Just before Christmas 1958, I had been drinking in the West End and I got very drunk. I picked up with a prostitute in Trafalgar Square. She called a taxi and I remember she gave an address somewhere in Kilburn. We got to her house and climbed the stairs to her room. I had sex with her and went to sleep. When she woke me up we had a row over something and she called me a filthy little Welsh bastard. I threw a vase at her. I believe it smashed. She came at me and hit me with something on the back of the neck and head and scratched my nose and eyes. I rushed at her, and I knocked her down and hit her head or face. I think she was half getting up. I pulled her onto the bed and I remember chucking some clothes over her. I took a bottle of whisky and then I left the place. I went back to the Union Jack Club and went to sleep. When I woke up, I found blood on my hands, and my shirt and suit were covered in blood. I chucked the shirt away in the dustbin at the camp. I tried to wash it, but I could not get rid of the blood. I sent the suit to the cleaners. A day or two afterwards, I read in the newspapers that a prostitute had been found murdered at Kilburn, and I knew then I had killed the woman.
He went on to confess to a series of house-breakings and burglaries and to the assault on Mrs Hill. ‘There are a lot of other jobs I’ve done in the last year,’ he admitted. ‘But I can’t remember where all of them were exactly.’ Trying to explain his criminal activities, he said: ‘My army mates think I’m queer. I’ve tried to show them they’re wrong … My mates make me feel a nobody. So I have a drink, and then I feel better and more important. Once I started the heavy drinking bouts, I liked it and kept it up. When I was drunk, very drunk, I would try anything. I wasn’t fussy about what I did or what woman I went with. I’m glad I’ve been caught. I feel much better now already.’
He was charged with the murder of Veronica Murray on 3 December 1959, nine days before his nineteenth birthday.
Dowdall’s two-day trial began at the Old Bailey on 20 January 1960. The judge was Mr Justice Donovan; the prosecutor was Mr Alastair Morton, and Mr Desmond Trenner defended the accused, who pleaded not guilty to murder. His defence was that of diminished responsibility, which if accepted would reduce the charge to one of manslaughter.
The pathologist, Dr Donald Teare, gave evidence for the Crown. The defence produced a child-care officer, as well as Dowdall’s brother, various guardsmen and officers, and the principal MO at Brixton Prison, Dr Brisby. The latter described the accused as ‘a psychopath’, a ‘social misfit’ and ‘an untruthful type’ who believed people mocked and maligned him.
Dr Leigh, a psychiatrist at Bethlehem Hospital, said Dowdall was a psychopath and sexual pervert. The characteristics of a psychopath, he said, were aggressiveness, impulsiveness, lying, sexual perversion and often alcoholism, with no remorse or sense of guilt. The judge, in his summing-up, told the jury that if they accepted that the accused was suffering from an abnormality of mind that substantially impaired his responsibility for the killing, they should find him guilty of manslaughter.
The jury were out for three hours, before returning to seek advice on the degree of impaired responsibility necessary to mean ‘substantially impaired mental responsibility’. After another eight-minute retirement, the jury found Dowdall guilty of manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility.
On 21 January 1960, the judge sentenced him to life imprisonment, to be detained until, as he said, the authorities ‘are satisfied that you can safely mingle with your fellow creatures once again’. An appeal was dismissed.
Mick Dowdall was released on licence from prison in July 1975, suffering from a serious illness from which he died in November 1976. He was thirty-six.
48
GUENTHER PODOLA
THE MURDER OF DS PURDY, 1959
Between 1900 and 1975, thirty-three men serving with the Metropolitan Police were murdered on duty, mainly by criminals evading arrest. The trial of one such murderer made legal history on the opening day. The accused was said to be unfit to plead, because he had lost his memory.
Guenther Fritz Erwin Podola, the only child of a banker, was born on 8 February 1929 in Berlin. He was a studious, piano-playing boy, the nature and direction of whose life was altered irrevocably by the Second World War. His early teens were spent in the lawless atmosphere of the bombed and ruined city. He became a member of the Hitler Youth. He was fourteen when his father was killed at Stalingrad and sixteen when the Russians invaded Berlin and Hitler died in his bunker. The men in the block of flats where Podola lived were machine-gunned by the Russians and some of the women, including his mother, were raped.
