The Department of Employment eventually took responsibility for the information that was given – or rather, not given – to Hadlands about Graham’s background. In a letter to C3, one of their senior staff explained:
We had to view him also against the background of our policy for dealing with those who have been convicted. When the offence is relevant to the job (e.g. a man convicted of fraud being considered for a position of financial trust), the employer (with the applicant’s agreement) is informed. In this case the ‘offence’ of Young was linked to a mental illness which preceded its commission. Again Dr Udwin’s report stated in unqualified terms that Young had made a full recovery. There was therefore no reason to believe he would repeat the ‘offence’.673
He reiterated that the responsibility for Hadlands not being informed of this, or that Graham had been treated and ‘recovered’ at Broadmoor ‘is our responsibility’.674 Staff at the Slough government training centre knew no more than those who went on to employ Graham. There was consternation at C3 over Graham’s reference for Hadlands, which was in the form of Dr Udwin’s psychiatric report, from which the normal ‘Broadmoor’ heading was mysteriously absent, but this was never resolved.
Prior to Graham’s trial, a second psychiatric report was commissioned from Dr Connell, physician at the Maudsley hospital, on behalf of the Director of Public Prosecutions. Like Dr Scott, he had found Graham ‘cooperative, talkative and clearly intelligent’ while continuing to ‘maintain his innocence’ of the charges brought against him.675 He deemed him to be ‘fully in touch with reality and did not show, at interview, any disorders of perception. Nor did he appear clinically depressed though he shows some anxiety concerning the hearing of his case.’676 As regards his previous crimes, Graham told Dr Connell ‘I was emotionally disturbed’ and ‘I had acquired a psychopathic disorder.’677 He said that he had acted up at first but as time went on his disorder remitted so that he was normal on discharge from Broadmoor. There was not a great deal that they could discuss regarding the present charges since Graham denied them, ‘but he noted that his diary was merely fantasy and nothing to do with real events.’678 Dr Connell then made several observations, including that Graham was ‘suffering from a psychopathic disorder’ and ‘a mental abnormality which substantially diminishes his responsibility and which can be regarded as a psychopathic disorder under the definition of the Mental Health Act 1959.’679 Furthermore, at the time of his crimes, ‘he would have known what he was doing and that it was wrong’.680 Looking to the future, Graham needed ‘to be looked after in a situation of maximum security since in my opinion he is likely to commit similar offences in the future if he has the opportunity.’681 On balance, Dr Connell felt a prison placement would be ‘more humane since there is little that direct treatment can offer him in a special psychiatric setting’. He would also require psychiatric supervision; in the event of being found guilty of the offences, he should be closely watched ‘since he may well become depressed and even suicidal’. Dr Connell concluded: ‘He is fit to plead and to stand trial.’682
On 8 June 1972, Dr Christopher Mark Fysh, formerly senior medical officer of Ashford Remand Centre, contacted the Home Office regarding approaches he had received from the press about Graham’s case. Fysh had examined Graham on numerous occasions during 1961 and 1962; it was he who had submitted a report to the Central Criminal Court giving evidence that Graham ‘was prepared to take the risk of killing to gratify his interest in poisons. The prognosis is frankly bad.’ Dr Fysh wanted to know if he could grant certain interviews, having been asked repeatedly about his earlier prognostications, declaring:
The implications are obvious but, believe me, I feel no satisfaction in the possibility of having been correct in my opinion. However, it is not at all surprising that I have been approached by the BBC and the press who of course like myself realise that the matter is sub-judice, but have asked whether I would be prepared, if Young is found guilty, to be interviewed and comment on the report I made to the Central Criminal Court and the evidence I gave in public to that court.
I pointed out that as an ex-civil servant I regarded myself as bound in certain respects by the Official Secrets Act, but did not know how far this extended, for instance, in expressing my opinion of his then condition and the evidence I gave in court. I may be wrong, but I have gained the impression that a great deal of pressure will be put on me to comment if Young is guilty.
