Fiona and John had worked around the clock putting together a folder of information for me to hand over, including articles, supportive statements from families, bereavement experts and even police officers who had worked on the case at the time who could vouch for Simms’ refusal to co-operate in locating Helen’s body.
We also provided more information on the No Body No Parole situation in Australia. Fiona had recently been working in Queensland, Australia, on a separate story and, by chance, (again I thank St Martha) heard of a local case involving a newly convicted killer who led police to the location of his victim. His actions were thought to be a direct result of the new legislation. ‘The laws are working, David,’ I told him. ‘We know of two bodies recovered, one parole denied and one prisoner begging to co-operate so that he would be considered for release.
‘We are not malicious people,’ I added. ‘We don’t want to see killers locked up forever. All we want is our loved one home so we can lay them to rest. We need the same carrot and stick approach, David, a reason for these killers to cooperate,’ I insisted.
Mr Gauke listened attentively. ‘There are some obstacles which we have to try and work around,’ he said.
Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter.
‘Can I take it these small obstacles are connected to the Court of Human Rights?’ I ventured.
He nodded.
I shook my head. Once again, the rights of prisoners were being put ahead those of innocent victims and their families.
Surely, once you take the life of another person, you forfeit all claim to human rights? And while we’re on the subject of human rights, what about the right to life? And the right not to be tortured or treated in an inhumane way?
Mr Gauke promised he would come back to us.
‘We think he is a fair man and pray he will give us this long overdue justice,’ I told reporters later.
Afterwards, in the late afternoon sunshine, Linda Jones and I shared confidences. We had both lost our only daughters. ‘It’s like being tortured continually,’ I said, and she nodded knowingly. ‘It’s as if there is a constantly running tap over your head. The killer is responsible for the “drip, drip, drip” – there’s no escape from it.
‘We are subjected to this morning, noon and night. There is no respite – even when we sleep, we suffer the most appalling nightmares about our loved ones’ final moments and where they could be.’
Linda agreed. ‘It’s as if I have a “smiling” mask hanging by the front door,’ she sighed. ‘I put it on when I leave the house and take it off when I come in. The real me hides behind it.
‘It’s like being trapped in the middle of a carousel. The rest of the world goes on turning without you. Everywhere you look, people are living their lives, enjoying themselves and laughing. But where we are there is nothing.’
We also talked about another sad impact for families in our situation.
‘My sons never wanted to celebrate achievements in life like passing exams or driving tests – simply because their sister never got to do those things,’ said Linda. ‘Until we can lay her to rest, it will always be there.’
Such intense and all-consuming pain and anger can tear families apart, we agreed. Needing to find our loved one can become an obsession that takes over everything else.
‘I am starting to accept now that Simms is not going to tell me where my daughter’s body is,’ I admitted. ‘I can deal with that now. But I will continue to fight to prevent other people going through what we are going through. This cannot happen to other families, we have to keep fighting.’
Three weeks later, in the run-up to Prince Harry marrying Meghan Markle, my victim liaison officer called. I braced myself for the inevitable bad news.
‘Simms is being prepared for escorted release on temporary licence,’ she said.
The blood ran cold in my veins. The thought of that man being let loose on the streets, escorted or not, both sickened and terrified me.
His cruel words – his vow to get justice – were still emblazoned on my mind.
Because of all the interviews I’d given over the years to find my daughter he knew what I looked like.
What was to stop him coming to find me at the first opportunity?
‘Marie?’ she said. ‘Are you still there?’
I realised I’d been trying to speak but the words were trapped in my constricted voice box.
‘You do know he’s a psychopath, don’t you?’ I eventually gasped. ‘This can’t happen.’
The Daily Mirror ran an exclusive story and Conor McGinn raised it in Parliament that very day – urging the Justice Secretary to intervene and for the Government to introduce Helen’s Law legislation. Sadly, it changed nothing. By the end of May 2018, I was informed that Simms’ two escorted releases from prison had gone so well that the authorities were now planning unescorted release.
Once again, the media covered the story. I was no longer just afraid at this point – I was livid.
‘Right,’ I stormed to reporters, getting into my stride. ‘If this is going ahead, I want restorative justice. I want to meet him and ask him where Helen is.
‘He wouldn’t do it, though. He’d refuse, like the coward he is. He won’t even attend parole hearings. Is it because he knows he’d lose his rag?
‘Well, what happens if he bumps into me in the street? Will he attack me?
‘It’s all very well for these pen-pushers rubber stamping their decisions. They are not sitting in the house wondering who’s going to appear at the front door. How can they possibly keep an eye on them twenty-four hours a day to ensure they don’t go into exclusion zones?
‘They can’t! If I or my family are attacked, I will sue the Parole Board and the Government,’ I vowed.
I was heartened when the issue was raised in the Commons, in early June 2018. Prisons Minister Rory Stewart said the MOJ was working on a solution to, and consequences for, the ‘absolutely disgusting practice’ of killers hiding bodies.
‘There is something peculiarly disgusting about the sadism involved in an individual murdering somebody and then refusing to reveal the location of the victim’s body,’ he said.
