Justice for Helen

by Marie McCourt

I read the words, nodding. My mind calmed.

  ‘Speak from the heart, Marie,’ Fiona urged. ‘You can do this.’

  I imagined Helen beside me, smiling encouragingly.

  Go on, Mum.

  I didn’t even need to look at the notes. ‘Today, we took a huge step forward with my campaign for Helen’s Law,’ I began. ‘Minister for Victims Mike Penning has assured me that there will be a review of parole guidelines for these cases. The Minister listened carefully and compassionately and I believe him when he says he will do everything he can to help.’

  My nerves evaporated as I got into my stride. ‘If I can make changes in Helen’s name, some good will have come out of her death.

  ‘In light of the Parole Board’s recommendation yesterday, to move my daughter’s killer to an open prison, I am more determined than ever to fight – not just for me but every other family out there in this situation. We should not be put through this.’

  More questions came and I answered them confidently. I was back in control. Cars whisked me to studio interviews for Granada News and Sky. Finally, we arrived home, exhausted but triumphant.

  The next morning, I sent a thank-you card to Mike Penning. I also wrote imploring letters to both himself and Mr Gove urging them to postpone any decision on my case and any others until the review had been completed. I thought it was a reasonable request.

  The letters were sent by guaranteed delivery. Neither office replied nor acknowledged receipt.

  I assured myself that no news is good news and they’d be giving this great thought behind the scenes. Meanwhile – boosted by media coverage – signatures on the petition continued to soar. Plus, Conor was hoping to be granted a ten-minute rule bill – a type of private member’s bill – in which he would present the case for Helen’s Law in a speech lasting up to ten minutes.

  A few mornings later, John woke me with a cuppa.

  ‘Guess when Conor’s Bill is being presented?’ he asked.

  I sat bolt upright.

  ‘Next week?’ I asked eagerly.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Next month?’

  Again, he shook his head.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, just tell me!’ I snapped.

  ‘Eleventh of October,’ he declared.

  My mouth fell open, hopes and dreams crashed around me.

  ‘That’s six months away,’ I cried. ‘The year will be almost over.’

  It was my first inkling into how frustratingly, creakingly, slowly the wheels of Parliament turn.

  ‘Ah, but guess what day of the week it is?’ John added cheerfully.

  Sure enough, like all important days relating to Helen, the Bill was being presented on a Tuesday.

  ‘That’s something,’ I agreed, sipping my tea.

  * * *

  Through my many years of campaigning, I’ve met some wonderful people all over the world. A week after our visit to London, change.org forwarded a message from a mum in Australia who was, by chance, fighting for an identical change in the law over there. She, too, had set up a petition on change.org – she wanted to speak with me.

  Ten thousand miles melted away as Margaret Dodd and I chatted to each other on FaceTime (I was getting better at this technology lark!) until the early hours. The similarities between us were astounding. She had emigrated from Lancashire (just forty miles away from me) to Western Australia with her family when she was just nine. Her daughter, Hayley, seventeen, had gone missing on Helen’s birthday – 29 July 1999 – on her way to work. Helen had vanished on her way home from work.

  In both cases, witnesses reported hearing a female scream seconds after the girls were last seen – and a solitary earring belonging to the victim was found in the suspect’s car.

  We both had memorials to our girls – who shared the same initials HM (Helen Martha and Hayley Marie) – but no graves to lay flowers on.

  But the biggest shock came when we proudly held up photos to the camera.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I gasped, incredulously, ‘they look like sisters!’

  Both Helen and Hayley had the same long, glossy dark hair, sparkling eyes and thoughtful expressions. In toddler photos, you’d swear it was the same child.

  Poor Margaret’s pain was exacerbated by not even having a conviction for Hayley’s murder.

  It was only during a cold case review in 2013 that police had recovered crucial evidence and arranged to extradite a suspect from Queensland (where Francis John Wark was serving a prison sentence for raping a hitchhiker).

