‘Viv was just 34 years old when he met his death in the street that night. He had been told on numerous occasions by friends that if he should ever return to his car and see that a tyre was flat or a window had been broken he should run. Apparently, would-be assassins do things like that so that their intended target is distracted and they can get in close to carry out their cowardly deed. After receiving the threatening phone calls, Viv would have undoubtedly been suspicious of everybody and everything around him. I have since been told that his drink was spiked, which made him sluggish. I don’t know if it’s true. I personally doubt it. In my opinion, his killers just got lucky. Before ending the call, I asked Viv if he would buy me some cigarettes and our dog some food, and he replied, “No problem. I will be home soon.” At 4.15 p.m., Viv left the New Anchor and walked a few metres to the Queen’s Head Hotel. I have no idea if his killers were watching him, but as far as I know he didn’t receive any more calls and he remained in the Queen’s Head until 6.05 p.m.
‘Shortly after speaking to Viv, a man named Terry Scott came to my house and asked where Viv was. I thought that it was odd, because Viv’s car was not outside and so Terry would have known that he wasn’t home. Terry had Viv’s mobile phone number, and so I don’t understand why he hadn’t called him directly rather than coming to the house to look for him. It has been suggested to me that Terry, who was considered by Viv to be a friend, might have been trying to locate him so that he could pass the information on to others, but I do not believe that this is true.
‘When Viv left the Queen’s Head, he had stopped at a corner shop which was en route to his car. He had wished the proprietor a Happy New Year, and after paying for my cigarettes and the dog food he had given a young girl a handful of change. Viv was like that; he would always look after young children and the elderly. I find comfort in the fact that his last gesture on this earth was one of kindness. Moments later, Viv had walked through the shop door and out onto the street. The young girl had followed him. Less than ten seconds after leaving the shop, Viv was standing beside his car. It was dark, and he was concentrating on selecting his car key when he noticed that somebody had smashed a window in his vehicle. As he stood inspecting the damage, somebody had called out, “Happy fucking New Year, Viv.”
‘The young girl who had followed Viv out of the corner shop later told police that she saw that Viv had turned to see who was calling him and then she heard three loud explosions. Viv had then crumpled to the floor. The shopkeeper also heard the loud bangs and saw Viv crawling along the street. As the shopkeeper rushed outside to assist Viv, he saw that Terry Scott had run out of the Queen’s Head and appeared to be chasing somebody. Scott had clearly found Viv after leaving my house. When Scott returned to assist Viv, he leant over him and tried to lift him back onto his feet. “I am going. I am going,” Viv had said. A taxi driver stopped and also ran to Viv’s aid. He later said that Viv had kept pulling his shirt down to cover his wound and was saying, “Get me up onto my feet. Don’t let people see me like this. I do not want anybody to see me down.” As Viv tried to grab what remained of his shirt, he could feel the gaping wounds in his body and said, “Oh, they have done it this time. Look after Anna, my mother and father and the kids, because I am going.” Some of the people who were trying to help Viv did try to do as he asked and get him to his feet, but the massive holes that the powerful 3.57 Magnum bullets had punched through his body prevented him from remaining upright. It was as if he had been blown almost in half.
‘As I continued to get ready at home, I received a phone call from my uncle, who is employed as a taxi driver. He said that he had been dropping customers off in Wallsend High Street and he had heard that there had been some sort of incident there. “I think it’s your Viv that’s involved, and I think that he has been shot,” he said.
‘“It couldn’t be Viv. I only spoke to him a few minutes ago,” I replied.
‘As we were talking, Viv’s friend Bopper came to the house, and he appeared to be extremely upset. Bopper didn’t knock the door as normal; he just appeared in my front room, which really alarmed me. I was sitting on the sofa in my pyjamas, and so I asked him what he thought he was doing barging into my home. “Your Viv’s been shot, Anna. Get yourself ready quickly, and I will take you to the hospital,” he replied. I am uncertain of much of the content of any conversations that I had thereafter. My mind was racing, but everything around me appeared to be happening in slow motion.
‘“What do you think, Bopper? Is Viv going to be OK?” I asked.
‘“I think . . . I think . . . I don’t know what I think,” he blurted out. “Let’s just get you to the hospital.”
‘When we arrived, the ambulance transporting Viv had not yet reached the accident and emergency department. I later learned that a police officer who travelled with Viv was talking to him in an effort to gather evidence and keep him conscious. Leaning over Viv, the officer had said, “You saw who it was, Viv, because they didn’t have masks on. Just give me a name.” The officer knew the men had not tried to hide their identities, because the young girl who Viv had earlier given money to had described seeing three unmasked men lurking near the crime scene before she went into the shop. Viv had looked up at the officer through his dying eyes, but he did not answer. He appeared to be calm, the officer said later, “concentrating on his fight to remain alive rather than wanting to answer my questions”.
