The Dossier E-Book

Michael O'Brien

• Herausgeber: Seren
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 332

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

The Dossier investigates fifteen cases of proven or alleged miscarriages of justice in south Wales between 1982 and 2016. In the first part of The Dossier Michael O'Brien presents new evidence concerning his own case, which further calls into question the actions of the police which led to his conviction. The second part of the book considers another fourteen cases for a variety of crimes including murder. These cases concern the convictions of twenty-three people, who between them have spent eighty years in prison. The earliest is Anthony Yellen, convicted of murder on a manufactured confession in 1983. The book includes the Welsh conspiracy trial, the case of the Darvell brothers in Swansea, the Cardiff Three, Jonathan Jones, the Merthyr arson case, and the Clydach murders.O'Brien calls into question methods of policing and a judicial system in which too little has changed over the past thirty years, and calls for a judicial inquiry to investigate the culture which has resulted in so many dubious and plainly wrongful convictions. No police officer has been brought to book for their part in these cases, despite the evidence produced for the convictions to be ruled unsafe. Some officers have been involved in more than one of the cases considered, and some have been promoted to senior levels in the force. Many are now retired and are no longer subject to police disciplinary procedures. How, asks O'Brien, could so many important cases have resulted in unsafe conviction, and what can be done to improve procedures in future?

Leseprobe

The Dossier

Seren is the book imprint of

Poetry Wales Press Ltd

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© Michael O’Brien, 2021

The right of Michael O’Brien to be identified

as the Author of this Work has been asserted

in accordance with the Copyright, Designs

and Patents Act, 1988.

ISBN – 9781781726129

Ebook – 9781781726235

A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library

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Contents

Introduction

Part I

The Cardiff Newsagent Three

That Confession Expert Evidence

Part II

The Welsh Conspiracy Trial

Anthony Yellen

Sharon Kelleher

Gordon Christopher Cox

Paul and Wayne Darvell

The Cardiff Three

Patrick McCann

Idris Ali and Alan Charlton

Michael Attwooll and John Roden

Johnathan Jones

Annette Hewins, Donna Clark and Denise Sullivan

David George Morris

Roy Moore

Joseph Fettah

Introduction

This book summarises ten prosecutions involving serious allegations of police misconduct in South Wales spanning almost four decades. Some are high profile; others less so, though all are of equal – and crucial importance – in the fight to achieve a fair and impartial system of justice. In these cases, twenty-three people – nineteen men and four women – went to prison for crimes they did not commit. Twenty-one faced either murder or terrorism charges which could have resulted in life sentences upon conviction. Between them, these twenty-three people have spent over eighty years in prison. There may be more innocent people who we do not know of, or have yet to have their convictions overturned.

This is my second attempt to draw together the unacceptably large number of miscarriages of justice that have occurred in South Wales. Patterns emerge which raise wider concerns about dubious practises used by members of the South Wales Police, particularly where investigations of the most serious crimes are concerned.

Only a judicial inquiry led by a high court judge can effectively investigate the question of what has gone wrong with our police and judicial processes, and thereafter examine the underlying causes. These include whether there is, or was, a culture which tolerated dishonest practises within South Wales Police; whether ‘suspect–led’ policing has caused manipulation of evidence to fit particular suspects on whom a view has been taken; and whether particular interviewing techniques have been, or are still being employed, which have led to suspects and witnesses giving false evidence and making false confessions.

These cases raise serious concerns about the unsavoury practises employed by South Wales Police in order to secure convictions at any cost, regardless of the true nature of the evidence. Some officers were involved in a number of wrongful conviction cases, raising questions about whether a culture of impunity has allowed certain practises to persist, and whether these practises have been handed on from one generation of officers to the next.

A judicial inquiry would serve a vital public interest. More innocent people may have their lives ruined if the practises that occurred in these cases are allowed to continue. Murderers, and perpetrators of serious crimes, will continue to go free and be able offend again. The victims of these miscarriages of justice and the families of those killed will continue to feel that the whole truth has not emerged.

