewer than two years, he or she would be incarcerated at MCTC Colchester. This, said the judge, was unacceptable, as the facility was too “comfortable” for his liking, and he would insist, no matter what political fallout, that both Valance and Strange be sent to a civilian prison of suitable category for the offences concerned. Therefore, the minimum term Jamie Strange could receive, would be two years, meaning, with full remission for good behaviour, he would be out in sixteen months, rather than the agreed twelve.
Monte Kane had dealt with many judges of this ilk.
It was his firm knowledge that, should the defence council baulk at his terms, a trial would ensue that would give His Honour, or in this case, His Lord, a great deal of publicity.
Some judges simply enjoyed the limelight, and Lord Justice Faversham was one of them.
Monte, never a man to lie down and accept defeat, trudged down to the cells below the courtroom to see Jamie and give him the news.
Jamie threw back his head in despair, “So, sixteen months then Mr Kane? I don’t know…”
Monte sat.
“Jamie. From the moment the deal was offered, I began to examine the possibilities of an appeal for Richard Valance. Any appeal against his conviction, would automatically appeal yours, understand?”
Jamie looked confused. Monte ploughed on.
“I have yet to discuss the matter with Reginal Gold, our co-council, but I feel that there would be a strong case. Now, I hear you say, ‘Why not attempt this argument today?’
“Well, to test my theory in a trial, especially with a judge like we have here, would be a massive risk. Anything, and I mean anything, could happen if we go down that route. But, if we wait until Valance enters his plea and is sentenced, the appeal procedure is heard solely by the legal professions, and would be judged purely on technical argument. Do you understand that Jamie?”
“I think so.”
“Look, an appeal basically takes the emotion out of the process. Trust me on this and you may just serve even less than your year… And don’t forget, you’ve already served some time in Colchester, and that will count toward this pathetic sixteen months the old buffoon upstairs is insisting upon.”
Jamie reluctantly agreed to the extra term.
As the pleas were entered, Monte commanded the courtroom as ever, pleading his client’s previous good conduct and heroism under fire. It was purely for show, and of course, for the benefit of the amassed press crammed into the court. The verdict was never in doubt, and neither was the outcome.
Jamie Strange was sentenced to two years in jail, Richard Valance would serve five. Both were dishonourably discharged from the Royal Marines.
Montague Kane left the court immediately the verdicts were issued. He walked alongside his colleague Reginald Gold.
“Well that was a load of tosh eh Reg?”
“I thought it went well Monte. Those boys could have been staring at a life sentence.”
Monte stopped in the hall and gripped Reg by the arm.
“Listen, the fools up in Whitehall were so concerned to keep a lid on whatever is going on in Ireland, that they were too quick to hatch this carve-up. How can a man be guilty of manslaughter, when his only admission is to accidentally discharge his weapon? If we appeal Valance’s conviction, I think we’d be onto a winner.”
“You are a sly old dog Monte,” smiled Reg.
Monte walked some more. “And, all money in the coffers Reg, money in the coffers.”
* * *
Later that morning, Jamie was asked to change from his military uniform into civilian clothes before being transported north. Monte had once again, pulled some strings and Jamie would serve his time out in Walton Jail, Liverpool, enabling Harry regular visits that would not break the bank.
As the two now ex-marines were ushered to their awaiting transport, Bird stopped and waited for Jamie. It was the first time they had spoken since the day McGuire was shot. Both men stood opposite each other, handcuffed and disgraced.
“You doing all right there blue?” asked Valance.
“Under the circumstances Bird, yeah I suppose.”
The Aussie nodded. “I’m sorry it turned out like this eh?”
“Me too, my dad is gutted.”
“I’ll bet… so I suppose you all hate my guts then?”
Jamie shook his head. “You saved my life Bird, I can’t forget that. You made a mistake, that’s all.”
The prison guard gave Jamie a nudge to move the lads along. As Richard Valance was stepping into the back of his transport, he raised his hands, displaying the cuffs that bound him.
“You were right all the time about the Aussies Strange Brew… a set of convicts we are.”
The doors were closed before Jamie could answer. He stepped into his own van, walked down a narrow corridor and sat in the end cell, a room not big enough to turn around in. He cricked his neck to see Bird’s van move off.
“See you on the other side, Birdman,” he muttered.
* * *
Detective Jim Hacker
The news that Jamie Strange had been incarcerated came as both a shock and a blow. I’d met with Harry just a month before Christmas 1983, and he was as down as I’d seen him since the loss of his wife, Rose. We’d sat in silence in the Hole in the Wall on Fylde Road, for over an hour, before Harry stood, bid me the season’s greetings and left me nursing a half pint of best mild.
Sometimes, there is nothing to say.
* * *
The next morning, 26th November 1983, I arrived at my office to find the department buzzing with activity. A renowned cannabis dealer, one Mohammed Mahmood had been found dead on waste ground at the rear of Blackburn Rovers football ground.
Mahmood was a middle-ranking dealer. He had been arrested and charged with possession with intent
to supply cannabis on two occasions and had spent three years in jail as a result. However, this had not cooled his ardour toward making his living importing the drug from his homeland and distributing it all over the county. He had been on our top-ten list of targets for over two years but had proved a very slippery character. He was renowned for his ability to move his drugs quickly and had a good solid client base. He was also known to be extremely violent if crossed.
The murder incident room at Eastern Division, had informed our team immediately and requested that I visit the scene and brief the incident commander, one Detective Chief Superintendent Alan Crocker, with all we knew about the victim.
I pulled Mahmood’s considerable file from our records and made the seven-mile trip to Ewood Park in the company of our recently appointed collator Candice Ballantine.
Since the 3D Ice debacle, and the demise of our previous collator, Colin Whittle, Candice had proved to be a sterling worker and found the task of gathering the various strands of information on our targets fascinating.
She had a naturally analytical mind, and I had suggested that she might consider leaving her civilian role and joining the force as a WPC.
The scene we were greeted with at Blackburn that day ensured Candice remained firmly office-bound from thereon in.
Mahmood had been killed on the spot where his body lay, but prior to the final act of murder, his attackers had systematically beaten him. This, however, had taken place elsewhere as the only blood at the scene was from a solitary shot to the back of Mahmood’s head. The round had exited through his left eye socket and the pattern of blood, mixed with parts of the victim’s eyeball had splashed out in front of his corpse and decorated the concrete in front of him.
He had been bound, both hands and feet, with what appeared to be nylon rope or washing line; there were also lesions around his throat, consistent with having a ligature placed around his neck at some earlier juncture. Then, it appeared he had been made to kneel on the ground, before the final act took place.
Mahmood appeared to have been driven to his final destination in a Sierra Cosworth car, as it sat not ten yards from where his corpse lay, yet no attempt had been made to destroy the vehicle and any possible forensic evidence inside. A PNC check of the vehicle revealed that it was registered to Mahmood himself.