Officials had drawn up two options which he would discuss with Justice Secretary David Gauke within days to come up with a ‘solution’.
‘There have been delays in terms of framing the right kind of legal response but I am absolutely confident we can overcome that and officials are now bringing forward advice which I hope will achieve exactly what people have been campaigning for.
‘But we are absolutely clear this is an absolutely disgusting practice and we ought to be able to use legal methods to impose consequences on individuals who refuse to reveal the location of a body.’
I was so bolstered by his words. That should nip his unescorted prison release in the bud, I thought.
Did it heck! Probation told me that the Prison Governor was ‘standing by the decision’ to allow Simms ‘unescorted release’.
‘Who on earth do these governors think they are?’ I ranted. ‘Their job is to run prisons – not release dangerous inmates.’
I gave countless interviews to papers, radio and TV news programmes – urging the Ministry to freeze any release plans until a decision had been made on Helen’s Law. Meanwhile, Conor McGinn sought urgent meetings with Ministers to block Simms’ release.
I was heartened by the John Worboys’ case – if you remember, he was the Black Cab rapist recommended for release by the Parole Board in January 2018. However, furious victims launched a High Court challenge which resulted in the Court quashing the release decision. Worboys was recalled to prison and a new Parole Board hearing led to him being turned down for release in January 2019.
The more I spoke out, the more messages of support and encouragement continued to flood in. Signatures continued to soar on the petition – it seemed every single person in the country was behind me.
But we may as well have been whistling in the wind
for all the good it did. By July, I wept as my probation officer confirmed Simms had, indeed, enjoyed ‘two or three days’ out from his open prison and would now be progressing to weekend release in a hostel.
‘I couldn’t take in what the officer was saying as I kept breaking down and crying,’ I told Fiona Duffy afterwards. ‘I asked her: “Do they know it’s my murdered daughter’s birthday at the end of this month?”
‘It’s bad enough that I am enduring the thirtieth birthday, since her murder, without a grave to lay flowers on. But I can’t even mark the day quietly, in peace, knowing that he is already out enjoying himself, living his new life, in a hostel. He is there, in my head, all the time,’ I said, jabbing my forehead with my finger.
I gave interview after interview until I could barely think. ‘I’m sickened, in torment, at the thought of him enjoying freedom while, thanks to his cruel actions, I still don’t even have a grave to visit and remember her by,’ I told reporters.
Then, I vocalised the thought which really distressed me – which had me lying wide awake in the early hours: ‘I’m not getting any younger,’ I said, in a breaking voice. ‘I’m seventy-five – just three years younger than Winnie Johnson was when she died not knowing where her son was.
‘The thought of leaving this earth while Helen is still out there, lost and alone, breaks my heart. This law is my only chance of getting him to reveal where she is, that is all I want.
‘This Government has led me to believe that the Parole Board would not release prisoners until a decision is made on Helen’s Law. So why is this appalling injustice being allowed to happen?
‘He is a danger to the public. I am begging, imploring the Ministry of Justice – please do not let this man free.’
We had 450,000 signatures. If we could get to half a million, surely the authorities would have to act? Throughout the summer, we ramped up the campaign. A local printing company offered to make Helen’s Law T-shirts and tote bags, at cost price, and we sold dozens.
I was so touched when I turned up to Pilates to find the entire class wearing vibrant Helen’s Law tops in solidarity.
We also got a Helen’s Law roadshow underway – setting up a stall in town centres so we could distribute leaflets and yellow ribbons.
‘Every signature counts,’ John and I would agree at the end of another exhausting day.
Some offers of help moved me to tears. St Helens Council said we could host a stand outside the Town Hall on the day of Helen’s birthday. We turned up to find one of our campaigners, Tracy Richardson, there – with a huge arch of yellow balloons. She worked with us all day.
That evening, we all headed down to the Steve Prescott Bridge to see it lit up with soft yellow floodlights – another lovely gesture of support from the council. ‘It represents the sunshine of her smile – plus it’s the international colour for missing people,’ I told reporters.
Tracy Richardson also designed a new, heart-tugging poster featuring our missing loved ones. New families allowed us to include images of their missing murdered loved ones while Keith Bennett’s family gave us permission to include his black and white photograph. Even families who felt unable to take part in publicity shared these posters on social media, encouraging people to sign.
It worked. Once again, the signatures were rising.
In autumn 2018, the MOJ contacted Conor McGinn with a proposal for proceeding with Helen’s Law. ‘But I don’t think it goes as far as you would like, Marie,’ he said. ‘I think we should push for another meeting.’
I couldn’t hide my disappointment. It had been three years since we launched this fight and we were no further forward. In the meantime, every day brought us a step closer to Simms’ next parole hearing. He was in an open prison with unescorted release. Next step was full release on licence.
It didn’t bear thinking about.
* * *
As 2019 got underway we were boosted by two high-profile programmes. We were in India when Judge Rinder’s Crime Stories featured Helen’s case and my fight for justice – but we watched it on John’s iPad in our hotel room. It was done brilliantly and I was so thrilled when Judge Rinder himself tweeted: ‘Helen’s Law is essential. Families of victims must be heard.’
