by Robert Green
Questioned about the telephone, he said: ‘I heard it ring, so I ripped the wires out of the junction box.’ This was the most blatant example of the defendant trying to make the alleged facts fit his story. Obviously he could not blame his brother for this because, according to his version of events, Stephen was busy either attacking or abducting Hilda.
George said he did not discover Hilda had died until he was arrested the following week for the shotgun burglary. News of the murder scared him, he said. ‘I tried to blank it out of my head.’
His evidence then turned to his recent experiences in custody. He explained that he knew he would be targeted by other prisoners, so he spread the story that the murder was connected with the ‘secret services’. He found a book called Unsolved Murders, which included a chapter about Hilda and MI5. When anyone asked him about the case he fed them information from the book. If word got out why he was in custody, ‘someone was going to stick pool balls into me … I’d have had my throat cut if I’d have told the truth.’ With regard to Mr A’s evidence, George said: ‘Half of what he came out with yesterday was just not true.’ He did not say which half.
On Thursday 21 April, two weeks into the trial, the prosecution counsel stood up, stared intently at the accused and invited him to tell the truth. ‘This has got nothing to do with Stephen, has it?’ was Latham’s icily delivered opening gambit.
‘Yes, it has,’ replied George. It was the first exchange of an intense cross-examination lasting a day and a half.
With a sneering ‘Let’s look at your lies together,’ Latham began by asking him about the stories he had told to cover his movements on 21 March.
George told the court he had lied because he was frightened.
Latham was incredulous. If he was so scared and concerned, why did he carry out another burglary – and fire off a shotgun – at the house in Castlefields?
‘I don’t deny that, sir. I pinched it, sir,’ came the reply with a plucky politeness that often characterised his responses under pressure. ‘I let off a couple of rounds in the house, sir – does that make me a bad person?’
Latham snarled back: ‘It doesn’t make you a shy and retiring little person’ – unwittingly acknowledging how small George was.
George insisted he knew nothing of the murder until he was interviewed by the police, despite the widespread news coverage.
Latham reminded him that he soon started talking in prison after he was charged in 2003, where he claimed the murder was somehow linked with the Security Service. It was not only other prisoners but also members of his family who were given the line about MI5.
George explained why he lied to his own mother. ‘I was put in a children’s home when I was about five. I have this woman claiming to be my mother – I didn’t recognise her – she could have been a police officer asking me personal questions.’
Latham told the court that one person George was anxious to see was his former partner, yet when she visited him in prison he also lied to her.
George replied that he loved her, but the relationship was over. ‘I didn’t know whether to trust her – she was just finished with me. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth. What if I told her the truth and she went off to the police?’
Latham then goaded him with a sustained onslaught of questions aimed at tripping him up. George stood up to him surprisingly strongly. The Crown QC said his story about Stephen’s involvement was fiction. The defendant was in the house alone, which was why he needed to tie up his victim using the ironing board cover. Yet the knot expert had established that the loops in the cover were too big to tie anyone up.
Latham pressed harder: ‘If Stephen was present in the house and carried out the assault, then where were his fingerprints and DNA?’
‘I was not in that house on my own,’ George retorted defiantly. This was a line he repeated several times, and it was an interesting choice of words. It would have been more natural for him to have asserted ‘I was with my brother,’ or ‘Stephen was there.’
How, Latham wondered, did the informer get hold of the names Laney and Cock-eye? ‘I don’t know where he got those names,’ countered George. ‘He may have been given them from Shrewsbury police – not me.’
The defence called more witnesses who had seen Hilda’s car. During the investigation each had been asked to examine a photograph album of possible suspects. Not one identified Andrew George.
The only witness called who saw the car outside Shrewsbury was David Lewis, who had been riding his Honda 90 motorcycle along the road towards Haughmond Hill. Stopping at temporary traffic lights, he was joined by a car, its engine revving noisily. As soon as the lights turned green, the car sped past him, but had to stop again at a second set of lights. Lewis said he studied the car and its occupants because he suspected something was wrong. The driver was in his late thirties, broad and above average in height with light brown hair. A woman passenger was slumped forward, as if unconscious or asleep. She was wearing a dark hat.
Lewis’s evidence had previously been carefully considered by police, who had requested his help over 150 times in three years to identify possible suspects. They had even issued a TV appeal in 1984, basing their description primarily on Lewis’s information: ‘White man, 30-40 years old, powerfully built, collar-length brown hair, long sideboards, blue anorak with a D-ring on the back.’ Yet Latham pilloried him about his attempts to identify the driver from police photographs, ridiculing a conscientious witness. Now that his evidence did not suit their line, he was treated with derision.
Compelling evidence about Andrew George’s driving ability came from civil engineering contractor Ivor Dorricott. He first met George in 2001 during a foot and mouth disease outbreak when workers were recruited to help dispose of slaughtered cattle. Dorricott had employed him again on other projects that required him to drive a dumper truck. George jammed the gears ‘because he did not know what a clutch was.’ He was not considered safe even driving an automatic truck, and was only allowed behind the wheel in big open fields.
Latham asked Dorricott if he would be surprised if George had lost control and driven off the road – an obvious allusion to Hilda’s car crashing.
