With the end of the trial, Jimmy Nesbitt was promoted to the rank of Detective Chief Inspector. Yet he remained obsessed with the Butcher gang and was as determined as ever to bring Murphy to justice. Nesbitt feared what could happen when Murphy was released from prison in 1982, and on the top of his desk remained the file with Lenny Murphy’s name on it. ‘I knew that this psycho was going to be back on the streets, and there was practically nothing we could do about it,’ says Nesbitt. But his chances to deal with the Butcher who remained at large were at an end. He received further promotion to the rank of Superintendent and was awarded the MBE, then he was moved from Tennent Street to Police Headquarters. Subsequent to the sentencing of the convicted Butchers, Nesbitt was also advised by the Director of Public Prosecutions Office that earlier statements made by Moore and Bates would not be used in a case against Murphy. He was sorely disappointed, yet the DPP decision was understandable. Moore and Bates were now facing the grim reality of spending the rest of their natural lives in prison and they had nothing now to gain in testifying against the man described by newspapers as ‘Mr X. the master Butcher’.
Nesbitt decided to visit Moore and Bates once more while they remained in Crumlin Road Prison. They were still held in cells separate from paramilitary prisoners, whereas their convicted associates were now serving their sentences in the Maze Prison. Nesbitt recalls: ‘Bates said to me that he would not give evidence against Murphy because it was a matter for God and God would deal with Murphy. Moore made the point forcefully that he was facing the rest of his life in prison and there was no purpose in him jeopardizing his own existence by testifying against Murphy. He said that no one could protect him.’
Moore’s judgement was not unjustified. Some eight months later an assessment was made as to whether it was safe to transfer Moore and Bates to the Maze Prison. It was concluded that the threat to their lives had receded with their refusal to cooperate with the police.
Bates underwent a temporary change of personality with a ‘conversion’ to evangelism. Bates’s wife sent Biblical tracts to Nesbitt via Tennent Street station and on one occasion Bates actually sent his wife to see Nesbitt. Nesbitt says of that visit: ‘She told me that “Basher” said he would never wish his kids to follow in his footsteps and she handed me a tract from the Bible.’
In Moore’s case a further shock was in store with the death of his mother. Moore’s request for leave on compassionate grounds was denied.
Bates’s prison conversion is part of a phenomenon common to a number of convicted Loyalist prisoners. It may well be the result of confinement with the attendant removal of social contacts. In Bates’s case a further dimension was that confinement increased his suggestibility, as evidenced by the statement he made to Nesbitt. In short, in prison Bates was vulnerable and open to new emotional experiences. As part of the Butcher gang he had enjoyed some personal status, but detached from it he was insecure. In some cases ‘conversion’ has had its uses as a ploy to convince judges that a shortened sentence would be appropriate, and on occasion, judges have been impressed by claims of conversion. In Bates’s case his commitment to God was short-lived. With his removal to the Maze Prison, he was once again returned to the group structure and in this context his violent personality reemerged with a serious attack on a prison officer. He was brought before the prison visitors’ board where he behaved truculently, pointing out that he was ‘one of the Shankill Butchers’ and there was nothing much the board could do to him. They accordingly denied Bates the normal prison privileges for twelve months, but his behaviour before the board was something more than an act of mere bravado. He tried to intimidate the board members. A person who met him in prison told me that he regarded Bates as a fatalist with a terrifying propensity for violence.
Ironically, one prisoner who learned a great deal about Bates in prison was a former IRA leader, Brendan Hughes. He had a cell which was close to one inhabited by Bates in one of the Maze H Blocks and they conversed frequently. This was not unusual because Loyalist and Republican prisoners were obliged to share accommodation in close proximity once Special Category Status for terrorist prisoners was phased out. Hughes had this to say of Bates: ‘He talked a lot to me and was intrigued to know about Republicanism. I felt that suddenly here was a guy who had been involved in killing a lot of people and who had probably mouthed political slogans but never understood them. Like many Loyalist prisoners he had a loose tongue and talked about the crimes he had committed in a general sort of way, but to an extent where he named a lot of other people in the UVF who were not in prison. It was as a result of this type of exchange that the IRA built up a dossier on the activities of Loyalist paramilitaries on the outside.
