Essex Boy

by Steve 'Nipper' Ellis; Bernard O'Mahoney

  ‘I have been asked if I will return to the United Kingdom and give evidence. I can state that I will not. While living in the Leigh-on-Sea area, I would frequent the Woodcutters Arms and I am all too aware of the reputation of the people that use this pub, and of those charged in connection with the murder. I would fear not only for my safety, but also for that of my family, should I return as a witness. I have also been asked if I would consider giving evidence by video link. I will not for the reasons already explained.’

  It wasn’t the result that the police had hoped for, but Osborne’s statement was nevertheless encouraging. Here was a man with an excellent knowledge of firearms who had not only heard two or three shots around the time Boshell was believed to have died, but he had also identified them as coming from a handgun. Such knowledge and expertise were bound to impress a jury and confirm to them that Boshell had met his death shortly before the telephone call had been made to Alvin’s girlfriend.

  When Alvin, Griffiths, Percival and Walsh appeared at Chelmsford Crown Court to stand trial, they all pleaded ‘not guilty’ to the charges that they faced. During the first week of the proceedings, the jury was sworn in and the opening speeches were made by both the prosecution and the defence. As a result of legal arguments, the jurors were removed from the room during the second week. The prosecution had said that they wished to introduce as evidence the notes that the police had made when Boshell had given information about Alvin. If the judge agreed to let the prosecution use these notes, they would prove to be extremely damaging to Alvin’s defence, so he had instructed his legal team to oppose the application.

  The defence claimed that Boshell had been a fantasist whose word could not be relied upon and, to highlight this fact, a letter written by Boshell while in prison was read out in which he talked about taking a knife off a fellow inmate and stabbing him repeatedly, after he had been set upon by a gang. It was proven beyond doubt that no such incident had ever occurred. Using Boshell’s words to convict a defendant of murder would, they argued, be at best unsafe. The other problem with permitting Boshell’s evidence to be used was that the defence would not have an opportunity to cross-examine him. For instance, nobody, including the police, believed that ‘Dave the doorman’ had shot the Trettons, as Boshell had claimed. Since Boshell was deceased, the defence would, therefore, be unable to question him, in order to find out what other lies he may have told and why.

  During the course of these legal arguments, the judge had invited the prosecuting counsel and two police officers involved in the case into his chambers so that he could be made aware of some of the unused material. This unused material included police intelligence surrounding the alleged identity of Boshell’s murderer. Defence lawyers were not invited to attend this meeting and so were unable to make representations on behalf of their clients. It is understood that only intelligence accusing Percival of the murder was put before the judge. When the judge ruled that Boshell’s evidence could be used as evidence, Alvin was devastated. He immediately announced that he wished to talk to his barrister in private.

  ‘At this stage in the proceedings, I wasn’t happy,’ Alvin said later. ‘I was getting worried about the possible outcome of the trial. I began to realise that my legal team were talking sense; they had informed me that there was a good chance that I would be convicted if I didn’t tell the police the full story. They did not know the truth; all they knew was that I was denying the murder. The trial was adjourned and I was given the weekend to contemplate my future.’

  Throughout the weekend at Chelmsford prison, Alvin acted as if nothing had changed between himself and Percival but, behind the mask, he was plotting and scheming against his unsuspecting friend. Alvin had decided that Percival could be adapted to fit any missing space in the picture that he needed to paint in order to avoid a murder conviction. The police believed that Percival had shot the Tretton family, and so convincing them that he had also shot Boshell would not be hard. On Monday morning, Alvin discussed his options in an interview room with his legal team. They advised him that the evidence against him was very strong and there was every possibility that he would be convicted and sent to prison for life.

  In a corner and out of ideas, Alvin blurted out that he was innocent; it was Percival who was responsible for Boshell’s murder and, although present, he had played no part in the shooting. Alvin’s defence team made the prosecution aware that their client wanted to make a fresh statement and when the judge was informed of this development, he granted an application by the prosecution to adjourn the case. The jury was discharged and the judge said that Alvin should be given as much time as he needed to make his new statement in full.

  Instead of being returned to HMP Chelmsford that evening, Alvin was taken into police custody so that he could give his latest version of events concerning the murder, and other matters such as the Tretton shootings.

  In the first of many interviews, DC Sharp told Alvin: ‘Through your legal team, you served a further defence statement in which you indicated that you were not actually responsible for the murder of Boshell. You described in some detail how Mr Percival committed the murder. I must inform you that you’re not viewed as a witness for the prosecution and you must understand that your co-operation does not mean that the case against you will, or may, be discontinued. Any information you do provide will, together with the results of any subsequent police investigations, be passed to the Crown Prosecution Service for its further consideration of the case against you.’

  Alvin breathed an inward sigh of relief because he knew that the murder allegation against him would no longer be pursued. The freedom that he was prepared to stab himself for, steal wreaths from graves for and tell continual bare-faced lies for was ensured. All Alvin had to do was tell a convincing story that blamed Percival for all the crimes that he had committed. His was an easy task. Alvin had been locked in a prison cell for a year awaiting trial with copies of every witness statement, every crime scene photograph and every other document relating to the murder and so he knew the case inside out.

