His words were reaching into my very soul. By now, hot tears were spilling down my face and neck. I fumbled in my bag for a tissue for my streaming nose. Of course, there wasn’t one.
‘But there is always a reason,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s just not the right time? Maybe what we want so badly could be harmful for us.’
Helplessly, I dabbed at my eyes and nose with my sodden sleeve. My shoulders shook helplessly as silent sobs convulsed me.
He was right, he was right.
‘Don’t give up and don’t lose faith,’ the priest urged. ‘Keep praying. God will always listen to you. One day, your prayers will be answered . . . ’
I was so glad we were tucked away at the back of the church so no one could see or hear my emotional outburst. As the tears ebbed away, a feeling of calm settled over me. I was meant to come to mass today to hear that message. God hadn’t abandoned me at all, He was right here. Beside me. Holding me up. It was like the sun finally emerging from behind dark, heavy clouds.
Outside, after mass, the priest held out his hands to me.
‘Hello, there,’ he said, warmly. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’
I explained we were visiting friends.
‘Father,’ I said, falteringly. ‘I want you to know your sermon has helped me so much this morning.’
Then I poured it all out. How our hopes of finding Helen had been so cruelly dashed. How my faith had been tested like never before.
The priest listened, nodding. He remembered the case, he extended his condolences. ‘Please don’t give up,’ he urged. ‘Your prayers will be answered. It may not be in the way you want, but it will always be done in the best way possible for everyone.’
Over the years, those words have come to make so much sense. I’ve accepted now that, in some strange way, Helen had to go missing in order to highlight a terrible injustice. I was meant to fight this battle for her. And I am still convinced she will be found even if it’s not in my lifetime. But my daughter will be found and will be laid to rest.
The following Tuesday, I gathered my candles and lit them one by one in front of St Martha’s statue. There was something important I needed to do – and I needed her now more than ever.
Chapter 15
The fight begins
W
hat now? Those two words swirled round and round my head like annoying, buzzing insects. If I tried to ignore them, they just got louder.
‘At least we, and this other family, know now that Helen is not there,’ John kept saying. ‘We can cross it off and move on.’
But to what?
After all these years we were back to square one. It was like a sick game of snakes and ladders; we’d been doing so well only to find ourselves slithering helplessly down the longest snake on the board. We were right back at the start. Would I even have the strength to throw the dice, let alone haul myself up the next ladder?
I gazed up at Helen’s portrait, hoping for inspiration. I’d told reporters I’d carry on fighting, continue to try and put pressure on Simms to tell me, once and for all, to end this misery and say where she was.
I was talking the talk, but deep down, I was broken – I didn’t know what to do. I was seventy and had recently been diagnosed with osteoporosis. How could I go back to scrabbling around fields and sewage pipes and risk breaking a hip if I stumbled?
We also had Simms’ adjourned parole hearing to prepare for. I’d been adamant that the Parole Board should know all about the exhumation – the lengths we were still being forced to go to because of Simms’ cruel actions. Afterwards, I contacted my victim liaison officer: ‘I would like to amend my Victim Impact Statement,’ I told her.
The statement itself couldn’t be changed but it was agreed that I could attach an addendum. Writing about this crushing disappointment tore me apart all over again. Finally, it was sent. The adjourned parole hearing, involving Simms, took place while John and I were in India. (I’d presented my submissions back in September, remember, when Simms hadn't shown up for his hearing.) Thankfully, Simms was turned down.
But we couldn’t get too complacent. Another Parole Board hearing was looming just around the corner in 2015. Once again, I was determined to give my statement in person.
At least if you’re in the room you can make an impact: walk in with dignity, place a photo of your loved one on the table, make sure judges hear every single painful word. On a video screen, it’s all too easy for them to switch you off afterwards.
Out of sight, out of mind.
