‘Why are they so warped? Why did I lose not one but both of my loved babies – what mother could suffer that? Then they add insult to injury by saying I murdered them. This is a nightmare without end. When will it end?
‘I do have full faith in the English justice system. This court will see that I could never have done what they are accusing me of. Won’t it?’
Now the lead defence stood up and glanced at his notes. “Detective Sergeant Tooley,” said Dawkins, “please read us the conclusion of the coroner’s report at the inquest. I’ll give you a copy to refresh your memory. Here it is on page 11.”
Tooley took the report passed to him and started reading the highlighted passage. “Cause of death unknown. Most probably sudden infant death syndrome, S.I.D.S., more commonly known as cot death.”
“Can you confirm that the coroner’s conclusion does not suggest any suspicious circumstances concerning this death?” asked Dawkins.
“No, but the pathologist’s report had questions about the marks around the mouth,” answered Tooley.
“The same pathologist’s report that was used for the coroner to come to his conclusions,” Dawkins pointed out. “But I was talking about the coroner’s report. Is there any mention of suspicious death?”
“No,” the detective admitted.
“Was it the coroner himself who later contacted you to open an investigation?”
“No, it was someone in the coroner’s office.”
“Who?” insisted Dawkins.
“I prefer not to say,” Tooley said somewhat uneasily. “Our discussion was purely off the record. He suggested I should contact Professor Goodwin and come to my own conclusions.”
“Ah, the famous Professor Goodwin, whom we shall be meeting later as the prosecution’s expert witness,” Dawkins shot back with a certain scepticism. “Please go to page 6 of the coroner’s report and read the highlighted section.”
Tooley read out as asked. “The death certificate signed by Dr Harris of Lambeth’s Hospital cites the death ‘most probably as S.I.D.S., especially in view of the fact that the family has already suffered a S.I.D.S. death’.”
“So, this confirms that the coroner was fully aware about the first cot death before coming to his conclusion for the second death?”
“Obviously, yes,” replied Tooley.
“But someone else in his office,” commented Dawkins with a certain disdain in his voice, “someone you are not prepared to name, preferred the conspiracy theory that this was double murder, and then put you onto this wild goose chase?”
“My Lord,” said the prosecution as he was rising to his feet. “I feel that my learned friend is straying from the facts into the land of conjecture, which is detrimental to the understanding of this case.”
“Well,” replied the judge, “as you well know, council does have a lot more leeway when they are cross-examining, and so in this case leading questions can be tolerated. However, Mr Dawkins, please could you ask a more specific question?”
“Detective Sergeant Tooley,” said Dawkins clearly, “what new information did your contact in the coroner’s office have, that was not available and known by the coroner himself, that caused him to have a different opinion?”
“I suppose that it was his learning of the existence of the ‘cot death law’.”
“I see,” continued the defence in a tone that suggested he certainly did not see; then he changed the subject. “Concerning the order of the phone calls. You said all she had to do was to call an ambulance even while doing her resuscitation. Where do ladies normally keep their telephones?”
“In their handbags, I guess,” replied the policeman.
“And when in their own home, going from room to room, does a lady normally carry her handbag with her, or does she leave it somewhere, like on the hall table?”
“I take your point,” conceded Tooley.
“Are you aware that when Sarah Richardson was in her school sixth form, she obtained the Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award?” asked Dawkins.
“No, I’m not aware of that.”
“So perhaps you are not aware that as part of her D. of E. community service activities, she chose to attend training in advanced first aid?”
“No.”
“Would it surprise you to know that advanced first aid covers C.P.R., that is cardiopulmonary resuscitation. This involves mouth-to-mouth breathing, cardiac massage and the various techniques to detect a heartbeat pulse on the wrist or under the chin?”
“No, that doesn’t surprise me. As police officers we undergo similar training.”
“Is it not then legitimate that, after such medical training and experience, Mrs Richardson should be able to determine with a high degree of accuracy whether another person is dead or still alive?” insisted Dawkins.
“I guess so,” Tooley admitted. “But even then, you never know. You always ring for an ambulance just in case.”
“Have you ever lost a child, Detective Sergeant?”
“No.”
“Mrs Richardson had. She lost her first baby. She knew what a dead baby looked like; she had already experienced this. Indeed, in one of her own statements, did she not say that she was almost certain he was dead before she tried to resuscitate him?”
“Yes, she did.”
“So, is it not legitimate,” insisted Dawkins, “that if you know your baby is already dead, and you have spent twenty minutes trying to resuscitate him without success, that you might call the baby’s father first? He is the father, her husband; he needs to know and share this tragic news. And what good will an ambulance do now? Can you not admit that?”
“Yes,” acquiesced Tooley half-heartedly.
“So, if Professor Goodwin had not told you his famous statistical analysis of the likelihood of two deaths, would you have pursued this investigation further?”
