Justice for Helen

by Marie McCourt

  Last night, I’d lit my candle and knelt before my statue of St Martha – just as I’d done every Tuesday for thirty-one years – praying for my daughter’s return. Halfway through my novena, my voice faltered. The words failed me, my mind was empty.

  ‘Come on, St Martha,’ I implored. ‘I’ve been saying this prayer for more than thirty years. Give me the words!’

  Eventually, I had to look up the prayer just to be able to recite it.

  ‘St Martha,’ I beseeched. ‘I really need you and all of them up there to pull your thumbs out and turn this around for me. Because right now, things aren’t looking good.’

  She gazed back at me solemnly, giving nothing away.

  Just before leaving the house, Conor McGinn had called to prewarn me that even though changes had been proposed, release decisions would still be left to the Parole Board.

  ‘But that’s what happens now!’ I spluttered. ‘Nothing has changed.

  ‘If I don’t like what I hear in there, I’m going to speak out,’ I warned.

  But I was tired of speaking out. Tired of fighting. We’d had so many knockbacks over the years and this looked set to be the biggest one of all.

  I played through scenarios in my mind. I’d be dignified and polite – but honest. ‘You have children, Mr Gauke,’ I’d say. ‘How would you feel if it was your child still missing after being murdered? The whole country wants this. Why can’t you grant it? In denying us this, you are assisting sadistic killers and aiding and abetting the torturing of innocent people.’

  I nodded in satisfaction at the phrase – that sounded good.

  By the time we arrived, I had worked myself into a pretty formidable mood. I had, what my mum used to call, a ‘tippy lip’ (when a bottom lip juts out defiantly).

  I would listen politely before telling Mr Gauke exactly what I thought of him and our country’s ridiculous prisoner-pandering policies and how he’d let us all down.

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Rubbish! Hell hath no fury like a bereaved mum desperate to lay her child to rest.

  I expected Mr Gauke to look a bit sheepish but he smiled broadly as he shook my hand: ‘How lovely to see you, Marie,’ he said warmly.

  I’d practised a stiff ‘Mr Gauke’ acknowledgement, but his greeting had sucked the wind right out of my sails. I couldn’t embarrass him in front of his staff, so I smiled back, responding: ‘Nice to see you as well, David,’ before adding pointedly, ‘It’s been over twelve months, hasn’t it?’

  Mr Gauke was flanked by half a dozen members of staff, who all looked pleased to be there. The atmosphere in the room felt warm and sunny rather than chilly and forbidding.

  ‘So,’ he began, ‘Conor has explained things to you. How do you feel, Marie? Do you have any questions?’

  I clasped my hands in my lap. ‘I’d like to hear it from you, please, David,’ I replied.

  Here we go, I thought, bracing myself for the inevitable human rights flannel.

  Except he didn’t say that at all. Well, not entirely. David Gauke, a qualified solicitor, spoke honestly and openly about the limitations that he faced in drawing up this kind of legislation because the UK was still committed to the European Convention of Human Rights.

  A blanket No Body No Parole law, as they had in Australia, was impossible. A determined prisoner and a good barrister would take it to the High Court and have it overturned on human rights grounds, it was as simple as that. We’d have lost at a stroke.

  I shuddered. It was a prospect that didn’t bear thinking about. Instead, he was proposing a new law whereby the Parole Board would be legally bound to take into account non-disclosure of information by a prisoner when considering release.

  There were currently guidelines in place for the Parole Board to consider such withholding of information by the prisoner. But that’s all they were – guidelines.

  The Bill, he said, would have an official title. ‘But it would always be known as Helen’s Law,’ he added. ‘It will be a completely new piece of legislation, not an amendment to an existing bill. These people here [he gestured to his team] are ready to start the wording straight away.’

  Like sunlight gently warming early dew, that anger, that despair from earlier, was slowly evaporating. Instead, an emotion I hadn’t felt in years, and barely recognised, was beginning to flow through my veins.

  Hope.

