Justice for Helen

by Marie McCourt

  ‘The success of that [judicial challenge] has given me the courage to launch this action,’ I said in a statement. ‘How can a killer who has consistently refused to disclose the whereabouts of his victim’s body be deemed safe to return to society? Refusing to admit his guilt and face up to his crime means he has not taken part in any rehabilitation or reform programmes during his time in prison.

  ‘I am making a stand for all families of missing murder victims and hope and pray that my claim succeeds.

  ‘Ironically, the hearing is taking place on Helen’s birthday. My daughter would have been fifty-five, yet the man who killed her has been released without saying where he hid her body.

  ‘I want to see justice done.’

  On the morning of the hearing, I placed fresh flowers in front of Helen’s portrait. ‘Happy birthday, love,’ I said, as John switched on the laptop.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  Here goes, it was now or nothing.

  He logged on. An ominous-looking message flashed onto the screen: ‘No internet connection’.

  We looked at each other, aghast.

  Then we tried again. We restarted the laptop. Of all the times, of all the days for Virgin Media to crash, it had to happen now.

  I clapped my hands to my mouth. ‘What do we do? What do we do?’ I shrieked.

  We sped to my brother Tez’s house – a full half-hour’s drive away – notifying the legal team of our technical disaster. Finally, twenty minutes after the logging-in time – and with direct help from the High Court clerks – my name flashed up on the screen: I was in.

  ‘And breathe,’ I sighed.

  For the next two mornings we listened avidly, mutely, as the legal teams thrashed out the case before Lady Justice Macur and Mr Justice Chamberlain – referring to countless other cases brought and decisions made.

  Tom Little was superb – highlighting all the reasons why we believed the Parole Board had made the wrong decision – and a few extra faults along the way. In assessing whether Simms was safe to be released, he said the Parole Board should have pushed him to reveal where Helen’s body was. He accused them of ‘feather duster questioning’.

  ‘There was no probing. Questions have to be asked, they have to be probed. Things that begged questions weren’t followed up,’ he argued.

  I was shocked at the suggestion that Simms’ painting of Helen had been presented to the board as a black-and-white photocopy rather than the colour original – losing its impact.

  Tom rebuffed the argument that I had ‘no standing’ to challenge this decision: ‘There is no other person able to bring this challenge than the mother of the deceased,’ he declared. ‘In bringing this claim, Marie McCourt is acting in the public interest.’

  And he dismissed the opposition’s argument that granting this judicial review would open the floodgates for similar claims. (I longed to press the unmute button and say, ‘Believe me, no one else would want to put themselves through this!’)

  Among many things, Simms’ counsel argued that although the whereabouts of her daughter’s body was ‘a central issue for the claimant’ the central issue for the Parole Board was whether Simms posed a risk to the public. There was a significant amount of evidence that Simms’ risk had changed throughout his sentence, they insisted, adding, ‘There is no suggestion that denial increased risk or that non-disclosure increased risk.’

  Closing his argument, Tom referred to me as a champion for others suffering this ordeal: ‘She has campaigned for a change in the law not just for herself but for other families who find themselves in this situation.

  ‘It is a sad irony that the 29th of July is Helen McCourt’s birthday and she would have been fifty-five today,’ he concluded.

  I scrutinised the judges’ faces for a flicker of emotion, empathy, sympathy. There was nothing. Coolly and briskly, the hearing moved on.

  And there, again, is my plea for kindness. I appreciate that judges have to be impartial but, somewhere, somehow along the road of evolution, we have lost our humanity. Our compassion. Surely, there must be a less brutal way of doing things.

  In announcing she would reserve judgment, Lady Justice Macur acknowledged there were ‘wide implications arising from this in terms not only for Mrs McCourt but for others in similar positions’.

  This case really could make a difference.

  And that was it: the hearing was adjourned. All we could do now was wait.

  ‘I am pleased that I have had the opportunity to take my case to the High Court and raise the impact that this decision has had on us,’ I said in a released statement. ‘It has been particularly hard bringing this action on what would have been my daughter’s fifty-fifth birthday, but I had to do it, not just for her but for all the other families who will find themselves in this situation. I have taken this stand in the public interest.

  ‘I would like to thank my wonderful legal team for the amount of work and dedication they have put into this case in their own time because it is a cause they believe in. I would never have been able to do this without them.

  ‘Again, I just hope and pray that justice will be done.’

  * * *

  We’d anticipated that a decision would come within two weeks but as we entered the third and fourth weeks of August, my hopes started to rise.

  ‘It’s a good sign,’ John assured me. ‘Don’t forget they asked for more statistics from the Parole Board. There could have been a hold-up there or even more questions as a result of receiving them.’

  I nodded.

  ‘You can’t rush justice,’ I agreed. ‘They can take all the time they need so long as they come back with the right verdict.’

  All I could do was wait. Every Tuesday, I lit my candles and said my novena to St Martha.

  On Bank Holiday Monday came news: the decision was being released the following morning – a Tuesday – at 10am. My legal team was allowed to give me the news half an hour before. We arranged a Zoom call for 9.30am. To comply with legal rules, I had to be alone when they delivered the news.