“No,” admitted Tooley. “But his explanation was crystal clear,” he added somewhat on the defensive.
“Finally, once you had arrested Mrs Richardson, you talked with her for some time, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How long exactly, please?” asked Dawkins. “I have the transcript here if necessary, to jog your memory.”
“About four hours.”
“Did she have a lawyer present?”
“No.”
“No? You had just arrested her for murder, and she was freely talking to you without a lawyer? For four hours?”
“Yes,” replied the policeman.
“Is that the usual behaviour of somebody who has something to hide?”
“It could be a very good tactic to pretend to be innocent.”
“In those four hours, did she tell you if she loved her babies?”
“Er, yes, she did say that.”
“Did she say she could not have harmed them?”
“Yes, that as well.”
“Did she explain how for each birth she was able to organise her job with her firm, and then come back to work quite soon afterwards through a system of nannies or au pair girls?”
“Yes,” said Tooley.
“Did she explain to you that her firm has excellent role models of women who are fully advancing in their careers after a number of children thanks to their top rate equal opportunities policies?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Did she tell you how in her discussions with other young mothers, she found that they were all equally as tired as her? And that gave her the courage to carry on because she felt less alone?”
“Yes.”
“And when the prosecution asked you for important elements from this discussion, you chose not to mention all that?” Dawkins asked with indignation. “You just summarised four hours of discussions into two short statements, plucked out of all context, that fitted in with your unlikely hypothesis?”
“No, not at all,” replied Tooley. “I consider those comments about the impact of her pregnancies on her career, and her acute tiredness, to be key parts of her statement.”
“Detective Sergeant, you weren’t trying to corroborate her story. You had decided she had to be guilty due to some questionable statistics from some so-called expert, and you were uniquely fishing for bits of information that went along with your preconceived ideas. Admit it.”
“No, I was doing standard police work. The case against her was strong. Anything she said was important to that case.”
“No further questions.” The defence sat down.
“Re-examination, Mr Scott?” the judge asked the prosecution.
Scott glanced at his junior Sturdee, who shook his head. “No, my Lord,” said Scott.
“Detective Sergeant Tooley, you may go,” said the judge.
Chapter Five
“Mr Scott, please call your next witness,” asked the judge.
“The Crown calls Professor Michael Goodwin.”
The judge turned to the jury. “Members of the jury, most witnesses are not allowed to listen to the proceedings in the court. They wait outside before giving their testimony. Normally there is one exception, that of an expert witness. He can listen to all the testimonies so as to have a global view of the proceedings. However, when I learned that our expert witness, Professor Goodwin, had been involved in the case even before the arrest was made, I decided that he must be treated like any other witness. So, he has not been present in court up until now.”
Professor Goodwin entered the courtroom and walked up to the witness stand. He was well into his sixties. He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and what looked like a Trinity College Cambridge tie. My first degree at Cambridge had taught me something about ties. That, and how to down a pint of beer very fast – something that had been much more useful to me in the after-hour pubs near our oil platform construction sites then had my engineering degree, at least as viewed by burly Scottish welders. Something told me Professor Goodwin did not spend much time downing pints in such pubs.
He also took the oath without reading the words offered by the usher. He had done this before. The real expert witness. However, when he spoke, I was somewhat reassured; he definitely had a bit of a Norfolk accent underneath all his outside polish.
Peter Scott, QC, started the ball rolling. “Professor Goodwin, since you are here today as an expert witness, please could you tell us your experience and credentials.”
“Good afternoon. My name is Michael Goodwin. I was born in Norwich and studied medicine at Trinity College, Cambridge. I qualified as a doctor in 1980 at Addenbrooke’s Hospital in Cambridge, some thirty-nine years ago now. My speciality, which started then and has continued since, has always been paediatrics. I have had a career combining practicing clinical medicine, together with university teaching and research. I was appointed professor of paediatrics at the University of East Anglia in 2003, while continuing my clinical practice at the associated Norfolk and Norwich teaching hospital. My particular area of expertise is in child abuse, where in all humility I am regarded as the country’s leading expert, and we could extend that to say that I am one of the world’s leading experts.”
“And were you not knighted in 2009 for services to child health, Sir Michael?”
“Yes, I was. But please, I do prefer the simple title of Professor.”
How modest of him, I thought.
“How many publications do you have, Professor Goodwin?” continued Scott.
“In total 225. But of course, these include publications on research led by my researchers under my direction.”
“Do you consider yourself to be an expert into infant deaths?”
“Yes, twenty-eight of my publications are dedicated to this subject.”
“Please then give us your expert analysis of the death of George Richardson on the 14th of April of this year.”
