The World's End

by Tom Wood

  The approach we made to Sinclair would be crucial. We had to judge the situation carefully and weigh up all the various conflicting factors. We had to get it right first time.

  The press, of course, had given wide coverage to our operation and inevitably Sinclair’s name had been linked to the inquiry as the main suspect right from the day we first revealed the operation’s existence. We were concerned that this speculation and the naming of Sinclair had continued in some of the tabloids despite warnings by the Crown Office. Surprise was going to play no part in our strategy.

  From the start we had been gathering information about our suspect’s life behind bars and a picture was beginning to emerge. It seemed to us that, in the mind of our suspect, there were two very separate Angus Sinclairs. One was the man of the past – the convicted murderer and sex offender – and the other was the man of the present – a man with a mission, a trusted prison worker, the master of his kitchen and the mentor of his fellow prisoners. By all accounts, Sinclair had indeed become a respected elder statesman among his peers – someone whose advice was sought and usually taken as he oversaw their meals during the long prison days.

  Peterhead Prison is full of sex offenders so he had no fear of the rough justice sometimes handed out to ‘the beasts’ by other prisoners in the mainstream jails. Everyone in that prison was in the same boat, more or less. It was a relatively safe environment and Sinclair, by virtue of his length of service and his hard work, had risen to be first among equals.

  In an effort to create the optimal conditions, we had a letter delivered to Sinclair in his cell explaining that, later that day, we would be calling to speak to him. Our psychologist had been struck by his courtesy and was convinced that treating him with the same level of courtesy as he offered was the best way forward. The interview sessions stretching out in front of us would be long, detailed and tiring. That was on the basis of him not co-operating. If he began making disclosures, then we faced an even longer but more rewarding task.

  Sergeants Young and Shanley took to their brief well later that afternoon when they sat down in an interview room in the prison and patiently spelled out what was going to happen. They called him ‘Mr Sinclair’ or sometimes ‘Sir’ and he responded as our experts had anticipated. Sitting quietly and seeming relaxed, he made appropriate responses to the initial preamble, saying he understood what was going on. After a while, Calum went on to outline the details of the inquiry and how they affected him. I have watched this section of video over and over again, trying to see if there was even the slightest reaction to any of the information that was being given to him. There was not. First Sinclair was told that he was not suspected of any involvement in the two Dundee murders that had been part of Operation Trinity in the early days but quickly discounted. This was important. If Sinclair felt we were on a fishing trip – a speculative interview accusing him of crimes he knew he did not commit – he would conclude that our evidence was thin and sit back. If, on the other hand, we convinced him of the depth of our knowledge and we were right, there was a chance, albeit a very small one, that he might speak. Then there was another matter – we wanted to demonstrate our fairness and respect for him by showing that we were not simply trying to clear our books of unsolved cases. Judging by his previous interview behaviour, our chances were slim but we had to try our professional best.

  Having told Sinclair the police were not linking him to the killings in Dundee, Calum then said that he was, however, suspected of being involved in other killings – ones that had taken place in Edinburgh and elsewhere in Scotland. ‘Do you understand?’ Calum asked him. ‘Yes,’ Sinclair replied in a quiet voice that betrayed no emotion. His single-word answer would be about as revealing as any we would get during what would eventually amount to many hours of detailed interviews.

  Sinclair quickly told the officers that he had taken advice from a local solicitor who had instructed him to say that he had no further comment to make on any of the allegations or questions being put to him. Jim and Calum did not let this put them off and, bearing in mind the training they had gone through to help them deal with just such a ‘no comment’ response, they kept going to plan, reminding him every now and then that, if he really wasn’t involved in the matters they were asking him about, he should say so clearly or it could potentially damage his position at any subsequent trial. We were obliged in fairness to do this, remembering that every word, inflection and nuance was being recorded by sensitive video and audio recordings, but it was also a technique to get him talking. The second word is always easier than the first – if you can get a suspect to speak, even if it is just to deny something, that is preferable by far to a stony silence. That way, there is at least some communication and with it comes the chance of a slip-up or something that can be proved to be a lie.

  We also thought it important to spell out in simple terms to Sinclair how the sands had shifted over the passage of time. We needed to let him see that people who might have been his friends or allies when he was committing crimes all those years ago were no longer on his side – instead, they were now helping us in a way they would not have dreamt of a quarter of a century or more before.

  We hoped to take advantage of Sinclair’s comparative isolation over the years. He was no longer in control of his domestic environment, his relatives or his friends. He must have been uncertain about what changes could have taken place and we judged that, for a man with a controlling personality like Sinclair’s, this would be uncomfortable.

  The interviewers dropped into the conversations details from a statement his sister had made about how he had visited while she was on holiday in Cumbria. There was no great significance in this information other than it demonstrated to him the detail of our inquiry. We also let it be known that members of his wife’s family had helped us gather certain information we needed. We wanted him to understand that, for the Hamilton family, covering up for a petty thief was one thing to but helping a sex killer evade justice was not on their agenda.

