Justice for Helen

by Marie McCourt

  We were hoping to keep our legal action quiet for a few days but by 8am the next morning, my phone started ringing off the hook. The story had already appeared on two news websites.

  ‘It’s best not to say too much,’ the legal team advised, so I turned down interviews and simply issued a brief statement confirming we’d applied for a judicial review.

  The court fired into action; a judge asked for responses from the other parties by 4pm that day.

  My blood pressure rose when I read comments from Simms’ representatives: ‘Mr Simms submits that the Claimant is not a party to these proceedings, has no standing, and as such, the matter should be dismissed.’

  Oh, does he now?

  ‘The Reconsideration Process has been scrupulously followed in this case and found the Parole Board process, procedure and decision making to be lawful.

  ‘Mr Simms urges the Court to respect Parliament’s authority in setting legislation and to dismiss the claim as lacking standing.’

  ‘How dare he!’ I fumed. The only reason I was having to do this was because of his cruelty. And what was with the ‘Mr Simms’? Surely, it’s surname only when dealing with convicted killers?

  At 7pm, that Friday evening, the court announced it would make a decision on the Monday – it was like having a plaster torn off excruciatingly slowly.

  John and I spent the weekend poring over our finances. Because I was applying for a cost-capping order the courts wanted to know exactly how much I had – in addition to the crowdfunding account – right down to the last penny. We could lose the lot. Simms, on the other hand, would be granted legal aid.

  On Monday, 3 February, the judge decided there would be an oral hearing with all parties before a Divisional Court the following day at 2pm.

  Would this ever end?

  On the Tuesday, I woke early to light candles and say my novena. Once again, we drafted two media statements and prayed we’d be using the ‘I’m relieved’ version.

  Just before 3.40pm, my email inbox pinged: it was James Thacker. I held my breath as I clicked on it.

  We’d lost.

  Simms was being released. The court had relied on him having already been released on temporary licence and licence conditions being put in place. There was also a concession made that, should I win a judicial review, the court must recall him. But that was little consolation now.

  Phone calls from reporters came thick and fast. I was too upset to speak, but released my miserable statement. The one glimmer of good news was that the court had ordered disclosure of all the information we wanted about Simms.

  At 11am, on 5 February, I was loading the washing machine when the phone rang: it was my VLO. My knees buckled. There was only one reason why she’d be calling now.

  ‘This is the phone call I’ve been dreading all these years, isn’t it?’ I said weakly.

  There was a long pause. ‘He’s out, Marie,’ she said simply.

  My stomach twisted. ‘What . . . he’s being released or he’s been released?’ I demanded.

  ‘He’s been released,’ she repeated.

  My grip on the phone weakened. Energy and strength leached from every pore. So, this was it: after thirty-two years, it had happened.

  I imagined gates clanging shut behind him. The satisfying inhalation of fresh air as he stepped outside, blinking, clutching his possessions in a carrier bag.

  It was probably just a regular door that clicked shut behind him. And, let’s face it, he’d been sniffing fresh air for a while now on temporary release. But the principle of it crushed my insides.

  He was free. Properly free. And Helen was still missing.

  No sooner had I broken the news to Michael, John and Fiona than the phones started ringing off the hook: ‘Is it true?’ journalists clamoured to know. ‘Is he out?’

  I’d planned not to speak to anyone, but the BBC begged to do an interview for the local news and I relented.

  At one point, there was a TV crew in the conservatory, another in the living room, a reporter in the kitchen and another crew parked outside waiting to come in.

  That evening, I watched the news bulletins numbly. ‘I didn’t think my heart could break twice,’ I heard myself say. ‘But today it did.’

  I still have no idea where Simms is. He is under strict conditions not to come anywhere near the Northwest and is tagged to ensure he meets curfew and boundary regulations (with a fifty-mile exclusion zone around Billinge). Somewhere within that radius lies Helen’s remains – and I don’t want him coming anywhere near them.