“I was able to obtain all of Mrs Richardson’s NHS case files,” explained Goodwin. “She was diagnosed with post-natal depression even before the death of her first son Andrew. Following his death, she has been considered to be in a more or less permanent general depression, which continued after the death of her second son, and continues to this day. Now, from these case files and discussions I had with the prison doctor, I diagnose that Mrs Richardson is also suffering from factitious disorder imposed on another – F.D.I.A. for short.” Goodwin seemed in his element. “This condition is strongly linked to her ongoing depressions. This is where a caregiver creates the appearance of health problems in another person, typically their child. The primary motive is to gain attention, and is often caused by abuse to that person when they themselves were a child. It is quite typical of a mother suffering from F.D.I.A. to deliberately try to smother her child, we even have surveillance videos of different mothers attempting this in various hospitals. Often it only arises in injury for the child, so that the parent can get sympathy from medical professionals. But sometimes it results in death.”
“You confirm that parents suffering from F.D.I.A. have been known to kill their own children?” asked the prosecution.
“Yes, I do confirm that,” answered Goodwin. “We have several clearly proven cases of this.”
“What other factors led you to conclude that the death of George Richardson was deliberate?”
“The two pathologists’ reports were clear. For the first death, that of Andrew, the retinal haemorrhages are certain signs of a shaken baby. For the second death, George, the bruising around the mouth signifies smothering. Both symptoms converging with my diagnosis of F.D.I.A.”
“Any other factors, Professor?” asked Scott.
Just like with the police officer, it was clear these two had practiced their batting sequence.
“Ah!” The Professor nodded. This was the question he had obviously been waiting for. “The chances of two consecutive cases of S.I.D.S. (sudden infant death syndrome, or cot deaths) are so infinitesimally small, that it is effectively impossible. The probability is one in 72 million against. There’s more chance that an outsider horse, with eighty-to-one odds against, would win four grand nationals in a row!” Goodwin smiled at his own explanation.
“Please could you explain how you calculate this probability,” asked Scott.
“It’s very simple,” Goodwin answered in his best lecture room voice. “For an affluent non-smoking family, the probability of S.I.D.S. is one infant dying for 8,500 healthy births. One death. But the probability of two deaths is the square of this figure: one in 8,500 times one in 8,500, that gives us one in 72 million. This analysis is the origin of the cot death law: one death is a tragedy; two deaths is a crime.”
I could not believe my ears. Was this guy serious? Even basic GCSE maths taught you to have more respect for probability. What about sample size? What about testing the null hypothesis? What about statistical dependence? And he was a professor!
“So, Professor Goodwin,” the prosecution continued, “please confirm to the court exactly what is your expert opinion on these deaths.”
Goodwin spoke slowly and clearly for maximum effect. “The chances of two natural deaths in a row are so low at one in 72 million that certainly the second death, and probably both deaths, have to be murder.”
I could not restrain myself. “Bullshit! He’s massacring statistics!” I shouted out loud. All heads in the courtroom seemed to jerk round in my direction. My neighbour Stephanie looked at me in an alarmed fashion.
“Juror number 6!” cried the judge. “You will not utter any comments during court! You will keep any and all opinions to yourself until the time has come for jury deliberation. Then, and only then, will you be free to express them. It is the defence’s role to challenge this witness, not yours. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” I replied meekly, avoiding any eye conta
ct.
“Please continue, Mr Scott.”
The prosecution seemed quite worried by my outburst; but then, a hostile jury member is naturally off-putting if you are looking for a conviction. Very quickly Scott steered the testimony back on course. “Professor, you said that the chances of two natural deaths in a row are so low at one in 72 million that it has to be murder. And you attribute this to the mother suffering from a disorder called F.D.I.A.?”
“Yes, that is correct,” Goodwin said sternly and a little too loudly. He was obviously not used to having his authority challenged by someone the age of his medical students.
“Could you confirm your opinions as to how these intentional deaths happened?” continued Scott.
“I repeat what I have already said,” answered Goodwin. “As per the autopsy report on Andrew Richardson in 2017, his death was due to excessive shaking. And the cause of the second death of infant George Richardson earlier this year is clearly marked in the autopsy report. The signs around the mouth indicate smothering. Both these events are entirely consistent with F.D.I.A.”
“Thank you, Professor. No further questions at this stage.”
As the prosecution sat down, defence barrister Eugene Dawkins stood up.
Right, I thought to myself. It’s at last time for someone to knock holes in this professor’s methodology.
“Professor Goodwin, I understand you testify quite often in these types of trials?”
“Yes, I am seen to be an expert in this domain.”
“How much do you get for testifying? What is your fee?”
“I’m not sure that this question is relevant. Of course I have a fee, my time is valuable; today while in court I am not able to see patients; coming up to London creates travel and hotel costs.”
“Is not your fee five thousand pounds, each time, Professor?”
The Mathematical Murder of Innocence Page 4