  Yes, it was tinged with disappointment, granted. It didn’t go as far as I’d have liked it to. But David Gauke had clearly explained why, for now at least, that couldn’t happen. I could rant and rave and stamp my feet about human rights until I was blue in the face, but it wouldn’t change a thing.

  I had two choices – I could upend the table and storm out with nowhere to go, or I could accept that this was a start.

  A beginning.

  David sat forward. ‘This really is the best way forward,’ he said.

  With this law in place, the Parole Board would have to consider non-disclosure very carefully in order to qualify their decision. And they’d also have to take into account the impact statement from the victim’s family – how being denied a funeral had affected them.

  ‘Obviously, things could change in the future,’ he added. There would always be the possibility of amending or strengthening the law over time. And with cross-party support, it should pass through Parliament quickly.

  I sat back.

  Wow, this was really happening! The MOJ really was bringing in a new law . . . Helen’s Law.

  At this point, Conor spoke: ‘I don’t know how Marie does it,’ he said. ‘She works so hard and helps so many other people who are hurting, but all the time, she is dealing with her own pain.’

  I smiled at him gratefully – we were finally being listened to, the tide was slowly turning in our favour.

  Sensing the meeting drawing to a close, I reached into my handbag and pulled out a page torn from the previous day’s Daily Mirror. ‘I would like to read this to you,’ I said, holding it up to them. ‘It sums up what our families go through when they can’t bury their loved ones.’

  It was a heart-rending story written by Fiona Duffy and Louie Smith about one of our families.

  I pointed out photos on the page. ‘This is Sheila Dolton,’ I said. ‘She is a mother who, like myself, goes out searching for the body of her murdered child.

  ‘Jonathan, twenty, was killed by his business partner, Stewart Martin, in 2002. Martin has since died, taking his secret to the grave.

  ‘“I’ve spent seventeen years hunting for where the killer hid my dead son’s body,”’ I read.

  ‘“ . . . I go deep into wooded areas . . . At times it’s terrifying.

  ‘“Once, I got lost as night fell. I stumbled about in the dark in sheer panic. I sat down and sobbed.

  ‘“I always pack a survival blanket and compass now. We feel it’s our duty as Jonathan’s parents to find him.’”

  I looked up. They were all silent, you could have heard a pin drop.

  ‘Now, you can empathise and sympathise,’ I said. ‘But you will never know just how tortuous this is until you live through it yourself.

  ‘These killers hold onto the bodies like a badge of honour. It’s a hold they have over the family and it’s evil. Even people who lose loved ones in the most awful ways, in bombings and terrorist attacks, can have that last goodbye. Afterwards, you have a grave . . . somewhere to go with your grief and your pain.

  ‘We don’t.

  ‘These killers are not ordinary people. These are sociopaths and psychopaths. In hiding the body, they want to get away with murder – literally. We have to take that control away from them.’

  No one spoke.

  ‘I’ll leave this with you,’ I said, handing the page to David. Then I stood up and shook their hands. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you for listening to me.’

  My feet didn’t touch the ground as Conor steered us towards the Strangers’ Bar to raise a glass to Helen. A warm fuzzy feeling flooded t
hrough me – and it wasn’t just the alcohol. I felt pride and triumph, I didn’t want that feeling to ever end.

  Arriving home, I headed straight for my St Martha statue. I picked her up and kissed her face.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  Then, with tears in my eyes, I gazed up at our portrait of Helen. ‘And you, love. I know you are there, sweetheart. You have given me the strength to keep going all these years.’

  The Daily Mirror and Mail both ran stories and more interview requests flooded in.

  ‘Seeing a new law unveiled in Helen’s name will be a very proud, and poignant, moment. It means that her death – and all this pain – would count for something and make a difference,’ I told journalists.

  Professor Yardley confessed she had to sit down when she heard the news. ‘Things like this just don’t happen,’ she said, in delighted astonishment. ‘This is truly astounding.’