He somehow survived the deprivations and hardships of post-war Germany, and in 1952, when West Germany became an independent nation, he escaped from East Berlin to the West, leaving behind him a woman, Ruth Quant, with whom he had lived and who had borne him a son, Micky. Podola emigrated to Canada and stayed there for six years. But in July 1958, he was deported after being jailed for a year for theft and burglary. For a time he worked in Dusseldorf. Then, in May 1959, when he was thirty, he came to London, affecting a gangster pose in Soho night clubs and calling himself Mike Colato. During the day he was involved in various legitimate, though shady, activities. At night, he added to his wages by house-breaking and burglary.
One of the flats he burgled, on 3 July 1959, was occupied by Mrs Verne Schiffman, a thirty-year-old English-born American model, on holiday in London. The flat was in Roland Gardens, South Kensington, and she lost some furs and jewellery. A few days later she received a letter from a man called Levine, who claimed to be an American private detective and said he possessed some compromising photos and tapes of her. These would be returned to her, he wrote, on the payment of $500.
Five days later on Sunday, 12 July Mrs Schiffman was telephoned by Podola, posing as a Mr Fisher. He said he was acting on behalf of Mr Levine and wanted to know her response to the letter. Unimpressed by the letter and the threat of blackmail, she had already complained to the police investigating the burglary. On their advice her telephone was tapped, and when the blackmailer rang again at about half-past three on Monday, 13 July, she kept him talking for fifteen minutes while the call was traced to a telephone box in South Kensington underground station – KNI 2355.
At 3.50 pm she heard the man say: ‘Hey! What do you want?’ There was the sound of a scuffle and she heard another man say: ‘Okay, lad, we’re police officers.’ The same man then spoke to her: ‘Mrs Schiffman,’ he said. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Purdy. Remember my name.’
DS Raymond William Purdy, aged forty, was a married man with three children. He had driven over from Chelsea police station with DS John Sandford to apprehend the caller. They hauled Podola out of the call box. But as they went up the stairs that led from the underground station led to the street, he broke loose and ran down Sydney Place into a block of flats in 105 Onslow Square, about a hundred yards from the tube. He hid behind a pillar in the hall but was soon spotted and seized by the two detectives, both of whom were in plain clothes and unarmed. DS Purdy took charge of Podola, ordering him into a corner of the hall to the right of the entrance, where there was a window.
Here Podola was briefly questioned, but not searched. Purdy removed the blue sunglasses Podola was wearing – the summer of 1959 was the hottest and driest for fifty years – and stuffed them in the suspect’s breast pocket. He told Podola to behave himself and sit on the window sill. Podola did so, hoisting himself on to the marble ledge as DS John Sandford crossed the hall to ring a bell summoning the caretaker, his intention being to enlist some assistance before he himself returned to the police car and communicated with the police station.
There was no response to his ringing of the caretaker’s bell and Sandford so informed Purdy, calling out to him across the hall. Purdy, momentarily distracted, turned his head towards the other detective – at which point Podola pulled out a gun, a 9mm FB Radom V15, shot Purdy through the heart and fled out into the sunny street. Sandford rushed over to his fallen colleague. When he ran
outside there was no sign of the gunman.
DS Ray Purdy was not Sandford’s usual partner, who that afternoon had been elsewhere engaged. Although Purdy had been about to go off duty when Sandford was detailed to go to the call box, he volunteered to partner the other sergeant. Before he did so, he telephoned his wife to say he would be late coming home that evening.
Sandford later described Podola as: ‘A man about thirty, height about 5 ft 10 in, slim build, brown hair, speaking with an American accent, last seen wearing dark glasses, a light sports coat, light grey trousers and suede shoes.’
