Read Unsafe Convictions Online
Authors: Alison Taylor
When first convicted, Piers Stanton Smith, as he insisted on being called, spent three weeks in Salford’s Strangeways Prison awaiting allocation before being transferred, handcuffed and caged, to his new domicile at Longmoor. Imagining Frances Pawsley already rearming herself for their next skirmish, McKenna followed in his tracks.
As
the car flashed through a high-sided underpass to join the northbound motorway, he glimpsed a cat lying as if asleep below the wall, and was about to flatten the brake, compelled to attempt rescue, when he realised the dusty-looking animal must be dead, struck by some anonymous vehicle and thrown accidentally into that position. Grief for the poor creature further bleakened the rest of a joyless journey, through grey urban wastelands where the verges were littered with human detritus, the walls and ramparts of motorway and bridges defaced by graffiti, and a dirty wind created by thousands of vehicles tumbled litter and flattened weeds. Somewhere in that miserable landscape, he stopped at a service station for petrol, then went to the adjoining restaurant for a snack. The place was laid out like a cattle market, with slatted seats and rough tables imprisoned inside slatted pens, under a bare pitched roof from which dangled several enormous television sets with their sound turned down. He joined the queue being processed along the food counter towards the till, watching, like everyone else, the meaningless pictures flickering overhead.
Julie saw Trisha’s killer again when she took out some of her charges for a mid-morning walk. The blue car which hurtled away from Trisha’s immolation had been traded in within weeks for an anonymous white vehicle, and that, in turn, exchanged for the mulberry-coloured saloon speeding past her and the little crocodile of mental defectives as if they were non-existent. The car was heading towards Dark Moor and, as it disappeared around a bend, she had another heart-stopping thought to keep company with her older terrors. Had she been alone, she wondered, would the car still have raced away? For surely, the advent of the faceless police officers from another country had changed everything.
Thanking
God for the unwitting protection of idiots, she herded them down the road towards the little cafe where Muriel Szabo spent her remaining years guarding her till and ruling with a rod of iron the girls who worked there on their way from school to marriage. Her now dead husband, who fled the Hungarian uprising to find himself in Haughton, had been known only by a self-conscious garble because no one ever learned to pronounce his Christian name. And, despite occasionally sharing her bed with him before each of his seven children arrived, when Muriel, in the last weeks of pregnancy, was bellied like a cow in calf, even Julie’s mother, Kathy, was defeated by the tongue-defying medley of consonants, and simply called him ‘the Hungarian’.
Julie
remembered his gravelly voice, his own enjoyment of the linguistic pitfalls which upended everyone’s best efforts, and the small acts of kindness and consideration he offered whenever he saw her out with Kathy. He made the cafe opposite the old dye mill into a patch of home soil, beguiling the local palate with strange concoctions of stewed meat and vegetables, light-as-air pastries, and dark, chewy breads. To Julie, it had never lost that atmosphere, even though Muriel now served sandwiches of white sliced bread, cheese or beans or egg, or all three together, on toast, pots of tea with tea-leaves, instant coffee made with hot milk, jam-sponge or syrup-sponge pudding with runny yellow custard, and the home-made chocolate cake, fruit pie, crumbly scones, and nutmeg-dusted egg custard her four daughters supplied with precise regularity.
Muriel
tolerated custom from the Willows because it stoked up the takings now the dye mill’s regular trade was a thing of the past, but her sharp old eyes were always on the watch. She tolerated Julie, but never welcomed her. Her memory was too long, and as sharp as the eyes in her seamed face, and Julie often thought she probably knew all about the trade in another kind of sustenance that had passed between Kathy and the Hungarian.
McKenna
parked in the visitors’ car-park at Longmoor and headed for the gatehouse postern, looking up at the endless length of inwardly curving wall, the inner defence of a great snarl of barbed wire just visible above the top. He was admitted to a small chamber surrounded by bullet-proof glass, where he and his identification were rigorously scrutinised, before being escorted to the deputy governor’s office via clanking keys and automatic steel doors. The doors opened with a sigh and closed behind him with a sucking of air and a sough like the wind, and he relished the thought that even Smith, for all his posturings and his arrogance, must have felt a stabbing, panic-inducing hopelessness as one after another of the impenetrable exits shut behind him, seemingly for many years.
Shaking
hands with Noel Cooper, the deputy governor, he said: ‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. Smith’s time here is probably not relevant to my investigation, but I like to be thorough.’
‘
What happens if you turn up evidence pointing towards that poor woman’s killer?’ Cooper asked.
‘
We hand it over, and the investigation would be reopened.’
‘
Pity Smith can’t be tried twice for the same offence, isn’t it?’ Cooper commented. ‘Still, there’ll be another opportunity to put him away, if our experience is any indication.’
‘
Don’t you think he attracts a rather unreasonable level of condemnation?’ McKenna suggested. ‘Marital violence is a commonplace and, while it’s unacceptable, there are usually reasons why it occurs.’