* * *
In April 2015, the representative for the Secretary of State met us in the car park of Garth Prison, where the previous parole hearing had been held. But rather than heading for Category B Garth, we were steered towards Wymott, the Category C prison next door.
I stopped walking. ‘Hang on, where are we going?’ I asked.
She looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, Marie, but this is the prison he’s now at,’ she said.
I stared at her in utter disbelief. Simms had been downgraded to a less secure prison and I hadn’t even been told. He was clearly moving through the system – being prepared for open prison and eventual release.
I shook with both grief and fury while giving my statement. It was just a matter of time now before he was granted parole. I had to stop him. But how?
Back at home, I rang Fiona Duffy to fill her in: ‘I’ve shouted until I’m hoarse about how unfair this all is,’ I said. ‘Everyone agrees this is awful, this is wrong. But nothing happens. All they care about is human rights for these prisoners. But what about my Helen’s right to life – and my right to bury her? Aren’t they the most basic human rights of all? Shouldn’t we all be shouting for this?’
(Even more frustratingly, once again – there was a delay on Simms’ side. It was delayed until the summer, then the autumn, then January 2016. Once again, our one and only holiday, a chance to recharge our batteries for the rest of the year, would be overshadowed by the worry of yet another parole hearing.)
I was on a roll now. ‘Surely, if prisoners knew they would never be released unless they revealed where their victims were, they’d start to co-operate.’
Suddenly, I had an epiphany. I sat bolt upright. ‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘What if I start a petition asking people to back me? If enough people signed, the Government would have to do something, surely?’
Fiona agreed. ‘It’s a great idea, but this is a huge area of legislation. We have just one chance to do this so we need to get it right first time. We need to know everything there is to know about old burial laws, life tariffs and parole requirements. Let me go away and do some research and come back to you.’
Fired up now, I asked John to order more ink and paper. I genuinely believed I’d be walking the streets with old-fashioned forms on a clipboard asking people to physically sign their name. It was a revelation to learn that a petition could now be hosted online with signatures added digitally within seconds. But we’d need to get the message out to thousands of people and that meant getting to grips with social media.
Just setting up a Facebook account took days – there was so much to get my head around.
What’s a wall? I wondered. And why are people showing photos of their dinners?
Persevering, I learned how to request friends, like and share posts, pick out emojis, spot scams and ignore tripe. But some aspects still baffle me now!
Through poring over research, Fiona discovered Graham McBain, a retired lawyer and expert in English legal history who, by chance, had written a paper on the need for reforming burial laws. He was an absolute godsend in explaining the current laws, referring us to heavy law books in big libraries to find details of significant cases where these laws had been applied (for instance, Regina v Hunter – a relevant case from 1974) and suggesting where we needed to ask for change.
Graham explained that unlawfully preventing a coroner from inspecting a corpse was a very serious offence back in the twelfth century when coro
ners – officers of the Crown – investigated violent deaths to establish a cause of death. If someone hid a body, thereby obstructing the coroner, the entire town would be fined, often ruinously. As a result, villagers would do everything in their power to apprehend a killer and produce the corpse. This then led to a further common-law offence of unlawfully preventing the burial of a corpse.
‘So, by failing to disclose the whereabouts of his victim a killer commits other offences – in addition to the murder,’ he explained.
I was stunned.
So, centuries ago these were seen as heinous crimes with hefty punishments yet today they’re rarely used. Why? Aren’t we supposed to have advanced as a race, become more civilised? We’ve sent men to the moon yet we are letting these appalling crimes go unpunished?
‘These are serious crimes and they should be applied whenever a murder is suspected and the body remains missing,’ I argued. ‘And surely, the more charges a person is convicted of, the more severe the sentence should be?’
In my petition I also wanted to demand automatic life tariffs in cases of missing murder victims – and a denial of parole when the killer refuses to reveal the whereabouts of their victim’s body.
My head was aching trying to absorb so much information all at once.