  (I supported Margaret during the 2018 trial and was so relieved when her daughter’s killer was convicted. Early in 2020, however, he won an appeal and the conviction was quashed. At the time of printing, his retrial has been provisionally scheduled for early 2021.)

  Margaret wasn’t alone. Another family in Cairns had launched a No Body No Parole campaign in October 2015 – just as I was finalising my petition. What were the chances? Not only were similar campaigns springing up all over the continent, Southern Australia had actually passed a No Body No Parole Law in July 2015.

  Fiona Duffy arranged for us to have a Skype meeting with Tony Piccolo, the MP who had introduced the law in that state. He told us: ‘Being able to provide the families of victims of crime with an opportunity to grieve and obtain closure is very important to any justice system.

  ‘What these laws do is provide an incentive for the person convicted of murder to provide the information required for that to occur. Also, it provides enough sufficient checks and balances to create no new injustices.’

  The idea was simple, he explained. Parole is only granted if the Chief of Police can produce a certificate confirming that the prisoner has ‘co-operated’ in investigations: no certificate equals no parole.

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ I told him. ‘They’re the ones who have investigated the case and seen all the evidence – and know far more than any Parole Board.

  ‘The police have gone in to see Simms numerous times and he refuses to speak with them. That’s not co-operation.

  ‘We don’t want to see these killers locked up forever,’ I added. ‘All they have to do is co-operate. Just give us back our loved ones, that’s all we want.’

  That meeting gave me such hope: ‘If they can do it, so can we,’ I said.

  As I was to discover, however, it wasn’t going to be so straightforward.

  * * *

  Margaret Dodd and I continued to chat, encourage and support each other. We were both familiar with those days so awful that despair and misery weighs you down like a heavy, rough blanket.

  In April 2016, my victim liaison officer phoned with an update: the Home Office had approved the recommendation for Simms’ move to an open prison.

  Too stunned to even speak, I sank into a chair. All those assurances, all those promises, counted for nothing. In desperation, I rang Conor McGinn. He said he would ask for an urgent review of the decision and raise it in the Commons when it returned after the Easter recess. But it had no effect.

  In one final, last-ditch attempt for intervention, I wrote to Mike Penning, imploring him ‘as a father, MP and Victims Minister – to seek a postponement on any decision until after MP Conor McGinn has raised the issue in a private member’s bill in October. It is not much to ask.

  ‘Surely, if a Minister of her Majesty’s Government, with responsibility for prisons, has asked the Parole Board for a review of guidance, any cases that may be affected by such a review must be put on hold until a decision has been reached?’

  I mentioned that I had waited almost three decades to bring my daughter home – and devoted my life to helping and supporting families of victims. All I was asking now was six months.

  Again, there was a resounding silence.

  I had to face facts: Simms was on his way from a Category C to an open prison and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I have no idea what an open prison looks like but it sickened me to imagine lots of free, open fields and rose-filled gardens
with skipping inmates free to come and go as they pleased.

  Next would be escorted and unescorted visits. Then release. Blocking it became my reason for living, for getting up in the morning. Determination would surge through my veins, pushing me on.

  * * *

  Over the summer, as Brexit chaos reigned, we pushed for more signatures. David Cameron had stepped down after the referendum in June so we now had a new prime minister, Theresa May, and Home Secretary, Liz Truss.

  Meanwhile, in Australia, I was heartened at the news that No Body No Parole laws had now been passed in Northern Territory.

  As advised by Conor McGinn, John put together a detailed booklet for MPs, telling the story behind our fight and the need for Helen’s Law. Inside, we explained that, by now, we knew of fifty-four cases where a murder conviction had been secured either without a body or recovered after a considerable time – contributing to the distress of families.

  I also stressed that advances in forensic science meant that killers were now resorting to increasingly desperate measures to hide or destroy evidence of their crimes, i.e. their victims. This situation was only going to get worse.

