No Expenses Spared

by Robert Winnett

  Watt sat up straight. ‘Sorry, can you repeat that?’

  ‘There hasn’t been a charge on that property since March 2006,’ the Land Registry official repeated.

  Morley had been claiming mortgage interest of £800 per month for the property near Scunthorpe until November 2007. But the mortgage had been paid off in March 2006. Over almost two years, Morley, it seemed, had claimed thousands of pounds of taxpayers’ money for a mortgage that did not even exist.

  Watt struggled to keep the excitement out of her voice as she asked the Land Registry official to fax over the documents detailing Morley’s mortgage arrangements. Only when she saw it in black and white would Watt be certain she had got the story straight. As she spoke, she did a quick mental calculation: £800 for twenty months equalled £16,000.

  ‘We don’t have those documents here,’ the official said. ‘We’ll have to order them from the archives. It’ll take a couple of days or so.’

  So be it, thought Watt. As she put the phone down, she turned to Winnett, sitting at a desk at right angles to hers.

  ‘I’ve found something pretty incredible,’ she said. ‘Elliot Morley’s been claiming for a mortgage that he’d already repaid. By my reckoning, he made at least £16,000 and it’s probably a lot more. Could that be a criminal offence?’

  ‘Blimey,’ Winnett replied. ‘Sounds like he could be in all sorts of trouble.’

  Watt had to endure an anxious few days as she waited for the documents to arrive from the Land Registry. In the meantime, the bunker team decided not to tell the news executives about the Elliot Morley story until they were absolutely sure it was correct. They were all experienced enough to know that one of the first rules of journalism is that you don’t tell news editors about possible scoops until they’re completely nailed down – because you’ll end up looking a complete idiot if the story falls apart.

  It was the following Monday – the day the first stories about the Conservatives appeared in the paper – before a fax machine on the floor of the bunker (there hadn’t been one at all to begin with) whirred into action and deposited several pages of documents from the Land Registry on to the carpet.

  Watt snatched up the papers and spread them out on the floor, together with Morley’s expenses claims, then sat cross-legged in front of them as she checked the documents against each other. Sure enough, the Abbey National mortgage on Morley’s constituency home had been paid off in March 2006, confirming what the official had said on the phone. Morley had, as Watt already knew, carried on claiming exactly £800 per month for mortgage interest on the property until November 2007. It struck her that mortgage interest was unlikely to come to such a neat, round figure. And there was more.

  Watt had found a letter to Morley from the parliamentary fees office asking him for documentation to back up his mortgage interest claim, as he had failed to include a copy of his mortgage statement, as required by the fees office. Shortly after being asked for documentary proof of the mortgage, Morley flipped his expenses claims to his London address (where he did still have a mortgage).

  The only document Morley had ever given the fees office to back up his mortgage claim was a copy of a 2005 bank statement showing a payment of £800 to Cheltenham & Gloucester. But the Land Registry documents showed that his mortgage was with Abbey National.

  What on earth is going on? Watt thought.

  Nor did the mystery end there. Morley had bought the house in 1986, the year before he became an MP. It was too long ago for the Land Registry to have a record of how much he had paid for it, but other houses in the same street had cost around £20,000 at that time. Yet mortgage interest of £800 per month, at a typical rate of 5 per cent, would equate to a loan of around £195,000. Curiouser and curiouser.

  Watt couldn’t wait to find out how Morley was going to explain what the bunker team had begun to refer to as his ‘phantom mortgage’. Together with Winnett, she broke the news of Morley’s suspect claims to news editor Matthew Bayley and head of news Chris Evans. They were astonished by what they were told, but felt that Morley’s story would have to wait, as the Telegraph had only just started exposing the Tories’ expenses, and had the Lords of the Manor edition to come, which would have to be followed by the Lib Dems for the sake of even-handedness. Publishing Morley’s story at this stage would shift the focus straight back on to Labour; so it would just have to wait until later in the week. Also, the paper’s editor, William Lewis, wanted to be at the helm on the day such serious allegations were put to Morley; but he was due to leave the country the next day on a flight to Milan, where he had been told by consulting editor Rhidian Wynn Davies that his presence was required at a World Association of Newspapers conference. Lewis had been reluctant to leave the office when there was so much going on, but Murdoch MacLennan, the Telegraph’s chief executive, had insisted he should be there.