Podola was identified by fingerprints left on the marble ledge in the hall of 105 Onslow Square. Two days after the shooting, Purdy’s widow said that the address book that had been returned to her with his personal possessions was not his. It belonged to Podola. It was thought that Purdy, seeing it in the call box when Podola was picked up, put it in his pocket. Although Podola’s name was not in the address book, the names, addresses and telephone numbers of many other people were. They were all contacted, and variously confirmed Sandford’s description of the gunman. Some thought Podola was German, others Canadian.
Then a hotel manager told the police that one of his guests, Paul Camay, was acting ‘very strangely’. He seemed to be in hiding in the hotel. On the same day, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police sent particulars and a photograph of an immigrant German, Podola, who had been deported in 1958. The hotel manager thought that Camay and Podola were probably one and the same.
The police went in force to the Claremont House Hotel, 95 Queen’s Gate, Kensington, where Mr Camay had hidden himself in Room 15.
Here he had cowered for two days since the shooting, in great fear of the law, it seems, and of being caught – not eating, nervously smoking and listening to the news on the radio about the police hunt for him. He had hidden his gun and its ammunition in the attic of the hotel, wrapping the weapon in a copy of The Times dated 13 July. It was later found there by the police.
At 3.45 pm on the afternoon of Thursday, 16 July, there was a banging on the bedroom door. ‘Police! Open the door!’ said a voice.
After a brief hesitation Podola, wearing a vest and trousers, went to the door. Perhaps he removed the key to peer through the keyhole, for the police outside said later that they thought they heard a click like the cocking of a gun.
DS Albert Chambers, who weighed 16 stone, charged the door. It burst open, the handle striking Podola in the face as Chambers crashed down on him. Podola was overpowered and put on the bed by DCI Acott and DI Vibart. He then apparently became unconscious or fainted. When he had somewhat recovered he was taken from the hotel at about 4.15 pm, minus his shirt and shoes and with his jacket thrown over his head.
Some newspapers later exaggerated the doubtful aspects of Podola’s arrest, including the actions of a police dog, which was also present with its handler. It was rumoured that Podola had been beaten up by the police and bitten by the dog. But Podola himself never made any complaints, nor did his lawyers. What was seldom mentioned was that the police officers concerned had showed some courage in tackling an armed (as far as they knew) gunman, and that DS Chambers had received a George Medal four years earlier in October 1955, awarded for his courageous actions in overpowering and arresting an armed gunman in Mayfair.
A police surgeon, Dr John Shanahan, was summoned to examine Podola within half an hour of Podola’s arrival in Chelsea police station, and found him to be ‘dazed, frightened and exhausted’ and suffering from muscular tremors, as if he were shivering, with a ‘withdrawal reaction to his arrest’. Minor injuries included a cut over the left eye, some bruises and some scratches on his face. The worst bruise was under his left eye. It still showed at his trial two months later. Dr Shanahan examined Podola again at midnight and found no change.
Podola was taken to St Stephen’s Hospital on the following day, 17 July, where he was handcuffed by one wrist to a bed in a public ward and guarded by two policemen. Here he was seen by Dr Harvey, the consultant physician. Podola seemed to be severely shocked, in a stupor and only partially aware of his surroundings, although tests revealed no fractures or internal bleeding.
Over the next few days, he began to recover, although he remembered hardly anything of his life before 17 July. Interestingly, although he wanted to know where he was and why, he apparently never asked why he was chained to the bed.
On 20 July, Dr Harvey allowed him to be seen by the police and a solicitor. That afternoon Podola was removed from the hospital and taken to West London magistrates’ court where, in a state bordering on collapse, he was charged with the murder of DS Purdy. He was then driven to Brixton Prison, where a posse of doctors examined him over the ensuing weeks to determine whether or not his loss of memory was real.
His trial began at the Old Bailey on 10 September before Mr Justice Edmund Davies; Mr Maxwell Turner led for the Crown. Podola was represented by Mr Frederick Lawton, QC. Although the Homicide Act of 1957 had limited the death sentence to seven kinds of murder – with a gun, with explosives, in the furtherance of robbery, of a police officer, of a prison warder, while assisting arrest or escaping, and committing two separate murders – Podola’s crime was such that he could, if found guilty, be hanged. But certain legal issues had first to be resolved. Were the prosecution or the defence to open the debate? On which of them was the burden of proof, and what indeed was the nature of that proof?
