By the early part of 1847, Leith had become so dissatisfied with the marriage that he sought the assistance of the family minister, the Rev. James Johnstone, in arranging a formal separation, saying they had become incompatible and could no longer live happily together. The clergyman, who had known the couple for eleven years, remonstrated with Leith and, when he spoke to Ann, learned that she was opposed to any kind of break-up. She admitted, however, that she feared that one day she might have to make up her mind and sacrifice her feelings as a mother and leave her children as well as her husband.
No decision was necessary because that March matters took an unexpected and dramatic turn. By this time Leith was spending more and more nights in the garret of the shop and having his meals delivered to him by his children. One evening, after drinking tea prepared by Ann and taken to the shop in a flagon by one of their daughters, he suddenly became ill, calling out in pain and vomiting. A doctor was called and subsequent investigations indicated that the tea had almost certainly contained poison, probably arsenic. Despite implying that it had been placed in the drink by his wife, Leith played the incident down, saying he did not want any fuss because they had a large family to consider. He refused, however, to have any more meals at, or from, home, preparing his own instead.
The Rev. Johnstone, by now stepping into the role of detective as well as marriage counsellor, learned of the incident and took it upon himself, as ‘his duty’, to question Ann on the matter, asking her outright if she had attempted to poison her husband and pleading with her to tell the truth. She denied any involvement and explained that she had taken her own tea from the same pot before dispatching the flagon to her husband. Questioning the Leiths separately about the presence of arsenic in the house both admitted that a quantity was kept for the eradication of vermin.
Following his apparent narrow escape, Thomas stepped up his efforts to effect a legal separation from his wife. By way of financial settlement he offered to pay her three shillings and six pence per week if she left without the children or eighteen shillings and ten pence if she remained in the family home with them, part of that sum being the rent of the house. Ann responded that she would not contemplate leaving the children, saying she would seek legal advice before coming to any conclusions.
That was another decision that did not require to be made. Some three weeks later, poison again entered the lives of the Leiths, but this time with far more devastating results. On the morning of 21 April Ann prepared a breakfast of porridge for herself and her children. A short time after consuming it, all fell ill. Shortly before 11am, on another mission to negotiate a separation settlement between the couple, the Rev. Johnstone called at the house and found the entire family in varying degrees of distress. By far the worst was Ann, who was kneeling on the kitchen bed in pain. She explained that all of them had been very sick since their meal, adding that she believed they had been poisoned. The minister departed almost at once, hurrying the 150 yards down the street to her husband’s shop to alert him to the dramatic situation. On hearing the news, Thomas replied, ‘They have tried to poison me but it failed and now they have done it to themselves.’ He returned with the Rev. Johnstone to the house and, after asking his ailing wife what had happened, departed on the cleric’s instructions to summon a doctor.
During his absence, the minister came to the conclusion that Ann would not survive her ordeal and moved into investigator mode. He questioned her in detail about the sequence of events that morning and she explained that she had only a small quantity of oatmeal in the house and had used it to make porridge for her children, which she poured into basins. She then used some old barleymeal that had been in the house for about a month to make porridge for herself, also using a little of it to eke out the children’s breakfast. She informed the preacher that she had not used the barleymeal previously because she thought there was sand in it. After identifying the bag containing the remainder of the barleymeal, which the Rev. Johnstone said he would take away for examination, Ann told him she believed the children were less ill than her because they had eaten only a small amount of the barleymeal batch of porridge, compared to it consisting of her entire meal.
More convinced than ever that Ann was about to expire, he solemnly addressed her and, with more than a little insensitivity, beseeched her, ‘Now, Annie, I am going home and you are going to eternity, for you must soon die. I urge on you most affectionately, if you know anything of this matter, not to go to death with a lie on your lips.’ Ann, who had been lying on her face, seemed unperturbed by his lack of finesse and turned to him, smiled and said, ‘My dear father. I have told you all I know.’ He continued on his melodramatic way, ‘I have received your dying testimony. Farewell for ever.’ It was the last words they were to exchange.
By this time, Thomas had returned to the house, explaining that he had gone to three different locations but had been unable to find a doctor. He urged the Rev. Johnstone to help, placing his hand on his shoulder and imploring, ‘I cannot tell you how much I would be obliged to you if you will go for a doctor.’ The minister immediately departed for Tay Street where he knew a Dr Crighton was based, returning a short time later with him. Ann’s condition had worsened and, as the doctor tried to check her pulse, she started to retch once more. A short time after having her stomach pumped, she died. It was 1pm and, just as Ann’s condition had deteriorated with the passage of time, so the children’s had improved.
Events moved swiftly after that. Later in the day Thomas was taken into police custody and during the short journey from his home to police headquarters he was followed by a crowd of several thousand, all shouting and denouncing him for the alleged poisoning. At the same time as he was being incarcerated, the contents of Ann’s stomach, as well as the bag containing the suspect barleymeal, were being conveyed to three different doctors, all of whom ultimately confirmed that her death had indeed been due to arsenic poisoning, which was also found among the maize.