  In the weeks and months that followed, Alvin was interviewed on an almost daily basis. After contradicting himself, ‘forgetting things’ and then miraculously remembering them, Alvin came up with a story that eventually resulted in Percival being convicted and sentenced to serve a minimum of 26 years’ imprisonment. Kevin Walsh was convicted of conspiring to pervert the course of justice and sentenced to three years’ imprisonment, because he allegedly gave Percival a false alibi. His ex-girlfriend, Kate Griffiths, was charged with the same offence, which had allegedly been committed at the same time and in the same circumstances, but she was found not guilty. Damon Alvin was praised for assisting the police, handed a large sum of public money and offered all of the help available to assist him and his family to walk away from the mess that he had created.

  Like Tucker’s Essex Boys gang, Alvin’s firm had fallen apart after an orgy of violence and, when the police began investigating their crimes, it was every man for himself. Like Tucker, Tate and Rolfe, Boshell lay dead; like Nicholls, Alvin ended up in the Witness Protection Programme; and, like Steele and Whomes, Percival was wrongly convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment. I thank God that I remain the last man standing from those two violent, drug-fuelled eras. I certainly won’t tempt fate and make the same mistakes again.

  Following Boshell’s murder and my friends’ arrests, I found myself alone, which gave me time to think about my past but, more importantly, about my future. Unnatural thoughts began to fill my head. I imagined myself finding a girl, settling down and doing an honest day’s work for a day’s pay. Laughing as I lay on my bed I began to warm to the idea of having 2.5 children, a 3-bedroom semi-detached house, a white picket fence and a modest car on the driveway. I hadn’t felt such a buzz since the night I had gone to the Epping Country Club to celebrate my birthday when Tate had given me my first ever Ecstasy pill. I had never attempted to dance before, but half an hour after swallowing th
e small white pill it had suddenly dawned on me that I was, in fact, the best dancer in the building. Prancing about on a raised podium, I had grinned insanely at the crowd, who all appeared to be mesmerised by my unique moves. As I looked down at my adoring fans I could see that Craig Rolfe was laughing, Tucker was glaring at me and Tate was shaking his head in disbelief.

  ‘Fuck them,’ I kept thinking to myself, ‘this boy was born to dance.’

  Fantasising about a trouble-free life actually made me feel better than I had felt that night, so I decided to do an incredibly irrational thing. I tipped £1,500 worth of quality cocaine into my toilet, threw 500 Ecstasy pills in after it and flushed away the lot. I then left the house looking for a job. Let’s not get carried away here, this is the real world that I’m talking about. Of course I didn’t find a job. Who in their right mind would employ a man who had a reputation for shooting people? The main thing is, I tried, and I kept on trying because I knew that, in the end, my luck would change.

  One evening, I was out with a very good friend named Lee ‘KO’ Mayo, so called because he is a cage fighter who spends more time on his back looking up at the latest opponent to knock him down than he does fighting. Lee introduced me to a beautiful girl named Rachel to whom I was instantly attracted. I don’t think Rachel shared my enthusiasm regarding a potential liaison, but after a great deal of persuasion she finally agreed to meet me the following week for a date. Rachel was still uncertain about my intentions when we met, so I joked that I would untie her brother and release him from the boot of my car as soon as she had finished having dinner with me! Sitting in the restaurant I poured my heart out; I told her all about my past and waited for her to flee in terror.

  Much to my surprise, Rachel said that if ‘those events’ were in my past and not part of the present, she would like to see me again. After that night, I met Rachel regularly, a relationship developed and in time we fell in love. I cannot thank Rachel enough for helping me to stick to the path that I had chosen to take. On several occasions, a face from the past has appeared and offered me the chance to take part in a criminal enterprise, but because of Rachel, I have declined. She has supported me through some very dark days and always kept me believing that if I persevere, opportunities other than crime will come my way.

  For quite some time, I agonised over whether or not I should tell Rachel about my childhood cancer, which doctors had told me would leave me infertile. When we talked about getting married and Rachel mentioned children, I found myself blurting the whole sorry story out. To my surprise, Rachel said that she too had been diagnosed with cancer at the age of 19 years, and so she totally understood what I had been through. True to form, she remained positive and reassured me that if we couldn’t have children naturally, we could always try some form of infertility treatment. On 10 May 2008, Rachel and I married and I can honestly say that it was the happiest day of my life. Our union has not yet produced any children but we continue to enjoy trying, and Rachel has recently started to undergo IVF treatment.

  My search for employment had been no more fruitful than my numerous attempts to become a father, so a friend suggested that I should try to learn ‘The Knowledge’ and become a taxi driver in London. The Knowledge is a term used to describe a test that all London taxi drivers have to pass before being given their licences. They have to memorise the name of every street and know every conceivable route to get from one part of the sprawling city to another. I didn’t think the body that licensed cabbies would entertain me, as you are supposed to be of good character and have a clean record, but I decided to take my chances. I couldn’t quite believe it when I received a letter stating that, as it had been 11 years since my last custodial sentence, I had passed the police check.

