Inside, was a double-page spread telling our stories in detail: ‘To Be Denied the Chance to Say Our Final Goodbyes is a Torture That Never Ends,’ read the headline. All my emotive quotes were included, including details of my friendship with Winnie Johnson and my plea: ‘Don’t let me die like Winnie, not knowing where my daughter is’.
I revealed my terror that Simms could be released to dance on Helen’s secret grave and explained the need to have this closure: ‘I know deep down that Helen is never going to walk back into the house. I know that I am never going to see her smile or hear her voice. But, without a funeral, there is always a tiny part of me that can’t accept she has gone. I will fight until my last breath.’
Almost immediately, my phone started ringing and never stopped. The story was picked up by papers, TV, radio . . . I went from one interview to the next without pausing for breath.
Pressing the ‘refresh’ button on the petition page of change.org became addictive – seeing the numbers flicker dramatically before reaching an ever-higher total. I was delighted when we reached our first one hundred. One hundred people backed us, believed in us! Then, 100 became 1,000 . . . 10,000 . . . 20,000.
A few days earlier, on 8 December, during a debate on parole hearings, Conor McGinn had raised my plight in the House of Commons, calling for a review of guidelines in cases such as mine – where the killer refuses to reveal the location of his victim. There and then, Minister for Victims, Mike Penning, responded and said he would like to meet me. Sadly, it couldn’t be before Christmas, but a date was set for 4 February 2016.
Afterwards, Conor issued a statement reading: ‘I’m glad the Minister has agreed to meet with Marie and I hope that this will lead to a review of the guidelines.
‘The impact of a murder to the family and friends of the victim is devastating, even more so when the killer refuses to allow a dignified final resting place.
‘Those who are convicted of murder should not be considered for release if they do not provide information about the location of their victim’s remains, which compounds the loss and devastation of the victims’ families.’
Meanwhile, the signatures poured in. Some of the comments from supporters had me in tears. Many expressed shock that this wasn’t law already. Others remembered Helen from their schooldays. More vowed to take the matter up with their own MPs. And one woman simply wrote: ‘I don’t think I have ever been so moved by a petition’.
Yet more families came forward. They included Anita Giles, whose mother Sandie Bowen, fifty-four, vanished from her home in Llandogo, Monmouthshire in August 1997. Sandie’s second husband, Michael Bowen, was convicted of her murder the following year, and sentenced to a minimum of eighteen years.
In 2002 he finally admitted the killing, saying they had argued on his fishing boat and, after hitting her, she had fallen overboard – but still refused to say where she could be recovered from.
In February 2015, ten months before the launch of my campaign, Bowen had been released on life licence. ‘I can’t believe they let him out,’ I told Anita, genuinely shocked.
‘Thank you for campaigning,’ she said. ‘What you are doing is so important. But I don’t think I’m ever going to find my mum now,’ she’d added sadly.
‘Don’t lose hope,’ I urged. ‘There is always hope. It only takes someone walking their dog and coming across something.’
But I felt her pain, her despair, only too well.
‘Sign and share’ became my mantra. I distributed posters at the gym, at the local shops: ‘Please encourage everyone to sign,’ I urged.
Within days, I watched – flabbergasted – as, with one brief click, 99,999 became 100,000. I punched the air with delight.
I was encouraged by Ann Ming, mum of Julie Hogg who was murdered just twenty-one months after Helen. We had met at various victims’ conferences over the years and became good friends. Ann had successfully and single-handedly fought for seventeen years for an age-old double jeopardy law to be abolished so that her daughter’s killer could be brought to justice.
Billy Dunlop was tried twice but each time the jury failed to reach a verdict. (Ann said police errors meant crucial evidence, which could have nailed him, either wasn’t gathered or wasn’t allowed.) After the second trial, Dunlop was formally acquitted.. When mum-of-one Julie first went missing, in November 1989, police searched her empty home extensively but reported no sign of her.
Three months later, when the house was finally opened up again, Ann went inside. As a nurse, she immediately recognised a distinctive smell. The horrific moment when she discovered her daughter’s body hidden behind a bath panel still haunts her to this day.
You see, it’s not just families of missing murder victims who suffer torment but those of ‘discovered’ murder victims, too. When killers go to extreme lengths to hide the evidence of their crime – including hiding and dismembering bodies – it tears their loved ones apart. Surely those common-law offences of obstructing a coroner, hiding a corpse and preventing a burial should have applied in this case, too?
First, there are legal implications. In Ann’s case, her daughter’s body was so decomposed, it hampered the recovery of crucial evidence such as cause of, and time of, death – information that would have convicted Dunlop when he first went to court.
Second, these cruel acts have an appalling impact on the victim’s family. I always advise grieving families to ask the undertaker if they can have a lock of hair of their murdered loved one. It’s something tangible that they can put in a locket and always hold close to their heart.
I will never forget the awful moment I suggested a grieving mum do the same for her murdered daughter.
‘Marie, I can’t,’ she explained, her voice breaking. ‘He tried to burn my daughter’s body, there is no hair.’
My heart broke for her – and all those in her situation. To not have a body to bury is awful, to have that body desecrated is horrific.
