Justice for Helen

by Marie McCourt

  Knowing the truth helped me cope with the desperate lengths Simms was prepared to go to in explaining why the butterfly earring clip and coat fibres were found in the back bedroom.

  When first questioned by police at the pub, he was adamant that Helen had never been into the living quarters. Later, at the station, he said that he hadn’t wanted to mention it in front of Tracey, but, yes, Helen had been upstairs one night. I felt disgust as he told the court that during a stay-behind with other customers, one night in September 1987 he and Helen had ended up kissing and slipped off to the back bedroom, tiptoeing past the main bedroom where his mistress was fast asleep.

  I tightened my grip on my prayer cards, bracing myself.

  As the bed wasn’t made up, he had pulled a blanket over them. While checking Tracey was still asleep, he said Helen had pulled a coat over herself to stay warm. I assume he was inferring that the coat was her own – to explain fibres found on the mattress.

  Ridiculous, I thought. There was no way Helen would wear her winter coat on a mild September night, let alone carry it around with her all evening.

  Also, if the butterfly clip had fallen off then as he was also implying, so would the earring, surely? Yet Helen had been wearing two earrings throughout winter – with a spare (which we still have) in her jewellery box, complete with butterfly clip.

  Simms claimed they had kissed and cuddled before coming to their senses, realised what they were doing was wrong and returned to the bar.

  It was absolute nonsense. But, of course, it was a dream for journalists covering the trial. Up in the press gallery, pens were scribbling away furiously. ‘The Night I Got into Bed With Helen,’ screamed the front page of the Liverpool Echo that evening in giant font. ‘Kisses with Tragic Helen,’ shrilled another.

  My fury reached boiling point. How dare he? How dare he sully my daughter’s reputation in a bid to wriggle out of a murder charge? So, I was delighted when Mr Leveson went straight for the jugular in his cross-examination: ‘Would you agree you perfected the art of lying so that you could do it not only with ease and skill but also most successfully?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Simms replied – only to then have to admit that he had, in fact, lied to his wife, the police and his girlfriend.

  Mr Leveson suggested he’d delayed Tracey coming to the pub that evening because something had happened between 5pm and 6.10pm. ‘This is the time you were killing Helen, isn’t it?’ he asked coolly.

  Simms replied: ‘No, it isn’t.’

  When asked how the blue ankle boots from his flat had ended up in his car, he replied, ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  When asked why Helen’s hair should be in the knotted cable, which he admitted came from the pub, he replied: ‘I think someone has got hold of it, put the hairs in it and tied a knot.’

  Justice Caulfield peered over his bench: ‘To fix you?’ he asked.

  ‘I know so,’ replied Simms.

  He admitted that he couldn’t explain how a bundle of Helen’s hairs ended up in the pocket of his jacket nor why there were blood splashes on the stairs leading to the flat and the car. And he insisted: ‘I have not seen her since the Sunday night. I have never set eyes on her, I never touched her.’

  Simms repeated his assertion that, had he done something like this, he would have either buried the clothes or put them in the boot of his car and set them alight, reporting the vehicle stolen.

  John Kay QC, his defence barrister, went redder and redder in the face and shook his head so furiously that the ringlets on his wig jiggled.

  ‘But you didn’t,’ said Mr Leveson, smoothly. ‘That’s exactly what you’d planned to do, isn’t it, Mr Simms? If you hadn’t been caught out by Mr Bannister’s dog.’

  The crassest comment came when Simms told the court that the scratches on his neck, arms and body were ‘not much’ and not marks that could be said to be made ‘by a girl fighting for her life, are they?’

  I closed my eyes and shook my head in disbelief.

  Who on earth would make that sort of comment in a murder trial?

  Shortly after this, John Kay got to his feet and asked for a recess so he could take instructions from Simms.

  Outside, the court was still rammed with people who had been summoned to appear for the defence. I was told later that Kay’s voice, raised in fury and peppered with expletives, could be plainly heard by those standing close to the wall of his room.

  When the court resumed, Kay announced that the defence was resting its case.