‘
And were we prejudiced before he even set foot in his cell?’ asked Cooper. ‘Even if we were, there was no gainsaying his impact. Misfortune followed him like it was his own shadow, but it always affected others, never him. He loves conflict, and he’s exceedingly manipulative. He’s got a bad aura, which is probably why his past is littered with violent deaths and tragedy. And I fully expect his future to be the same, if not worse. His confidence will be impregnable now.’
‘
Not one of your more popular inmates, then,’ McKenna said, rather taken aback by Cooper’s vehement dislike.
‘
You and I both know that tension virtually drips from the walls in a lifers’ unit. We have to be constantly on the alert for inmate attacks, attacks on officers, and suicide attempts. Our mix is always volatile, but there was an almost universal sigh of relief when Smith went, and a marked reduction of tension in all quarters.’ Doodling on his blotter, the deputy governor added: ‘The only person who was sorry to see the back of him was one of our lady counsellors.’ He gestured to a stack of files on the side of his desk. ‘I’ve had permission to give you copy documentation relating to his residence, although I expect you’re already awash in a sea of paper. Anyhow, I included her reports, as well as the psychologist’s and a psychiatric evaluation carried out on his recommendation.’
‘
Anything useful in them?’
‘
I can give you a run-down of the counselling reports. In many ways they’re just an extension of the rubbish that was in the paper today,’ Cooper said. ‘Same tune on a different violin.’ He took the top file from the stack. ‘I highlighted the relevant bits.’ He handed over the documents, and sat back in his chair, gazing through the window.
His
attention directed only to the blocks of words stressed in fluorescent yellow, McKenna leafed through the many pages of reports on
Piers
Stanton Smith, Category B Life Prisoner (no minimum specified period)
Initially
— extremely withdrawn — breakthrough interview — four months into sentence — probably — first opportunity to talk about himself — deepest fears — feelings
His
childhood — dreadful — impact of being reared by — mother where — no counterbalancing influences — cannot be overstated — near revelation when — realised — person does not need to be conscious of emotion to experience its effects — discussed — grief — terror — shame —chronic anxiety
He
said — felt like person with terminal illness — ‘illness’ himself — evidence of disturbingly negative self-image — the possibility of self-harm must be considered
He
has — avid desire to learn — make up for inadequate general education — realise person within himself — motivation vacillates — prone to bouts of depression — I suggested anti-depressant therapy — very resistant — mother took pills
To
say — obsessed with childhood — not —overstatement — children who live with fear, violence depravity absorb — even replicate behaviour in later life. It is not their fault — but must — grow towards acceptable levels of functioning
Initial
settling-in period — extraordinarily difficult for life prisoners — moods appeared stabilise — periods of extreme despondency —wife’s efforts to secure appeal — inclined to self-doubt — depressed emotions after her visits
He
has spoken at length of first wife — horrified recognition — near clone of mother — possibility unconsciously drawn to similar women on ‘devil you know’ basis — despite admitting — became —terrorised by first wife’s conduct — fantasised about her death — his liberation — adamant innocent of murder — maintains hope — evidence to clear
Of
second wife — wholly uncritical sufficiently mature to meet his emotional needs — aware personalities involved in relationships hold potential — create harmony — discord — violence —calm — referred to philosophical ‘third entity’ —Beryl brings out best — Trisha brought out worst — violence offered Trisha — rooted in deep feelings of inadequacy — she — very immature personality — easily waylaid by transient emotions — his fear provoked panic attacks containing violence
Recommendations:
1 Work prison library — continue — additional responsibilities
2
A programme teaching literacy skills — other prisoners
3
Support Open University degree course
4
Formal psychological counselling —including Transactional Analysis —Cognitive Therapy
5
Continued oversight — recognition of circumstances where self-harm might occur. Self-harm — way — expressing externalising inner anguish — much still troubles this man — I see generalised suffering — morbid social phobia embracing most social contacts inhibiting, generalised anxiety state characterised by disproportionate apprehension
‘
Her offerings are all pretty much the same,’ Cooper said, when McKenna closed the file. ‘But you should read the psychologist’s reports, especially the one for annual review. He took against Smith with a vengeance, but only after Smith threatened him. Our anti-hero reverted to type when the psychologist challenged him about yet another death-by-fire he’d discovered. That little outburst cost Smith twenty-eight days’ loss of privileges, and me an ear-bashing about “draconian and inappropriate sanctions” from the counsellor.’
‘
Did you have any contact with Beryl? I see she visited at every opportunity.’
‘
I had a lot of contact with Mrs Stanton Smith the second,’ replied Cooper. ‘And I also received letters of complaint from her on a regular basis. She wanted his sensitive and artistic soul shielded from the rough and tumble of prison life. So did the priest.’ Frowning at his visitor, he added: ‘Father Fauvel made nine visits here: I checked with the visitors’ log before you came; so it beats me why he never mentioned the other priest’s letter, at least once.’
‘
He didn’t mention it at the trial, either. We intend to ask him to explain his lapses.’
‘
Well, I doubt if you’ll get very far. He’s too smooth; one of those Teflon-coated individuals.’
