16
THE FILTH
In 1996 a detective searching the empty home of murdered teenager Lawrence Haggart edged into the kitchen where he caught glimpse of a hammer. Carefully picking it up with a latex-covered hand, he smiled with satisfaction. Was this the murder weapon? Proof of what some in CID knew? Lawrence had been bludgeoned to death and set on fire by a younger brother jealous of his football talent? No, no, and most emphatically no.
That snapshot moment in an ordinary family home in Larbert, Stirlingshire, could have resulted in Dennis Haggart, then aged 12, being framed for murder. If some CID officers had got their way, this grieving child’s life would have plunged into an unimaginable abyss from which there would be no way out, and serial paedophile Brian Beattie would cheat justice. Thank God it did not come to that.
Following Beattie’s eventual conviction, Assistant Chief Constable James Mackay was ordered to investigate the CID’s conduct. For seven years, only privileged eyes within the highest echelons of the police were allowed sight of Mackay’s subsequent report. Even Lawrence’s family – distraught, persecuted, smeared and betrayed – were refused access to it. To falsely accuse an innocent child of murdering his own brother without a shred of evidence was an outrage. To then refuse to come clean only aggravated that outrage.
I had long been intrigued about what might be in the suppressed report. Then, in 2005, came a possible breakthrough with the advent of the Freedom of Information Act (FoI), which journalists were told would change everything. It was one of the best things Tony Blair ever did. Public sector pen-pushers who treat information about wheelie bins as if they were guarding the nuclear firing codes would be forced, by law, to divulge it when asked. As the years passed, FoI became blunted as the wheelie-bin guardians found clever new ways to twist the law and stymie applicants. In the early days, however, it worked. More often than not, you asked for stuff and you got it.
I decided to seek a copy of the Haggart report, so approached Lawrence’s dad Larry and submitted an application on his behalf. When it arrived, it made my blood run cold. Lawrence was murdered overnight on 16 March 1996. The report revealed that his house had been searched a total of nine times when the hammer was discovered on 22 March. Officers who searched the kitchen on 18 March were adamant the hammer had not been there. Within hours of the murder, the police questioned but released Brian Beattie without even checking his alibi. My story in the Sunday Mail began by explaining that Mackay’s report ‘claimed detectives faked diaries and planted evidence in a bid to frame a 12-year-old for the murder of his older brother’ and that some officers’ conduct was allegedly criminal.
The Haggart case should be taught at Police Scotland’s training centre at Tulliallan to every rookie police officer in Scotland. If it deterred just one young detective who thinks bending facts to fit a favoured hunch is an acceptable part of the game, it would be worthwhile. Interestingly, and inexplicably, not a single newspaper or broadcaster followed up the damning contents of the Mackay report. The police force responsible was Central Scotland, a small entity whose size was seemingly detrimental to its effectiveness, especially in relation to large, high-profile cases.
The same applied to the even smaller and more incestuous Dumfries and Galloway Constabulary, whose senior officers were aware of numerous allegations of rape against their colleague Adam Carruthers. They responded to the rape claims by continually shunting him off to new pastures and, for good measure, promoting him to the rank of inspector. The complainers were dissuaded from making a fuss.
Following his eventual imprisonment for rape in 2001, I published a story raising questions from politicians about whether Carruthers’ suspected Masonic membership may have afforded him protection by his fellow brethren in Scotland’s smallest force. The questions were never answered. At least Carruthers was convicted. A common theme of the most serious cases of police corruption is the tendency to close ranks, to cover up and steadfastly deny any wrongdoing, no matter how blatant or abhorrent.
The Haggart scandal was the worst I came across, but there were rivals in the depravity stakes. In 1997 a newspaper ran a story about PC John Watters, who had been suspended on full pay for almost two years. Headlined ‘SCANDAL OF SCOTS STAY-AT-HOME COP’, the sympathetic yarn stated, ‘He was charged with assaulting and robbing an old couple. But despite all charges being dropped, police top brass have refused to allow him to return to the beat. Instead of being allowed to do the job he loves, he spends every day walking his dog.’