  When monitoring and tracking procedures are removed we will take security measures. However, we will not be frightened or intimidated – and refuse to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders.

  Simms could not hurt me any more than he has already done – he has done his worst.

  Four days later, my heart still felt bruised as we took our seats in the House of Commons public gallery to hear the Prisoners (Disclosure of Information about Victims) Bill finally have its long-awaited second reading.

  Conor McGinn spoke so beautifully on my behalf. Tears of emotion ran down my face as he mentioned Winnie Johnson and her plight – it was all getting so close to home now. Afterwards, he glanced up towards us. ‘Thank you,’ I mouthed.

  I would never, ever be able to tell him how much this meant.

  As the vote was announced, I scanned the chamber anxiously. My heart stopped beating. As it came to the ‘ayes’, there was a resounding response. And the ‘no’s? I strained my ears. The silence lasted for one second. Two.

  ‘The ayes have it,’ the Speaker announced. ‘The ayes have it.’

  I exhaled slowly and gratefully.

  Outside, Conor introduced me to various MPs. ‘Oh, Marie,’ one said, shaking my hand. ‘A constituent used to be babysat by Helen. She contacted me urging me to vote for this. I’m so pleased it’s passed today’s reading.’

  I beamed proudly at the thought of grown-ups still remembering their lovely babysitter. Helen had adored those children and they’d never forgotten her.

  On 3 March (another Tuesday) I tuned into Commons proceedings on our old laptop and was astonished when the Bill passed the next three crucial steps – the committee stage, report stage and third reading – one after the other.

  Conor McGinn observed how bittersweet today was for me – coming after the release of my own daughter’s killer: ‘However, it is a testament to the character of Marie McCourt that her campaign continued so that other families would not have to suffer.

  ‘I know that Members across the House send their sympathy and solidarity to Marie McCourt, on a day on which she can rightly take pride, although that, of course, does not return the remains of her beloved Helen.’

  I wiped tears away as the Bill was officially passed by the Commons: it was on its way to the Lords. Then I glanced up at Helen’s portrait: ‘Did you hear that, love?’ I asked. ‘You were mentioned in Parliament.’

  Then I cursed Brexit, general elections and every other delay that had prevented Helen’s Law from being adopted into law before now. But I tried to stay positive. Any day now we hoped to hear about our application for a judicial review.

  And on 11 March, we went to London to meet Professor Penney Lewis, the new criminal law commissioner at the Law Commission – the body that makes laws. She gave me her undivided attention as I told her all about my campaign and explained that the burial laws in England and Wales were outdated and badly in need of reform.

  ‘This has to be changed,’ I implored. ‘Everyone, whether you are religious or not, has the right to a funeral and their loved ones have the right to give them that last goodbye. It’s part of the grieving ritual. Without a body, you can’t believe they’re gone.

  ‘All I want is my daughter’s remains. I want to give her, or whatever is left of her, a burial in our little churchyard.’

  Professor Lewis explained how law reform projects were undertaken and advised me to request a review
of these laws through the Government. Then she added: ‘You should feel incredibly proud at the work you have done to get Helen’s Law where it is. I am sure it will make it onto the statute books.

  ‘You have already helped families immensely because of that legal change – even if you haven’t been able to prevent Simms coming out. It is an immense accomplishment and an immense legacy for your daughter. Very few people manage to make that kind of difference. The fact that you have done it is tremendous.’

  I nodded gratefully.

  ‘But it doesn’t help me give her a burial,’ I said tearfully.

  She nodded. ‘I’m sure she would be really proud.’

  I left feeling more positive than I had in weeks. Helen’s Law was on its way to the Lords. We had a meeting lined up to meet members. We were campaigning for an overhaul of burial laws and any day now we’d hear about our judicial review.

  But on that very day the World Health Organization declared a global pandemic. Coronavirus was spreading like wildfire. Soon afterwards, we entered national lockdown.