Dorricott replied: ‘I would be surprised – because he would not have been able to get it on the road in the first place.’
As the trial drew to a close, the prosecution was given the go-ahead to re-open their case and call Stephen George as a ‘rebuttal witness’ to refute the allegations made against him by his brother. Stephen admitted a number of offences when he was young including theft, criminal damage and breaking into shops. He had last appeared in court in 1986, charged with gross indecency after masturbating over a three-year-old child. He denied ever sexually abusing his brother. He, too, said he could not drive a car.
On Thursday 28 April, the presentation of evidence ended and the summing up began. Latham told the jury the case came down to a stark choice: the murder had been committed by either Andrew or Stephen George.
Barker belatedly posed some obvious unanswered questions. Why would someone who knew the area take his victim in her own car through the town? Why could none of the witnesses identify the driver as Andrew George? The evidence was overwhelming that he still could barely drive.
No one had raised the issues which undermined the police line that the crime was committed by a lone, petty burglar – not least the careful disconnection of the telephone, the changes to Ravenscroft by the Friday, and the evidence of Ian Scott.
Friday 6 May 2005 dawned with Tony Blair having secured an unprecedented third consecutive term as a Labour Prime Minister. Fortunately, this overshadowed Day 20 of the trial. Two days had passed since Justice Wakerley sent the jury out to deliberate. I used the time to brief selected waiting journalists on our concerns. The consensus was that the longer the jury stayed out, the greater the chance they would dismiss the abduction charge for lack of evidence.
Pulse rates jumped soon after noon, when the jury returned
for clarification of the definitions of murder and kidnapping. The judge complied, taking the opportunity to rebrief them on the definition of manslaughter: ‘[W]hat if you are not sure that the intention was to kill her or cause her serious injury – it may have been just to leave her there? … If he didn’t intend her to die, that would be manslaughter – the only distinction between them [murder and manslaughter] is the question of intent…
‘On the definition of kidnapping… the real issue is whether you are sure that it was this defendant who drove her away, as opposed to being in the house and continuing with the burglary … The question is, are you sure that he drove her away or took her away by force?’
He gave the jury until 3pm. A Bank Holiday weekend loomed, with all the complications of extending into a further week.
There was no need. At 2.45pm the jury returned, and announced to the packed court that the defendant was guilty on both counts. Andrew George seemed to faint, then became very agitated. Barker asked the judge to consider redemption/mitigation arguments before sentencing, ‘bearing in mind this was a one-off offence, and that Andrew George has been in custody for 700 days.’
Wakerley then addressed George severely: ‘You should receive life imprisonment with no release ever.’ However, as he was a teenager at the time he would get a minimum of 12 years. ‘You were a burglar. You did horrible, unspeakable acts to that old lady in her house, not killing her, but using a knife for the next hour or more. You could have paused and stopped, but you didn’t. These were aggravating features. However, because of the lapse of time, I recommend that you serve a minimum of 15 years before being considered for parole.’ Deducting just under two years for his time on remand, he sentenced him to 13 years and 30 days.
With the public gallery in uproar, George shouted: ‘F…ing lying bastards! It’s a set-up!’ as he was led away.
The judge then thanked the jury, adding: ‘I hope that you have seen justice at work, and the English Bar at its best…’
Kate and I sat dumbfounded and sickened. We slipped out of the courtroom and prepared to face the media downstairs. In my statement before TV cameras outside on the forecourt, I thanked the police for their efforts to solve the crime over 21 years. Then I added: ‘However, the full story of what happened to Hilda has not emerged. There are many unanswered questions. The jury had to reach a judgement without being asked to take into account some key evidence which was known to both sides.’ I finally asked: ‘If this was just a bungled burglary by Andrew George, why have I and others pursuing the truth continued to be intimidated? And if only a bungled burglary, why do people continue to come forward to me with information which they did not wish to give to the police?’
As we turned to go back inside, Brunger and his assistant DCI Chris Knight emerged triumphantly to the media. We waited in the foyer. Standing alone only a few yards from us was Andrew George’s mother. Throughout the trial, I had taken care to avoid her, though Kate had spoken briefly with her at a chance meeting in the toilets. Now, we suddenly felt the need to reach out to another victim’s family. We asked her to tell Andrew we did not believe he abducted or murdered Hilda. When we met George’s solicitor soon afterwards, he said: ‘I’ve just been with him. He’s in deep shock. What he’s heard from you via his mother is the one thing that’ll keep him going.’
Three hours later on Radio Shropshire, I repeated my concern that George’s conviction was unsafe in a 20-minute feature on the case that summarised the conspiracy theories well. Tam Dalyell, who had decided not to stand again for Parliament, was much in demand for his opinion of the verdict. Ironically, it was fitting that he should end his remarkable and controversial political career by talking about Hilda’s murder. He had pursued it for nearly half his 43 years as an MP, as part of his wider concern about deception and misuse of power by State authorities.
Dalyell declared: ‘The prosecution’s version of events stretches the imagination to breaking point.’ He believed the jury had not been told the whole story. He reminded listeners of the paranoid, fevered political atmosphere at the time. ‘The Thatcher government felt under siege from its opponents, and concealed the facts behind the sinking of the Belgrano. It was not a matter of national security, but of political embarrassment.’
