Fog on the Tyne

by Bernard O'Mahoney

  In his closing speech, John Henry’s barrister, Jonathan Goldberg QC, told the jury, ‘There is an extraordinary relationship between Sayers and Northumbria Police. It’s along the lines of the Wild West and Billy the Kid. Sayers says he has tried to go straight but that the police won’t let him. We allege police corruption, not in the sense of police taking bribes but what we would call “noble cause corruption”. The police think Sayers is guilty and assume he is guilty and so want him badly. They have given the system a nudge because they think they can’t trust the system to get it right and they think that he is a menace to society. Fit-ups do happen, and this kind of corruption is hard to detect, because who is better at covering their tracks than the detectives? Sayers may be paranoid, but just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean the bastards aren’t out to get you.’

  After the jury had been sent out to deliberate, the police were ordered by the judge to investigate a menacing phone call that had been made to a male juror’s home. Each member of the jury was interviewed and asked if they felt they could carry on. All agreed to continue deliberating, including the male who had received the threat that had been made to himself and his family. The call was eventually traced to a public payphone in the north-east, but the caller was not identified. Earlier in the trial, the police had been called in to investigate a letter that had been sent to the clerk of the court and the offices of the Yorkshire Post. The letter suggested a member of the jury had been the subject of an ‘improper’ approach by someone, but it was not known at the time whether the letter was genuine or a crude attempt to abort the proceedings.

  Mr Justice Douglas Brown adjourned matters for 40 minutes in order to interview each jury member. Then, in their absence, he told the defendants and their legal representatives, ‘I have now seen each juror individually. Each juror denies writing any letter to the court or the newspaper, and they have no knowledge of any other juror doing so. I don’t propose to take the matter any further. It is a serious matter so far as the court is concerned, and I hope it will be fully investigated by the police.’ Despite a thorough investigation, which included the letters undergoing tests for DNA, no arrests were made.

  After the jury had returned and given their verdicts concerning Freddie Knights’ murder, members of his family gasped in shock and others in the public gallery cheered in celebration. To everybody who had heard the evidence, the jury’s findings were surprising to say the least. Gunman Dale Miller, 38, was jailed for 16 years after the jury acquitted him of murder but found him guilty of manslaughter. Getaway driver Edward Stewart, 39, was also cleared of murder but found guilty of manslaughter and jailed for 13 years. Henchman Michael Dixon, 34, who helped organise the attack, was acquitted of murder and manslaughter but found guilty of conspiracy to cause grievous bodily harm with intent and jailed for nine years. Craig Shepherd, who had travelled to Glasgow with Dixon, was found guilty of assisting an offender and sentenced to 12 months’ imprisonment. Both John Henry Sayers and Tony Leach were acquitted of murder, manslaughter and conspiracy to cause grievous bodily harm.

  Despite having pleaded guilty to murder, an offence that carries a mandatory life sentence, Lee Watson was given permission to withdraw his plea and instead admit to manslaughter. A cynic might think that Watson had been given a deal after all. It’s difficult to comprehend how anybody could accept that men who had attended an address armed with a shotgun, stood over a defenceless man and shot him in the face as he cowered on his mother’s doorstep could possibly be described as people who were guilty of manslaughter rather than murder. The difference between the two offences is that the offender who commits manslaughter does not intend to kill. Blasting somebody in the head with a shotgun would, one imagines, generally be a determined effort to kill.

  Sentencing Watson to just 11 years, Mr Justice Douglas Brown said, ‘You are a ruthless and violent professional criminal. You arranged for Freddie Knights to be ambushed and shot. You chose the gunman and driver and took part in the planning of this offence. You knew a shotgun was going to be used. However, you are entitled to a substantial reduction for giving evidence.’