These deaths are not the result of spontaneous crimes of passion or temper. These are planned killings. And planned disposals.
On two horrendous occasions, Ann could only watch, helpless, as Dunlop walked free from court. But on hearing that he was boasting openly about getting away with murder she was spurred into action.
Writing letters by hand at her kitchen table, Ann went to MPs, the Home Office and the Lords, and was successful in having the 800-year-old double jeopardy rule – which prevented people being charged twice with the same crime – overturned.
As a result, Dunlop was brought back to court in 2006, where he finally pleaded guilty to murder. He is currently serving a life sentence.
‘Never give up,’ she told me. ‘Loads of people told me it couldn’t be done. My solicitor told me I was wasting my time. But I did it – and so will you.
‘Our conviction came seventeen years after Julie’s murder but it finally gave us closure and it made such a difference.’
When starting my campaign years earlier, I’d warned that improved forensic science techniques would see killers resort to increasingly desperate – and horrific – measures to get away with murder. Sadly, I was right.
Who can forget little April Jones, just five years old, who was abducted while playing outside her home in Machynlleth, Wales, in October 2012?
Mark Bridger, forty-six, was convicted of abduction, murder and attempting to pervert the course of justice (a charge referring to the unlawful disposal and concealment of a body). Only the tiniest fragments of bone were recovered from Bridger’s fireplace.
In March 2016, I wept when I heard that police searching for missing teenager Becky Watts in Bristol had found body parts. In November that year, her step-brother Nathan Matthews, twenty-nine, was sentenced to life with a minimum of thirty-three years for murder. His girlfriend Shauna Hoare, twenty-one, was jailed for seventeen years for manslaughter. Both were also convicted of conspiracy to kidnap Becky, perverting the course of justice and preventing a lawful burial.
A month after Becky disappeared, children’s author Helen Bailey, fifty-one, vanished from her home in Royston, Hertfordshire – along with the dashchund dog she doted on. Her fiancé, Ian Stewart, said he’d found a note that said she needed space.
For three months her location was a mystery. A police search of the couple’s house and garden revealed nothing.
Then a neighbour alerted officers to a secret cesspit underneath the garage. (Stewart had parked his vehicle over the top to hide it). Inside, police discovered the bodies of Helen and her dog.
Tests revealed she had been drugged over a period of time before being suffocated. Helen’s brother recalled her joking, within earshot of Stewart, about how the cesspit would be the perfect place to hide a body.
In 2017, Stewart, then fifty-six, was found guilty of murder, fraud, preventing a burial and perverting the course of justice. Poor Helen – widowed in 2011 when her husband drowned on holiday – thought she’d found happiness again when approached by Stewart on an internet bereavement group – only to be brutally murdered.
(Stewart has since been charged with the murder of his first wife, Diane, in 2010 and will stand trial in 2022.)
Every single awful case broke my heart. The details were so appalling, so disturbing, I imagined others grimacing as they turned the page or switched channels. But I couldn’t. I felt compelled to take in every single word then add the case to my now bulging files. ‘This is why I’m fighting,’ I reminded myself.
I gave interview after interview spelling out why legislation was so badly needed. ‘Without new laws to reflect the heinous nature of these crimes, these cases are going to rise,’ I warned grimly.
The pain inflicted on the family is only one reason, I argued. What about the impact of a missing murder victim on the local community? The huge cost of a file remaining open? Of new searches being carried out when new information arises? Surely that’s in the public interest? These offences are there. They need to be used – in all cases.
I understand that when a body remains missing all efforts, naturally, are focused on a) proving the person is no longer alive and b) that their death has been caused by the accused and c) getting a conviction.
A successful result in court is, of course, a huge relief. But while the police and prosecutors move onto their next case, the victim’s family continues to suffer the most horrendous torture.
That door exposing their grief, their pain, their nightmares, will always be wedged wide open. Without a funeral it will never, ever close.
* * *
We flew off to India for New Year feeling more hopeful than we had done in some time. Yes, Simms’ parole hearing would take place while we were away – and we’d return to the twenty-eighth anniversary of Helen’s murder. But a campaign in her name was up and running.
Locking up the house, as John loaded our suitcases – containing my novena candles – into the car, I kissed Helen’s portrait and told her we’d be back before she knew it.
She’d have been astonished to think that her lovely face was gazing out of newspapers and computer screens all over the country. That her name had been mentioned in the House of Commons.
‘We’re on our way, love,’ I told her. ‘Things are finally happening.’
* As in the case of R v Hunter, 1974 (from Archbold, Criminal Pleading Evidence and Practice 2015). Just to clarify, I have since learned that the correct wording of the offences are: ‘unlawfully preventing the burial of a corpse, unlawfully disposing of a corpse and ‘obstructing a coroner (in the execution of his duty)’. There was also no need to specifically include ‘conspiracy to prevent the burial of a corpse’ as this would have been automatically covered by the offence of preventing the burial.
Chapter 16
To Downing Street and Parliament
E
ven on holiday, I didn’t let up on my campaigning. Struggling through painful sciatica, I told everyone we met about Helen’s Law and distributed dozens of posters. Fiona Duffy texted us continually with spiralling figures. We were up to 200k, then 250k.
