The Guv'nor (31 page)

Can you, in your wildest dreams, imagine what Reg Kray went through? He went through a year just like me, but then he had the nightmare of facing 30 years behind the door. Thirty years – try and imagine it. It's the difference between a newborn baby and a settled
married man. The difference between a Jack-the-lad at 35 and an old-age pensioner. You can't grasp it, can you? Nor can I.

Now think about Reg again. Could you be so strong? The media treated him like some exhibit in a cage. Whenever they're stuck for copy they stuck another bit of shit in the papers. Did they say, ‘Look at this man … 30 years in prison and he's strong, fit and his mind's as sharp as it ever was.' Of course not because those in power wanted him crucified. Why do I feel so strongly? Because I've known a tiny bit of what he's gone through, so I understand.

I'm using him as an example, and he's the best example. But now I understand people like Charlie Richardson, Tony Lambrianou, Joe Pyle, Charlie Kray, and many, many others, who've suffered and stayed strong.

And all this is going through my head hour after hour as they tick towards my trial. Then one morning I wake up, I've got one second's clear head, then bang, this is the day. I'm suited up, loaded into the wagon, and we're off to the Bailey. Court 12.

As I walked in the court, all I wanted to do was to turn round, not face that fucking judge. I wanted to look round and see my Val's lovely face and that's what I did. I'd fell out with Bobby Warren over some fight years ago, well the day I got lifted he was round my house offering my Val everything he could give. That hump with each other was stupid, because as soon as I was in trouble, it was all forgotten, so we could've made up years ago. Now he was sitting in court with Val and he said, ‘Lenny, turn round, show a bit of respect.' Respect nothing. I don't feel it, so I'm not going to pretend. Why should I? I'm innocent, I shouldn't even be here.

It was summer all over again. I only saw the other seasons through the bars and it was hot in the court. I was sweating and wiping my head with Kleenex tissues and, as they got soggy, I rolled them up in balls and flicked them at Prunty and DI Cater. They were fuming but what were they going to do? Stick an assault by tissue balls on top of the murder? Bobby was getting a bit wound up, for my sake, so he said, ‘Pack it up, mate, you're not doing yourself any favours.' So, out of respect for Bob, I packed it in.

I was looking round the court and it was packed. I had a lot of supporters but the rest were punters off the streets looking for a bit of entertainment. I bet that if they lived in Roman times the same people would be right up the front sticking their thumbs down for the gladiators to get the chop. They should try standing where I am;
they wouldn't find it so fascinating then. Gary Humphries' family were sitting over to my left and I didn't want to look at them. I wasn't ashamed, because I know I didn't kill their son or husband, but they had suffered and I didn't want them to think I was an arrogant bastard with no feelings who might be trying to stare them out. I just hoped they would hear some truth in the days to come.

If I could remember what was going on or all that was said, I think it would put you to sleep. It was making me nod off and my freedom depended on it. That first day, all the briefs and barristers were just warming up for the off so it didn't seem like much was happening.

It's funny really – I slept better that night than I had done for months and months. It was a bit like going to the dentist – once you're there it's not half as bad as you had imagined.

The next morning I was in reception at Brixton and in walked this very smart man – more than smart, he was immaculate and very relaxed. He said, ‘I've heard all about you … you're Lenny McLean, the street-fighter. I've been banged up with a friend of yours in the Scrubs, Ritchie the Scotsman.'

‘Oh yeah, he was in here for a while with me, then they shipped him out. I can't place you though … who are you?' He introduced himself as John Perry, pulled in on the Brink's Mat robbery, and he was due at the Bailey later on.

We carried on talking on the way to the court, and I asked him how long he'd been on remand. When he told me three-and-a-half years I couldn't believe it. I thought one year was a bit outrageous. Then he laughed at the look on my face. ‘I know the system's a bit slow, but not that fucking slow. What happened was, I got arrested in Spain and I've had to sit there all that time while they were arguing about extradition.'

John was one of the coolest guys I had ever met. Nothing upset him, he never got flustered, and always seemed to be on the one level. I think getting pally with him while the trial was going on kept me quiet as well, because I didn't have any flare-ups.