  Speaking outside the court, Freddie Knights’ 78-year-old mother, Ella, told reporters, ‘I want to thank every single policeman involved in the investigation, and the liaison officers. They could not have done more to bring me justice for Freddie. The first shot had hit my door, and I couldn’t get it open in time. When I got out, I saw Freddie lying there. I couldn’t do anything for him. I was so shocked, I just rubbed his leg. He couldn’t speak to me; his eyes were gone, closed. His sister, Shirley, came out and helped me. Neighbours brought towels, which we wrapped around his head to stem the blood. It was too late. I will never forget that sight. The ambulance came and took him away, and I couldn’t go with him. I was driven to hospital after him, but he was pronounced dead.’

  Fighting back tears, Freddie’s wife, Grace, added, ‘We sat and listened to all the court evidence. It was a shocking and vicious attack. I am surprised that, having listened to the evidence, they came to a manslaughter verdict. The only comfort I can get is that the judge gave them lengthy sentences. But for me, my life is over. Freddie meant everything to me, and he was devoted to the boys. He was a big, soft-hearted man who would go without himself rather than see his family and friends deprived. Whoever they jailed or didn’t jail, it still won’t bring back Freddie into our lives.’

  Caught up in the emotion of the event, John Henry, who had been forced to consider the prospect of spending the rest of his life in prison, felt that he too had to have his say: ‘My defence all along has been that I was not guilty and that I was a victim of a fit-up by the police. Now I just want to live my life and go straight. Every day I was in court, I was sure I was going to get sent down and that I might never get out. This whole thing has had a real effect on me. It has put my relationship with my wife, Yvonne, under real strain. In fact, I have split up with Yvonne, and she has had to sell our home. There were rumours going around about me having a motive for wanting Freddie shot, because they tried to say my son was in fact Freddie’s son and he had had an affair with Yvonne. But we have had the laddie DNA tested, and that proved that I was his dad. Northumbria Police decided I was guilty a day or two after Freddie Knights was shot, so it must have been a fit-up for them to target me so early on.’

  John Henry’s claims of corruption within Northumbria Police were angrily denied by Chief Constable Crispian Strachan: ‘We had over 200 separate witnesses, and I don’t believe it is possible to manufacture a criminal case if it were manufactured to that size. Having worked for nearly 30 years in the police force, I don’t believe there are officers in this force of such a frame of mind. There is a high standard of integrity within this force demonstrated by two facts. Firstly, we have an outstandingly good, successful record in tackling criminality in prosecuting offenders and taking them before the courts for the courts to deal with them as they see fit, as has happened in this case. Secondly, we have an independent measure in terms of the number of complaints that are made against this force, which is at an all-time low and is very low in terms of metropolitan forces, and in that respect there has been no complaint of corruption substantiated against any officer in this force for the last five years.’

  Rather foolishly, John Henry had decided that the matter should not end on the steps of the court. He told reporters, ‘I want a fully independent inquiry into the police handling of the case, and my solicitor will be writing to the Home Secretary, our local MP, Stephen Byers, and Amnesty International demanding there is a full investigation. I know things have happened in the past, but I just want to move forward if I am allowed to. I know they will be taping me and watching me, and while I hope they won’t come back for me there’s always a chance they will.’

  ‘Be careful what you wish for’ may have been appropriate advice for somebody to give John Henry at that point, but he was still on a high after being released and probably wouldn’t have listened in any event. How
ever, he should have listened to his own words about the police watching, waiting and possibly coming back for him.

  Chapter Twelve

  JUDGEMENT DAY

  IT IS IMPOSSIBLE to say why they decided to meet. A man loyal to the Conroy family claims that Paddy was invited to act as an intermediary between the Sayers gang and ‘another’ Newcastle-based group of criminals. A man loyal to the Sayers family claims that the meeting took place to decide which parts of Newcastle the opposing families would control. One assumes that meant control of criminal enterprises in certain areas rather than relieving the city council of their street cleaning, refuse and maintenance duties. What isn’t in dispute is that, one evening, bitter rivals the Conroys and the Sayers agreed to meet at a snooker club in Newcastle city centre.