  And talking of advances in forensic science . . . I’d been yearning to get the DNA evidence that had convicted Simms tested again to see if it had grown even stronger over time. I’d been all set to pay to have this done in a private laboratory but, in 2016, I got chatting to the new Merseyside Chief Constable at a SAMM Merseyside meeting, and he arranged to have it done for me. The result was astounding: the likelihood of the blood on Simms’ clothing not belonging to a child parented by Helen’s parents was now a billion to one. Triumphantly, I stored it in my bulging dossier for why Simms should never be released without revealing where my daughter’s body was.

  Finally, I added the significance of funerals in the grieving process: ‘Laying the body of a loved one to rest is a fundamental but basic human right, regardless of creed, race, religion or society,’ I wrote.

  ‘Since time began, the human race has revered the bodies of their loved ones – either by preserving them or carrying out funeral rights. Being denied this basic right causes untold suffering to the families left behind.’

  We printed, stapled and posted 650 colour copies – one for every single MP.

  My campaign was also catching the attention of students. One group of young journalists made an impressive documentary; another, Jessica Perrin, who was studying policing and criminal investigation, wrote her Master’s thesis on missing murder victims after hearing a talk I gave at John Moore University in Liverpool. She has now come on board to help us with the campaign and is an incredible support.

  While researching other cases of missing murder victims over the years, Fiona Duffy and I were staggered at just how many cases there are – and how they have grown. If you remember, back in 1989, Simms was said to be only the third person to be convicted of murder without a body since the Second World War. That figure has been widely reported ever since. However, by delving through research for the purposes of this book, we have come across five further cases that happened between 1945 and 1988. This would make Helen’s the eighth case, not the third.

  We try to follow and record cases, but not all trials and convictions are covered or get the attention they deserve. Even now, we still come across missing homicide cases we have never heard of before.

  We estimate, from our own research, that there are now between five and seven cases a year and they are only the ones we know of. Remembering Voice4Victims founder Claire Waxman’s advice, we began to make tentative approaches to other families – inviting them to get involved as little or as much as they wished, if and when they felt in a position to do so.

  For some, it was obviously too much. We never heard back. Others wished us well but explained they had put this painful part of their lives behind them and felt unable to revisit it. Others backed us privately, but for a variety of reasons (from ill-health to protecting younger members of the family who were unaware of all the details) were unable to take part in any publicity. Some came on board initially, but decided to fight for justice independently. Others joined us, played a huge part in promoting the campaign, and continue to do so.

  I have nothing but respect, compassion and thanks for each and every one of these families in this position.

  We encouraged all of them to reach out to their own MPs and share the petition far and wide – and also invited them to the House of Commons to hear Conor McGinn present his Bill.

  As the big day approached, in October 2016, I cranked up my appeals on Facebook and Twitter – asking supporters to urge their MPs to attend the Bill reading and vote. I also gave countless media interviews – I was so grateful for their interest.

  Fiona arrived at my London hotel on the Monday evening to find me on the phone with steam coming out of my ears.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ I fumed.

  ‘They’re trying to push back the Bill until later in the afternoon because of an emergency debate on Syria,’ John whispered.

  I gripped the handset even tighter. ‘Grieving families have travelled a long way especially to hear this Bill presented tomorrow morning,’ I said tightly. ‘Now, please go back and tell whoever is organising the schedule that I will be appearing on Good Morning Britain with Piers Morgan tomorrow morning – early. If this Bill is pushed back, it’s the first thing I’ll be talking about – how we’ve been messed around and disappointed.

  ‘This reading has to go ahead at the arranged time.’

  A few minutes later, the phone rang again: the Bill was staying where it was.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, graciously.

  I should think so, too!