‘
You mentioned a psychiatric evaluation,’ McKenna reminded him. ‘What was the opinion?’
‘
No specific or treatable mental illness. In other words, Smith’s a sociopath. Have you met him yet?’
McKenna
shook his head. ‘And unless he features in our inquiries, I don’t intend to do so.’
‘
You’re a wise man.’ Cooper smiled. ‘By the way, d’you know when his mother died? The psychologist got a bee in his bonnet about the late Mrs Smith. He contacted the Registrar’s office in Sheffield, but they had no record of her demise.’
‘
Sheffield police tried to find her before the trial, but found another old woman living at the last known address. She was called Sheridan, if I remember correctly. She showed them her pension book.’
‘
Didn’t she know where Bunty Smith had gone?’
‘
Said she’d never heard of her. Mrs Smith could have moved elsewhere, of course, or even followed her son’s example, and changed her name.’
‘
A dead end, then,’ Cooper said.
‘
Not necessarily. The National Insurance Register in Newcastle should have a record of her death.’
*
On the road from Longmoor to the motorway, McKenna passed an ancient-looking wayside inn, and decided to treat himself to a hot pie and a tot or two of warming spirits. Feet up on the brass fender around the log fire in the pub snug, he took out the psychology report Cooper had recommended.
1
Following conviction and allocation, Smith was assessed on arrival and judged fit for non-segregation and work
2
Following referral for counselling, concerns were voiced about the possibility of self-harm: in my opinion, based on Smith’s presentation and the absence of precedent, a serious suicide attempt is remote. Although the usual supervision must obtain, I believe such behaviour would be purely attention-seeking, or, more probably, designed to escape the consequences of some mischief. Additionally, Smith is too self-centred and vain to wreak any significant damage upon his person
3
Prior to completion of this report, I have conducted seven separate interviews with Smith, observed him during recreation, association and work periods, and discussed his functioning with unit staff
4
Since his admission, there have been several unexplained incidents where other prisoners suffered injury, or appeared very fearful. No reasonable explanation has emerged, and unit staff are worried by the increase in random and unpleasant accidents, and the overall tightening of tension. Smith progressed through the internal hierarchy very swiftly and with considerable ease, and now occupies a position of power, which bespeaks a personality very different from the passive, damaged, timid, and often humble individual presented to officers and professional staff. In observing Smith with other prisoners, I note that even the most notoriously violent and confident studiously avoid irritating him: others defer to him, but in the manner of those hoping to appease a dangerous animal
5
During the first course of interviews, Smith was intent on discussing what he presented as a dreadful childhood and adolescence at the hands of an horrendous mother, sneering teachers, wicked neighbours and their evil offspring, expertly weaving references to his allegedly savage past into every sentence. He presented himself as a victim of the world, and I had the distinct impression he expected me to be seduced into unquestioning and uncritical sympathy. That is not my role, and I explained to him that he was unlikely to make any psychological or personal progress without first examining his own input into these interpersonal relationships. He responded by becoming very angry very quickly, and this was not feigned: I reached a tentative conclusion at that point, which was only reinforced by subsequent contact, that if the self-image Smith wishes to present is criticised or threatened, he will fast resort to aggression
6
Attempts to provoke Smith to discuss the feelings and anxieties of others were invariably fruitless. He is profoundly self-absorbed, self-regarding and narcissistic, and has almost perfected the art of self-satisfaction, at whatever cost to others, clothing it with sickly, hypocritical affectations of humility when necessary. He is prone to abuse those weaker or less ruthless than himself, as is evident from the history of assaults on his first wife, and I suggest that obvious weakness in others is likely to make him even more vicious and exploitative. He is power-hungry and tyrannical and, like all tyrants, driven to extremes of outrageous behaviour if thwarted or challenged. Experience has taught him that people can be bullied and terrorised into meeting his needs and adapting to his ways of thinking. Some even conveniently die to appease or please him. Belief in that level of power is the victim of its own success
7
Discussions about his mother and his first wife never advanced from first base, which was the basis Smith insisted on adopting, telling me he must be unconsciously drawn to such women through conditioning. The monstrous aspects of both women were embellished with each telling, and thus their responsibility for what happened to them at his hands grew apace. He suggested that the abuse of his first wife was a hangover of unsatisfied feelings towards his mother: in plain language, he would have been justified in punishing his mother, but battered his wife instead. He also claimed that having been reared with violence, it was inevitably absorbed into his own functioning, and went on to say that his change of name and ‘rewritten’ early biography were a means of escaping the depravity of his childhood, before that too became psychologically intrinsic. He admitted to periods of emotional disturbance, when the chains of the past threatened to pull him back, and said he felt terribly guilty about things he may have done during such times when he was not in control of himself. However, each admission of violence or cruelty was attached to blame for the victim, and all his conduct was thus projected. I lost count of the times he stated: ‘it wasn’t my fault’, ‘I couldn’t help it’, ‘she made me do it’: every person within his orbit, particularly the women, was unbelievably wanting, and provocative of their own misery