  ‘I’m trying to prepare for the worst,’ I told Fiona. ‘I’d be devastated. I’m only human. You can’t control your emotions, can you?

  ‘But the judges have taken a full calendar month to consider this so I’m hopeful. Even if they don’t put him back in prison, I am hoping that, at least, they agree that this has been very unfair.’

  Next morning, Michael helped me log on. Then he went into the garden with his Cockapoo dog, Bob. John went into the living room and closed the door.

  I was alone.

  Nervously, I requested admission to the Zoom meeting. One by one, my wonderful, wonderful legal team appeared in boxes. My heart was thumping out of my chest as I scanned their faces for a clue to the verdict. They smiled as they wished me a good morning and asked how I was. Such lovely, pleasant young men, but I could see disappointment reflected in their eyes.

  They didn’t have to say a word – I’d lost.

  I was being given the most awful news and I was completely alone. It wasn’t my legal team’s fault, they were just following rules. But, as John says, it’s yet another cruelty for victims to contend with. In the great scheme of things would it really have mattered to have my son and husband holding my hands, comforting me? Surely, changes have to be made here, too?

  On autopilot, I nodded and listened as they explained the ruling – that the decision by the Parole Board ‘involved no arguable public law error’.

  We had won one small victory: the High Court had ruled that I did have legal standing to bring this challenge, which meant other families would be able to take action in future.

  ‘That’s a huge achievement, Marie,’ Tom Little said. ‘And something to be proud of.’

  But I still can’t bury my daughter.

  He told me afterwards that he could see the collage of Helen, designed by a local artist from newspaper cuttings and precious items, behind me as he delivered the heartb
reaking news. My heart went out to the legal team – they had worked so hard on this and having to break such awful news couldn’t have been easy.

  I managed to hold it together while thanking them all, individually. ‘I would never have come this far without you all,’ I said, my voice breaking.

  I’d had the best legal team in the country – and I’d still lost. What chance did anyone else have?

  One by one, their faces disappeared until a black screen was all that was left.

  I was alone again.

  I called out for my husband and son. They took one look at my stricken face and, instinctively, came towards me with outstretched arms. We cried together. Then we broke the news to the rest of the team before releasing an emotional statement.

  ‘Sadly, I have lost my bid for a judicial review into the decision by the Parole Board to release my daughter’s killer.

  ‘I am bitterly disappointed at the decision. This was my last chance to get my daughter’s killer to admit where he hid her body.

  ‘I did my best, and so did my legal team, but sadly, this hasn’t produced the result we wanted in getting Simms back into prison. We are now discussing my next steps. However, I am celebrating one small victory – and that is the High Court’s ruling that I did have legal standing to bring this challenge – something that Simms’ legal team argued against.

  ‘Although I have lost my own claim, I have successfully paved the way for any other family to now challenge a decision by the Parole Board. It is a small comfort but one that I hope will have implications for others – particularly in missing body murder cases.’

  I thanked every single donor and every single supporter for helping me to get to this point. ‘I could not have done it without you,’ I added.

  John and I had already decided we wouldn’t be appealing if we lost. There was no guarantee another judge would think differently. And more legal action would cost our sanity as well as our life’s savings.

  I’d been through many disappointments and low points since losing Helen. But this defeat was something else.

  For a few hours I functioned. I put the kettle on. I made tea. But, suddenly, without warning, I crashed. And burned. A bubbling sensation in my chest took my breath away. My voice constricted. I cried silently, noiselessly, and couldn’t stop. I was inconsolable. It was over, I’d lost. He’d won. And I couldn’t bear it.

  In the past, I had always, always answered the phone to journalists. For the first time in thirty-two years, I let it ring. And ring. And ring. I couldn’t speak with them. The despair, the pain, was all-consuming.

  * * *

  I could see the concern on Michael’s face. He spoke to John, who agreed. It was like the awful ‘no’ years all over again.

  ‘Marie, I think we should go away,’ he suggested.

  I shrugged.

  Whatever . . .

  With quarantine corridors opening and closing by the day, our options were limited, but three days later, we landed in a quiet resort in Turkey. And there, with my wonderful, adoring husband at my side – my rock, my soulmate – I turned my face to the sun and began to heal.

  We hadn’t had a proper holiday in years – we had always, always been campaigning, researching, answering our support group’s helpline. But this was different.

  John switched off our phones. Disabled our emails.

  Initially, I was oblivious to our surroundings. But, over time, I was able to take in the glorious sunrises and dramatic sunsets, sparkling seas and endless stretches of sands. And, slowly, I came to terms with my loss.

  I had done my best for my daughter, that was all I could ever do.

  And now . . .

  A

  s you turn to this page, I would love nothing more than to bring you a happy ending.

  To be able to finish this book by telling you that, by some fluke, I managed to appeal the decision and get Simms back into prison. Or, better still, that he had finally faced up to his crime and told me where we could find my daughter’s remains.

  That we had brought Helen home and seen her laid to rest in consecrated ground. That I was visiting her grave every day to lay flowers. That I had found some peace.