  So, that was it: his great attempt to prove his innocence.

  With all evidence now concluded, it was down to the counsels to sum up the case. Mr Leveson began for the prosecution by insisting that Helen was dead and Simms had killed her.

  ‘Consider for a moment how what I have told you could be explained otherwise than by Helen McCourt’s death. If she was assaulted at the public house, if it is her blood on Ian Simms’ clothes, if some of her hair was pulled out, if her blood and part of one of her earrings was in the boot of his car, if all her clothes and her belongings were found strewn on wasteland in Irlam, how could she still be alive?

  ‘Put all that against the fact that neither her mother nor anyone else has either seen or heard of her since that evening and you are driven inevitably to the conclusion that she is truly dead and has been ever since that night in February last year.’

  The mud found on Simms’ jewellery was vital evidence, too, he added. ‘This is not a case of somebody else wearing Ian Simms’ clothing and jewellery – one of the rings would not even come off. This undeniably and incontrovertibly involves Ian Simms himself.’

  He continued: ‘The body of Helen McCourt would have told us a great deal but she has never been found and it may be the fact that she has not been found gives heart and hope to Ian Simms.

  ‘The Crown do not have to prove how or why she died. Only two people know what happened at the foot of the stairs between 5.15pm and 6pm on Tuesday, 9 February last year. Only two people know why it happened. Helen McCourt is not here to tell us. Her attacker hasn’t told us.’

  He insisted Simms’ guilt was ‘overwhelming’. Simms’ claim that he’d been framed reminded him, he said, of a Sherlock Holmes case called ‘The Silver Blaze’.

  ‘The other murderer would have had to get into his pub and carry out the murder without alerting Simms’ dog,’ he explained. ‘Like the dog in the Sherlock Holmes story, the dog did not bark. It remained silent because it knew the murderer.’ It was like a scene from a courtroom drama.

  In defending Simms, John Kay QC urged caution over the forensic evidence and added that without the clothing, ‘there is not the beginning of a conclusive case against this defendant’.

  ‘The Crown say he parked his car at Hollins Green and walked along a pathway, where he stripped naked. But if he was there in the car there was a canal right alongside into which he could have thrown the clothes and been back in the car within seconds. The Crown say he did not have time to hide the clothing, and for some reason stripped off in the middle of the pathway. The defence say someone wanted the clothing to be found. That is why it was not hidden in the bushes.’

  And in response to Mr Leveson’s comment about the police being lucky in both sets of clothing being found, he added: ‘Did the police have absolute luck or is it that someone is making sure they did have good fortune and luck?’

  Justice Caulfield’s summing-up of the case was dramatic. His words are still quoted to this day in stories about Simms. He opened by saying: ‘If Ian Simms has murdered Helen McCourt, you might put him in the first division of cold-blooded murderers.

  ‘If,’ he added dramatically. ‘If Ian Simms is the murderer, he had no respect for the corpse. Those who loved Helen McCourt are denied the tribute that they could have paid to her.’

  He also referred to those precious strands of hair recovered by forensics, saying that was all that remained of her, if the jury believed the prosecution. But he used the words ‘if�
�� repeatedly, stressing that by using the word he was exposing the principle of our law that had to be obeyed. ‘Notice the word obey,’ he said. ‘You the jury – and only you – decide whether the Crown has proved that Ian Simms did murder Helen McCourt. That is your responsibility; it is a heavy one but you have to discharge it honestly and truthfully according to your consciences as to how you view the evidence.

  ‘The Crown – to succeed in this case on the count of murder – has to make you sure of the guilt of Ian Simms. If the Crown has not made you sure [ . . . ] you should return to court and say not guilty. If the Crown has made you sure – on the whole of the evidence – that he is guilty [ . . . ] you return to court and say guilty.’

  His next instruction chilled me to the bone: ‘Your verdict has to be unanimous. Forget about majorities. Unless and until I tell you to the contrary, strive to reach a unanimous verdict.’