It took 11 years for a somewhat different picture to emerge. A contact who had been part of the investigation disclosed to me astonishing inside information about what he believed had been a fetid cover up. He told me, ‘The decision to drop the charges against Watters stank. The top brass were acutely aware of the damage it could do to the force’s reputation if the full details emerged.’
Watters was suspected of being a member of a prolific robbery gang whose members included gangster brothers Robert and Raymond ‘Rainbow’ Anderson, who used police uniforms and fake search warrants to enter houses and tie up victims, who were mostly elderly. Raymond later became a Daniel crime clan hitman who committed one of the most appalling acts in the endless drug war with the Lyons. When I received the tip about the gang, he had just been jailed for using stolen British army guns to attack a Lyons family garage, killing one and wounding two others including Robert ‘Piggy’ Pickett, best friend of William ‘Basil’ Burns. Robert was also a pox on society with multiple convictions for violent home invasions and was once cleared of child sex attacks, although his alleged victims were forced into witness protection for daring to speak out.
Watters was a plain-clothes PC in Dumbarton when he was arrested and charged over a robbery in which an 81-year-old man and his wife were tied up and only found two days later. On the night of the crime in Kippen, Stirlingshire, a man was seen in a parked car which was registered to Watters’ wife. Watters admitted being there but claimed he was having an affair with a local woman. His alibi was accepted at face value. Police discovered that the best man at Watters’ wedding was gangster Walter Kirkwood, who was jailed in Liverpool over guns destined for Scotland. I ordered a copy of Watters’ wedding certificate and, sure enough, Kirkwood was a witness.
One crime linked to the gang was the 1995 theft of caps and medals from the Helensburgh home of ex-Rangers striker Mark Hateley. Watters said he could recover Hateley’s haul but this was ruled out as the thieves demanded ransom money. None of this information had been contained in the earlier pro-Watters puff piece, planted by the Police Federation’s lawyers and which had clearly suited both him and his bosses. I was happy to put that right, even though it was over a decade too late. Yet again, no other media showed any interest in this extraordinary case.
Arguably the most shocking gangland murder in recent years – the slaughter of Daniel mob drug-dealer Kevin ‘Gerbil’ Carroll – was stained by police corruption and infighting. Carroll was shot dead outside an Asda supermarket in 2010 by two Lyons mob gunmen including Billy Paterson, a ‘graduate’ of Chirnsyde, the police- and Labour-backed youth club run by Eddie Lyons. Paterson is serving at least 22 years.
Police investigating Carroll’s murder found two pages of notes, handwritten by an officer called PC Derek McLeod, stashed in the home of Paterson’s girlfriend. The stolen police intelligence charted Carroll’s movements, cars and associates and almost certainly assisted the Asda plot. Like Paterson, McLeod also went to prison but the police had absolutely nothing to say about the incredible involvement of one of their own. The ugly saga did not end there. Paterson’s alleged accomplice was fellow Chirnsyde alumnus and drug-dealer Ross Monaghan, cleared when his 2012 trial collapsed. The Monaghan trial heard that the leading officer, Detective Superintendent Michael Orr, allegedly put undue pressure on a forensic witness and offered PC McLeod an unofficial deal to co-operate.
Orr was investigated, which resulted in a verbal warning. But he refused to accept it
and fought to clear his name – alleging that he had been made a scapegoat. During his long battle, Orr made counter-allegations against Neil Richardson, Deputy Chief Constable of Police Scotland, one of which included a breach of data protection laws for the sharing of a private letter. It took Orr four agonising years to be exonerated. In doing so, he helped expose the relatively new Police Investigations and Review Commissioner (PIRC) as a toothless watchdog – or police lapdog – just as its critics had claimed. PIRC had initially rejected Orr’s complaints against Richardson but his detective’s tenacity forced them to back down. Orr, a high-ranking officer whose dad was a chief constable and whose uncle was the first head of the SDEA, had the skill and inside knowledge to beat the system. What chance had an ordinary citizen or cop without connections?