‘The one thing which struck me about Bates was his need to have even someone like me as a friend. He demonstrated a curious loyalty towards me by warning me that there was a plot to kill me by several Loyalist prisoners on our block. He told me: “I’ve warned them that they will have to go through me to get to you.”
‘His own kind, however, knew that he was a guy with a short fuse and they were fond of winding him up. Also on our block was Joseph Mains, a homosexual who was convicted of buggering young boys who were in care in the infamous Kincora Boys’ Home in Belfast. Some of the Loyalists kept suggesting to “Basher” that he should “kill that sonofabitch Mains” who was “nothing but a pervert”.
‘A knife was smuggled out of the prison kitchens and Bates agreed to kill Mains. Luckily, I saw “Basher” walking from his cell and heading in the direction of Mains’s cell with the knife in his hand and I followed him and persuaded him not to allow himself to be used. Murphy was also in the H Blocks at that time but he kept a low profile. He was always frightened that we would bump him off but quite honestly we were too busy planning to escape and we had men on the Blanket and Dirty Protest at that time. You must remember it was prior to the big Hunger Strike and we had no wish to sidetrack ourselves. We knew we would get him eventually. I remember being told that the people in the place who really frightened Murphy were the guys on the Blanket Protest. I was informed that Murphy was convinced that once they came off the Protest they would murder him. That was the rumour which reached him. He saw them as the really extreme guys. In prison the priorities are not to kill other prisoners. That can always be arranged later.’
In contrast to Bates, Moore was a realist. He accepted life in prison and was content to adopt a lower profile and become a model prisoner, rejecting the evangelical proselytizing which had captured Bates for a short time. In some respects this was in keeping with the pattern of Moore’s earlier life until the moment Murphy unlocked the mechanism which revealed him as a mass murderer.
Many people have said of Moore that his demeanour and general attitude to life never suggested he was capable of mass murder until he met Murphy. Unfortunately, there is the other view that the potential was always there and that the apparently insignificant Moore had, lurking in his psyche, a potential for killing which was waiting to be exploited. Moore’s mother acknowledged the hidden potential of her son but only after his deeds were revealed in court. The night after Moore was sentenced she telephoned Nesbitt and thanked him for putting her son in prison.
A former Maze Prison officer, who met Moore and Bates after they arrived in the Maze in autumn 1979, recalls that Bates was in trouble almost immediately but that Moore tried to restrain his former accomplice: ‘I was on security watch during an afternoon when a football match was in progress. The teams were made up of both Republican and Loyalist paramilitaries. Bates was a defender and at one stage he was the subject of a rough tackle by a chap who was from one of the Republican organizations. Bates did not retaliate but reserved his venom for later that day. I was on duty when the prisoners were having dinner in the canteen. Bates approached a table with a newspaper rolled in his right hand and without warning beat this other prisoner over the head until others dragged him away. The prisoner was the chap who tackled him during the match. Inside the new
spaper I found a metal bed-leg. Moore, or “Willie” as we called him, was always quiet and obedient as though he was hiding something. Somehow, I always had the feeling that underneath his calm exterior was something sinister but it was never manifested in action for me or my colleagues. Now Murphy, he was different. He was one dangerous little bastard but he was careful because he was serving his time; biding his time to get out and he was not going to upset the apple-cart.’
Gerard McLaverty will not forget the year 1979. It was the year that the men who tried to kill him were brought to trial; but a further experience not revealed at the time was that Gerard McLaverty was close to death some three weeks before the trial. He was walking out of a Belfast city centre pub when a man produced a gun and began firing indiscriminately, one bullet missing McLaverty by inches. Only the quick thinking of a bodyguard, assigned to McLaverty by Nesbitt, saved his life; the bodyguard threw McLaverty to the ground. The gunman turned out to be a member of the Security Forces who was suffering severe mental stress at the time and who fired his weapon aimlessly, probably oblivious to the danger he was causing.