‘We also need a short, dramatic statement, explaining why not being able to lay a loved one to rest exacerbates your grief,’ said Fiona. ‘Something that will really bring home the horror of what you and these other families are going through.’
I sighed. It was so hard to put into words but I had to try. ‘Losing a loved one is devastating,’ I began, ‘but to lose a loved one to murder is awful, shocking, horrific. And to be denied their funeral, on top of all of that, well, it’s just unimaginable . . . ’
There was a silence on the phone. I heard the sound of scribbling.
‘That’s it,’ Fiona said. ‘Perfect.’
Eventually we’d condensed the whole campaign onto one sheet of A4. Under the heading, Please Support Helen’s Law, and my daughter’s familiar portrait, were the words:
To lose a loved one is devastating
To lose a loved one to murder is horrific
To be denied their funeral causes unimaginable suffering . . .
Next, we explained the reason for the campaign:
Ian Simms is serving a life sentence (on overwhelming forensic evidence) for the murder of my daughter, Helen McCourt, aged twenty-two, on 9 February 1988, in Billinge, Lancs. For almost three decades Simms has refused to reveal the whereabouts of Helen’s body – denying us the chance to grant her the dignity of a funeral and resting place.
The case made legal history as only the third ever UK murder trial without a body. Sadly, as killers go to ever-desperate lengths to hide evidence and evade justice such cases have become more common. Without stiffer penalties, they will continue to rise.
In January 2016, a Parole Board will decide on Simms’ application for freedom. As it currently stands, the English legal system does not require a convicted murderer (at the end of their determined tariff) to admit guilt or reveal the location of a victim’s remains before being released.
If parole is granted, my hopes of finding my daughter may never be realised. No other family should live this ordeal.
Next, we spelt out the three points of my campaign. To petition the Prime Minister (then David Cameron) and Home Secretary (Theresa May) to acknowledge the pain and distress caused to the families of missing murder victims by:
Denying parole to murderers for as long as they refuse to disclose the whereabouts of their victim’s remains.
Passing a full life tariff (denying parole or release) until the murderer discloses the location (and enables the recovery) of their victim’s remains.
Automatically applying the following rarely-used common-law offences in murder trials without a body;* preventing the burial of a corpse and conspiracy to prevent the burial of a corpse, disposing of a corpse, obstructing a coroner.
Now we needed supporters, people who would back us and help us shout from the rooftops.
We spent months emailing human rights lawyers, barristers who had prosecuted other missing murder cases, law centres, pro bono organisations, legal advice clinics. Sadly, some didn’t reply. Others did but said they couldn’t help.
Our luck changed when we contacted the campaign group called Voice4Victims. Its founder, Claire Waxman, (now victims commissioner for London) had been the victim of a horrendous stalking campaign for twelve years but had been successful in changing stalking laws. She advised us to get other families in the same situation to join us in our campaign: ‘Then you need to get attention, through the media, and get MPs to publicly support you,’ she said. ‘The more vocal you are, the better!’
Claire put us in touch with prominent forensic psychologist Dr Keri Nixon who had, by sheer chance, just written an article on the devastating impact that denying a funeral can have on families. She agreed to back me ‘one hundred per cent’.
Dr Nixon not only provided us with a brilliant quote to use on our petition – ‘Denying a funeral is the last repugnant act a murderer can enact on his/her victim’s family’ – but she also offered to distribute it far and wide among legal experts she knew and has continued to support us over the years.
Now, I just needed to get our new MP, Conor McGinn, on board. Conor had succeeded Dave Watts (who accepted a peerage in 2015 and took his seat in the House of Lords) at the General Election in May 2015. He was a young Irish-British politician who had been voted in with a massive 12,000 majority. His warm, approachable face frequently smiled out of the local paper.
Right, I’d like a word with you, I thought, picking up the phone. Conor came out to my house and listened compassionately and attentively as I told him about my story and campaign. (I kept him for so long that he missed his train back to London – something he still teases me about to this day!)