  In fact, Lewis was going nowhere near the conference. MacLennan had hatched a plan weeks earlier with Simon Greenberg, Chelsea FC’s director of communications and a close friend of Lewis, for the football-mad editor to spend the day training with the former Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho and his new club Inter Milan as a surprise fortieth birthday present. (Not that this was on expenses, of course; Lewis and Wynn Davies paid for the trip out of their own pockets.)

  After arriving in Italy on the Tuesday night, Wynn Davies told his boss that he would be spending the next day in the company of some of the world’s most famous footballers, including Patrick Vieira and Zlatan Ibrahimovic, and that he would be put through his paces by Mourinho.

  When the pair turned up at the training ground the next day, the former Chelsea manager shook Lewis’s hand and said: ‘I hear you’re bringing down the government!’ Mourinho, coach Rui Farias and the Inter Milan club doctor then began Lewis’s personal training session, making him spend forty-five minutes on a running machine under the watchful eye of the ‘special one’, as Mourinho famously referred to himself.

  ‘Jesus!’ Mourinho muttered as the sweat poured off Lewis and he struggled for breath. The late nights of the previous few weeks had clearly taken their toll on the editor, the former captain of his university football team. However, miraculously, Lewis was passed fit by Inter’s top medical team.

  After sharing with Mourinho a footballers’ lunch of pasta and salad in the Inter Milan canteen, Lewis and Wynn Davies headed to the bar of an upmarket hotel on the banks of Lake Como to enjoy a glass of chilled rosé.

  The glorious peace was interrupted by a seaplane coming in to land on the lake. ‘Right, time to go,’ Lewis abruptly announced, and they headed to the airport.

  Meanwhile, as Evans, Bayley, Winnett and deputy editor Tony Gallagher met to discuss the Elliot Morley story, they had to decide whether the Telegraph should pass a file on Morley’s claims to Scotland Yard later that day. Richard Edwards, the Telegraph’s crime correspondent, was asked to sound out his sources at the Yard to ascertain how they would respond to being passed a file from the newspaper. They said they would be interested, though ultimately the newspaper decided it was up to Scotland Yard to request a file, rather than the other way round.

  As Elliot Morley set off for a long-planned engagement on Wednesday morning, he had no idea of the maelstrom that was about to envelop him. The former minister, who had been appointed a member of the Privy Council in 2006 (making him, in theory, an adviser to the Queen), was one of the guests of honour at the annual conference of the Parliamentary Renewable and Sustainable Energy Group, where he was scheduled to take his place on the panel for a debate that afternoon on ‘fiscal and regulatory issues’. In the event, he would never give his speech, and within hours would have become a virtual political pariah.

  As Morley arrived at the conference venue across the road from the House of Commons, Holly Watt was beginning to draft the letter that would shortly be sent to the Labour MP. Considering the severity of the allegations, the letter was even more direct and forthright than normal.

  ‘Dear Mr Morley,�
�� began the letter, which was sent at 10.07 a.m.

  You claimed £800 a month in respect of the interest on a mortgage on your home at [address] between March 2005 and November 2007.

  The Land Registry records – dated 1 March 2006 – show that this registered charge [the mortgage] was removed. There has therefore been no mortgage on [the address] since that date, according to the official record. However, between March 2006 and November 2007, you claimed £800 a month – a total of £16,800 – in mortgage interest on this property. How can you explain this claim?

  And then came the killer line: ‘This would appear to be prima facie evidence of the offence of false accounting under the 1968 Theft Act (section 17); and/or offences under the 2006 Fraud Act (multiple sections). What is your response to this?’