Simultaneously McLaverty was dealt another cruel blow when he was offered a paltry £700 in compensation for his various injuries. Gerry Fitt, MP, now Lord Fitt, reacted angrily to this news and accused the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, Roy Mason, of ignoring the contribution which had been made by McLaverty. Speaking in the House of Commons, Fitt described the offer as insulting and called for an urgent review of Government policy with regard to compensation for those whose actions led to the conviction of terrorists. In reply Roy Mason suggested Fitt was ‘exploiting’ McLaverty and Fitt responded: ‘What does Mr Mason want me to do . . . ignore it?’ The Northern Ireland office pointed out that the offer was made before the Butchers were jailed and that it represented McLaverty’s loss of earnings during his recuperation, his family’s dependency and the extent of his injuries and their psychological effect. Gerry Fitt was unquestionably correct in challenging the compensation offer and in leading a campaign to have it increased. The offer of £700 was, in the circumstances, not just derisory but also immoral, given the nature of the Butcher case and what McLaverty had actually suffered. The offer was also lacking in political judgement since it served to discourage those who might be inclined to follow the example of McLaverty in testifying against sectarian murderers.
Finally, Gerry Fitt’s efforts, together with those of McLaverty’s lawyer, Pascal O’Hare, resulted in a renewed offer of compensation in the region of £5,000 to £7,000.
15
‘Mr X.’ is Back
While Lenny Murphy was in prison the UVF in West Belfast was restructured. The leadership was glad to be rid of Moore and his associates and relations with the UDA were placed on a more secure footing. West Belfast was carved up between the two organizations, with each one recognizing that their activities, whether military or in terms of extortion and racketeering, required careful delineation. Greater control was also exercised over units, unlike the Murphy period when the Brown Bear team had been able to conduct its own operations and have its own weapons without authorization from the Brigade Staff. There remained in the ranks men who looked upon Murphy as a hero, but senior figures in the Brigade Staff were determined that on his release he would not enjoy his earlier authority or freedom of action.
C Division had also changed, with the murder squad now under the direction of John Fitzsimmons who had assisted Nesbitt so ably in the mid- to late 1970s. Nesbitt retained his interest in Murphy at a distance and says: ‘We knew what to expect, but people do not understand the problem we faced with Murphy’s release. It was impossible to have constant surveillance in that area at the time. There was not the technology we have today, and an unmarked car would have been detected and the information conveyed to the paramilitaries. All we could hope to do was inform every member of the personnel in C Division to watch out for Murphy, who he associated with, and any suspicious activity. Remember, we had learned a great deal from our previous experience with Murphy, Moore and the others and we knew that it was important to recognize the unpredictable as much as the predictable.’
Lenny Murphy walked out of prison on the evening of 16 July 1982, some three years after his gang had been jailed, and made his way to Brookmount Street. He was released from Crumlin Road Prison, since it is usual for convicted criminals to be transferred, prior to their release, from the Maze to Crumlin Road, where they undergo a readjustment programme. Murphy knew that certain things had changed. His wife and nine-year-old daughter were no longer a part of his life but that did not matter to him. While he had been in prison, his wife had spent a holiday in Spain with one of the men involved in the Cliftonville Road shooting of Mary Murray. Nesbitt claims that Murphy learned of his wife’s affair shortly after her return from Spain: ‘Mr A. visited him and told him about his wife going off with Mr D. and asked if Lenny wanted the guy hit but Lenny said he would sort the guy out on his release from prison.’ Murphy’s wife was no longer part of his thinking; he was more concerned with re-establishing himself as a figure of power in the Shankill district.