  I bought a moped and spent eight to ten hours every day trying to learn the name of every street, road and avenue in London, in the hope that I would one day pass The Knowledge and earn myself a lucrative London taxi-driver’s licence. I wasn’t making any money while I was doing The Knowledge, and so I accepted a job as an electrician’s labourer working permanent nights. After spending eight hours on my moped, I would sleep for four hours and then labour for eight hours at night before sleeping for another four hours. Travelling back and forth to Essex took up half of my sleeping time and so in the end I made a bed up in my car.

  One morning, I was driving along Park Lane when an unmarked police car pulled alongside my vehicle in the traffic. I did not know that it was the police at first; all I saw were three burly guys glaring at me. Not wishing to appear intimidated I glared back before continuing on my way. As I reached the roundabout at Hyde Park Corner the car cut in front of me and blue lights previously unseen near its boot began to flash. One of the plain-clothed officers got out, flashed me his warrant card and asked me who I was and where I was going. After answering all his mundane questions I was ordered to get out of my car, which was then thoroughly searched.

  Holding a hammer aloft that he had found underneath the driver’s seat, the triumphant officer asked me to explain. ‘What is this used for?’

  I am not sure what level of education people need to get into the police force these days but surely even mentally challenged individuals know what hammers are used for. Not wanting to insult the policeman’s intelligence I replied, ‘If you want two pieces of wood to be fixed together and remain so, one requires a long thin metal object, which is commonly described as a nail. You then place said nail on top of the two pieces of aforementioned wood and bash it into them using that thing that you have in your hand,’ and I pointed at the hammer.

  I was immediately pushed onto the bonnet of my car, handcuffed and taken to a police station where I was cautioned for possessing an offensive weapon. I wasn’t bothered about the caution but the taxi-licensing authority held a very different view. The police informed them about the ‘incident’ and they banned me from holding a London taxi-driver’s licence after explaining that London cabbies with hammers under their seats was not an image the Tourist Board or they wished to embrace. All the time and effort that I had put into learning The Knowledge had been wasted. I don’t mind admitting that I was absolutely gutted; I mean, it wasn’t as if I had actually done anything wrong. What workman doesn’t have the tools of his trade in his car? Once again, Rachel was there to catch and guide me. She told me to put the episode behind me and continue working as a labourer until something better came along.

  Six months after I had married Rachel, I was working at Mile End Underground station one night, loading scaffolding tubes from the platform down onto the track. I failed to see a puddle of water and as I stepped into it I slipped and fell head first down onto the tracks. I stood up feeling dazed and confused and can recall being surrounded by my work colleagues.

  ‘Are you OK, Steve? Are you OK?’ one of them kept shouting.

  I then recall somebody saying, ‘What the fuck have you done to your arm?’

  I looked down and saw that my hand was facing the wrong way around and my arm had been snapped in two. I didn’t faint but I do not remember much more. I was later informed that I was rushed to the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel where I underwent emergency surgery. When I awoke, Rachel was at my bedside with tears in her eyes.

  ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Steve, but a nurse has told me that you will never be normal again,’ she said.

  I am not sure if Rachel was confused, deeply upset or a mixture of both, but her words made me laugh.

  ‘Never be normal again? Who the fuck told you that I was normal in the first place?’ I replied.

  Thankfully, Rachel laughed too; I hated seeing her so upset. When I looked down at my right arm, I instantly understood what Rachel had meant. I had lost huge amounts of muscle and the bone was broken and twisted out of shape. I instinctively knew that the injury couldn’t possible heal fully and that I would lose the use of my arm. I am still undergoing surgery and regular physiotherapy to this day, but my condition has failed to improve. I won’t let
my disability beat me; I still attend college and hope soon to become a qualified electrician.

  My greatest hope is that one day, God willing, Rachel and I will be able to have the children we long for. Cancer took away my ability to become a father in the same way that the accident at Mile End tube station took away the use of my arm. As we go through life we do tend to get knocked down occasionally and our resolve is tested, but one must always rise to any challenge and never back down. It’s pointless giving up, taking drugs or drinking in an effort to avoid the reality of day-to-day life because reality, whoever you think you are, will eventually catch up with you.

  Tate, Tucker, Rolfe, Boshell and Alvin all immersed themselves in a world of make-believe that they thought they controlled. Had they not been out of their heads on drugs they might have realised just what fools they actually were, but the drugs were part and parcel of the fantasy life that they were living, and so they were unable to grasp reality. I am not going to preach to anybody about how they should, or should not, live their lives because up until I met Rachel I had made a complete mess of my own.

  The only advice that I will offer is that you should treat others how you would expect to be treated. I don’t care who you think you are, or how hard you think are, somebody some day will tire of your bad behaviour and take you out of the game. It’s not other hard men you have to worry about, it’s the little ones that you bully. In my experience, the most dangerous person in the world is usually somebody who is scared and in a corner. We all get what we are due in the end.

  On 21 May 2009, Ricky Percival got what he was long overdue when his case was referred to the Court of Appeal. The only evidence that had supported Alvin’s story at the original trial and, therefore, made him appear credible, was that of Gordon Osborne.