I realise that the treatment of dangerous offenders is a matter of great public interest and controversy, as well as material for the sensational press. If Young is found guilty I feel that I can properly comment on my evidence given in public and defend (if necessary) and explain my recommendation to the court. I would also like to express, if asked, my confidence in the integrity of Broadmoor even if, in common with all humanity, their judgement can be at fault, and that they must have the freedom to exercise that judgement if any progress is to be made in the treatment of dangerous offenders.
Finally, I would like to show that the medical side of the prison service is very much aware of its responsibilities to the public as well as the individual offender. Frankly, I took a very great deal of trouble in this case as well as the advice of outside consultants. I had many interviews with Young, and [am] profoundly concerned to avoid further tragedy.
May I therefore be instructed as to whether I am liable to commit any offence under the Official Secrets Act or contempt of court. Since I am now happily retired I do not wish to spend my remaining years in Brixton.
My direct approach to yourself is dictated by a desire for completely impartial and authoritative advice in connection with my service to the court and its consequences . . . 683
Almost ten years to the day had passed since Graham’s first trial and his second. When Dr Fysh was initially told that his former patient was about to face another round of murder charges, he responded calmly: ‘I am not surprised. I am no prophet, but I thought he would remain a permanent danger to the public for the remainder of his life.’684
Chapter Twenty-four
A DEVILISH THING TO DO
‘M
AKE ME SO famous that I wind up in the Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussauds. I want to go down in history as a really famous murderer.’685
The writing on the note was unmistakable; it came from the man in the dock, who basked in the attention bestowed upon him like an actor at the opening night of a roaringly successful play. The room thronged with people, although Graham’s aunt Win, sister Winifred and cousin Sandra only attended sporadically due to commitments with work and childcare, and in the case of Win, looking after her husband Jack who was again unwell. Fred Young did not attend. But representatives from all the national newspapers and other media were present, including the recipient of that note and more: writer Anthony Holden, there to report on the trial for his local newspaper. Throughout proceedings, Graham unabashedly courted the media and would probably have held his own press conference after each session if such a thing were possible.
Despite his anxiety about the trial during his time on remand, when he appeared in court, all nerves fled, and he performed before his audience with enormous confidence. ‘His demeanour was very arrogant, detached,’ Holden recalled. ‘Like one of those dictators who doesn’t recognise the court.’686 Even the presence of stern Mr Justice Edward Eveleigh, a former British army officer of 54, who still carried his black cap to every murder trial, failed to dent Graham’s enjoyment of the judicial process. ‘He was very proud of being the first person to use thallium in a poisoning case in Britain,’ Graham’s defence lawyer Peter Goodman recalled. ‘I suppose the trial was an experiment in seeing if he could use his knowledge to argue his way out of it.’687
Court No.1 of St Albans Crown Court had certainly never hosted a case quite like it. The newly designated court building, granted its superior status following the termination of assizes and quarter sessions, was ill-equipped to deal with the sheer volume of interest in a tr
ial that began with an error: the clerk of court read the wrong oath to the all-male jury, who were sworn in at 10:40am. Peering from behind his large, black-rimmed spectacles, Mr Justice Eveleigh looked distinctly unimpressed. ‘I suppose we had better begin again,’ he grumbled.688 The correct oath was then read.
Shortly before 11am, Mr John Leonard QC – ‘a small, neat convivial man with wiry hair’ – rose to outline the case for the prosecution.689 Graham beamed as Mr Leonard referred to him as a young man ‘with a great knowledge of poisons and a macabre interest in their effects. He studied poisons in the public library as a boy, reading books about mass murderers.’690 Forbidden by the legal process from referring to Graham’s teenage offences, Leonard was at pains to present a picture of the defendant as an almost lifelong enthusiast of poison and its criminal practitioners, particularly William Palmer, whose biography he read compulsively: ‘He expressed some admiration for him.’ He described how Graham had told detectives that he was a misfit and loner as a youth, ‘sniffing bottles of ether or nail polish’, and felt very different to his peers: ‘He is alleged to have said, “I became obsessed with the macabre. Toxicology always fascinated me.”’