  The jury had to be sure of three essential factors: that Helen was dead, that Ian Simms unlawfully attacked her resulting in her death, and that he intended to kill her or cause serious bodily harm. Then, painstakingly, he went through every jot of evidence that had been covered in the trial: ‘If ever there was a criminal trial where detail counted, where police investigation had to be thorough and searching, where every iota of evidence had to be examined with caution, this is the trial,’ he said.

  He added: ‘It is not often that in a murder trial the body is not there to be examined by a pathologist. There is no body here . . . you have to decide how that hurdle has been dealt with by the Crown. You have to decide.’

  At one point in his summing-up, he referred to me as ‘poor Mrs McCourt’, adding, ‘I do so not to seek sympathy for her in preference to the defendant. She remains poor Mrs McCourt, whatever the verdict is in this case.’

  I’ve been ‘poor Mrs McCourt’ ever since.

  * * *

  The trial had been expected to finish on the Wednesday but the judge finished summarising just after 12.30pm on the Tuesday – and sent the jury out to consider their verdict. Once again, a Tuesday was coming into play. I was wearing Helen’s best plaid navy trouser suit. I’d lost so much weight, it was hanging off me but I felt close to her in it.

  I’d wanted to un-nerve Simms by wearing her clothes but, once again, he’d refused to even glance in my direction.

  The judge’s parting words rang in my ears: ‘You took an oath three weeks ago to give a true verdict according to the evidence. That is your task; not according to your sympathies, not according to your heart, but according to the evidence.’

  Taking lunch into account, Justice Caulfield said he would take a verdict at any time after 2.30pm. The hands of the clock crawled around painfully slowly.

  As each hour ticked by, my nerves grew. I twiddled the prayer cards in my hands.

  What if they can’t make a decision? I fretted.

  If just one member of the jury was in any doubt at all, they’d have to find him not guilty. The thought of that monster walking free, back to the place where he’d murdered my daughter, to carry on pulling pints and women didn’t bear thinking about – he could even go and dance on her secret grave.

  I shook my head resolutely. I’d promised Helen I’d get justice and I was going to get it, even if it killed me.

  Now, I’m just so grateful the jury took their time. Maybe if they had returned with an immediate verdict, the defence could have appealed on the basis that they hadn’t considered the evidence properly, that they’d already made their decision.

  Inside that room, they were so thorough – poring over every single piece of evidence. But all I could think was, What’s taking them so long? What’s going on in there?

  Apparently, plans were already being made to adjourn, to put the jury up in a hotel for the night, when the mood changed. There was a flurry of black gowns along the corridors.

  The verdict was in.

  This was it.

  John steered me to my seat. My knees knocked as I sank onto the bench. ‘Please God,’ I whispered, over and over, like a mantra. The jury filed in silently and took their seats. I gazed across, trying to read their faces but they gave nothing away. The next few moments would change my life forever – leaving me vindicated or destroyed.

  As the clerk asked the foreman to stand, a woman rose to her feet. ‘Madam Foreman,’ he said. ‘Please answer my first question either yes or no. Has the jury reached a verdict upon which they are all agreed?’

  She paused. Then her voice rang out clearly: ‘Yes.’

  The clerk continued: ‘Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’

  Time stopped. Those next two seconds went on forever. I held my breath. The silence was suffocating, all-encompassing, closing in on us. My heart was beating out of my chest.

  In slow motion, her mouth opened. And there it was. One word. Just one word echoed around the court: ‘Guilty.’

  Gasping for breath, I slumped forward. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered. Around me, the place erupted. ‘Yes!’ some of my family cried, jumping to their feet. Someone started clapping and others joined in. Mum and my sisters and I were sobbing loudly. Tears were running down John’s face and Michael’s shoulders were shaking as he buried his face in his hands.

  The clerk’s next question was ‘Is that the verdict of you all?’ and the affirmative answer from the foreman was drowned out by the commotion.

  The judge was livid. ‘Order! Order,’ he thundered. ‘This is a court!’