  However, despite the very best efforts of Jim and Calum, it was all to no avail – Sinclair made it clear he was not going to say anything. He was cool, collected and in control and we had little option but to conclude the interview. It was, I suppose, something of a triumph of hope over experience to have expected anything else. A veteran prisoner with something to gain and nothing to lose is hardly likely to invite us to roll the tape for a full confession. But there was a chance he might have done exactly that. He was, after all, serving two life sentences anyway. He was already fifty-nine years old and unlikely ever to be released. What else could they do to him? Even if he had confessed and been convicted of more murders, he would have remained in his comfort zone at Peterhead. Indeed, further convictions may have enhanced his prison reputation in a twisted way. But Angus Sinclair was not that kind of man. The only confessions in his life had come when he was very young or being influenced by his wife and thoughts of family. He had learned his lesson and no such leverage existed now. In short, Angus Sinclair was not the confessing type. He would control the situation by silence. As the interviews progressed, first at Fraserburgh police station, then in Glasgow’s Govan police station and finally at Livingston, the station that had provided headquarters facilities for Operation Trinity, there were to be just a very few clues given along the way.

  The biggest of those was at Livingston, some considerable way into the proceedings when we had little to lose. We told Sinclair he was to be questioned over a much earlier killing, the 1970 murder of Helen Kane. This girl had been murdered in Edinburgh some years before the time we believed Sinclair to be active. However, there was a slight connection as, at one time, Sinclair had lived near the area where Helen Kane was last seen. Rather startlingly, he replied to the effect that it was nothing to do with him. He was precise and clear, declaring adamantly, ‘This one is nothing to do with me.’ By going further than he had during countless hours of interviews over several months, Sinclair gave us the first real r
esponse. Helen Kane’s death may have had nothing to do with him but, in saying so, he gave the impression that the other cases may well have been his handiwork. It is, of course, difficult to know exactly what to read into that comment. Was it a fatal slip in an unguarded moment or the natural response of an innocent man or something more subtle? Whatever the reason, it is interesting to contrast this response with the utter silence and detachment of the previous interviews and his performance when he was interviewed about the vicious attack on the rent collector at Moodiesburn – a crime we knew he carried out with his younger brother-in-law.

  The investigation was based in the Central Belt so, after the interview sessions at Fraserburgh had been completed, it made practical sense to transfer Sinclair from Peterhead to Barlinnie in Glasgow. The general pattern of all these interview attempts was the same. He’d be detained under Section 14 of the Criminal Procedure (Scotland) Act and, by the time of the interview at Govan in late November 2004, he was being held in Barlinnie, traditionally one of the toughest prisons in Scotland. As well as moving him for practical reasons, we had also hoped that the change of scene might unnerve Sinclair. He would no longer be in the safe and relatively comfortable surroundings he was used to and in which he enjoyed status and respect. He may have felt nervous, anxious and even vulnerable but, if he did, he certainly didn’t show it. He appeared to settle into Barlinnie within hours of his arrival and, after just a few days, he had made such a favourable impression with prison staff that he had won a position of respect. In exactly the same way as he had done at Peterhead, he was working the system perfectly.

  So, as usual, manners and courtesy were to the fore as Calum Young, this time with another Strathclyde officer, Joe McKerns, sat down in the interview room at Govan and began the standard formalities. With his name, age and address all noted, a full explanation of the reason for this interview was given. Yes, he understood what they were asking him about. Yes, he understood that, as usual, there were people watching the interview live in another room in the police station. And that was it. His stock reply to any question was ‘nothing further to say’ and he even trotted it out in response to being asked if he knew where Moodiesburn was.

  The officers were anxious to move him on from that, the feeling being that even the slightest deviation from his plan may start a little trickle of information that would grow. Once they had established that there was to be no response to the questions over the detail of that terrifying robbery in Moodiesburn, the pair of officers switched to a different tack. They began to ask him exactly why it was that he had nothing further to say. In their drive in this direction, Joe and Calum suggested, ever so gently, that Sinclair may not be able to understand what they were asking him about – that they had somehow lost him. They would, ever so politely and apparently unintentionally, question his intellect – give him the impression that they thought he wasn’t quite with it. They would leave him feeling he had to say something to assert himself and show that he was in charge of the interview, not them – that the session was on his terms not theirs. It was worth a try but it did not work. All he would say was something like, ‘I understand what you are saying and the response will be that I have nothing further to say.’

  And so it went on. They asked why he was saying that he had nothing further to say and got the stock reply. By doing this, he said he was only following the advice of his solicitor. When he was challenged about not having spoken to his solicitor that day and reminded that his solicitor didn’t even know he was at the police station being questioned, it made no difference – the rebuff was the same. Throughout this fairly lengthy session, his patience only seemed tried on a couple of occasions. ‘Please don’t badger me all day,’ he said, ‘I have nothing further to say.’ Knowing the camera and the tape would pick up every nuance, he delivered this remark in a quiet, measured tone.