There has not been any wide-scale disciplinary action taken against officers that would reassure the public that the misconduct that led to these miscarriages of justice has been expurgated. Only if the facts are fully and fearlessly publicly explored can we know what really happened, and measures put in place to ensure that it does not happen again. An inquiry must be held in public because each of these cases involved a whitewash, and the victims cannot have confidence in an inquiry that takes place behind closed doors.

Incredibly, not one police officer has been brought to book for causing any of these miscarriages of justice, and all have been allowed to retire on full pensions. Throughout the entire UK only two police officers have ever been brought to account for causing a miscarriage of justice.

South Wales Police have conducted reviews into some of these cases but these have resulted in the real perpetrator of a crime being caught in only one of them. In other cases, especially that of the Cardiff Newsagent Three, there is a lack of will to reopen, or apologise, for what they have done to the victim’s family after misleading them for so many years, and apologise to those wrongly convicted.

This is why a public inquiry is needed, with full judicial powers that can properly establish the full nature and extent of what has gone wrong. Only a judicial inquiry can look beyond the facts of individual cases, at whether or not management tolerated, encouraged or failed to prevent any improper practise, and recommend reforms.

It should be noted that, in many of these cases, the Court of Appeal’s decisions in quashing convictions provide only a partial picture of the true state of affairs, because grounds of appeal for these cases were limited to those points most likely to succeed, and/or to those matters that could be proved, or were known at the time.

Some of the cases included in this dossier pre-date the introduction of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (PACE). They have been included despite their antiquity, because they involved individual officers who played a central role in later miscarriages of justice. These were high-ranking officers, including one who went on to become head of CID.

Questions must be asked, not only about officers who are alleged to have pressurised suspects and witnesses, and to have fabricated evidence, but about their senior officers who may have condoned, directed or turned a blind eye in support of such conduct. Many of the officers involved have retired, and therefore disciplinary action cannot be brought against them. This makes a judicial inquiry all the more urgent, and imperative, as a forum to examine the evidence and use its findings to set an example of lessons learned.

Two officers named in this dossier who are causes for concern are Stuart Lewis (n.b. not the officer in the Clydach murders case) and Don Carsley. They held various ranks over the period with which this dossier is concerned. Stuart Lewis rose to Detective Chief Inspector, and Don Carsley rose to Detective Chief Superintendent. As the ranks they held during their involvement in each of the individual cases is not always known, they will be referred to by name without their rank in the interest of clarity.

PART ONE

1. The Cardiff Newsagent Three

Michael O’Brien, Ellis Sherwood and Darren Hall 1987-1988

On the night of Monday, October 12, 1987, a Cardiff newsagent named Phillip Saunders was battered over the head five times as he arrived home. A short time earlier, at about 11.05pm he had been finishing his working day with a drink in a local pub. He then drove home. At 11.19pm an anxious neighbour became worried and rang 999. Saunders was found badly injured and unconscious, lying in the small back garden of his home. He died five days later, without regaining consciousness.

Mr. Saunders was 52 and the owner of three city-centre kiosks selling cigarettes, newspapers and sweets. He was well known and popular; everyone called him Icky. As a matter of routine, he called at his kiosk at the central bus station off Wood Street each evening at about 9.30pm to collect the day’s takings. He would then put the money in his van and drive home, generally after a swift pint.

Detectives later said that Saunders had been a ‘sitting target’ for an attack. It was well known that he carried money home, and they described the area around the nearby gents’ toilets in Wood Street as a “well known haunt of homosexuals and members of the criminal fraternity”.

When the police arrived at his home that night, they found him critically injured. They also found a spade stained with skin or bone, and blood, a £10 note and a £1 coin in the garden. There was no other money on him. A newly purchased bottle of whisky was found near his body. A few mouthfuls had been taken from it.

The unchallenged evidence of pathologist Professor Bernard Knight was that Mr. Saunders received five blows to the head, each delivered with very great force. His skull was shattered. The spade found in the garden, in Professor Knight’s opinion, could have caused all or any of the injuries.