‘I will help you in any way I can,’ he promised in his strong Armagh accent. He said he would speak with other MPs and ministers and raise it as a debate in Parliament.
A few days later, he sent the loveliest letter, setting out all his promises to speak with other members and ministers – and raise it in Parliament – and signing off ‘Yours sincerely and God Bless, Conor’.
What a wonderful man, I thought. I’ve been fortunate in always having the most supportive, compassionate MPs on my side, but Conor, who I now regard as a good friend, went above and beyond the call of duty and I will never, ever be able to thank him enough.
He too added a strong quote to the campaign and Fiona asked a graphic designer friend to create a bold poster (I’m awed by the generosity of those willing to help out a complete stranger). Pulling the first bundle out of the envelope, I beamed. It was brilliant – bright, eye-catching and dramatic. I peeled off the first one and stuck it proudly to my porch window for all the neighbours to see.
Next, we had to sort the petition. There were various platforms, including a government petition site, but I’d heard good things about change.org. Fiona emailed our poster to the press office and they rang just seconds later.
‘This is a brilliant idea – how can we help?’ they asked.
I could have kissed them.
They advised us on how to polish my appeal to make it even more emotive and reach out to more people. A few versions pinged back and forth but finally we were good to go.
Two local mums who were also going through the same ordeal agreed to come on board for the campaign launch.
Jean Taylor’s daughter, Chantel, twenty-seven, was killed by ex-soldier and childhood friend Stephen Wynne in 2004. Two years later, Wynne (then twenty-eight) pleaded guilty to her murder and was sentenced to life.
Joan Morson’s son, Paul, thirty-one, was killed in 2011. Two ex-business partners, John Anthony Burns, thirty-four, and Raymond William Brierley, fifty-nine, were given life sentences in 2012 for his torture and murder.
Like Helen, Pa
ul and Chantel have never been found.
Now, we just needed a newspaper to launch the campaign with. So many newspapers had supported me over the years but as Conor was a Labour MP, it made sense to go with the Daily Mirror. Fiona had written for them, as a freelancer, for years and loved the way they highlighted injustices in society and championed changes. She worked with a reporter called Louie Smith, who agreed it was a strong story and arranged a photoshoot at SAMM Merseyside’s headquarters. We all held up a framed photograph of our missing murdered loved ones for a dramatic group photo and Fiona interviewed us at length.
A tearful Joan described how she had a plaque in the garden for Paul but longed for a grave she can visit and lay flowers on: ‘All we want is closure,’ she said wistfully.
Jean recalled the awful moment she had to tell her grandchildren that their mum would never come home: ‘They asked, “Where is she, then, Nanny?”’ she recalled. ‘And we’re still asking that. Without a body to bury, that sense of disbelief will always remain.’
Sitting side by side with these women, listening to their stories, convinced me even more that we were doing the right thing. We’d lived this nightmare for too long. And, without a change in the law, more families would be joining us.
On Sunday evening, 13 December 2015, Fiona rang: ‘It’s running tomorrow,’ she said, excitedly. We arranged for the petition to go live on change.org at the exact moment the story hit the Daily Mirror website at 11pm. In the early hours, the first signatures from night-owls and shift workers started to trickle through.
I was pouring tea next morning when John returned from the newsagent with a huge smile on his face. ‘Ta da!’ he cried, unfolding the Daily Mirror with a flourish.
‘Oh my God, it’s the front page!’ I cried in disbelief.
Fiona had been told it had a good chance of making the cover but didn’t want to raise our hopes. Stories can change right up to the eleventh hour, depending on what else is happening. But there it was – under a giant headline of ‘Tell Us Where Our Kids Are Buried’. Two other straplines included ‘Mums’ Plea for Law Change’ and ‘Keep Killers in Jail Until They Release Sites of Victims’ Bodies’.
Justice for Helen Page 25