  During those interviews, we deliberately showed Sinclair just exactly how much work had gone into Operation Trinity and made sure he was aware of how much we knew about him, his associates and his habits over the years. For instance, he had been involved with a man I will call James Smith, who had employed Sinclair for a time in his car repair business. Smith had spoken extensively to us about our suspect. He mentioned how Sinclair had once told him that the best way to pick up a woman was simply to approach one in the street. Indeed, Smith said he had actually been in Sinclair’s car when he stopped and offered a lift to a woman walking alone in the street at night. But, no matter what was introduced, what details we revealed, he remain unflustered and seemingly unconcerned. Always polite, he was apparently content to sit there for as long as we wanted and showed no frustration or irritation at our continuing questions.

  Bizarrely, he was even reluctant to discuss a cut on his face. Calum had started to ask him about his general appearance. It was just another attempt to get him talking about anything but it was based on Calum’s keen observation. He had noticed that Sinclair had arrived in the police station with his shoelaces undone. It was no big deal but it did seem rather odd for a man who, until that point, had been fastidious about his appearance. When asked why he hadn’t tied his laces, Sinclair had nothing further to say about it. Then Calum mentioned the cut on his face – had he done it shaving and, if so, when? ‘I have nothing further to say,’ said Sinclair so Calum gave him a little verbal nudge to underline the ridiculousness of this stance on such a trivial matter. It worked. With slight embarrassment, Sinclair revealed that he had cut himself shaving the previous morning. There was no breakthrough though, no connection. After this momentary frankness, it was just back to the usual silence.

  As this session built towards a climax, Joe laid it on the line to Sinclair – friends from long ago were not friends any more. To underline that point, he slowly and clearly read Sinclair a lengthy extract from his co-accused’s confession to the Moodiesburn robbery without identifying the source of the information. There was no hint of a reaction to this – no change in demeanour or expression. So Joe went on to ask Sinclair who he thought could have made the statement. When Joe supplied the answer, it was met with apparent indifference from the suspect.

  As the questions continued, the officers made it clear to him they would not stop. The questions would go on for weeks or months until they got the answers they needed. Joe cut to the chase. Sinclair should realise his family were helping the police and the detectives of Operation Trinity had built up a massive case against him.

  Joe pointed out that, as he had been putting all these matters to Sinclair, the prisoner had allowed himself ‘a wee wry smile’. Why was this? Was it because he knew he did have something further to say or was it because of his disdain for the witnesses’ courage in coming forward and saying the things they had? But, as the heat was turned up, Sinclair remained resolute. ‘I have nothing further to say’ was, by this time, his mantra and it was to be his only response.

  The frustration of these interviews must be evident to all. They are, however, vitally important to an investigation of this nature. They give us lots of clues and indications if not real answers. Importantly, though, in court much can eventually be made of the fact that the accused was offered the chance to rebut the allegations and chose not to. Questions can legitimately be asked of his version of events in his own defence. ‘If such and such was the case, why did you not tell the officers at the time of interview all those months ago?’ It is a question a jury has the right to hear asked and answered if Sinclair were ever to go into the witness box at a trial. In the event, Sinclair never had to explain himself or account for the fact that his DNA had been found on two murdered girls.

  As I have said, the preparations for these question-and-answer sessions were extremely detailed and well thought through. The questioning officers were changed and all had preparations with carefully briefed officers playing the role of Sinclair to allow the interview teams to gather experience of handling whichever tactics the suspect chose to deploy.

  The first of the major s
essions took place on 18 November 2004 in the police station in Fraserburgh, along the coast from Peterhead. All too often in the police – and, indeed, in most other walks of life – important operations fall short of expectations because the details have not been properly thought through or the apparently little things have been left to chance. We were determined this would not be the case here and a detailed order was drawn up over a period of days and considered very carefully.

  The car used to take Sinclair from prison to police office was wired so that his conversation with accompanying officers could be recorded. This wasn’t anything under-hand – he was warned in advance this had been done. Thought had been given to the people involved and their likely interaction with Sinclair and so officers were told exactly which seats to occupy in the car – who was next to him and which officer sat in front.

  The interviewing officers, in this case Calum and Joe again, had a detailed interview plan with all the areas to be covered carefully laid out and structured. The vehicles owned by Sinclair were very important to the investigation and so we managed to get pictures of their insides and outsides by tracing people who owned them after Sinclair and, with their help, searching through family photograph albums. The vehicle we were most interested in, of course, was the caravanette that he had owned during the period of these murders. It was the vehicle we had been told he used for his weekend fishing trips with Gordon – the trips that took up the whole weekend but never seemed to produce any fish.