The police mounted a major investigation, which involved the arrest and questioning of forty-two suspects. It was a dragnet. The killer had left no vital evidence, so detectives began to question known local criminals. Their suspect list was stocked with people who had form for robbery, or theft or dishonesty charges – even blackmail. There were others with violent histories. One had even been convicted for attacking someone with an axe.

I had no previous convictions but was one of those picked up. On October 12, 1987, I went out to steal a car. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I’d done it once before. I’d been out with Ellis Sherwood – my brother-in-law – and let him drive me around. There’s no excuse for what I did, but I suppose I was trying to fit in somewhere, be one of the boys. I was twenty. I’d never really fitted in anywhere until then, in school or out of it. It was a disaster.

I’d only gone round to see Ellis who was living with his sister, Mandy Purcigo, in Maitland Place, Grangetown. I got there about 9pm and, as I was going in, I was introduced to a bloke called Darren Hall. I’d never met him before and Ellis had only met him that day when Mandy’s ex, Martin Cleaver, helped her home with her shopping. Darren had been with Martin at the time, but when his mate left, Darren stayed with Ellis and had a drink. Not long after I arrived, Darren said how good he was at stealing cars. Someone said that he should go and steal one that night to go for a joyride. Ellis was really up for it and Mandy said we should call for somebody – she was keen on one of Ellis’ friends, a guy called Richard Yates.

We agreed to call for Richard Yates and to look for a car to steal on the way up, although we weren’t sure whether Darren could actually drive, or whether he was just bigging himself up. We left the flat and started to look for cars to steal. We didn’t find any, and just before we got to Richard’s house, Darren decided he was going to crash out at his mate’s pad which was nearby.

That left me, Ellis and Richard. The three of us left Richard’s house and stole a car shortly afterwards. It had been raining all night and by now, all we wanted to do was get back to Mandy’s place, so we drove straight there. I had no idea what I’d got into.

Phillip Saunders lived in Anstee Court, which is tucked away off a main thoroughfare called Atlas Road, near a busy junction. It’s in the bustling shopping and residential area of Canton, to the west of the city centre; Ely and Fairwater are further out.

The day after the attack, with Mr. Saunders fighting for his life, the police announced they had a team of 50 – later 75 – detectives making house-to-house inquiries around Saunders’ home and kiosk. Forensic experts examined a bloodstained implement at the scene (they wouldn’t say what it was at the time, but it turned out to be the spade). They were trying to trace Saunders’ movements and find out if anybody had sold him the whisky bottle found at his side.

The police said the attack followed an attempted break-in at his home a week earlier, and another during the preceding month. He had also been attacked outside his home two years earlier. A colleague of Saunders told the South Wales Echo on Tuesday 13th October: “Whoever it was did manage to get in three weeks ago, so I assume they did take something. And last Friday there was another attempt to get in – he’s been subject to a fair amount of harassment.” Within a couple of days, a reward of around £3,000 was being offered by Saunders’ family, a national newspaper and an anonymous businessman for information leading to an arrest and conviction.

The head of South Wales CID, Detective Chief Superintendent Don Carsley, led the inquiry. At first the police did not say whether they were looking for more than one man. Then, on October 15, the South Wales Echo reported the police had issued a description of a man they wanted to interview in connection with the assault. The man, the report stated, was spotted behind Mr. Saunders’ house at 11.15pm shortly before the attack took place. It read: “He is described as a slimly-built white male, about 5ft 10ins tall, with a full head of dark curly hair. He was wearing a dark blouson-style jacket and dark trousers. Shortly afterwards he was seen walking through the lane towards Atlas Road… The description was issued after intensive house-to-house inquiries in the area and is the best lead detectives have come up with.”

On October 17, Saunders died at the University Hospital of Wales, Cardiff. His life support machine was switched off and the police investigation became a murder inquiry.