Remarkably, the fall-out from Monaghan’s botched trial for the murder of Carroll continued to haunt the police. I published two more stories which prompted a chilling new anti-press tactic more typical of tinpot regimes in places hard to find on a map. Both stories featured a variety of allegations against Deputy Chief Constable Richardson – one relating to the Orr saga.
Senior police chiefs thought it legitimate and sensible to unleash a Major Investigation Team (MIT) on me. The job of a MIT is to target serious organised criminals and terrorists. No doubt they were less than impressed at being ordered to go after a journalist for the heinous offence of telling the truth. The deployment of a MIT to intimidate a newspaper and smoke out a whistleblower gravely concerned media experts and free-speech campaigners, not least following the chill winds of the tedious Leveson inquiry. Ex-editor of The Scotsman, Professor Tim Luckhurst of the University of Kent journalism school, told me, ‘The allegations published in the Sunday Mail plainly deal with serious matters that should be in the public domain. They conform with any serious definition of what is in the public interest. It is alarming that police officers are expending time and energy in an effort to identify the whistleblower.’
To show the police that we would not be cowed, we defiantly responded by publishing a copy of an email from a MIT officer in which he sought assistance from a witness. I half expected a second MIT probe to find out how the hell we got the email. This tawdry saga revealed a series of shocking events that were hugely damaging to public confidence. It exposed how McLeod, a massively corrupt officer, sold at least 18 intelligence logs to a Lyons hit squad. But it also ended the career of Orr, a respected senior detective who was traduced then hung out to dry, and who would have been forgiving had he just been offered a simple apology at the outset.
As well as using terror cops to go after the press, it also exposed how PIRC, the shiny new ‘independent’ police complaints body, is as byzantine, anti-public and unfair a system as it was when cops investigated cops. Plus ça change . . .
And let’s not forget, the Monaghan trial collapse had its roots in Chirnsyde – an organised crime gang-hut built with the backing of police officers. There should have been outrage – angry MSPs hammering on the doors of police HQ demanding answers on behalf of the public. Yet, like so many of the most serious scandals, the politicians simply provided a cheap soundbite. It certainly did not help that other newspapers and broadcasters failed to follow up these stories which would have put pressure on the police and politicians. In isolation, they withered.
The same applied to the case of Officer X, a female officer whose identity I agreed to keep secret. The law graduate, in her late twenties, was serving her two-year probation period when she found herself in the peripheral company of known criminals during a night out. Abiding by the rules, she immediately informed her sergeant of the chance encounter. This prompted a routine examination by the police’s professional standards unit, which cleared her of wrongdoing. That, she assumed, was that. But a few weeks later the case was reopened. A call had been received by Crimestoppers, the charity-run phone number for tip-offs to the police. To Officer X’s disbelief, allegations of consorting with gangsters had been made against her, with just 24 hours of her probation period to run. Her probation was extended and a few weeks later she was served a ‘notice of intention to resign’ letter – in other words, jump before you’re pushed. Confused and emotional, she was forced from her job without any explanation about what had been alleged in the mystery Crimestoppers call.
She told me, ‘It was all very vague. I had no idea what they thought they had on me. I was gutted when I was forced to resign because it shattered me and my family. It was such a big embarrassment. No one could believe it. I would never do anything lacking integrity or associate with criminals.’
What happened next was unprecedented. Three months later, she was approached by the police, who sheepishly admitted they had got it wrong and asked her to return. She was given three months’ back-pay and a personal apology from Chief Constable Campbell Corrigan – he of fake car seizure PR stunt infamy. She even took her police oath in his private office. The dramatic U-turn had been caused by an investigation into the conduct of one of her bosses, Superintendent Steven Reed, who was suspended from duty and would never return. It was alleged the Crimestoppers call had been false and malicious.