  Watt breathed deeply after pressing the ‘send’ button, and prepared for what she expected to be a long wait. By noon, there had been no reply, so Watt started eating her rather unorthodox lunch, consisting of a small loaf of bread, a whole cucumber and a bag of tomatoes. Watt had been relentlessly mocked by her colleagues over her peculiar eating habits, for which her only explanation was: ‘I never cook; I prefer food in its constituent parts.’

  It was at 12.35, as she snapped her cucumber in half to begin her ‘second course’ that Morley’s response flashed up in Watt’s email inbox.

  Amazingly, he failed to answer the question about whether he had broken the law.

  Morley offered a convoluted explanation about how the £800 a month involved payments being made into an endowment investment policy. However, what seemed to concern him most was a question about whether he had claimed for the £14,000 wet-room. In fact, he explained, he had had to pay for an estimate for the work and the taxpayer had simply covered the cost of the estimate.

  ‘I did not submit a bill for £14,687,’ Morley wrote, underlining apparently random sections.

  I had a quote from a local plumbing firm to do some repairs to the bath and install a new shower. That was their estimate. I considered the quote completely outrageous though they are excellent plumbers. Unfortunately as a condition of the quote if I did not proceed with the work I had to pay for the estimate which I think was £90. That’s why the Bill was submitted. Please don’t accuse me of that.

  Watt was stunned. A senior MP had just effectively been accused of fraud, yet had not even addressed the allegation.

  Chris Evans, Arthur Wynn Davies and Winnett gathered around Watt’s screen to read Morley’s email. They shared Watt’s surprise.

  ‘Hit him again,’ said Evans. ‘Give him another chance to answer the question.’

  Watt began to draft an even more strongly worded letter in reply to Morley. ‘Thank you for your response,’ she began. ‘We now understand the situation regarding the “wet-room”.’

  However, I note that you have not directly addressed many of the points we raised in our letter.

  Serious allegations – including the potential breach of criminal laws – are being made about your conduct when making claims under the parliamentary additional costs allowance.

  As set out in our previous letter, we intend to state that you did not have a mortgage on [address] after 1st March 2006. You state that you were paying £800 to a C&G endowment policy. This is not a mortgage but an endowment policy. Your expense claim was for mortgage interest costs. How do you justify this anomaly between what you claimed and what you are now stating in your letter? What was the cost of your mortgage interest per month before 1st March 2006?

  We repeat that the situation would appear to be prima facie evidence of the offence of false accounting under the 1968 Theft Act (section 17); and/or offences under the 2006 Fraud Act (multiple sections). What is your response to this?

  Watt sent the email just after 3 p.m., by which time Morley had taken his seat on the podium at the energy conference as part of the afternoon’s panel. According to others present, his face dropped as he checked his BlackBerry and saw Watt’s email. ‘He went white,’ said one of the conference attendees. ‘He then stood up and walked straight off the stage without saying a word. We didn’t see him again.’

  Morley’s response, when it arrived at just after half past three that afternoon, was gibberish. The email looked as if it had been sent by someone in such a panic that he couldn’t spell or type the words correctly.

  ‘I do not believe any offence has been committed,’ began the email. ‘The claim by Mr Cawsey was enterily legitimate. The mortgage then was 900 per month council tax 100 I paid for furnishing and other costs. It had to my main home as a minister. When I claimed on London I renogiated the mortgage.’

  Meanwhile, Morley’s long-standing friend Cawsey was doing little to help the beleaguered former minister’s cause. Watt had also sent Cawsey, the vice-chairman of the Labour Party, a letter asking about his rental of Morley’s London home. The other Labour MP had given succinct answers to the questions posed.

  ‘Were you renting one room or the whole property?’ Watt asked.

  ‘Whole property,’ Cawsey replied.

  ‘Are you aware that Mr Morley nominated [London address] as his main home for the purposes of claiming the ACA until November 2007?’

  ‘No,’ the MP said.

  The next question from Watt asked: ‘Did you know he designated [address] as his “second home” after this date?’

  The MP replied: ‘No – Elliot told me in March 08 when he received communication from the Fees Office that they were deducting my rent from his ACA claim. From that point on I have not claimed anything.’