A little over four months later, when he was described as ‘decently attired in black, looking pale and care-worn’, Thomas stood in the dock of the High Court before a panel of three judges to plead not guilty in a ‘wavering, tremulous voice’, to the murder of Ann. The trial lasted all day and after fourteen hours of evidence and speeches, ended almost on the stroke of midnight.
It was remarkable for two reasons. By present day standards, it appears to have been woefully short of anything resembling strong evidence, the main witness being the multi-role Rev. Johnstone. Even the circumstantial case was not particularly persuasive, with the Crown seemingly dependent on little more than suspicion for a conviction. The jury’s verdict was similarly unsatisfactory. After considering the ‘evidence’ for more than an hour-and-a-half, they returned a verdict of guilty by a majority but unanimously recommended mercy. The foreman explained that they disapproved of punishment by death and otherwise they would have brought in a verdict of not proven, effectively setting Leith free.
Lord Cockburn responded by pointing out that Leith had been convicted of the ‘dreadful crime’ with which he had been charged and ‘it was a murder which seemed to comprehend in it all the aggravation of which that offence was capable.’ It was distressing that the Court could exercise no discretion in awarding the punishment, he said, because the penalty for murder was fixed by law. And that being the case, even if he thought—which he certainly did not—that murder was a crime which a capital punishment ought not to be affixed, it would make no difference on what the court had to do. Accordingly, Leith would be executed in Dundee in twenty days’ time.
Although he enjoyed considerable eminence, Lord Cockburn was not renowned for his leniency. He once told another convicted murderer that he ‘would be none the waur [worse] of a good hanging’ before sending him to the gallows. Nor did he have a particularly high opinion of Dundee, describing it as a ‘sink of atrocity’ and ‘for many years, the most blackguard place in Scotland.’ In the circumstances, it is perhaps not so surprising that
the hapless Leith found himself bound for the condemned cell. Equally, if his Lordship or defence counsel had made clear to the jury before they considered their verdict, that the court had no ability to exercise discretion then he would almost certainly have been acquitted.
Leith received the verdict and death sentence with great composure, but before being led away, he was addressed at length from the bench. The Lord Justice-Clerk told him he had been convicted ‘upon very clear evidence’ and he should not harbour any hopes that the execution would not be carried out. He should, however, use the time leading up to the event making repentance of his life and to ‘seek for mercy and pardon through the merits of the Redeemer.’ Whether or not Leith accepted the advice is unclear but he was said to have been ‘much engaged in devotional exercises’ during his time on death row. Since he ceaselessly continued at every opportunity to profess ‘with much firmness’ his innocence, it may be that any mercy or pardon he asked for was on behalf of his accusers rather than himself.
The day before he was due on the scaffold, word arrived that the execution was to be delayed for fourteen days so the authorities might consider a ‘much-signed’ petition calling for clemency. It naturally lifted his spirits and would have given him hope that his prayers had finally been answered. It was short-lived relief, however. Several days later the Scottish Secretary, Sir George Grey, rejected the petition, saying he regarded the case as ‘so entirely free from doubt’ that he could not intervene.
The condemned man never stopped declaring his innocence. He told anyone who would listen that he had ‘no hand whatever, art or part, knowledge of, or design’ in his wife’s death. ‘I have no more hand in my wife’s death than in making the sun shine in the heavens,’ he would say with some eloquence. He remained remarkably buoyant during most of his time awaiting execution but on 4 October, the day before sentence was due to carried out, he fell into depression. It was only a temporary lapse, however. That evening his spirits rose spectacularly, which he ascribed to the ‘goodness of God’ who was ensuring he would display composure and firmness when he went to the gallows. At one point, Leith suddenly clasped his hands, turned his face and eyes upwards and ‘exclaimed in an energetic tone “Oh what happiness! I shall meet with my Redeemer in heaven tomorrow.”’
His last visitors, at 6pm, were one of his sisters and his children, to whom he continued to insist that he was innocent of the murder. His eldest son—namesake Thomas—urged him to confess if he had killed his mother but Leith remained adamant that he had no involvement in her death. They parted with both of them in floods of tears and unable to speak.
After going to bed at midnight, the more subdued Leith unsurprisingly had a mainly sleepless night. The next morning the Provost and magistrates, who were to observe the execution, entered the prison at 7.45am and found him in prayer. Three clergymen arrived soon after and joined him in more prayers and singing of the 130th Psalm.
Despite the fate that awaited him, Leith was practically the most composed of all those who assembled to join him in the walk to the scaffold. After being introduced to the hangman and having his arms pinned, he turned to the Prison Governor, telling him ‘God bless you for your kindness to me, and I hope we will meet again in heaven.’ Walking unaided and declining the assistance of two guards, he climbed on to the scaffold on the front wall of the prison at precisely 8am.
His appearance was met with a roar from the assembled audience who had to come watch the hanging. They had started to gather around midnight and by the morning had swelled to a crowd of between 15,000-20,000—more than a quarter of the then population of Dundee. Newspaper reports the next day described them thus: ‘The spectators were almost exclusively confined to the lower ranks of society, a considerable proportion being female.’