‘Pacing nervously around the entrance to the accident and emergency department, I could see that a team of medics were eagerly waiting just inside a pair of clear plastic doors. Minutes felt like hours as we all waited, but then all of a sudden the medical team began talking loudly to one another as an ambulance backed up to the doors and Viv emerged on a stretcher. I felt relieved, because I could see that he was alive. He was conscious and looking all around. I was so overcome by emotion that I burst out crying and called out his name. Looking up at me, Viv forced a smile and told me to dry my eyes, before being whisked away to an operating theatre. I tried hard, but I was unable to do as Viv had asked, and so my tears continued to flow as I stared at the operating theatre doors waiting for somebody with news to emerge. A police officer sat down next to me and tried to reassure me by saying, “Don’t worry, Anna. Viv is a big, strong lad. He will be OK.”
‘A few minutes later, a surgeon came out of the operating theatre and ushered me into a small office. “His heart stopped twice on the way here. He is still fighting hard for his life. There is a hole the size of a melon in his back, and so it is a miracle that he is still with us,” he said. The hospital waiting room was packed with Viv’s friends. They all offered words of comfort and support, but I wasn’t listening. My eyes were fixed firmly on the doors behind which I knew my Viv was lying. Terry Scott appeared in the waiting room and began running up and down, punching the walls and shouting. I really didn’t know what to make of his behaviour. It was disturbing to say the least. I had telephoned Viv’s parents and other family members, and when they arrived we sat huddled together in an effort to comfort one another.
‘After what felt like an age, Viv’s father, my father and me were eventually called and taken into a small room by a grave-faced surgeon. He didn’t need to speak. I just knew what he was going to say. I just had the most awful feeling in my heart imaginable. When we entered the room, we were invited to sit down, and five members of the medical team stood before us. As soon as they said, “We have tried our best, but . . .” we all broke down. A surgeon held my arm and said to me, “Please do not think for one moment that we did not do all we could have done to save Viv’s life. I assure you that we fought on even when we realised that all hope had gone.” The surgeon’s words were sincere, and I found them really comforting. At least Viv died in the company of people that cared, rather than instantly, which would have meant his last contact would have been with animals full of hate.
‘Forty pints of blood were used to try to save Viv, but the medical team explained that it was pouring out o
f his body quicker than they could pump it into him. Nearly four hours after being shot, my brave and gentle Viv had conceded defeat for the first and last time in his life. I honestly cannot remember too much after his death was announced, because I was beside myself with grief. I did ask if I could go to Viv, as I felt an overwhelming need to be close to him. I was led into a side room and left alone with Viv, who lay beneath a white sheet on a hospital trolley.
‘I used to work in nursing homes and have had the misfortune of seeing several deceased people. They had all remained warm for some time after death, but when I held Viv to cuddle him he felt unusually cold. I don’t know if I am right or wrong, but I formed the opinion that he had been dead for some time. Perhaps his body felt so cold because of the massive blood loss that he had suffered, or perhaps the police did not want to announce his death straight away, because it could have sparked trouble in the town. All of the people that Viv had excluded from pubs and clubs over the years might have heard about his death and returned en masse to the various venues, and the police might not have had the manpower to deal with such an event.
‘I honestly don’t know what I was thinking that night. Irrelevant events came flooding back to me as if they were important, and relevant events, such as the threatening phone calls, somehow seemed trivial. The medical people could see the effect the news was having on me, and so I was given a sedative and taken home. I have five brothers and three sisters, and I can recall them being there for me in the days and weeks that followed. I thank God that I had them; they really did help me through the darkest times, of which there were many.
‘The presence of the police at my home became an everyday fact of life. They sifted through all of Viv’s possessions, scrutinised every note that he had ever written and asked me repeatedly about who he knew, how he got on with them, where he went and why. It was an upsetting, tiring and very emotional time, but I kept telling myself that I had to go through with it for Viv, his parents, his children and the love we had shared, and so I bit my lip and persevered. I did go to the mortuary to say my goodbyes to Viv, but I found it to be an extremely distressing experience. The procedures that the pathologists had to carry out in order to perform the autopsy had dramatically altered his handsome features. I knew in my heart that Viv had gone to another place, and so I left the mortuary and I grieved for the man I loved in the house of God, where I knew he would be. I am a deeply religious person, and my faith has undoubtedly brought me a lot of comfort throughout this terrible ordeal.
‘The police have told me that they believe that Viv was murdered simply because he refused to let a major drug gang in the city sell their vile wares in the premises where he ran security. One thousand people have been interviewed regarding Viv’s murder. Five hundred homes have been visited, but nobody has been charged. Initially, every little villain in the north-east bragged about being involved in the shooting, but as they have grown older and wiser one by one they have changed their stories and denied knowing anything. So many people still claim to know the identity of Viv’s killers. They accuse and blame one another, but when I ask for proof none is forthcoming. I actually carry a Bible in my bag to this day and ask people to take an oath before they utter another word about Viv’s death. Most think that I am joking, but when I persevere few do as I ask.