  Chapter 20

  To the High Court

  A

  ll we needed now was a plague of locusts and we’d have completed the ‘great hurdles of our time’ challenge. Seriously, was there anything else that could be thrown at us?

  As John and I were now both in our seventies (and therefore in the higher-risk category), we battened down the hatches. I didn’t even leave the house for a daily walk. I’d made it this far – I was not going to let some deadly virus stop me having my day in court and seeing my campaign through.

  Like every other part of society, legal cogs stopped turning. Clerical desks were abandoned. Judicial wigs packed away. Court doors slammed shut and locked. And I imagined dust settling, like the dewfall, on legal papers – including my application for a judicial review.

  Weeks passed with no news – apart from the terrifying rise in the death toll. My heart went out to the thousands affected – and those grieving families denied final goodbyes before their loved ones slipped from this life. I knew only too well how tortuous this could be – I truly hope they have been helped through their pain.

  Unsurprisingly, we had to cancel our trip to the Lords to meet members but I needn’t have worried. They were all supportive when Helen’s Law had its second reading in the Lords in late April 2020. It was largely virtual – various members zoomed in from their homes across the country (yes, another technical aspect I had to master).

  The comments were supportive, positive and poignant. Members observed my ‘formidable campaign’ and the heart-breaking timing of this Bill – coming so soon after Simms’ release. As one member said: ‘It is not a “No Body No Parole” Bill, so it is not everything the campaigners wanted, but it sends a clear message to Parole Board panels that a refusal to give information that can ease a relative’s pain, such as non-disclosure of remains, should be a significant factor in their decision-making.’

  Members also recognised that much more needed to be done to support victims in the parole process. I’ve since spoken to many privately and this is something I would definitely like to see happen. If I can spare other families from this ordeal, something good will have come out of losing Helen.

  Speech was muffled, connections lost and adjournments taken while technical hitches were sorted. But, finally, the reading was passed.

  It was VE Day in May before I learned from my legal team via Zoom that, just before lockdown, the Court hadn’t been able to make a decision from the paper application alone: it wanted an oral hearing by the end of July. By now, Tom Little QC – one of the top barristers in the country – had joined the team. We couldn’t have been in safer hands and I will never, ever, be able to say thank you enough times to him for coming on board to help us.

  While the rest of the country held socially distanced street parties, John, Michael and I had a huge decision to make. Did we opt for the ‘rolled-up’ hearing that the court had suggested – where they considered both the application itself, and the hearing, at the same time? Or did we go for the other option – asking for permission first and then a cost-capping order to cover a separate hearing?

  There were huge pros and cons to both options. The first was quicker, but we would be going in without a capping on costs if I lost. Simms’ team was currently estimating costs at a whopping £75,000. With my legal fund at a perilous £27,000, I would have to make up the shortfall.

  The second option (applying for permission and cost-capping first and then a subsequent separate hearing) would take longer. There were already huge backlogs in the system. Who knew when the hearing might happen? And the longer Simms was out (and behaving himself because, let’s face it, no one was leaving home), the less chance there was, realistically, of persuading a judge that the decision to release him had been wrong. Not to mention the toll all of this was taking on us. For more than thirty-two years, we’d lived this nightmare. But now, with our advancing years and the added stress of lockdown and terror of catching Covid-19, we were finding it so hard to think straight. To make decisions.

  My legal team were absolutely brilliant in explaining everything but the final decision then lay with John and me. We had the weekend to think things over. It was one of the most miserable times we’d ever gone through together.

  We went round and round, and over and over, the same grounds. Whichever decision we made could finish us off. We could risk everything – and win. Or we could save our home – the home that Helen loved, everything we’d worked so hard for – and lose.

  By Monday afternoon, we’d aged ten years. The lowest point came when John took a deep breath and suggested withdrawing from the whole thing; cutting our losses and running.

  What?