Two days later DCS Carsley acted the part of Saunders in a police reconstruction of the newsagent’s movements on the night he died. Mr. Carsley, who was of a similar build to Saunders, padlocked the kiosk before going to the Albert pub for a soft drink. Police were now talking about a single attacker who they believe knew Saunders.

The South Wales Echo reported:

The newsagent was seen talking to a man at the rear of his house and later inside his back garden.

‘We know that Mr. Saunders was not the type of person to allow anyone into his home without knowing the person,’ said Mr. Carsley. ‘The victim’s keys were found in the back door. At the moment we must assume, on all the facts available to us, there is a strong possibility Mr. Saunders knew his attacker.’

The detectives’ belief that the newsagent knew his attacker is underlined by the appalling injuries he suffered. ‘The injuries were so terrible that the attacker may have done it to avoid Saunders identification. This was one of the most brutal and savage attacks I have ever encountered.’

The final scene of the re-enactment took place in Canton with a thud, the clatter of the ‘murder weapon’ hitting the floor and a “dark figure escaping through the shadows”. Detectives were so far disappointed by the public response, but a few witnesses had been traced. A mystery woman had called with “vital information” and the police appeal to her to call back.

On October 23 Mr. Carsley appealed to the family and friends of the killer. “Someone out there knows more than they are telling us,” he said. “The mother, the wife, close friends of the man, must know or suspect something from the change in his behaviour.”

The inquest into Saunders’ death was opened and adjourned on October 28. That day the police released a fresh description of the man they believed was the killer. He was white, in his early twenties, six feet tall, of slim build, with dark curly hair. He was wearing a dark blouson jacket and possibly dark trousers.

They were also looking for a man in connection with the burglary of Saunders’ home on September 18. He was described as white, 5ft 10ins to 5ft 11ins, very thin and extremely bow-legged.

Saunders’ brother, Edward or Ted, also a local businessman, made a fresh appeal for information about the murder and the reward was raised to £5,000. On November 2, the police began a poster blitz of Cardiff, distributing 1,000 posters with a photograph of Saunders, details of the reward and a description of the man they believed might be the killer. The police said they had by now interviewed 5,000 people. “We don’t think we are too far away from solving this murder, we just need that little bit of luck to tip the scales,” Mr. Carsley was reported as saying.

On November 1, 1987, Ellis Sherwood, Darren Hall and I were arrested in connection with the murder and robbery.

My wife and I were sleeping at her sister’s flat in Maitland Place, Grangetown, about a mile or more from the murder scene. We stayed there at least once a week. We were all close. I was woken up at about 8.30am by a loud banging on the door. My sister-in-law went to answer it. Before she could turn the handle, a sledgehammer was put through the woodwork and the room was suddenly packed full of police. It was mayhem. Mandy shouted: “What the hell did you smash the door down for? We were opening it anyway.”

One of the officers said: “We can do what we like.” He looked at me and said: “Are you Michael O’Brien?” I replied, “Yes”. He said: “I have come to arrest you on suspicion of murdering Phillip Saunders.”

I couldn’t take in what this officer was saying. I was shocked, terrified and angry. “I don’t even know the fucking guy you are talking about,” I said.

I was grabbed by the other police officers. They slapped a pair of handcuffs on me and frog-marched me out the front door into a waiting police car. They’d brought along three cars and more than a dozen police officers for the job. I was placed in the back of a car and driven a couple of miles to Canton police station for questioning.

We got to the police station at about 8.50am and I was taken to the custody sergeant in the custody suite where I was told to hand over all my possessions. I did so out of fear, not knowing what my rights were. I signed a form to confirm my property and was taken upstairs and placed in a room, waiting to be questioned.

I was scared; I did not know what was happening to me. I knew we were innocent so what were we doing here? The journey in the car had left me terrified of the police. I had been in a police station twice. Once over some urns which were taken from outside a church (I admitted being wrong straight away and was acquitted of any crime. It was just stupidity).