When challenged whether he still believed the abduction and murder had involved MI5, Dalyell quickly responded that he had never singled them out. ‘I stick to exactly what I was told.’ He was asked about the DNA evidence – surely that blew a hole in his conspiracy theories? His reply was: ‘I believe the person who told me the security services were involved.’ As the interview came to a close, he added: ‘Andrew George alone did not do this’ and he called for a judicial inquiry.
CHAPTER 11
A STITCH-UP
After we had thanked our Stafford homestay hosts we drove to friends in the heart of Shropshire to recover and take stock. On the way, we stopped at a filling station displaying a billboard with Hilda’s photo above a Shropshire Star headline shouting ‘JUSTICE AT LAST’. The newspaper carried a special eight-page supplement on the case.
Dalyell was shocked by the verdict. When I phoned him, he recalled his anguish on re-reading a letter from me the previous year after he had confirmed to us his main source had died. In it I expressed my frustration that still he could not name him because of the risk to the source’s family’s financial security:
I would ask what evidence you have that any Crown servant has suffered in terms of pension for exposing Government malpractice? Moreover, if such a threat ever eventuated, who is better placed than yourself to call the Government’s bluff on this? Where you lead, others could feel emboldened (and sufficiently protected) to follow: I have in mind [name deleted]’s relative, who worked for the Security Services and has told him that he knows it was a State crime; and the ex-CID man whom [name deleted] knows who agrees.
Substantiating what we both have reason to believe happened to Hilda may well require more Crown servants to do what Clive Ponting so courageously and rightly did. If your sources are dead, naming them would not breach your pledge to secrecy while they were alive, and could encourage those still living to come forward.
Now I pleaded with Dalyell to reveal his main source’s identity as the most effective way to challenge the verdict. We suggested visiting him to discuss the issue, but he was too unwell. Instead, he urged us to meet his old friend Professor Peter Hennessy.
Over the next few days, Dalyell rang me several times in some turmoil. The widow of his main source had now died. He had checked with their family who understandably did not want him to go public. He told me: ‘As a man of my word, I will carry this man’s name to my grave.’ His concerns for a dead man’s family, reinforced by his Establishment ancestry and connections, had overridden his best chance to provide crucial evidence confirming the involvement of the British State in a murder, and correct a serious miscarriage of justice. After all he had risked in his tenacious pursuit of the truth about the Belgrano sinking, I was deeply disappointed.
We visited Peter (now Lord) Hennessy. The leading expert on the British system of government, he had recently published his book The Secret State: Whitehall and the Cold War. He suggested the ‘quiet, constitutional route’ would be for me and/or Dalyell to ask the Parliamentary Intelligence and Security Select Committee to examine the unanswered questions about the trial as part of their duty of oversight of the Security Service. Also, as was my right under the Data Protection Act, I should request my MI5 records and any material from the Positive Vetting Agency.
Without Dalyell as my parliamentary champion, approaching the Select Committee would be a waste of time and energy. However, I did apply to see my MI5 file – and Hilda’s. I received the following Kafkaesque reply, with their emphasis:
We have conducted a search of Security Service records, and have determined the Service does not process [sic] any personal data to which you are entitled to have access under section 7 of the Act. You should not take this
response to imply that the Security Service does or does not hold any personal data about you. This reflects the policy of successive Governments of applying the principle of ‘neither confirm nor deny’ with regard to the activities of the security and intelligence agencies in the interests of protecting national security.
As for my request for any records on Hilda, MI5 could not help with this either, (a) because she was a third party, and (b) she was dead.
Immediately after the Radio Shropshire feature about the verdict, a man telephoned to say he had information for me. I was sceptical, but met him at the Shropshire Wildlife Trust in Shrewsbury. He risked contacting me because ‘I don’t like to see injustice done.’ A business acquaintance had confided in him some five years back that he had been contacted by two telephone engineers who had come under pressure about the leak to the media in February 1985. This tip-off led us to them.
During this conversation, Kate had been busy. We had noticed a young woman browsing among trays of wild flower plants a few yards away. To our astonishment, it was Andrew George’s former partner. Kate introduced herself and told her how impressed she had been by her testimony at the trial. The woman was very upset because she believed Andrew was innocent of abducting and murdering Hilda. Once Kate told her we agreed, she talked freely.
She confirmed that, during an early meeting with George in prison after his arrest, he told her: ‘This is bigger than the Shrewsbury police’ and that Hilda’s side door had been open when he went in. Then he said: ‘Hilda was kept in a stable or hut for two days.’ This echoed the reference in Trina Guthrie’s affidavit to Hilda being interrogated in a safe house in Little America, now Atcham Business Park. He was always adamant he had not killed her. When she first met him he could not drive at all – she had to teach him how and when to change gear. Besides, if he could have driven, ‘he would never have gone through town – he would have gone out through Atcham.’ The neighbours where she had lived for 15 years would not talk to the media about them. They could not believe George killed Hilda because he had a reputation for helping old people.