As we travelled into the Bailey every morning in the wagon, John would look round and tell me where the photographers were. Because they're so desperate for a picture for the papers, they jump up and stick the camera right against the windows and snap away. So he'd go, ‘On your right, Len, duck. On your left, look out.' It was a bit of a laugh, though it didn't work because I've got some copies of ones they took and used in the papers, and what with the flash in the van and my surprise, I look a right prat in most of them.

So one day was very much like the next and I was backwards and forwards. Nothing was missed at the Bailey, nothing. Every tiny detail came out. Nothing can be hidden because these barristers are shit-hot and what they don't get one way they sneak round and come back from a different angle, and if you've been sprauncing, they're on you like a dog on a bone.

Half of what they discussed I didn't understand. In fact, most of the time they were being so technical and clever with words, that only the top few knew what the hell was going on. Even Cater looked like he was falling asleep half the time. I did gather, though, that I was being mugged and my chances were going downhill bloody fast. I understood quickly enough when I heard Judge Lowry saying, ‘What I would like to do is take the prosecution, defence and jurors down to the Hippodrome Night Club.'

I thought, ‘Fucking hell, they're going to have a knees-up before getting down to lifing me off.' But no, what he wanted was to let them all listen to a mock-up of the scuffle Humphries and me had in the cupboard.

I slipped a note to Val telling her to ring Mick Parker, who was regional director of the club, and mark his card about what's happening. She did and he said, ‘Don't worry, Val, when that lot turn up we'll have the music twice as loud as normal. I know Lenny's innocent, but we won't take any chances.'

Judge Lowry took them all to the club for his little experiment, stuck three jurors in the cupboard, and told them to ‘make as much noise as possible'. After ten minutes they opened the doors. These jurors were sweating cobs and their ties and shirt tails were all over the place. Back in the court, all them out in the reception area said they couldn't hear a sound, so that bolloxed all those muggy witnesses who said they heard a terrible ruck that Saturday night. I've got to give Mick ten out of ten because he did what he said he would and blasted the music out. But if you allow for the fact that there were a few thousand customers missing that morning, I suppose it all balanced out, so we weren't really pulling a stroke.

One up to me, but the way things were going, the prosecution had about a hundred up on me. Every time Cater looked at me I wanted to smash his head off. The minute that judge gives me a rec. of 25, I'd be over the rail and flatten him.

Then the prosecution brought in their star witness. They'd already had half of London giving me some stick, but this one was an expert. I won't pretend I took it all in, but what she was saying was
that I had killed Gary Humphries by breaking his jaw. I think I'm more of an expert on jaws than she is, because I've broken more than she's had hot dinners, and nobody has ever died.

According to Dr Paula Lannas, she's seen six deaths caused by busted jaws. She rabbited on for an hour with all the medical jargon, but at the end of the day it still amounted to her evidence putting me away, and I felt it was nearly all over.

I had a word with Martin and Kenny the barrister. ‘She's getting me put away, you know that, don't you? Can't you fucking well give her a tug, because I think she's got it all wrong.'

Kenny said, ‘Calm down, Lenny. Did you notice the old man sitting at the back, glasses, greying hair?'

I said, ‘Yeah I saw him. I thought he was a punter come in out of the sun for a sit down.'

‘No, Len, no punter. That's Professor Gresham, world's number one pathologist. He worked on the Australian dingo case, and many other high-profile cases. In fact, for a time, he taught Dr Lannas.'

I said, ‘Well, get him in the box and ask him what he thinks.'

It was the end of the day, and I was feeling gutted.

Now I was getting tired. This had been dragging on for eight days and the strain was doing my head in. I couldn't sleep. I was still awake in the middle of the night and singing quietly to myself to stop my head exploding.

I looked like death in the morning and while, me and John were downstairs in the court, I was falling asleep. John said, ‘Heard you singing last night. I enjoyed it. Do me a favour, give us a couple of verses now to cheer us both up.'