  * * *

  Early next morning saw me join Piers Morgan and Susanna Reid in the GMB studio. It was a prime slot and a strong interview – a chance to really let viewers know all about Helen’s Law. They were both so warm and supportive. Afterwards, they asked for copies of our petition booklet and Piers also said he would post about me on his Twitter feed where he has a huge number of followers. Then it was back to the hotel to pick up Michael and Fiona before heading to Westminster.

  Among the other families were Linda and Tony Jones (parents of fifteen-year-old Danielle Jones, who was murdered in June 2001 by her uncle, Stuart Campbell); Tracy Richardson (daughter of Michelle Gunshon – murdered in 2004 by pub glass collector, Martin Stafford, at the Birmingham pub where she was lodging); Sam and Neil Gillingham (daughter and grandson of Carole Packman – murdered by her husband, Russell Causley, in 1985); Claire and Maxine Harrison (sisters of Jane Harrison, killed by her partner, Kevin Doherty, in 1995); Sheila and Nina Dolton (mum and sister of Jonathan Dolton, twenty, who was killed by a colleague in 2002); plus the son and daughter of Joan Morson – who had been with me at the original launch of the campaign.

  It was the first time most of us had met and we embraced warmly and emotionally. Many felt a huge a sense of relief and belonging that they were finally among others who understood what they were going through. We had all brought a framed photo of our loved one, which we clutched tightly and proudly. We’d also received an eleventh-hour message from yet another family. It was too late for them to attend Parliament but Ann and Brian Nicholl, parents of Jenny Nicholl, nineteen, who was murdered in 2005, also pledged their support.

  Tragically, for the families of both Michelle Gunshon and Jonathan Dolton, the unthinkable had happened: the killers had died, taking their macabre secrets with them. They were now lying in their own cosy, respectable, comfortable graves while condemning their victims to remain forever lost and their families forever grieving.

  ‘Your loved ones can still be found,’ I urged. ‘We’ll keep working together.’

  Conor McGinn had arranged for me to sit in a special viewing area in the chamber itself, while John, Michael, Fiona and the other families headed upstairs to the public gallery. As I was led to my seat, I gazed around, incredulously, at this famous setting. The familiar g
reen leather benches, the dark panelling, the microphone wires which picked up every word uttered. I couldn’t believe I was here – in Parliament. I took a deep shaky breath. There had been so many important debates and votes cast here over the centuries. The next one would leave me either overjoyed or crushed.

  The Commons was packed to the rafters – I’d never seen it so full. A full-scale debate on the NHS was underway and an MP was trying to read out an extract from a report when she was interrupted by the Speaker, John Bercow.

  ‘Perhaps we can leave it there, because we are short of time and I want to proceed. Unless there are further points of order then we will come on to the ten-minute rule motion. I call Conor McGinn.’

  This was it.

  To my left, on the back row of the Labour benches, Conor rose to his feet, clutching his papers. He glanced across at me, smiled nervously, then began. It was his first private member’s bill, or backbencher’s bill, to a packed house – a huge occasion for a new MP.

  ‘I beg to move . . . ’ he began. ‘For a parent to suffer the anguish of losing a child is beyond words, but the horror of having such a loved one murdered is surely too awful even to contemplate so it is harder still, if even possible, to imagine the pain of being denied the chance to hold a proper funeral and lay that loved one to rest.

  ‘My constituent Marie McCourt does not need to imagine it, because for twenty-eight years she has been forced to endure what she describes as the special kind of torture of knowing she could die without ever discovering where her daughter’s body is or being able to lay her daughter to rest with the dignity she deserves.’

  As he glanced in my direction, other MPs followed his cue. I clasped my hands tightly to stop them shaking. John, Fiona and the other families were directly above me – I hoped they were OK.

  ‘She had Helen taken from her in the cruellest circumstances, only to be denied the sacred right to bury her daughter. Few could have found the strength to carry on, let alone mount such a formidable campaign to have the law changed so that others do not suffer in the way she has suffered. Her quiet dignity and powerful determination are an example to us all.