The judge ruled that it was up to the defence in the first place to prove that the loss of memory was genuine. If they succeeded, they would have to submit that Podola could not therefore be tried as charged. This legal discussion took nine days.
Mr Lawton said at the start of his opening address to the jury: ‘I stand here today, my learned friend by my side, Podola’s solicitor in front of me, and the three of us have no idea what his defence is at all.’ He said that Podola’s loss of memory meant that he was unable to defend himself, and suggested that it had been caused by concussion and severe fright occasioned by the circumstances of his arrest at the Claremont House Hotel. Podola’s injuries, acquired then, were not severe, said Mr Lawton – ‘A good deal of blood was shed, however. Two pillow cases were deeply stained with blood; a coverlet was stained … There was blood spattered on his trousers.’ All this was unlikely to have come from a cut above Podola’s eye. It was more likely to have come from a nose bleed. Not that there was so far any complaint against the arresting policemen, said Mr Lawton: ‘Podola does not know whether he has any complaint at all. It may have been an accident. It may have been that he struggled violently … It may be, of course, that more force was used than was necessary.’
Mr Lawton detailed the findings of Dr Shanahan and Dr Harvey, and then those of Dr Edwards, Dr Ashby and Dr Larkin, who all concluded that Podola’s amnesia was more than likely to be genuine.
All these doctors gave evidence at the medical trial before the murder trial. The last four, who had studied Podola, agreed that although it was possible for him to be feigning amnesia, it was most unlikely. He could not have the psychiatric knowledge or superior intelligence, they said, to sustain such a deception. And the fact that he had not lost certain acquired skills – he remembered how to play chess, pontoon, and could speak English, German and French – was quite consistent with his claim. Nonetheless, two doctors found it surprising that his virtually total loss of memory had persisted for two months.
Podola himself gave evidence. He said he remembered two names, Micky and Ruth, whom he thought were his son and a girlfriend. He also remembered a time when he was lying under a train, and another time when a policeman whispered: ‘I am your friend. Say it was an accident.’ He remembered nothing else of his life before 17 July, although he said he knew how to speak English and German, to play cards and chess, and certain bits of general knowledge, such as the names of national rulers.
The prosecution produced a letter he had written from Brixton Prison to a man called Ron Starkey, who was also produced and said he h
ad met the accused three times and that the accused once stayed with him. Podola said he had no memory of this man, and had only replied to the man’s postcard in order to acquire a visitor and some cigarettes.
Starkey’s postcard read: ‘Dear Mike. Is there anything I can get you in the way of tobacco and eats? If so, drop me a visiting card and I will come and see you. Best of luck, Ron.’ Podola replied:
Dear Ron. Thank you for your card. I was very pleasantly surprised to hear from you. How are you keeping yourself these days, old boy? I reckon you have heard all about the mess I am in … I think it is very nice of you to write and now you want to come all the way to London to see me. You don’t need a special visiting-card, you can see me any day Monday through Saturday from 10 to 11.30 and 1.30 to 3.30. Naturally I would appreciate anything in the line of smokes and eats but it really isn’t necessary … However, Ron, if you should be able to pick up a bunch of old magazines or reading matter I will be sure glad and grateful … There is not much doing around here. The food isn’t bad but lacks variety … It was sure nice to hear from you, Ron. Cordially yours, Mike.
Two doctors were called by the prosecution: Dr Brisby, the prison doctor at Brixton, and Dr Leigh, who saw Podola on ten occasions. They concluded that Podola was malingering, faking his amnesia. They said there had never been a case of hysterical amnesia involving such total memory loss that did not have some clinical or medical symptoms. In rebuttal, the defence summoned another psychiatrist, Dr Stafford-Clark, who said that he had dealt with twenty cases of complete hysterical amnesia and that such persons might lose all personal knowledge but retain certain skills and general knowledge. These medical discussions covered four days.
Murder of the Black Museum 1875-1975: The Dark Secrets Behind a Hundred Years of the Most Notorious Crimes in England Page 50