The other time, far more horrible, was when I had been a victim myself. I hate talking about it. I was seventeen at the time and was indecently assaulted by a man I met on the bus whose shopping I had helped carry home. I had tried and I still try to put it out of my mind. I helped him carry the bags to his flat and he asked me if I’d like a cup of tea. I thought nothing of it. I’m chatty, you know. We had a cup of tea and then I told him I had to go. Then I found he’d locked the front door. His manner changed towards me and, although he was old as far as I was concerned (I later found out he was fifty-nine), he was a big bloke. I am not.

He pushed me towards the door, trapping me in the corner. I was scared and just froze. It was then that he indecently assaulted me – before letting me go. I remember running all the way home with tears running down my face. I locked myself in my room until my sister-in-law knocked on my door. She immediately knew something was wrong. I didn’t want to tell at first but then I blurted it all out.

She told my brother and they both persuaded me to get the police involved. I ended up going to Canton police station and giving a statement. The man was later arrested and didn’t deny what he had done – although when it came to court he was bound over and basically let off. This really had an effect on me. I ended up getting some counselling, although I ditched it because it wasn’t really helping. I had to work through it on my own. Being in Canton police station again was bringing it back, all the horror. I remembered feeling as if I’d committed a crime when I was giving the statement about being assaulted, feeling like a criminal and not a victim.

I sat in the bare room, waiting to be questioned by the murder squad for what seemed like an eternity. Then the door opened, and I knew from their manner they were going to give me a hard time.

They placed me in a cell for about ten minutes and then taken upstairs to wait in another room before they came to interview me. It was like an interview room but devoid of all non-essential furniture. I was just sitting there alone. My hands weren’t cuffed then but later, when they went for dinner breaks, they handcuffed me to radiators, hot radiators, and once to a table.

They would taunt me, telling me they were going to nail me. “You may as well say Ellis done it because you’re going down anyway because of Darren.”

I knew they were trying to get me to confess and implicate Ellis – they knew him and wanted him. I said I wasn’t going to put him inside for something he hadn’t done.

Someone would play the aggressor. Everyone knows about this ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’ tactic. It’s no joke. I couldn’t cope with it. “We know you did it, we know you all did it.” They’d tell me: “Ellis has told us he was the main man and that you took part reluctantly.” And: “We know you did it, admit it.”

Another officer would use a different approach: “If I was you, I’d tell us what happened. Do you want Mr. Bad Guy back?”

I couldn’t sleep properly. They were banging on the doors, making a noise and laughing and shaking keys. I told them all three of us were innocent and that was the truth. During the first interview I didn’t say what we were doing the night of the murder. In the second one I said: “Listen I told a few lies here and want to explain to you why.”

The police said to Ellis that if we were doing something else that night why not tell them? So, he told them we had been out stealing a car. Then they came in to put that to me and I admitted it. I told them we nicked a car the night of the murder and that was why I lied. I explained where we took the car from and I told them everything about it. We’d taken it from Pencisely Rise in Canton: Ellis and Mandy’s boyfriend Richard Yates and myself. Yates drove the car. Darren Hall was not with us then. He left us five minutes prior to us going to Fairwater Grove East for Richard Yates. He went to his friend’s house.

We didn’t see him then until the next day, the Tuesday, and I remember that day because I’d caught a bad cold. It had been raining on the Monday night and I had only had a top on and a thin leather jacket. I was laid up most of the day but I did pop down to Mandy’s in Maitland Place, where Ellis was staying. They all went out and wanted me to go and nick a car with them. I said no.

They went and all got caught that night and were remanded in custody. Darren Hall got bail in the early hours of the morning, Richard Yates got bail and a guy called Paul Lewis, who would give evidence against Ellis, got caught with them.

Ellis was remanded in custody because there was a warrant out for his arrest for burglary. He was released on the same day – Wednesday, October 14 – but only later and in the afternoon.

Anyway, I told the police that on the Monday, the night Phillip Saunders died, we had taken the car for a joyride. By the time we’d taken it we were so soaked that all we wanted to do was get home. I explained that we took the car and then I went home. Yates dumped the car not far from where we’d stolen it.