  She hailed it as a crucial piece of legislation that will ‘enhance the integrity of the criminal justice system in England and Wales’ and how it was ‘testament to the tenacity and determination of Marie McCourt and the community of campaigners around her’.

  ‘People like Marie are the driving forces behind reform of our system. They expose the ways in which it’s not fit for purpose and demand change.

  ‘This is a massive step forwards for everyone affected by homicide – victims’ families and offenders alike.

  ‘And it shows that when we do draw attention to gaps and shortfalls, and shout loudly enough, change can happen.’

  I’d never felt prouder. I was an ordinary, heartbroken, grieving mum who had shouted loudly and persistently until people finally listened.

  Lovely comments flooded my social media accounts, buoying me up.

  Sleep came easier to me and there was a lightness in my feet that I hadn’t felt since 5.15pm on 9 February 1988.

  * * *

  On the way home from Pilates, one lunchtime, still wearing my vibrant yellow Helen’s Law T-shirt, I stopped off in St Helens.

  Outside Boots, a woman placed her hand on my arm. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t quite place the face. ‘I’m Helen’s old Brown Owl,’ she said. ‘I just want to say well done on your campaign. She was such a lovely girl and would be so proud of you.’

  I beamed. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Helen adored being a Brownie.’

  There were no tears, no sadness. Just lovely memories.

  As we chatted, another woman hovered: ‘Are you the one who’s been running that campaign?’ she asked. ‘I think you’ve done brilliantly.’

  I was no longer just ‘Poor Mrs McCourt’, I was ‘Determined Mrs McCourt’, ‘Campaigning Mrs McCourt’, ‘Making a Difference Mrs McCourt’.

  For the first time in thirty years, I found myself singing along to the radio, even breaking out into a dance in the kitchen.

  Meanwhile, the hard work continued. Fiona Duffy obtained new figures from the Home Office that showed a terrifying increase in cases of homicide convictions without a body. There had been fifty for both murder and manslaughter for a ten-year period up to December 2018.

  ‘That’s five a year,’ I gasped. ‘And these are just the cases we know of – how many more missing people have been murdered and hidden?’

  Professor Yardley was surprised the figure wasn’t higher – referring to a ‘dark figure’ of homicide . . . Killings that we simply will never know about.

  ‘There are many homicide victims hidden in the missing persons statistics,’ she explained. ‘And those are the people who have been reported missing, many are not. Just as law enforcement becomes more skilled and adept at investigating homicide, perpetrators will try to stay one step ahead of them, and some will succeed.

  ‘Killers in the twenty-first century are increasingly forensically aware. In an age of the internet and countless true crime television shows, they have access to a lot of information about the investigation of homicide – they know that every contact leaves a trace and that the most valuable piece of evidence in any homicide investigation is the victim’s body.’

  Until now, the MOJ hadn’t confirmed any details from my meeting with David Gauke. I began to wonder if I’d dreamt the whole thing. So, it was a relief when they issued a press release early in July 2019. ‘Helen’s Law Victory’ screamed the front page of the Daily Mirror:

  Killers who refuse to disclose the whereabouts of victims remains are set to serve longer behind bars, the Ministry of Justice has confirmed.

  Justice Secretary David Gauke has announced that the MOJ is bringing in new legislation which will make it harder for parole to be granted to unco-operative prisoners who prolong the agony for victims’ families.

  The announcement is a huge victory for Marie McCourt, mother of missing murder victim Helen McCourt, who has fought a tireless battle – backed by the Daily Mirror – to see the law changed.

  ‘Knowing that a legacy is being created in my daughter’s name, and she will never be forgotten, brings us some comfort,’ she said.

  Conor McGinn hailed the news as ‘a good day for British justice’.

  In a strongly worded statement David Gauke said: ‘It is a particular cruelty to deny grieving families the opportunity to lay their murdered loved one to rest, and I have immense sympathy with Marie McCourt and others in her situation.

  ‘“Helen’s Law” will mean that the Parole Board must consider this cruelty when reviewing an offender’s suitability for release – which could see them facing longer behind bars.

