by Steven Clark
The guard’s evidence at the subsequent trial made for traumatic listening and one juror needed medical treatment for shock.
‘I’m sorry that you have to relive these events Mr D, but could you tell the members of the jury what happened next.’
Mr Jameson, the prosecuting Barrister, was in full flow and turned dramatically to the jurors, ‘I apologise to you in advance for what you are about to hear. It is indeed extremely brutal, but it is necessary for you to be fully aware of the vicious and callous nature of the defendant.’ Jameson knew, as he was a very experienced barrister and well practised in courtroom theatricals, that the dramatic swing of his gown and the pointing at the defendant in the dock would have the faces of the jurors following his every move. He was not disappointed as he saw that all eyes were now on the scowling menace behind the glass screen.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jameson with another dramatic gesture back to the witness box, ‘please continue Mr D; please be assured that your recollection of the events, notwithstanding the pain you will endure in the course of you having to recall the unnecessary violence you suffered is of vital importance. The members of the jury must be left in no doubt as to the wanton and violent nature of the defendant.’ With a sweep of his hand behind him to gather his flowing gown, Mr Jameson sat down.
‘Continue in your own time Mr D.’
‘Yes sir,’ said the guard. ‘I didn’t see him coming; the visor of my helmet was down as I left the Supermarket entrance and walked to my van about twenty yards away. It was just going dark but the street lights had not yet come on. There were plenty of shoppers and customers around and everything seemed just normal. Nothing untoward. As part of our training we always carry out dynamic risk assessments.
Jameson rose once more, ‘for the benefit of the jury who may not fully understand such terminology, can you just explain Mr D what you mean by that.’
‘Oh, yes sir, sorry about the jargon, all it means is that we are continually assessing the risk. Each time we drive somewhere, every time we stop, before we leave the safety of the cash van. We always have a good look around and if we see anything even slightly suspicious, we don’t get out of the van and we report it over the radio right away.’
‘Yes, thank you Mr D, please continue.
‘I collected the sealed container from the store, checked my exit route out and was escorted to the front entrance by the store security officer. Normally he would escort me to the back of the van as an extra precaution but, before we reached the door, he received a radio message to say that the staff had apprehended a shop lifter and he was required to assist them and await the arrival of the police.
“As I reached the back of the van, I was about to open the small security door to slide in the cash box. I didn’t see or hear anything; I was slightly bent over to enable me to open the door. Everything just happened so fast. Suddenly, I felt a heavy blow to my back in between my shoulder blades. I fell to my knees and then forward onto my face. I put my hands out to try and break my fall and I was momentarily stunned and lying in the road way face down. I let go of the box in an instinctive manner as my hands came down in front of me but the box didn’t travel very far, only about two feet away as it was still chained to my left wrist.’
‘I know how difficult this is for you Mr D, but please go on, would you like a glass of water?’
‘No sir, sorry. I’m ok. I turned over onto my back and was about to try and get up when I saw him towering above me. He had a black leather bomber type jacket on, dark coloured jeans; I remember they had a rip in the left knee, and he was wearing a black woolly balaclava over his head. He stood on my left hand, which was chained to the box, to prevent me from moving it and he knelt down beside me.’
‘Excuse me, Mr D, but I must just stop you there. It is my understanding of the situation that you clearly identified the defendant at the police station a few weeks after the incident, is that correct?’
‘Yes sir, that’s correct.’
‘Well forgive me for being pedantic here,’ as Jameson turned to face the jury once again, ‘but, if the defendant was wearing a face mask, how on earth could you have identified him?’
‘But that’s just it sir, when he knelt down beside me he leaned near to my face and took off the face mask and began to laugh. He wanted me to see his face that’s for sure. I think he wanted to make sure that I could see the wildness in his eyes. He said to me, “I hope you’ve got the key for your fucking bracelet mate.” I was stammering and stuttering and shouting all at the same time, it’s in me pocket, me right hand pocket. I reached into my pocket and brought out the key which was also on a small thin chain and handed it to him.’
‘I’m sorry to put you through this Mr D, but, could you just tell the jury what happened next.’
‘He took the key and chain, dangled it in front of me and dropped it on the floor and stamped on it with the heel of his foot, trying to grind it into the ground. His saliva peppered my face as he spat out the words to me, “Couldn’t be bothered fuckin about with keys,” and I saw his right arm rise above his shoulder and come crashing down to the ground. I screamed in pain as he stood up and I could see that he was holding the money case above my head and attached to the case was my left hand and wrist. He was laughing as he stood and began swinging the bracelet, with my hand still attached.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion, me looking down at my arm spurting blood, and him swinging my hand around above his head like a skipping rope. Suddenly, my hand flew out of the bracelet, slammed against the van, and fell to the floor with my blood splattering everywhere as it fell. He looked down at me once more and said in the most chilling voice and manner, “Now me old matey, that was handy wasn’t it.” I will never forget those words or the way that he said them. I wake up sweating at night; he was speaking in the way that you hear old pirates speak in the movies. He enjoyed what he did to me. He is a monster who enjoys inflicting pain on others. He’s like a rabid dog. He should be put down.”