Leonard then turned to Graham’s diary, ‘a chilling document’ that was ‘almost unbelievably callous’. There was nothing fictional about it, despite the defendant hoping to convince them otherwise, but it was in every other sense ‘almost unbelievable, the record of a poisoner with the power to choose the fate of other people. He noted their symptoms, tried to visit them in hospital, made various drawings showing their deterioration and pointed out mistakes being made by the doctors.’ The diary entries bore out the prosecution’s submission that Graham had wanted to play God, or act as a Nazi commandant at the ramp of a concentration camp, deciding who should live and who should die. Graham had insisted there was thus method to his madness, telling detectives: ‘You are suggesting I am some kind of monster, a mass murderer who just poisons people regardless – this is not so. I suppose I ceased to see them as people, but to me they become guinea pigs.’
His diary underlined the point, revealing ‘a possible motive’ in the defendant’s ‘scientific experimental approach to the whole problem. It is a very macabre situation if he did – and perhaps he had a tendency to treat human beings as guinea pigs . . . It may well be that you may well come to the conclusion eventually that this young man has a desire to establish his power over other people and that is the real motive for what has happened.’
It was this ambition which informed Graham’s comment to police after his arrest. Remarking on his alleged attempted murders, he had declared: ‘That is an academic point. I could have killed them if I wanted, but I allowed them to live.’ His conceit in his own skill as a poisoner was his undoing, since he ‘took great care to let detectives know the extent of his activities, how many victims had been chosen, and his ability to decide between a lethal and sub-lethal dose.’
Leonard then spent 20 minutes reading almost the entire content of Graham’s diary. He explained the use of initials to represent individuals such as Bob Egle, about whom the diarist had written: ‘In a way it seems a shame to commit such a likeable man to such a horrible end. But I had made my decision and therefore he is doomed to premature disease.’ Leonard provided the jury with another example:
‘F’ [Fred Biggs] is being obstinately difficult. If he survives a third week he will live. That could be inconvenient. I am most annoyed. He is surviving far too long for my peace of mind . . . F is now seriously ill, he is now unconscious and has developed paralysis and blindness. It is likely that he will die within a few days. It will be a merciful release for him. He would certainly be permanently impaired. Even if the blindness is reversed, organic brain disease would render him a husk. It is better that he should die. From my point of view his death would be a relief. It would remove one casualty from what is becoming a crowded field of battle.
The prosecutor allowed the sheer inhumanity of that entry to sink in before describing how Fred Biggs was treated in three hospitals for chronic nervous disorders and died from bronchial pneumonia after receiving assistance with breathing. Leonard told the court that the diary also revealed a macabre plan to administer poison to David Tilson while he was already hospitalised. Graham’s intention had been to offer him a toxic nip from a miniature bottle of brandy with the aim of bringing about Tilson’s death ‘within a week’. His diabolical plan was thwarted by the hospital’s strict visiting policy. Another entry implied that the killer had come to realise that detection of his crimes was inevitable.
Leonard also referred to the sketches found in Graham’s room: ‘They showed a man with hair, then little hair, then baldness and finally the grave. There was a drawing of a bottle with a genie rising from it and a skull-and-crossbones on the head.’ Finally, he turned to the formula for thallium poisoning, which Graham had passed to Leon Carlton on remand in Brixton prison, ‘in much the same way as your wife might hand over a cooking recipe to her friend’.
Leonard had outlined the case for the prosecution with ease, but it was not until the following day that the emotional impact of Graham’s obsession with poison shook the court.
Mrs Dorothy Egle clutched a handkerchief as she entered the witness box and pulled at it repeatedly while giving evidence of her late husband’s suffering. Sitting on the chair offered to her, she told the court that Bob had been a healthy, happy man until the illness that killed him. Their last holiday had been a good one, and he had been perfectly fit upon their return, but then he went to work ‘and the next day came home and said his fingertips were numb. He didn’t want any tea and lay down on the settee.’ Mrs Egle hesitated and began to sob. Mr Justice Eveleigh, recognising a witness who needed time to compose herself, adjourned the hearing for a few minutes.