  ‘The profound grief inflicted on families and friends of the murdered is incalculable. Those responsible should know that if they choose to compound this further through their behaviour, they will be held accountable.’

  Many papers also covered reforms to the parole system which had been announced earlier that year – in response to the John Worboys situation – allowing victims the opportunity to challenge decisions they felt were fundamentally flawed.

  It was all coming together nicely. In a flash, I remembered the priest’s words from seven years earlier: ‘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.’

  Maybe this was how it was meant to be. Who knows what our purpose is on this earth? Maybe Helen and I were destined to go through this awful ordeal in order to highlight a terrible injustice.

  God might not have let me find her body yet, but he had blessed me with good health so I could keep shouting for change. Apart from a broken heart, arthritis and osteoporosis (I fractured my wrist when I fell, gardening, a few years earlier) and despite the poor health that had plagued my childhood, I have been fighting fit and healthy for years.

  I’m rarely ill. All around me I have seen so many others fall ill with cancer, heart disease, stroke, dementia. I am still here. I have to be.

  In a strange way, maybe Helen wasn’t meant to be found just yet, I reasoned. For as long as she was missing, I’d go on fighting. And when the time was right, she would be found – I was sure of it.

  That summer, the sun shone brightly. Sadly, David Gauke resigned over Brexit issues. But his replacement, Robert Buckland, had a promising track record when it came to helping grieving families.

  You may remember a shocking case from back in March 2011 when police in Swindon arrested cab driver Christopher Halliwell following the disappearance of twenty-two-year-old Sian O’Callaghan on her way home from a nightclub.

  Through brilliant work by Detective Superintendent Steve Fulcher, Halliwell not only confessed to the murder and led officers to the body, he then – out of the blue – volunteered information about ‘another one’ – leading police to a remote field in Gloucestershire. There they recovered the body of twenty-year-old Becky Godden-Edwards who he’d killed back in 2003.

  Yet because DSI Fulcher hadn’t followed police guidelines in reading Halliwell his rights and offering him a solicitor (who would, no doubt, have advised him to stay quiet) a j
udge ruled the confessions were deemed inadmissible and the second murder charge was dropped. DSI Fulcher should have been knighted. Instead his career was ruined.

  Although Halliwell pleaded guilty to Sian’s murder and was sentenced to twenty-five years – Becky’s determined mum Karen Edwards wanted justice for her daughter, too. Her MP gave her his full backing, encouraged her to launch a petition and raised her plight in the House of Commons.

  In 2016, Halliwell was finally convicted of Becky’s murder and given a whole life order. That helpful MP was Robert Buckland. So, you can understand why I was so heartened to hear that he was the new Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice. (Both Karen and Steve Fulcher have backed my campaign – support for which I am so grateful).

  Nothing could go wrong, now, surely? There was even talk of Helen’s Law being included in the Queen’s Speech in October.

  More good fortune came our way when Louie Smith at the Mirror suggested we ask an expert to cast a fresh eye over our old searches.

  Professor John Hunter OBE, forensic archaeologist who specialised in finding the graves of missing people, had looked closely at our search with Fiona, back in 2002, along with a colleague, but had since retired. But Fiona had recently met Peter Faulding of Specialist Group International – one of the country’s leading search and recovery experts – while working on a story of yet another missing young woman (Nicola Payne of Coventry, a young mum who vanished in 1991).

  He’d worked on other well-known cases including the search for little April Jones in Wales and finding vital evidence for the conviction of Scottish serial killer Peter Tobin. And I was humbled when he said he’d be delighted to help.

  I have nothing but gratitude and thanks to Merseyside Police and all the officers who worked on the initial case. In asking Peter Faulding for his invaluable help we meant no criticism of them. The fact is, search techniques have improved dramatically since the late eighties. Indeed, I’m convinced that had people like Peter been around back then, with his state-of-the-art equipment like sonic radar and magnetometers, to detect soil disturbances, Helen would have been found.