‘So, just to be absolutely clear on this matter Mr. D, Had he so wished, the defendant could have retrieved the cash box without any injury to you. You were not resisting him in any way, in fact, you had freely offered him the cash box key which would have enabled him to simply unlock your bracelet and make off with the cash without further ado. Is that correct?’
‘Absolutely right Mr. Jameson. We are under instructions not to offer resistance to any form of violence, not just for our own safety, but also that of any other staff or members of the public who could get injured if we resisted, we are told quite clearly that under no circumstances are we to try any heroics.’
‘Quite so, quite so Mr D, thank you for your attendance here today in what is obviously a very distressing situation for you. May the witness be excused M’lud? I’m sure he would appreciate a rest and an opportunity for him to have a drink. That is, if the defence have no questions to ask Mr D?’
The prosecution barrister continued his drama by waving his hand towards his learned colleague, but did not look at him as he knew his gesture would have even more dramatic effect.
Johnson’s defence barrister was also very experienced in court room procedures and he was well aware that both the Judge and the jury were looking in his direction. He could read both their minds; he knew it would be seen as extremely callous of him if he began to ask questions of the injured security guard.
Although he was duty bound to defend Johnson, he was well aware of the monster he was representing. He knew full well what a violent bastard he was. As his defending barrister, he had access to his previous convictions and he knew that his client had been in and out of institutions of various kinds for many years.
It came as no surprise to him to hear the evidence of the sadistic nature of the man in the dock when he knew that he had been detained in a young offenders institute at the age of 12 for decapitating a neighbour’s cat and pushing the severed head through the letterbox of the neighbour’s front door. The nex
t door resident, in the eyes of Johnson, had committed a ‘crime’ in that she had not thrown his football back over the wall into Johnson’s yard. Hardly surprising given the tirade of foul abuse the neighbour had endured over a considerable period of time and the latest outburst of, ‘Gis me fucking ball back yeh smelly old cunt.’
Mrs Willis was indeed old, but smelly, she most definitely was not. She kept her little terraced house clean and tidy and lived in abject fear of the two young thugs who lived next door.
The jury are never allowed to know the previous convictions of defendants as it is considered extremely prejudicial to a defendant’s right to a fair trial. Johnson’s barrister knew it would serve no useful purpose to question the guard and equally dismissive with his gesturing hand, said to the Judge, ‘I have no questions for this witness M’lud.’
The Judge turned to the guard. ‘Thank you Mr D for the evidence you have given to this court today. You are dismissed, and I hope that your wounds quickly heal and you regain full use of you’re hand. You have been most honest and forthright in your testimony. I understand that you remain employed by your company in an administration capacity and it is to be hoped that you are never subjected to such violence again. Thank you once more.’
As the guard left the witness box, a woman juror sitting nearest to the witness looked across at Johnson in the dock. He was handcuffed and another chain was around his waist securing him to a rail. Two prison guards stood either side of him. Another stood behind him to restrain him if required. He saw the juror looking at him. He smiled at her and raised both his arms and made a sawing motion, simulating him cutting off one of his own wrists. At this gesture, the young woman fainted and had to be led from the courtroom whereupon the Judge declared a short recess in order that she may be allowed to compose herself and continue once more.
Fifteen years was certainly not enough jail time for the evil sub human that smiled and blew kisses to the jury as sentence was passed. They all knew that with parole and other matters taken into consideration he would serve no more than eight or nine years.
Fortunately the security guard was able to make a reasonable recovery as surgeons managed to re-attach the severed hand thanks to a quick thinking checkout assistant who rushed to the blood splattered scene with several bags of ice from the Supermarket freezer department. He would only ever have limited use of his hand and he would never recover the use of his little finger or ring finger as they were in a permanently straightened position as a result of tendon damage
Into first gear. The wagon lurched forward. ‘Fuck me,’ said Dave. ‘He’ll kill us all driving like that. Mind if I put my seatbelt on?’
‘Very slowly, pull it over with your right hand.’
As he reached for the belt, his mind was racing. Stupid thoughts of another film from the dim and distant past, today is not a good day to die. What day is ever a good day to die thought Dave?
The wagon bounced over a particularly deep pothole in the road and Dave bounced out of his seat slightly. Johnson looked away from Dave and politely asked Joe to be more careful as he drove!
Dave managed to slip his right hand under his uniform tunic and moved one of the switches on the radio concealed under his clothing. He was grateful of the early Season. Still fairly cold on the docks at this time of the year, especially on Nights. He was still wearing his bulky winter short coat whereupon the radio was carried inside the left chest area of the jacket. The new radio system, which had only been up and running for a few months was a huge improvement over the old one. Not only was it much more powerful in the distances it could transmit and receive, it was a lot smaller and lighter, and more important today than any other day, had a number of features that old gear didn’t have.
The switch he had operated was the open microphone facility. He wouldn’t be able to receive any messages of which he was extremely thankful. The last thing he wanted was for his abductor to know about the radio. All he could hope for now was that others might become aware of his predicament.