Officer X spent 12 hours being questioned by detectives leading the probe into Reed. She was then told to keep her mouth shut and deprived of any meaningful explanation. Eventually she quit, unable to withstand the whispers behind her back, and only agreed to speak to me anonymously when I tracked her down months later. She said, ‘People wanted to know what had happened but I had been told that I wasn’t allowed to say anything. They said that was because of the criminal investigation but I think it suited them that this was kept quiet. After everything that had happened, my heart just wasn’t in it.’ Yet again, this repugnant episode was ignored by other media, which must have delighted the police hierarchy. Pity Officer X, whose career was ruined on a lie.
I went after rogue police officers – and the culture that breeds and protects them – with as much hunger as I chased down and publicly identified organised crime gangs. Following the acid attack, a very senior officer told me that my long history of exposing police scandals would have an inevitable effect on how they treated the investigation surrounding my acid attack. I could not help wondering if this was a coded message. Perhaps I should adjust my expectations and not suppose they would be interested in looking too hard beyond the Christmas gift of William ‘Basil’ Burns. It made some sense. After all, why would the police, who have very long memories, bust a gut for a journalist who had caused them years of trouble?
There had been the Nazi cop car, the PR stunts, the prostitute PC, the FBI-style shield, the attempt to frame a child for his brother’s murder, the robbery gang suspect, the rapist cop, the cop selling stolen intel to a gangland hit squad, the scapegoating of a detective, the smearing of an innocent PC and the use of MITs to investigate me. I could fill many more pages with other such stories spanning more than two decades which would not only add weight to my suspicions but also challenge the comfort-blanket cliché of ‘one bad apple’ which is trotted out whenever the subject of police corruption arises.
17
THE FERRET
I have a public confession to make. It has eaten away at me for almost 20 years. I alone bear responsibility and seek understanding, if not forgiveness.
Retired social worker Reg McKay asked me a favour – to get him contact details for Paul Ferris so that he could write to him at HMP Frankland where Ferris was doing seven years for dealing in machine guns. The unforeseen consequence of my small act of assistance resulted in the creation of Ferris and McKay – a dubious double act who churned out a series of books glamorising criminals and making excuses for their low-life behaviour.
Ferris came to prominence in 1992 when he was acquitted of murdering Arthur Thompson Jr, the son of crime boss Arthur (‘The Godfather’) Sr. In revenge for Thompson’s murder, Ferris’s cronies Robert Glover and Joe Hanlon were shot dead while he was safely tucked up in prison on remand. Ferris wiped away his
tears and used the three murders as a springboard to infamy.
After I supplied McKay with the requested address and prisoner number, he reinvented himself. Gone were the Converse boots and scruffy jeans, to be replaced by a black Armani suit and a long funereal coat. Barely a sentence could be spoken without throaty mutterings of ‘street players’.
No more touting social work stories to the trade press; aspiring journalist McKay proclaimed that he and Ferris were writing a book. This was not the first time I had seen the phenomenon of gangland groupie. Nor would it be the last. One newspaper reporter became friendly with Ferris but ended up getting too close and was busted by police. Not a word of this was reported in the press.
I watched aghast when McKay, in full Men in Black ensemble, drove Ferris from prison in a Mercedes. What had I done? Then came their first effort – The Ferris Conspiracy. It was going to name names, they vowed.
Ferris has a brother called Billy. A convicted killer in 1977, he was also found guilty of murdering a child in 2003, for which he will stay in prison until at least 2025. Prior to the release of his wee brother’s book, Billy proudly bragged, ‘Paul is going to name all the criminals who grassed to police and officers in Strathclyde Police who took bribes.’ And name corrupt police officers they did – take that, Detective Sergeant Duff Idle, DS Lonnie Smut, Grady Midden, Greg Diddle and Sweeney Gillette – the only problem being that every single one of them was made up. So McKay’s big gun turned out to be firing blanks and failed to level a single allegation against any real people. It was not journalism.
Acid Attack Page 11