  I couldn’t blame my family. From the word go, I’d stressed that this was about Helen – that we would show respect at all times. But they were hurting so much. They’d lost their beloved niece, cousin, sister, granddaughter. And they were so grateful that the jury had seen through Simms’ lies and convicted him.

  Also, because I’d remained resolute and dry-eyed after Helen’s disappearance – so I could really focus and remember every detail – they’d all decided they needed to stay strong so as not to upset me. If any relative had turned up to the house weepy and tearful, they’d been bundled into the downstairs loo and ordered to pull themselves together before being allowed to see me. That verdict released a year’s worth of bottled-up emotion.

  I turned to look at Simms. He genuinely looked shocked. Journalists reported how he’d visibly paled and gasped at the guilty verdict.

  Right up until that moment he’d been convinced that, without a body, he’d walk free. But he hadn’t counted on brilliant detective work. Nor a determined mum who’d raised an early alarm into her daughter’s disappearance.

  Finally, the court was silent. ‘I have something to say to this man,’ said Justice Caulfield. ‘Words I must say by law.’

  Looking straight at Simms in the dock, he said: ‘This jury, after long and grave deliberation, have decided that you took the life of this young, happy girl.’

  I stifled my sobs into my tissue as he continued, pointing directly at Simms. ‘Having taken her life, this jury has said that you have hidden or desecrated her body so her parents can never respect her corpse.

  ‘You have cast her garments virtually to the rats.

  ‘You have done that coldly and callously and shown no remorse. For some reason, which may be selfish to you and difficult to understand, this girl is no more.’

  As he was about to be taken down, Simms turned towards the jury: ‘I never seen the girl!’ he bleated.

  It was like lighting the touchpaper. One of Helen’s cousins, Tony, lunged at the plastic partition separating the public gallery from the dock. There was no way he’d have got over the top of it, but security were on him in a flash. Then, like a bullet being fired from a gun, Michael shot to his feet. ‘I’ll get you, Simms!’ he roared to Simms’ retreating back. ‘I’ll wait for you!’

  The guards hurried Simms down the steps with more urgency. Once again, the judge erupted: ‘Is there no respect for this court?’ he said. ‘I know your grief, horrors and anguish, but you must remain quiet. There is pandemonium.’


  With all due respect, I wanted to say, you have no idea of our grief, horrors and anguish. Not only have we lost our Helen but we have spent the last year, and will spend years to come, digging for her body so we can lay her to rest.

  Michael was trembling like a leaf as I gently guided him back into his seat. To this day, he has no recollection of his outburst. A spontaneous reaction, straight from the heart, it just shows the enormity of feeling that consumed him in that moment. He had lost his beloved sister, his best friend, his mini-mum, who had always been there for him. She was the one who had put plasters on his scraped knees, kissed his tears and given him, as a terrified toddler, the courage to touch sand for the first time.

  Both he and Tony had thrown themselves into the family searches, crawling into dark, dank, rat-infested tunnels with ropes tied around their waists, looking for Helen’s body. Of course, they were going to lash out.

  ‘Tell us where she is,’ someone else wailed in anguish. It could have been any one of my family – they were all hurting.

  Before retiring, the judge thanked those witnesses who had found Simms’ clothes and Helen’s belongings. And he singled out praise for the police: ‘It was a difficult case brilliantly executed,’ he said.

  Some of the female jurors were openly crying as they filed out of the courtroom. Again, the family applauded. We couldn’t help ourselves.

  * * *

  That was Justice Caulfield’s last ever trial. In subsequent interviews, he commented on the uniqueness of the case, saying he had never heard applause in a trial before.

  Emerging from the court, I was taken aback at the sheer number of journalists all waiting for me to speak.

  ‘Mrs McCourt, how are you feeling?’ someone called.

  ‘I am happy with the verdict – if life means life,’ I said. ‘Hopefully, he will open his mouth now and tell us where she is. That is all we want to know – that is all we have ever wanted to know.’

  Vowing to carry on searching, I said, in a shaky voice: ‘I’m convinced she will be found one day. None of us accept that we will not see her again.’