As it turned out, the car belonged to somebody I knew from when I was a boy. If I’d known I wouldn’t have got into it, but I allowed myself to be carried in a stolen vehicle. The owner of the car said the police told him there had been blood in it, but forensic tests later showed there was no blood.

I was questioned by many different officers, they were coming in and out of the interview room, throwing allegations at me: “You know Ellis Sherwood did it. If you don’t admit it, you’re all going down.” My family wasn’t allowed to see me, and the police refused to allow me a solicitor at this stage.

They took us to Anstee Court in separate cars and at different times. I’d refused food and water and so when we were driving up there, swinging the back of the car around, I was feeling sick. They said I retched in Anstee Court and that that was because of what I was remembering from the night. That was crap. My stomach was empty, and I was terrified, but I did not retch.

At the murder scene the police told me this is how Anstee Court had been on the night: quiet. All I could see was one Morris Minor. They said, “Were you here on the night in question?” I said I may have been there, but I wasn’t 100 per cent sure. I said we’d been walking around car parks in the dark and I remembered seeing a Morris Minor somewhere. Ellis and I had made a joke about how fast it could go.

When we got back to the police station, it was as if I had said that we definitely had been there. The police alleged that I had admitted to being there with the others and that I had made comments about the car being in the same position as on the night of the murder. They asked me to sign notes to this effect. I refused. The police knew that on the night in question there had been a total of fourteen cars in the car park where the victim was attacked – two of them Morris Minors – but I didn’t know that at this point.

The significance of this is clear. If they had told me that on the night of the attack there had been fourteen cars there, I would have known it wasn’t the car park where I’d seen the Morris Minor.

At midnight they finally allowed me to see my solicitor, Paul Malekin. I told him I was in bits; that I was terrified and didn’t know what was happening. I couldn’t even think straight.

After 36 hours, at 8pm on the night of November 2, I was bailed until December 14. My solicitor took me home.

My family knew what was going on and we went to stay at my mother’s. We were too scared to go back to our flat in Corporation Road and too scared to stay at Mandy’s because of what had happened there. I also knew the police wanted Ellis because he’d been in trouble a few times before; nothing serious, but he always seemed to have the rub of the green and didn’t go to prison and that pissed them off. Ellis rubbed them up the wrong way.

I was in shock. I just couldn’t cope. I knew they weren’t going to leave me alone because one of the officers said, “This ain’t over.” It sent a chill down my spine. It all got too much for me. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I stole some of my mother’s tablets and decided I was going to take them, but when it came to it I couldn’t. I went to the doctor; it was a cry for help. I told him I couldn’t cope and I was referred to a psychiatric hospital in Whitchurch, Cardiff. I was discharged that afternoon after explaining my feelings to counsellors. I kept saying that I knew the police would not leave me alone. They wanted a result.

Two officers followed me when I went to meet my mum in a café in the centre of Cardiff. They came in and walked up close. I said: “Why don’t you leave me alone?”

Later I saw the same pair outside our place in Corporation Road. They said they wanted to ask me a few questions. Detective Inspector Stuart Lewis was one of them and he said: “We know you didn’t murder Phillip Saunders, that Ellis was responsible.”

I told them to get out of my fucking house. When they left, I sat on the bed with my head in my hands.

Arrested for the second time

One week later we were all re-arrested. According to the police they were acting on new information received.

The three of us were charged with the murder and robbery of Phillip Saunders. We all appeared before Cardiff Magistrates Court on November 11, 1987 and were remanded in custody to await trial.

That second arrest may be a lifetime ago, but it was terrifying, and I remember it clearly. South Wales Police arrived at the door of my mother’s house in Highmead Road early on November 10, at about 8.30am.

My wife, Donna, answered the door and called up the stairs to my mother: “The police are here”. Donna would not let them in until my mother had come down the stairs, but they barged through and entered the living room. I was sleeping there on a makeshift bed.