‘A quarter of a million!’ I gasped.
These were figures I’d never even dreamed of.
Simms’ parole hearing, adjourned from the spring, then summer, then autumn, took place while we were away but I was heartened by a story in the Liverpool Echo, in which a Ministry of Justice spokesman said that the independent Parole Board would ‘take into account’ the killer’s co-operation in finding her body.
They wouldn’t release him to open prison after all this, surely to God?
Our meeting with the Minister, and presentation of my petition to Downing Street, was scheduled for Thursday, 4 February 2016.
On the Wednesday afternoon, I was driving home from the chemist, with prescribed painkillers for my back, when my mobile rang: it was my victim liaison officer.
Two weeks had passed since Simms’ parole hearing. This was it, the verdict.
With trembling, sweaty hands, I pulled over. My heart was racing.
‘Are you at home, Marie?’ she asked.
And there it was: the hint that bad news was about to be broken.
‘Please,’ I sighed. ‘Just tell me.’
The indicator ticked away the seconds; I braced myself.
‘I’m sorry, Marie,’ she began. With those three words, I crumpled. I didn’t hear her next sentence – I didn’t need to. The Parole Board had recommended his move to an open prison.
Grimacing, I leaned my head on the steering wheel in disbelief and despair.
How could they do this? What about my campaign?
I didn’t want to ring Michael at work with upsetting news. I decided to wait until he was home. I was about to pull back out onto the road when my phone rang again.
‘Would you like to comment?’ a journalist asked.
‘On what?’ I asked, cautiously.
‘Simms being moved to an open prison.’
I gripped the phone in disbelief. ‘How do you know about that?’ I asked. ‘I’ve only just been told myself!’
The Parole Board had issued a press release, apparently. Before I’d even had a chance to tell Helen’s nearest and dearest, the story was pinging onto news desk screens across the country. And this is yet another way that victims and families are let down. For some inexplicable reason, usually to benefit the prisoner, no doubt, the powers-that-be fall over themselves to release news of decisions.
Would a few hours’ advance notice for families of victims really hurt? I couldn’t have Michael hearing this on the next news bulletin. Reluctantly, I rang him at work. He could hardly speak. I could feel his pain emanating down the telephone line.
‘I am going to do everything in my power to keep him inside,’ I promised.
* * *
Early next morning, I popped painkillers as we headed for the train to London. It was going to be a long day.
Conor McGinn greeted us like long-lost friends in the chilly Westminster hall before leading us down a warren of carpeted corridors. Minister for Victims Mike Penning was outside his office and led us in.
I introduced us all. ‘And this,’ I said, reaching into my handbag and pulling out my precious framed photograph, ‘is my daughter, Helen.’
Mike Penning gazed closely at the image. ‘I’ve seen that photo before but it’s different seeing it in colour, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’ve got two daughters myself of a similar age. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.’
He told me how pleased he was that I was campaigning: ‘We need more people like you,’ he said, inviting me to work with him on the Victims’ Law.
He listened attentively and sympathetically and said he would ensure that the Secretary of State, Michael Gove, who could veto or approve the Parole Board’s recommendation, had all the facts.
‘Now, I have something here that you might like,’ he added, handing over an official-looking document.
I skimmed it, my eyes widening like saucers.
It was
a letter from the Prisons Minister Andrew Selous to the Parole Board Chief Executive, Sir David Calvert-Smith. In it, Mr Selous requested that the board review its guidelines on parole for convicted murderers who refuse to reveal the location of their victim’s remains, asking if ‘the deliberate or wilful failure to disclose the whereabouts of the victim’s body indicates a failure to recognise the full depravity of the crime committed and a significant lack of victim empathy, or remorse’.
I looked up, speechless – this was exactly what we needed.
‘You can take that away with you,’ he said.
After warm handshakes I left with high hopes, clutching my precious letter. The meeting had gone better than I’d ever imagined.
Next, we headed to Downing Street. It felt surreal, striding towards the famous black door, with my petition box, emblazed with that now-familiar image of my daughter and our Helen’s Law logo, containing 320,000 signatures.
After the bustle of Westminster, the heavily secured street was deserted and hushed. The sound of traffic was distant and muffled. It was like being on a film set.
Cameras flashed as we gathered on the doorstep. Then, taking a deep breath, I turned to face the door: this was it. Michael rapped the iconic brass lion door knocker. Almost immediately, the door opened and carefully, officiously, I handed over my precious cargo.
As I was ushered towards the reporters gathered in a pen across the street, I suddenly froze in terror. In an instant, I’d gone from feisty campaigner ready to take on the Government to overwhelmed, petrified grandmother. I felt every one of my seventy-two years. Not only was my back killing me, my mind had gone blank – absolutely blank – and my mouth felt full of cotton wool. I turned to Fiona Duffy: ‘What do I say?’ I whispered, helplessly.
She scribbled onto a page of her notebook then thrust it in my hand.
Huge step forward . . . review of guidelines . . . legacy for Helen.
Justice for Helen Page 26