Then in February, the Crime + Investigation channel chose Helen’s story to launch its new series of When Missing Turns to Murder. Producers from both programmes had spent hours with both us and loved ones.
My sister, Pat, told the interviewer: ‘It prevented our children from having a normal life. You couldn’t take the dogs for a walk without looking at fields, thinking: “Is she here?”’
And my eyes welled as John spoke: ‘I am sure she would have been a mother – probably even a grandmother – by now. It’s a big hole.
‘She’ll always be around us. As long as we breathe, she’ll be with us.’
I reached out silently to squeeze his hand.
Where would I be without you? I thought.
My last words on screen were: ‘No one ever wants to bury a child. But she deserves a proper, peaceful rest.’
Diana Carter, commissioning editor at A & E Networks which produces Crime + Investigation, had told Fiona Duffy the programme would have a powerful impact.
‘It was an education to learn about Marie McCourt’s campaign,’ she said. ‘She is an incredibly powerful speaker; the way she tells her story draws you in and makes you understand the horror of the world she has been put in by the loss of her daughter.
‘She does this both by her calmness, poise and grace but also, unfortunately, by the complete and utter injustice of the situation. It just hits home so well that as soon as I finished watching the “rough cut” of the film, which tells the backbone of the story, I went online, searched for Helen’s Law and signed the petition.
‘The programme will make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Marie does her daughter so much justice and I imagine there will be a huge response to the episode.’
And there was. Linda Jones and I were asked to appear together on Good Morning Britain, with Susanna Reid and Ben Shephard, while Fiona recruited Professor Elizabeth Yardley of the Centre for Applied Criminology at Birmingham City University to the campaign.
Delighted, John and I travelled to Birmingham to meet her and a story in which she pledged her support appeared in the Daily Mirror: ‘Justice has only been partially done in this case,’ she declared. ‘No convicted murderer should even have the possibility of parole whilst still withholding information as to the whereabouts of their victim’s body.’
By now, we’d surpassed half a million signatures and were approaching 600,000. Conor McGinn had approached the MOJ three times now to ask for a meeting but heard nothing back. Frustration was consuming me.
A few days after our trip to Birmingham, I answered the front door to a supportive reporter from the Daily Mail.
‘There’s something you need to see,’ she said, handing me a stiff-backed envelope.
I pulled out a colour photograph of a man in his sixties, wearing a woolly hat, scruffy too-long jeans and glasses. He had a salt and pepper beard and a definite paunch under his sweatshirt as he stood with his hands in his jeans. Over his left shoulder, he was carrying a holdall.
Confusion jostled with strange sparks of recognition in my brain. There was something familiar about the set of his jaw, that blank expression, but I couldn’t quite—
Suddenly, my stomach lurched.
‘Is this . . . ?’ I asked.
She nodded.
Simms.
For years I’d been asking for a recent photograph of him but the authorities had always refused. Now here he was in all his glory.
Someone must have tipped off the paper as to where he would be on that day. The years hadn’t been kind to him: still only in his early sixties, but he looked much older.
‘He was waiting for a bus,’ the journalist volunteered. ‘In Birmingham.’
I nearly fainted. ‘Birmingham? Birmingham?’ I
cried. ‘I was there on Monday. I could have brushed past him in the street, sat next to him on the train. He could have been following me without me even knowing.’ I shook my head.
This was wrong, so wrong.
When a reporter, with the photographer, asked him where Helen was, he’d replied: ‘If I knew where the body was I would never have done sixteen years extra in prison, would I?’
Again, such arrogance and flippancy. There was no hint of remorse or regret. Surely, if you were truly innocent, you’d grab that reporter and beg, plead, implore for help in proving the wrong man had been convicted. (Let’s not forget, after kicking up a stink Simms had won the right – funded by legal aid – back in the nineties to speak with journalists.) Instead, he was petulant. Sullen. Sulky.
‘He should not be afforded any days out,’ I told the newspaper. ‘This evil man is walking around, enjoying the sunshine, while my daughter is hidden somewhere, discarded, as the judge said at the trial, with the rats.’
For my next novena, I uttered a heartfelt plea to St Martha and all the saints in heaven to answer my prayers.
With a sigh, I watched the candle burn down and fade – like my hopes.
It had been a long thirty-one years and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep fighting.
Chapter 18
Elation . . . followed by ‘the unthinkable’
‘W
hat are we doing?’ I sighed, as the train pulled out of Wigan North Western station. It was Wednesday, 15 May 2019. We were on yet another trip to London.
Justice Minister David Gauke had finally asked to meet with us. But, unlike last time, my hopes were in my boots. It had been more than twelve months since our last meeting and I’d heard little since. Mr Gauke would no doubt tell me that although he sympathised, his hands were tied by human rights laws.
‘Let’s see what he has to say,’ John said, encouragingly. But I visualised myself, in a few hours, making the return journey forlorn, bereft and consumed by red-hot anger.
I’d have to cancel Pilates tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to face anyone.
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