Twenty-four hours after gaining his freedom he was celebrating in the company of Mr A. and Mr B. in the Rumford Street Loyalist Club at a party in his honour. Before midnight a stranger, six feet tall and sporting a beard, entered the club. The stranger, whose appearance and facial expression might have suggested that he was mentally retarded, was thirty-three-year-old Norman Alexander Maxwell, shabbily dressed and of no fixed abode. Maxwell, a Protestant, had ventured into the club in the way he often entered other premises in the Shankill area. Such money as he had would be spent on alcohol, and he lived for the main part in Salvation Army Hostels. Murphy regarded Maxwell’s entrance as an intrusion and he enquired whether his drinking companions knew the identity of the stranger. When they told him that Maxwell was unknown to them Murphy decided that he should be taken to the yard at the rear of the club and questioned. Maxwell went willingly to the yard with Murphy and another man, who has never been identified but whom I believe was Mr A. treated Maxwell roughly and, according to George Sheridan who witnessed the episode, Maxwell became ‘bolshie’. Sheridan, who was later given four years’ imprisonment for withholding information about this incident, told police that ‘he had no stomach’ for the proceedings and left the yard. But before he left he saw the beginnings of the attack on Maxwell by Murphy which culminated in a severe beating. As Maxwell fell to the ground, Murphy and his accomplice continued to kick their victim about the head and face. Murphy left Maxwell bleeding and moaning on the ground and walked back into the club where he asked for the keys of a car parked nearby. He then proceeded to drive the car over Maxwell and repeated this act several times. When he was satisfied that Maxwell was truly dead he loaded his body into the boot of the car and drove to Alliance Parade off the Oldpark Road, where he dumped the corpse. Murphy did not need to travel this distance merely to find some waste ground but, once again, his criminal mind was in operation. When the body was discovered and identified police assumed, because of Maxwell’s religion and the place where the body was found, that a sectarian murder had been carried out by the IRA. Murphy was back on his killing ground and doing what came naturally to him. His behaviour established for all those in the club that he intended to carry on as before. A police inspector told the inquest jury that if the man who killed Maxwell had known his victim’s true identity and circumstances he would not have killed him. This inspector was obviously not familiar with the history of Lenny Murphy. In the words of the Coroner, the attack on Maxwell was ‘the most barbaric and brutal assault one could imagine.’
After Maxwell’s murder, Murphy set about rebuilding his unit, searching out young men who would give him unquestioning loyalty. Life in prison had deprived him of certain luxuries – a woman in his life and a car of his own. A car was essential if he was to impress any women he happened to meet, but for this he needed money. The only way Murphy knew to acquire money
was to steal it. It was suggested to him that an easier means would be to extort money from businessmen, so he revisited an Oldpark Road shopkeeper from whom he had extorted money in 1976 and told him that his six years in prison gave him the right to demand a substantial payment. The shopkeeper rejected the demand and stated that times had changed and he was no longer obliged to pay up. Murphy left, threatening that he would find a means to make the man pay. The story which unfolded after this visit is best described by an informant who knew both Murphy and the shopkeeper: ‘Lenny was back on the Shankill Road and he needed to show to everybody that he was back with a vengeance and that he was top dog. That meant that he needed flashy clothes and a car to help his image. When Lenny got out things had changed and there had been a lull in the violence and some paramilitaries were living off the fat of the land from building site fraud and extortion or protection money from business people. The guy Lenny approached on the Oldpark had another partner and Lenny knew that. They were not wealthy people but the brother kept two horses in a field on the mountainside off the Hightown Road. Lenny made enquiries about the horses and he went up there and shot the animals. When I heard about it, I thought that Lenny had been watching the film The Godfather on his release. He was a bit like some of the characters in that film.’
Another source told me that Murphy had cut off the horses’ heads.
Murphy tried to muscle in on another racket in the Shankill area, which involved placing gambling machines in bars and clubs, but his attempts to do so were not appreciated by certain members of the UDA who were themselves already controlling this activity. When Murphy arrived at one pub he was attacked by the owner, a well-built man and a former leading member of the UVF. So affronted was Murphy that he later had the man pistol-whipped.
The Shankill Butchers Page 31