My mother, Marlene, came downstairs to find out what was going on. I wanted to go to the toilet and put my shoes on but the police again marched me out of the house. They did not caution me. I heard my mother shout down the garden path, asking the police what was going on.

My mother shouted: “What police station are you taking my son to?” They said, “We are taking him to Canton police station and charging him with murder.”

This was before they had even questioned me! Did that mean the police had decided my guilt before they had even interviewed me on some so-called new information received?

While I was in the police car, one police officer scared me out of my wits. He was saying that I was going to get a life sentence for murdering Phillip Saunders and that I wasn’t going to see my wife and children for a very long time.

I tried to fight back and told him I was innocent and knew nothing about this murder. This really made him even angrier. He said, “You are fucking guilty and I’m going to make sure you and the others do at least twenty years. Either you tell us the truth or you’ll all get life.”

Later he told me: “They should bring back hanging for murdering scum.”

He said Hall had told them everything, that he was the lookout while Ellis smashed Saunders over the head and I held him down.

This couldn’t be true. I hardly knew Darren Hall. But I knew all three of us were innocent, so why would he say something like that. I felt so confused. It felt like a wild dream – this could not be happening.

My mother and my family were all too shocked to do anything apart from contact a solicitor. It was hard for them to know what to do – what could they do? They hoped that during the trial the truth would prevail, and I would be set free.

At the station the police said they had new information from a couple called Christopher Chick and Helen Morris, who claimed Ellis had said we’d killed a newsagent and had been out spending money from the robbery. We were charged at about 11pm that night.

They put Ellis and I in adjoining cells and I said to Ellis something like, “I’m worried about my wife”. Donna was eight months pregnant and couldn’t be expected to cope with this hassle.

Later we got pulled out of the cells and DI Stuart Lewis said he’d heard us make incriminating comments. What I actually said, and what the police officer claimed he overheard, is still debated today. It was central to our trial and then to our appeal. It still rankles.

Ellis and I had been in next-door cells. Lewis said he heard a shouted conversation between us. According to his statement, it went like this:

Me: “They’re going to charge me and you.”

Ellis: “No, they’re not. All they’ve got is Hall; he’s grassing us.”

Me: “I can’t hold out for much longer. I may have to tell the truth.”

Ellis: “Don’t do that, we’ll be fucked.”

Me: “I can’t hold out for much longer. I might have to tell them what happened.”

Ellis: “You’re talking about life, being on remand means nothing.”

Me: “I can’t hold out for much longer. I’m scared I’ll have to tell them what happened.”

Ellis: “Just keep your mouth shut.”

Me: “Why don’t you tell them what happened?”

Ellis: “I can’t, can I? If Hall hadn’t opened his mouth, we wouldn’t be here.”

Ellis: “I think there’s someone listening. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Me: “Yeah. Okay.”

Lewis said he quickly scribbled down a note of the conversation on the back of a police expenses form.

What he said he’d recorded was close to a confession. I was horrified. I turned to my solicitor and said: “No way, that’s bare-faced lies!” I remember the exact words I said to him. I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But I knew that we were up against it. I knew there was a serious, serious attempt to put us in prison for something we hadn’t done. And the worst thing about it was to feel so powerless. I couldn’t do anything about it. It was already too late.

I’d only been talking about Donna before Ellis told me to hush. Of course, I was scared of losing my wife and kids.

Next thing the police were saying I was squirming about wanting to tell them “the truth” and Ellis had supposedly said that Hall was “grassing us”. It was getting very scary.

In interrogation the police were coming in and telling me: “You may as well tell the truth because Darren Hall confessed.”

Darren Hall was a man I barely knew. He was eighteen years old when he was picked up. He had a criminal record going back two years. It included theft of a bicycle, theft of £105 from a friend’s house, shoplifting, burglary of a sports shop and failing to answer bail. He was not Ronnie Biggs, but he wasn’t Mother Teresa either.

He had been arrested on October 14, 1987, two days after Mr. Saunders was attacked, but not in relation to the murder. He was arrested for stealing a car.