When the court reconvened, Mrs Egle was able to describe that last day with her husband at home, when they had gone out to stable their daughter’s beloved horse:
He couldn’t walk, he was feeling so ill. We went out about nine o’clock. He tried to get down the road with me but I had to bring him back. He was just staggering along like someone who was drunk. I got him back home and straight up to bed. He said he couldn’t feel his tie or the buttons on his shirt so I helped him. That night he was groaning with pains in his back. The doctor came twice early next morning and later I went in the ambulance with him to hospital.
After eight days of unimaginable suffering, her husband died from a paralysis which started at the extremities and affected his breathing.
Hadlands’ managing director, Geoffrey Foster, then took the stand to tell the court about attending Bob Egle’s cremation with his killer. He recalled the young storeman remarking that it was sad Bob should ‘come through the terrors of Dunkirk, only to fall victim to some strange virus’. Graham had asked him about the cause of death. ‘I had that morning received a copy of the death certificate. I told him it was polyneuritis,’ Foster related. ‘He remarked that polyneuritis was only a general term and there must have been some further indication on the certificate of the type of polyneuritis.’ Graham had then mentioned some syndrome and Foster recalled that ‘when he said that I remembered that was on the death certificate.’ Graham had then explained to him how polyneuritis generally caused bronchial pneumonia. ‘I recalled that that was also on the death certificate,’ confirmed Foster. ‘I was very, very surprised at the apparent depth of Graham’s medical knowledge.’ Pathologist Dr John Pugh then gave evidence about the post-mortem he had conducted on Bob Egle’s remains: ‘My findings about the cause of death correspond with thallium poisoning – heavy metal poisoning.’
The earliest known survivor of Graham’s post-Broadmoor poisonings then stepped into the witness box. ‘I used to go out drinking with Young,’ Trevor Sparkes told the jury. ‘In March last year I got the first pain on the football field. I was aching in the groin and weak in the thigh and leg muscles. I had to leave the field and I have never played again . . . I am bett
er now but I still get these aches in the groin.’
On Wednesday, 21 June, one of Graham’s most recent surviving victims took the stand: Jethro Batt, still showing clear signs of debilitation and hair loss. He had never dreamed the man he regarded as a friend might try to kill him, but the means by which the defendant was able to dispense poison so readily soon became apparent. Batt told the court that Graham had made him a bitter-tasting cup of coffee: ‘I had only one mouthful and put it down again. Young asked me, “What’s the matter, do you think I’m trying to poison you?” Twenty minutes later something came up in my chest and I had to rush to the toilet and vomit.’ Excruciating pains then attacked his legs, stomach and chest and within six days he could no longer stand. He was taken to hospital a fortnight later, with his hair ‘falling out by the handful. By this time I was having hallucinations and I wanted to commit suicide. That is certainly something that I have never felt before.’ Batt then told the jury that Graham had confided that it was quite easy to poison people and make it look afterwards as though they had died from natural causes. He had never named the poison but described it as ‘tasteless and odourless and that even the doctors would say the death was from natural causes’.
David Tilson confirmed that he, too, became ill after drinking a few sips from the rancid-tasting cup of tea Graham had handed him. His legs had gone numb the following day and then the pain began: ‘I could not breathe very deeply because of the pain.’ While in St Albans city hospital, ‘I immediately began to feel better and within five days they allowed me to come home. I felt I was well enough to go back to work.’ But his illness had returned. Towards the end of November his hair began falling out in handfuls and he was readmitted to hospital. Leonard then produced photographs showing the normally hirsute witness almost completely bald. ‘I’m sorry to remind you of it,’ said Leonard, ‘but these photographs do not show you as you are now.’ Tilson admitted: ‘I had to wear a wig for a time but my hair has since grown again.’ He added that he had recovered without specific treatment during his second stint in hospital, but he had lost 21 pounds in weight. Dr Edward Cowan, consultant physician at St Albans city hospital, confirmed that Tilson had come to them ‘looking like a three-quarters-plucked chicken. This was very unusual and significant. It made us think of heavy metals and the possibility of thallium poisoning.’
A Passion for Poison Page 31