I said, ‘Nah,' then I thought, ‘Oh, bollocks, why not?' So I got up and broke into ‘Carolina Moon' with all the actions. John tapped his feet and clapped his hands, and when I finished I couldn't believe what I'd been doing. I was in the Old Bailey, hours away from a possible life sentence, and I was singing like I was at a party. Why not? At least you won't find me crying about what goes down.

‘Call Professor Gresham.'

Lovely – go on, my son, you tell them. He was well spoken and dead calm, but very quietly he ripped into every bit of Lannas' evidence.

This man had had 35 years' experience in anatomy, and you could tell he was an expert every time he opened his mouth. In the same way as the legal arguments, the medical evidence was just as complicated and technical, so I won't even try to explain it. The bits I
could understand were that while Gresham didn't deny Humphries had a broken jaw, in his very learned opinion that was not the cause of death. In fact, in 35 years he'd never come across a single death he could put down to just a broken jaw. On top of that, he stuck one on the police, which had Cater looking down in the mouth.

‘Again, in my opinion,' he said, ‘one cannot seriously discount the possibility that, due to forceful restraint, Gary Humphries died when his neck arteries were compressed in a strangle-hold by police officers.'

I wanted to run over and kiss him, but it wasn't over yet. The judge's summing up can be the difference between win or a lose when he's talking to the jury.

That night, I never even tried to close my eyes, and I'm not ashamed to say that in the middle of the night I got on my knees and prayed. I prayed for my own sake, but more than that, I prayed for Val and the kids. They'd suffered as much as I had, but in a different way, yet they never blamed me once for bringing all that aggravation to our home.

John and me had a cuddle downstairs, then we shook hands and I climbed the stairs surrounded by cozzers. They weren't taking any chances on a bad result.

I mouthed a kiss towards Val as I stepped into the dock and she blew one back.

You could have heard a pin drop. I looked around the courtroom, then I studied the faces of the jurors one by one.

You – what do you know about my life? You look like you should be behind the counter of a bank. And the old girl with the glasses on, are you working out what to get your old man for his tea? The boy with the pimples, the girl who doesn't look older than my Kelly; who are you all? What are you thinking? Not one of them would let me catch their eye.

Reading through a bit of law bumph in my cell, I'd noticed that ‘the defendant shall be judged by 12 of his peers'. Ray said that means equals, but don't make me fucking laugh. Look at them. Look at me. These little people, these straights whose only brush with the law was when they parked on a double yellow – they don't know anything about real life and they're getting ready to take mine away. They're going to bury me under concrete until I'm 69 years old.

I looked away from them and glanced over to my Val but I couldn't stand the pain in her eyes, so I looked upwards to a little patch of blue-grey sky I could see through the rooflight.

I must have gone off somewhere in my head, because one minute I was thinking if that was how I would be seeing the sky for years to come, through glass, when all of a sudden I heard Judge Lowry say, ‘What is your verdict?'

I just had time to say to myself, ‘Please, God, help me for my family's sake,' and the foreman said, ‘NOT GUILTY'.

I seemed to stand paralysed for ages staring ahead – then it sank in – ‘NOT GUILTY'.

Those twelve ordinary people have suddenly gone from mugs to saints. They were on my side. They'd seen the truth and I loved every one of them.

I gripped the rail as a relief swept over me that I couldn't describe again if I tried. Then I couldn't help myself. I looked straight at Judge Lowry and burst into song.

‘Always look on the bright side of life … Da Da … Da Da…'

He looked stern, then he smiled and said, ‘Take that man down.'

As I walked down the stairs out of sight of the courtroom, I said to the two screws escorting me, ‘Come on, boys, let's go down in style.' I pulled each of their caps round so the peaks were over their ears, linked arms with them, and as we reached the bottom of the stairs I started singing again. John was down one end of the passage and he was cheering and clapping; the three of us danced towards him, and I sang ‘Always look on the bright side of life', then all the screws were clapping and patting me on the back. I thought of my Val, Jamie and Kelly and shouted as loud as I could, ‘I'M GOING HOME!' – then I punched the air.