  Cawsey’s response created whole new problems for Morley. Not only had he claimed for a mortgage that did not exist on his second home in Scunthorpe, he had rented out his ‘main’ London home in its entirety to his friend. Essentially, he was claiming for a ‘second’ home despite not having the use of a main home.

  Watt and Winnett studied the various responses. The planned story was accurate – the first phantom mortgage had been uncovered. The pair began to write the first three pages of the following day’s Telegraph.

  Away from the drama of the Morley investigation, the rest of the team were preparing other stories for the newspaper, some of which provided a light-hearted counterpoint to the possible fraud uncovered by Watt.

  Nick Allen, who had been preparing an article about Austin Mitchell, the veteran Labour MP for Great Grimsby, was laughing out loud as he read a response which Mitchell had sent him.

  Allen had discovered that Mitchell had attempted to claim £1,296 for bespoke shutters to be installed at his London home. His claim had been rebuffed by the fees office. He had, however, successfully managed to claim £1,200 to reupholster his sofas; 67p for Ginger Crinkle biscuits; 68p for Branston Pickle; and more than £20 for a bottle of Laphroaig malt whisky, as well as a bottle of gin. Allen had sent Mitchell a letter asking him to justify some of the claims. The reporter now summoned the other members of the bunker over to his computer to read the sarcastic response he had just received from the MP.

  ‘Thank you for dredging up the horrors of my expenses,’ wrote Mitchell.

  I am now arranging for my wife to commit ritual suttee on a burning pyre of furniture coverings as soon as the divorce comes through.

  To answer your points:

  Security shutters. I can’t see why you raise this. No money was paid for them by the fees office. We had two break-ins at our flat with entry effected through the windows. In each case cameras were stolen along with the film which could have had on it some of the greatest pictures ever taken and won me first prize in the Jessops Parliamentary Photography Competition. Alas this was not to be as the cameras were never recovered.

  Incidentally there had been an earlier break-in when an intruder had smashed the window into what was then my daughter’s bedroom. He did not enter when she screamed. Security shutters were appropriate. Who knows, terrorists could have stolen information on my desk about council house transfers in Grimsby. We had the shutters fitted at
our own expense with no support from the fees office. This was done by a firm fitting bespoke shutters because they advertised in the Daily Telegraph. They will certainly be appreciative if you give their name. There have been no break-ins since they were installed.

  Money spent on ginger crinkles and Branston Pickle shocks me. Neither is made in Grimsby but I am instituting immediate enquires in my household to see who could possibly be responsible for introducing such dangerous substances. I have not so far traced empty containers of either. Whisky and Gin are another matter. I drink neither. I will check to see if my wife is an alcoholic and take appropriate action.

  The sofas came with the flat twenty years ago. Since great holes had appeared in the covers, which were stained with Branston Pickle, whisky, and gin, I decided that they would be detrimental to my career plans which at that stage involved inviting Neil Kinnock, Roy Hattersley, and Peter Mandelson round for drinks and bananas to impress them with my potential. We therefore had them reupholstered (the sofas that is, not Kinnock and Hattersley) which is surely more sensible, environmentally friendly, and a damn sight less expensive than buying new ones. You should consider me for a conservation award. The work was done in Yorkshire because everything is cheaper and better there, from lobotomies to French polishing. The covers are still available if the Telegraph would like to have them for its offices. They may be a little tatty for Buckingham Palace Road, but could show the spirit of sacrifice we all need in these austere times.

  I’m sorry you don’t see any justification for these claims. You should consider whether to communicate that view and your reasons to the Metropolitan police or Norman Baker.

  Please use this reply in full. I’m sorry I can’t comment further as I’m off to a seminar on ‘Cleaning and Maintaining your Moat’.

  Deputy editor Tony Gallagher and Chris Evans were so impressed by Mitchell’s sense of humour, which drew a round of applause from those in the bunker, that they decided to take Mitchell up on his offer of printing the response in full the next day. It later became a hit on the internet when it was also posted in full on the Telegraph’s website.