Chapter 4
Just before 0700 hours and the Port Police control room was its usual noisy banter and mayhem of the night shift about to go off as the early shift came on duty.
Sergeant Chambers had just come on as the early turn supervisor. The Section Sergeants always came on duty a bit earlier than their constables so that they could sort out any briefings or information required prior to the lads and lasses coming on. They would quickly scan the incidents of the previous 24 hours and be in a position to allocate any jobs or enquiries that would need to be carried out during their tour of duty for that day.
The Night duty Sergeant had appraised him with, ‘All quiet Bob, see you tomorrow morning.’
‘Right.’ said Bob, as he walked into the control room for his first cup of tea of the day. All jobs and offices have their little routines and idiosyncrasies and Bob’s first and foremost action was to make that first cup of tea in the morning. He knew he couldn’t function properly until he was sat there with that steaming mug in front of him reading the 24 hour log.
‘Now then Stevie, which of our lovely lads and lasses; those sweet little cherubs of ours has rang in this morning saying they’re going to be late because they’ve had a puncture, got stuck in traffic, alarm clock didn’t go off, or they’ve been up all night with the shits and vomiting then?’
Steve smiled and busied himself as usual. ‘Everyone’s here boss, except Tony Collins. He hasn’t phoned in from Birkenhead yet to book himself on duty. I’ll give the night lads a bell over there in a few minutes if I haven’t heard anything.’
Steve Mullins was the early turn control room officer and was issuing radios and car keys to the Morning duty Bobbies when the telephone rang.
Sergeant Chambers slid into the hot seat and answered the ‘phone in his usual cheery early morning manner as the display indicated the call was from one of the gate houses. As he knew the call was from one of his officers and not a general call from the public, he answered in the usual way.
‘Morning bollocks, what can I do for you at this unearthly hour?’
‘Mornin Boss, PC Edwards here. I’ve just got to Bramley Moore gate. Dave Watkins helmet is in the hut boss, but there’s no sign of him. It’s like the bleedin Marie Celeste here; the fires on and the radio’s playin but he aint here. I’ve checked the bog as well sarge but nothing. I know he hasn’t pissed off home early boss because his car’s still here and his civvie coat is hanging on the peg behind the door.’
As Bob Chambers was listening to Mick Edwards, he was aware of something unusual coming through over the radio system and instinctively, although he hadn’t registered what was being transmitted, he knew it was something untoward as his stomach churned. Today was definitely not going to be just another day.
‘Quiet, everybody. Quiet. Now’.
Instantly, all the officers in the control room who seconds earlier had been receiving their patrol vehicle keys and radio’s; discussing last night’s football results and latest conquests, real or imagined, knew their jovial Sergeant wasn’t messing about. There was instant hush.
‘Mick, I’ll phone you back, there’s something going on here. Steve, turn the radio up.
Steve Mullins increased the volume and listened intently. Nothing.
Two or three minutes went by with just some unidentified noises and static. A car horn in the distance maybe? an engine revving? He couldn’t make it out.
Suddenly, the recognisable voice of Dave ‘the satisfied diner’ Watkins voice came over the air.
Dave had been affectionately known by this nickname for a few years ever since he had been invited to a night out and was unable to go at short notice due to some domestic crisis or other and had said, ‘Sorry, lads I can’t make it, I’ve got a lot on me plate at the moment.’
He was met with the retort, ‘Yer wha? got enough on yer fuckin plate ave yer. Who d’ya think you are then. The fuckin satisfied diner?’
Liverpool humour being what
it is, particularly that relating to the docks, ensured that he would be forever known as the satisfied diner.
Sergeant Chambers listened intently and the room was hushed. When the words were spoken, he was surprised at how clear and calm the voice was.
‘How long then?’
‘How long what?’ Nobody recognised the second voice.
‘How long you gonna keep that sawn off shoved into me ribs?’
‘Until I decide whether or not I’m gonna rearrange your insides now, shut the fuck up.’
‘OK, I’m just a bit worried about Joe, our driver. You can see he’s sweatin like a pig. I don’t fancy him smashing into the overhead gantry here at Switch Island that’s all.’
The six or seven officers in the control room either looked at the radio base unit on the desk, or at each other in silence, nobody spoke as they were all dumbfounded by the words emanating from the speaker.
Bob chambers laughed nervously and thumped the desk with his huge fist.
‘Good lad Dave, fuckin good job son.’ he said to no one in particular.
He turned to the other officers in the control room and to the controller, Steve Mullins, he said, ‘He’s trying to let us know as much as possible where he is and what’s happening.
‘Start the Log Steve. Make sure you write down everything you hear, everything. Sounds; noises of any kind, any words spoken by anyone at all. He’s in deep shit by the looks of it boys and we need to give him a fighting chance by being on the ball. John, give him a hand with the phones and you Griff, go and speak to Inspector James and bring him up to speed. Go on lad, quick as you can.’
Sometimes the lads were chided by management for not doing this, or complaining about that but, one thing Bob Chambers knew for an absolute certainty was, when the mucky stuff hit the fan, they all pulled their weight and worked hard together without complaint. He knew that none of his lads would complain today regarding working hard or long hours.