‘I must admit that I do have a fear that somebody claiming to be a friend of mine or somebody who may sit in my company could have played a part in the killing. I am in no doubt that the truth will come out one day, because the police have never given up investigating the case, and they assure me that as allegiances change and people grow older somebody somewhere will talk. Recently, a man who claimed to be very close to the killers was facing a lengthy prison sentence and described what had happened to the police in an off-the-record interview in the hope that he would secure a reduced sentence. I am not privy to exactly what was said, nor do I know his identity, but I do know that the police were on the verge of a breakthrough. I don’t know if the man concerned is still going to go through with telling all he knows. I have simply been informed that he is considering his options.
‘At first, I was full of hatred for Viv’s killers, and I do not mind admitting that I felt that they should suffer a similar fate. I do not feel that way any more. They have to live with what they have done, and they will face justice one day, whether that is here on earth or when they pass away. If they are reading this, I would like to say that I cannot understand why you did such a thing. Why would you take another human being’s life away, regardless of what they may or may not have said or done to you? Viv was not a danger to you or anybody else. He was simply doing his job by stopping you from selling drugs, which is an abhorrent trade in any event, because it claims lives and destroys families. In many ways, I feel pity for you. The cowardly act you have committed is nothing to boast about or be proud of; in fact, you should hang your heads in shame. Viv Graham was more of a man than any of you will ever be. I know that, and you know that, which is why you were not men enough to face him.’
Detective Chief Superintendent Barry Stewart, who was head of Northumbria Police CID, took charge of the murder inquiry. With such a high-profile victim, known to every member of the criminal fraternity in the north-east, it was inevitable that the investigation was going to be burdened with fruitless leads and speculation. The police did establish that a stolen blue Ford Escort, registration number G668 DTF, had been seen in the vicinity of the murder at the relevant time. It had been parked in a dark back lane close to where Viv regularly parked his car. A man had also been seen leaving the Queen’s Head Hotel shortly before Viv. Described as being approximately 5 ft 2 in. tall with mousey hair, this man had walked in the direction of Viv’s car and may have been alerting his co-conspirators that their target was on his way.
After the killers had struck, they sped away from the scene to Simonside Terrace, in Heaton, where the blue Escort was found burned out. A blonde woman had also been seen hanging around near the spot where Viv was shot. One eyewitness claimed that this mystery woman had actually gone over to look at Viv as he lay dying in the street. Considering Wallsend High Street is, as it suggests, a main shopping thoroughfare, it is hardly surprising that various individuals were strolling up and down it, seemingly doing nothing other than looking.
Within a month of the murder, Northumbria Police arrested five suspects in dawn raids. Alan Wheat, an ex-boxer from Cheshire, and Karen Young, Alan Young, Darren Arnold and Brian Tait, all from Wallsend, were kept at separate police stations, questioned and released on bail. The police seemed to think that these locals had recruited their friend from Cheshire to dispose of Viv simply because he had been throwing his weight around in the pubs around Wallsend.
In March 1994, two other men, from the West End of Newcastle, were arrested for the murder in dawn raids. They were questioned throughout the day at Wallsend Police Station, and one of them, Michael Sayers, was bailed pending further inquiries the following afternoon. The other man, Lee Watson, who gave his address as the Ord Arms pub, in Newcastle, was found to have outstanding warrants for assaulting police officers and driving with excess alcohol. As well as these warrants, Watson had an outstanding extradition warrant, which the Swiss police had applied for in August 1993 following a £300,000 robbery at a jeweller’s in Zurich. Watson was therefore refused bail and transferred to Gateshead, where he appeared in court.
The magistrates adjourned the case for three months and ordered that Watson be taken to Bow Street Court, in London, for the extradition process to begin. Clearly upset by this decision, Watson stunned the court by shouting a tirade of foul-mouthed abuse and boasting, ‘You couldn’t catch us for the shooting of Viv Graham.’ When questioned by detectives about his claim, Watson would only say that he had been given information by his underworld associates about who was behind the murder. He did add that he wasn’t prepared to say if he was involved in the shooting in any way, ‘on the grounds that I might incriminate myself’. Watson
was eventually extradited to Switzerland, where he was sentenced to seven and a half years’ imprisonment.
By April 1994, the murder inquiry appeared to be going nowhere. The volume of information that the police had received was unprecedented, but the vast majority of it was based on myth, lies or hearsay. Viv Graham’s reputation had served him well in life, but in death it was depriving him of justice. Following Viv’s murder, Michael Sayers began to call at Paddy Conroy’s home, which somewhat surprised Paddy. Michael didn’t appear to want anything in particular and Paddy did not wish to appear rude, and so they sat and chatted about everyday events. Occasionally, they would have a drink together or drive around the neighbourhood, visiting mutual friends. Paddy believed that the friendship was beneficial to both families, because it would ensure that the peace was kept between them.
One afternoon, Michael Sayers called at Paddy’s house saying that he had been arrested for some misdemeanour or other and that, while in the police station, Paddy’s old adversary DC Perky had told Michael that Paddy was a grass. ‘I am not saying that you are, Paddy. I am just warning you about what this particular officer is saying,’ Michael said.
Fog on the Tyne Page 12