  Paddy and the Bull arrived early and entered the premises via a staircase at the rear. It didn’t appear as if anybody else had arrived, and so they began to play pool. Moments later, a man ran out of the manager’s office shouting, ‘They’ve got guns. Run. They’ve got guns.’ Paddy and the Bull glanced at each other before running into the office. A member of the Sayers gang was pointing a revolver at an associate of the Conroys, who was pointing a handgun back at the man threatening him. Paddy shouted, ‘Woah, woah, you put the fucking gun down, and you put the fucking gun down.’ One weapon was lowered, but the other remained firmly in line with the head of the Sayers man. Paddy stepped forward and, raising his voice a few decibels, roared, ‘Put the gun down, and I mean now. You have come here to talk not shoot each other. Can we get on with this meeting?’

  With the atmosphere now slightly more relaxed, negotiations got under way. A member of the Sayers gang said that they had put a lot of time and effort into ‘enterprises’ in the city centre and that they didn’t want others getting involved. A member of the opposing gang said that they had the West End of the city ‘sewn up’ and that they too did not want others interfering in their business. It was agreed, therefore, that the Sayers gang’s interests would not be competed against or disrupted in any way in the city centre and that the other gang would enjoy the same monopoly in the West End.

  According to the Conroys, the following day, members of the Sayers gang were ‘strutting around Newcastle’ telling people that Paddy had ‘shit himself’ after having a gun pulled on him at the meeting. When Paddy heard what was being said, he quickly made his way to the hostel run by John Sayers senior. When he arrived, the premises looked deserted, but as Paddy went to pull away he saw their cousin Peter Donnelly. Paddy pointed ahead as if to say to Donnelly, ‘Wait there. I want a word,’ but as he did so a vehicle pulled up in front of his. John Sayers senior, his son Stephen and three other men got out and looked directly at Paddy. He leapt out of his car and began shouting, ‘Who said I shit myself? Who pointed a gun at me? Who? Who?’ Nobody replied. The men just stood staring at Paddy, in disbelief rather than fear.

  John Sayers senior turned and walked away without saying a word. There seemed little point in asking the same questions, as no answers had been forthcoming at the first time of asking, and so Paddy walked back to his car. As he did so, one of the men mumbled something under his breath. Paddy didn’t bother asking what had been said. He just sent the guilty party flying backwards into his friends with a powerful right hook. As the man struggled to regain his composure, Paddy struck him again. The man knew that there was only ever going to be one winner in this contest, and so he remained where he was on the floor. Paddy warned him about his future conduct, got back into his car and disappeared down the street.

  The following day, Paddy was with Tommy Cowan, his former partner in the Hydraulic Crane pub. They had arranged to meet Paddy’s brother Lenny at his home, but he was not in. Rather than wait for him in the street, Paddy suggested to Cowan that they drive into town for a sandwich and return in an hour. As they passed a church, they noticed that a funeral was in progress, and Paddy had recognised several of the mourners. With time on his hands, Paddy decided to park the vehicle and speak to his friends. They told Paddy that members of the Sayers family had been at the church service but that they had all since left. Paddy didn’t appear to be interested in this news, and shortly afterwards he bade his friends farewell and headed towards the city centre with Cowan.

  As they passed the top of the street where Yvonne Sayers, the mother of John Henry, Michael and Stephen, lived, Paddy and Cowan noticed a dozen or so members of the Sayers gang standing outside a café. A few of the men glared at Paddy as he drove past, but none of them said anything. As Paddy and Cowan reached the outskirts of the city, their vehicle was caught at a red traffic light. As they sat waiting for the lights to change, Paddy glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw a cavalcade of vehicles racing towards him. Their lights were flashing, and as they neared Paddy could hear their horns blaring. Paddy instinctively knew who it was: the Sayers gang.

  Cowan, a non-violent individual who was known as ‘two-stone Tommy’ because of his slim build, looked terrified. As Paddy glanced across at his trembling friend, he realised that he was going to have to sort this particular problem out alone. If only it had been the Bull sitting opposite him instead of Cowan, the odds of victory would have been greatly improved. When the lights changed, Paddy pulled away and began to prepare himself mentally for the battle he knew would shortly take place. He knew that if he backed down or showed cowardice the baying mob would descend upon him. People who fight back in such situations rarely suffer life-threatening injuries. It is the ones who go to ground and curl up in a ball that the cowards in a mob kick and stamp on.