Leith made the most of his last moments on earth. By the time all the assorted officials and doctors and guards had joined him on the scaffold, the execution party numbered a dozen. As the central figure, Leith almost seemed to enjoy his role in the spotlight. He made a low bow to the crowd and invited one of the ministers to pray with him. Prior to the adjustment of the rope, the executioner had difficulty locating one of the fasteners. Leith, unperturbed, coolly directed him to where to find it.
He then addressed the vast crowd: ‘Man is unjust but God is just and I am going to a place where there is no injustice said or done,’ he pronounced. ‘I leave the world speaking the truth as I am going in a very few minutes to appear before the Judge of all and I declare that I have had no more hand in taking away the life of my wife than any in this large assemblage.
‘Our unhappy differences may, perhaps, have been the cause of her death but I solemnly declare that I have been innocent of the crime as charged by men and had truth been stated instead of falsehood, I would not have been here this day. I commit all to God. I am now about to appear before his bar and mercy-seat, and I forgive all who spoke against me. I forgive all they have done me and hope God will forgive them, as I hope for forgiveness at his hands.’
More prayers followed and one of the clergymen asked for the final time if he was guilty or not guilty. With more than a little drama, Leith placed a hand on his breast and declared: ‘with utmost sincerity “I am not guilty.”’ A white cap was placed over his eyes. In the final moments, the small dignified figure repeated over and over again ‘Oh Jesus now. Save me by the blood.’ He was still reciting it when the trapdoor snapped open, suddenly silencing him, as well as momentarily doing the same to the rapt spectators. His body was cut down an hour later and the remainder of the prurient finally drifted away.
Leith continued to protest his innocence even from the grave. He had written a very long letter to his children, by then aged between three and nineteen, to be given to them after his death. In it he again insisted he was blameless and asked them to be guided by the ‘valuable counsel’ of their aunt, his sister Janet, who had taken on the role of their guardian. He warned them about which books to read and urged them to let the bible be their chief study.
Thomas Leith may well have been the evil poisoner he was branded, fully deserving of the fate that befell him. His marriage, after all, had disintegrated after he took a younger lover who gave birth to his child, leaving him with a troublesome wife. Ann’s death, had it been accepted as being from natural causes, would have resolved his problems. Pretending that she had tried to poison him by lacing his tea with arsenic could have been an inventive touch to deflect suspicion. It was the kind of love triangle scenario all too familiar in generations before and since.
And yet, too many of the supposed strands of the devious murder plot did not fit all that conveniently. All the evidence indicated that whatever the difference between himself and Ann, Leith continued to be on good terms with his children, whom he treated well and generously. More than one of them spoke in court about their happy relationship with him and of his affection for them. Would such a father place poison in food knowing his beloved children might consume it along with his intended victim? And how could he know for sure that Ann would not have reversed the breakfast procedure and had the oatmeal herself while dishing up the arsenic-laced barleymeal to the children?
Consider the other alternatives. Having been a loving wife who bore her husband twelve children, Ann would surely have been distraught, if not demented, to find her marriage breaking up because of her husband’s association with a younger woman. At the very least, she faced a difficult life. At worst, she might even have to accept the unthinkable—a lonely, impoverished existence without her children. In that position, wouldn’t many women have contemplated suicide with the added bonus, if she was clever enough, that her cheating husband would be blamed? Troubled minds can frequently be the most creative and ensuring that her children would consume some of the poison, but not enough to kill them, might have been the kind of refinement well within the capabilities of a desperate, betrayed wife.
Is it even possible that the killer was neither of the Leiths but the ‘other wom
an’, who wanted rid of her rival and cared little for her children? Or, unlikely as it might seem, could the whole business have been no more than a tragic accident? It would not have been the first, nor last, time that poison, openly bought for domestic purposes, had been left in the wrong container with disastrous results. Thomas Leith, who was either cruelly depraved or seriously wronged, never attempted to do anything but protest his innocence. Either way, he apparently went to meet his maker with a forgiving and happy heart. And that was just as curious as everything else about the case.
18
FORGIVE ME, FATHER
The opening scenes are like sequences from a film – a bunch of boisterous students are taking advantage of an unusually warm spring evening to kick a ball about on a stretch of grass near their halls of residence. The ball bounces into the back garden of a house and rolls slowly down a flight of steps into an open basement area. One of the students shouts mockingly over his shoulder at his friend’s lack of kicking skill and takes the steps two at a time to recover the ball. He picks it up and is about to throw it back into play, when he notices a broken pane of glass in a conservatory attached to the house. He peers inquisitively through the window and, staring back at him but seeing nothing, are the bloodstained corpses of an elderly man and a woman …
It is 6.30 p.m. on Sunday, 17 May 1980. Within an hour the handsome, detached villa at 2 Roseangle is sealed off and teams of detectives and forensic scientists are swarming all over it. For the four young footballers, all students at Dundee University on the opposite side of the road from the house with a commanding view of the Tay estuary, a Sunday-evening kickabout would never be the same again. Their grim discovery launched a murder hunt that would soon stretch the length and breadth of Britain, leaving a bloody trail and other dead victims of a crazed psychopath.
The Lawkillers Page 19