  ‘But we’ve come so far, John. We can’t pull out now, we’ll always wonder “what if?” We have to see it through,’ I said, gesturing to Helen’s portrait. ‘For Helen.’

  Suddenly, he was crying. My brave, strong, stoic husband was sobbing like a child. ‘I can’t stand it,’ he wept. ‘I can’t stand what this is doing to you. To us.’

  I put my arms around him and we cried together. For three long decades we had lived under the darkest of rumbling, threatening clouds. Now, they were about to burst, leaving us engulfed and gasping for breath.

  It took a week to make a final decision. We’d go for the first option and pull out all the stops to raise enough money through crowdfunding. To do that, we needed one final push.

  ‘Helen’s Law Mum Faces Losing Home in Court Battle’ . . . ‘Simms Has Stolen My Daughter – Now He Could Take My Home,’ screamed the dramatic headlines.

  ‘This convicted killer was granted legal aid and I, the mother of a missing murder victim, am not entitled to a penny,’ I told readers. ‘Any help, even a single pound, would mean the world.’

  It was a huge gamble. By then, businesses were folding, the economy was in crisis, jobs were being axed. But my wonderful, generous supporters – I could cry just thinking about how grateful I am – rallied. Money, love and strength poured in. Within a few days, we’d reached £40,000.

  My brilliant, persuasive legal team successfully asked the other side to limit costs to those funds if we lost. Finally, we had a bit of breathing space.

  We avidly watched Helen’s Law pass its committee and report stages in the Lords. These were much lengthier hearings with one amendment made – requiring the Parole Board to create and maintain a database of the victim’s family members so they could be kept fully updated on an offender’s parole application. However, because a change had been made, this now had to be approved by the Commons. The result was a phase called ‘ping pong’ (seriously!), where the Bill would bounce back and forth between the two houses before an agreement was made. I prayed a huge match wouldn’t entail. (On Tuesday, 6 October, the Bill returned to the Commons – only for the amendment to be rejected. MPs argued that, as a new pilot scheme had been undertaken to keep families updated on decisions, the amendm
ent wasn’t needed. Hopefully, at that point the Bill would then be approved by both houses and be presented to HM The Queen herself for royal assent. Finally, after five long years of campaigning, Helen’s Law would enter the statute books).

  So, we were on the home straight for seeing Helen’s Law through, but when it came to getting Simms back behind bars, everything was hanging on this judicial review.

  By sheer coincidence, the first day of the hearing was 29 July – Helen’s birthday.

  ‘That’s a good sign, surely?’ I said to John.

  * * *

  Like everything else these days, the hearing would be virtual, with everyone logging on. It involved mastering yet another platform: Skype Business. In desperation, John and I approached a local computer shop for help. We were so touched when the owners set everything up on a laptop and lent it to us for as long as we needed it – with no charge.

  As the date drew nearer, I focused entirely on the hearing – and Helen’s birthday. We issued a statement to journalists outlining my hopes and reasons for bringing the action – arguing that the Board’s decision was wrong because it applied the wrong legal test (in respect of the appropriateness in releasing a convicted murderer who denies their offence and refuses to identify the location of their victim’s body), was irrational and procedurally unfair.

  Then we prayed.

  As 29 July dawned, the story made all the papers and news bulletins – ‘Mum Asks Judges to Quash Parole Decision’ and ‘Recall Killer to Prison’ said the headlines.

  Messages of support and good luck flooded in. Everyone was behind us.

  No matter what the outcome, we were making legal history. This was believed to be the first time ever a decision to release a convicted murderer who refused to disclose information about the location of their victim’s body had ever been challenged by the family.

  Not surprisingly, Simms’ team was disputing the claim in full.

  But as the Parole Board was also questioning whether victims had a legal right to challenge its release decisions my claim would also cover the extent to which victims of crime could participate in parole proceedings. Like the successful judicial review challenge by victims into the release of convicted taxi rapist John Worboys in 2018, this could have huge ramifications.