  Sadly, that hasn’t happened. This isn’t a fairy tale or fiction, this is real life. And, as we all know, there isn’t always a happy ending.

  However, I do have some good news to report. The Bill was passed by the Lords and on Wednesday 4 November 2020 Helen’s Law was given royal assent. The Ministry of Justice announced that, at midday, Her Majesty the Queen had signed the Bill.

  When Conor rang to give me the news, that Helen’s Law was now enshrined in law, I felt so proud. Then I looked at Helen’s portrait. ‘Well, love, you’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. Everyone will remember you, Helen. Your name will go down in history and you will never, ever be forgotten.’

  I’d dreamed of posting triumphant photos taken outside Parliament but because of Covid that was out of the question, of course. Instead, John and I celebrated with a rare meal out, and raised a glass to our Helen, hours before England entered a second lockdown at midnight.

  My update on social media, saying how the news had made me the proudest mum in the world, unleashed an avalanche of congratulations. Bouquets of flowers and ‘Well done’ cards arrived while hundreds of messages flooded my Facebook and Twitter accounts. ‘“Helens Law”; what a legacy to have accomplished in such tragic circumstances. Your tireless days and nights will help many in the future,’ wrote one woman. Others thanked me for not giving up – and for making the world a safer place, and told me, over and over, how proud Helen would be. I read the comments through a cloud of tears.

  At the time of writing – December 2020 – Helen’s Law is due to be officially added to the statute book in early 2021. I like to think this law, in my daughter’s name, will strengthen over time and make a real difference. My judicial review claim, although not successful, has also paved the way for others to follow. The McCourt judgment from September 2020 is now enshrined in case law – establishing that families in this situation do have legal standing to challenge Parole Board decisions.

  Simms is still a free man. He could still end this torture at any time. I pray he does – it is not too late for him to do the right thing.

  Peter Faulding of Specialist Group International will continue his work in trying to locate Helen’s remains. By the time you read this, we will have already embarked on new searches. And Merseyside Police assure me the case will remain open until Helen is found.

  Until my dying breath, I will continue to look for my daughter and fight passionately for victims of homicide and their families. For far too long the scales of justice have been tipped in favour of the criminals, the killers – and to hell with the rest of us. It has been hugely, grossly unjust and inflicted immeasurable pain.

  Before I go, please allow me to make one thing clear: I am not a vindictive woman. My aim was never to see killers locked up and the keys thrown away. It was only ever about highlighting a cruel injustice and ending this cruel torture that has been inflicted on families for far too long.

  Had Simms confessed and made attempts to put things right – by revealing where my daughter was and saying sorry for taking her life – I could have learned to accept what happened, forgiven even. I wish no harm to anyone – least of all my daughter’s murderer. I, more than most people, have seen the awful, tragic results of violence and anger. However, in a civilised society, this double-edged cruelty in not only taking a life but hiding the body – continuing to inflict the most awful pain on the victim’s loved ones – cannot be allowed to happen.

  Human rights laws, when used correctly and in principle, are commendable. But let’s not forget the most basic human right of all: the right to life. And the right to lay our loved ones to rest.

  Our ancestors understood the importance of this. Sadly, somewhere along the line, these priorities, this respect for the dead, has been forgotten – pushed aside. We have put m
en on the moon, created a World Wide Web, invented driver-less cars yet laws respecting our deceased have been allowed to wither and stagnate.

  We need to revive and reform our ancient burial laws if we wish to live in a modern, considerate, kind world. This is something I will continue to campaign for. Helen’s Law is just the start of a whole raft of changes in favour of missing homicide victims and their families that I would like to see enshrined in law. I am already lobbying MPs, Lords and Ministers to ask the Law Commission for a much needed review of outdated laws relating to the treatment of dead bodies. Conservative MP Dr Kieran Mullan raised the issue in the House of Commons in December and, as a result, Alex Chalk, the Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Justice, said he would be ‘delighted’ to meet with us to discuss further steps.

  And that’s not all. Just before this book went to press I had a lovely letter from the Victims Commissioner for England and Wales Dame Vera Baird to say that, as a result of my letter, she has taken up the matter with the Lord Chancellor.

  In the meantime, I have requested a meeting with the Director of Public Prosecutions to establish exactly why Simms was never charged with these outstanding offences and why these ancient laws of preventing a burial and obstructing a coroner aren’t being applied more often. Admittedly, they’re outdated and in need of reform but, until that happens, they’re all we’ve got. Let’s use them. As a result of my request the victim liaison manager for the CPS contacted me to say Helen’s case file is being retrieved from storage. I look forward to hearing from them and will be sure to post regular updates on my Helen’s Law Facebook page.

  My ultimate dream (after finding Helen, of course) is to establish an official charity devoted to the families of missing murder victims, offering emotional support, practical help with searches and an official, extensive database of missing homicide victims. (The Home Office only started officially recording homicide convictions without a body since 2007/2008.) Just days before this book went to press we received a response to our Freedom of Information Request to the Home Office regarding figures for homicide convictions where the body of the victim was not recovered. The figure (from 2007/8 when records first began to March 2019) now stands at fifty-four.