  The cars containing the Sayers gang were by now tailgating Paddy’s vehicle, and so he began looking for somewhere to pull over. Suddenly, a car driven by Tony Leach, John Henry’s right-hand man, appeared in front of Paddy’s vehicle. Leach had taken a different route from his associates and was approaching from the opposite direction. Paddy slammed on the brakes and jumped out of his vehicle. Throwing his coat to the floor, he shouted at John Henry, ‘Come on you shit. Let’s have it, just me and you.’ John Henry’s associates had not yet alighted from their vehicles, and so he quickly began to back away. However, as soon as the Sayers gang were all around Paddy, John Henry began to advance on him. Suddenly he stopped, gazed at the floor as if trying to compose himself and then landed a right-hand punch on Paddy’s chin. Paddy staggered back a pace but remained on his feet. Instead of brawling, John Henry kept his distance from his opponent, jabbing and punching him with his fists before stepping back out of range.

  Rather than be picked off where he stood, Paddy launched himself at John Henry, gripping him in a headlock. He punched him two or three times and then took him to the floor. As Paddy grappled with John Henry, members of the Sayers gang began kicking him in the head and body. Unable to get to his feet, Paddy let go of John Henry and covered his head in order to protect himself. It was a drastic mistake; the mob became frenzied, kicking and stamping on him until he was barely conscious. It was only when Paddy lay motionless that the onslaught stopped.

  One of the gang stepped forward out of the crowd from Paddy’s left side. He bent down and stabbed Paddy in the face with a craft knife. Instinctively, Paddy grabbed his assailant’s hand with both of his own, but it was snatched away in a downward motion, tearing the skin and flesh wide open. As the knifeman got back to his feet, the Sayers gang attacked Paddy again. Like a pack of hyenas, they savaged their defenceless victim until he slipped into unconsciousness.

  That night, members of the Sayers gang trawled the city’s bars and nightclubs informing everybody that Paddy Conroy was a spent force and that they alone now ruled Newcastle. Shortly after being attacked, Paddy had made his way to Newcastle General Hospital, but the staff in A & E began talking about notifying the police, and so he left before being treated. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at an out-of-town hospital and explained that he had been injured while replacing a pane of glass at his home. After having his face stitched, Paddy began to make his way home, but th
e police arrested him en route.

  When he was interviewed, Paddy was asked if he wanted legal representation, but he declined, as he felt that he had done no wrong. To Paddy’s surprise, the police had already obtained CCTV footage of the incident, which they played to him and asked him to explain. ‘That’s not me on the video. You have the wrong man,’ Paddy said.

  ‘Explain why the man who isn’t you looks like you and why he is getting out of the car of your business partner, Tommy Cowan,’ an officer replied. Paddy’s liberty was still subject to the terms and conditions of his parole licence, and he knew that if the police so wished they could have him returned to prison for this incident. ‘How did you get that wound on your face, Paddy?’ an officer asked.

  ‘A pane of glass I was fixing in the bathroom fell out and cut me,’ Paddy lied.

  Realising their questions were not going to be answered, the detectives terminated the interview and seized Paddy’s blood-stained clothing as evidence. The officers said that they were going to obtain a DNA sample from the blood on Paddy’s clothing and compare it with blood found at the scene. Several eyewitnesses to the incident had come forward, and so Paddy was photographed. His image was going to be used in a photo identity parade. Only after this evidence-gathering exercise was complete was he granted bail and allowed home to nurse his wounds and bruised pride. A month later, Paddy returned to the police station, where a beaming detective informed him that the blood at the scene was his and that a nun had picked him out on the photo identity parade. ‘Please tell me the jury aren’t going to believe her,’ the officer had said, laughing. Paddy refused to answer any more questions from the police or to make a complaint about his attackers, and so both he and the Sayers gang escaped prosecution.