There were forty-two people interviewed in the trawl for Mr. Saunders’ killer, but after Hall’s arrest on suspicion of involvement in murder on October 31, the police concentrated only on Hall, Ellis Sherwood and I.

On October 27 Hall made a statement about another suspect. He gave confused information and was arrested four days later. He was interviewed nine times between his arrest and his release on bail on November 2.

In his first interview on October 31, he didn’t have a solicitor present and changed his story slightly. In the second interview he admitted lying on the 27th. In the third interview he told another story. In the fourth, he admitted his involvement in the attack for the first time. He said he had been in Anstee Court alone to steal a car. He then said he was there with Sherwood and two others to carry out a burglary. He said the other two were a mixed-race guy called Tony and a ‘Richard’ from Fairwater. He then changed his story and said he was on his own and that he hit Mr. Saunders with a house-brick.

In the fifth interview Hall said he went to Anstee Court with Sherwood, Tony and Richard. He kept watch while the others went to the back of Anstee Court. He saw Mr. Saunders arrive in his van. One of the others shouted “Run” and they all did. He then told detectives he was schizophrenic and said the others had kept watch while he hit Mr. Saunders with the moneybag, stones and bricks. When the police asked if this were true, he said it was “all bullshit”.

The sixth time he was interviewed he again said he was with the same three guys but that he was lookout, while the others went to find cars. They couldn’t get one and they all went back to Fairwater.

In his seventh interview Hall was shown a picture of me. He said Ellis and I were with him the night of the crime. The next time he told them he was lookout while Ellis and I went in to Anstee Court. He said six or seven minutes after Mr. Saunders returned home he saw the two of us run out.

He had heard three “metallic clanging noises” in quick succession. He then said he had himself thought of attacking Mr. Saunders before – that he had come up with the idea of the robbery.

(Despite this series of ‘confessions’, we were released on bail – and, on that day, November 2, 1987, police made their 1,000-poster appeal for witnesses with a description of the six-foot tall, dark curly-haired man they thought might be the killer. I believe that shows they did not believe Darren’s confessions.)

Later, in other interviews after our re-arrest, Hall gave more details of his plan to rob Mr. Saunders. He said the three of us went to Anstee Court together and, after the attack, Ellis and I had blood on our hands.

In another interview – the first time he had a solicitor – Hall denied our involvement. And he also told police at one stage: “You wouldn’t give me a brief so I told you different lies.”

But by the time we got to court he had again apparently planned the robbery and acted as lookout – Ellis and I had killed Phillip Saunders.

Suicide Risk

At the time, of course, I had no idea how Darren Hall’s lies were affecting the murder inquiry – and how the detectives were taking exactly what they wanted from the rubbish he was saying.

The police were trying to tell me Ellis had confessed too, but I knew: no way.

On October 12 I’d only happened to meet Darren Hall because he’d ended up having coffee at my sister-in-law’s flat in Maitland Place. When I called that evening, he was there. That was the first time I’d met him.

DI Lewis was putting forward his version of what he had claimed he had heard Ellis and I say in the cells, a version that, if true, would have amounted to a confession. He didn’t have the note he’d supposedly made in front of him. All I saw is what had been typed out.

Of course, years later as I write this, the note – our apparent confession – has vanished.

Next morning, I made my first ever appearance in court at the Magistrates Court in Cardiff. A quick adjournment was the result and we were remanded in custody.

The court appearance was very brief but very traumatic. I couldn’t cope with it. A case was being built against me and I couldn’t do anything about it. I knew I hadn’t done it; I knew the others hadn’t done it. I was 100 per cent sure Darren Hall hadn’t done it. How could he have done it when, at the time, he was with us in Fairwater two miles away from where Mr. Saunders was smashed over the head?

What the hell was happening?

We were remanded to Cardiff Prison. I didn’t know what to expect, but it was my worst nightmare. The police had been saying, “You’ll be buggered in prison.” It was frightening and humiliating. My prison clothes were ill fitting and the shoes they gave me were too big.