Blazing Obsession

by Dai Henley

  On the anniversary of the fatal attack, we decided to hold a vigil on the beach in front of the beach house. After dinner, we lit three candles in memory of Lynne, Georgie and Emily. We remained silent for ages, holding hands and concentrating on our respective memories. We devoted the rest of the evening to comparing our time with Lynne. Sometimes we laughed, sometimes we cried.

  She remained an integral part of us.

  Alisha was the only person in the world with whom I could share this cathartic experience.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  September 2000

  Two weeks after we returned to London, the trial of John William Hartley began at the Old Bailey. As the start date grew nearer, the ethereal experience of Grenada dissipated. The spectre of a repeat of Johnson’s acquittal stuck stubbornly in my mind.

  Media interest in the case grew even more frenetic. One newspaper described it as being potentially one of the most dramatic trials of the last few years.

  I wouldn’t miss a day. Alisha had received a letter from the CPS requiring her appearance as a witness for the prosecution. RP had warned her about this being a possibility, since we knew the police held information linking her to Lynne, Johnson, Greenland and Hartley. I hoped she’d cope well, but typically, she had no doubts.

  Although she could attend court and sit in the visitors’ gallery after her evidence had been heard, RP had advised that it wasn’t a good idea.

  “The less contact you are seen to have, the better. We don’t want the defence to use your relationship with James as fodder for a set-up.”

  The CPS had set aside four weeks for the trial. I arranged for two drivers from my business to be on hand for the entire case, one to act as my ‘minder’, protecting me from the media scrum.

  On the first day of the trial, newspaper reporters, photographers and TV cameramen surrounded the entrance to the Old Bailey. As my car drew up outside the court, they engulfed us. My minder helped me negotiate my way into the building. This happened every day of the trial.

  Court 16 bore an uncanny resemblance to the courtroom in Winchester Crown Court where the judge had screwed up Johnson’s trial. I looked down on proceedings with a clear view of the dock, the jury, the bench and the barristers from the packed visitors’ gallery.

  Hartley sat in the dock flanked by two security men. I had a good view of him from the front row. He’d have to turn his head up to the gallery to see me. The judge, Mr Justice Winter, sat high on his bench, overseeing the well of barristers and clerks.

  The jury, comprising eight women and four men, looked sombre, their eyes flicking from Hartley to the barristers and to the judge.

  Dressed smartly with a white open-necked shirt beneath a black jacket, Hartley appeared thinner, especially so in the face. The last time I’d seen him was when he lay comatose, drugged-up with chloroform and Rohypnol, on his bed when I returned his clothes after dumping Johnson. He wore a hard-done-by expression as if questioning the travesty of being in the dock on trial for five murders.

  Seeing him in the flesh brought home to me how much he’d affected my life. The fact he was Emily’s father filled me with revulsion.

  I worried I might have another meltdown in the courtroom. Not a good idea. I didn’t want the judge barring me from the proceedings. I bit my lip until it almost bled.

  The court clerk read out the charges: conspiracy to murder with another, Lynne, Georgie and Emily; conspiracy to murder with another, Colin Bruce Greenland and the murder of Leroy Gibson Johnson.

  Simon Brotherton had previously confirmed that the sentences for conspiracy to murder and murder are the same.

  I’d been counting the days to the trial, anxious to hear the evidence against Hartley. It would surely, finally reveal why the CPS had charged him and not me, especially for the Johnson murder.

  The chief prosecutor, Michael Winn QC, a diminutive, handsome man in his late forties, put forward a powerful argument linking all three charges.

  I’d googled him. He enjoyed a reputation for successful prosecutions in high-profile murder cases. I hoped he’d enhance it by the time this trial ended.

  Mr Winn’s opening speech outlined the deadly path Hartley had taken, first seeking revenge for his rejection by Lynne and covering his tracks by murdering his accomplices, one of whom blackmailed him and the other because he knew too much.

  He described the events strictly in chronological order, placing great emphasis on the reason for Hartley being in the dock − his failed, obsessive affair with Lynne.

  “This case is the climax to a dramatic and tragic tale of obsession and revenge. The prosecution will provide evidence to support the fact that the defendant couldn’t handle the rejection by his mistress, Lynne Hamilton, despite his best efforts to persuade her to run away with him and set up home together with his daughter. Instead, she met and married someone else. They were bringing up the child together without him.

  “The prosecution will prove that the defendant is manipulative and controlling and when Lynne Hamilton finally found the courage to stand up to him, he lost that control. He found that absolutely unacceptable.”

  He paused, giving the jury enough time to absorb his point.

  “We’ll provide further evidence to suggest that the defendant employed a hit man, Leroy Johnson, to set fire to the cottage in Lymington, where the defendant’s ex-mistress, her son and two-year-old daughter were sleeping. Overwhelming evidence supports the fact that Johnson committed this cold-hearted and pre-meditated act on Hartley’s orders.

  “When Johnson tried to blackmail the defendant by threatening to go to the police unless he paid more cash, the defendant murdered him.

  “And we’ll provide additional evidence to suggest that when the defendant thought that Colin Greenland, to whom he admitted his intentions and who had put the defendant and Johnson in touch, might also go to the police regarding the arson attack, the defendant paid another hit man to have Greenland eliminated too.”

  This confirmed our thoughts. One more piece of the jigsaw clicked into place.

  Impressed with this opening salvo, I recalled feeling the same way at Johnson’s trial. However, that hadn’t turned out exactly as I’d expected.

  Mr Winn, keen to establish Hartley’s obsession with Lynne, asked the court official to hand to the jury a dozen thick packs of documents, which he passed to each member.

  When they all had a copy, Mr Winn said, “The document before you is a record of phone calls made by the defendant between 6th July and 1st August 1998, just two nights before the arson. The defendant’s mobile phone supplier has provided this information.

  “A highlighter marks the dates. Can you all see them?”

  Every member of the jury nodded. Mr Winn put on his reading glasses and examined his copy of the document.

  “These records show that in that period, Hartley rang Lynne Hamilton’s mobile number no fewer than seven hundred times, an average of fifteen times a day. Towards the end of this period, the calls were more frequent, up to twenty times a day.”

  He paused again whilst the jury flicked through the document.

  Then he said, “Now I’m going to play a recording of some of the messages he left during this period.”

  Hartley’s booming voice came through loud and clear on the tape, the messages becoming increasingly threatening as the day of the arson attack loomed.

  He referred to me in his messages as a wanker, a tosser or a flash bastard.

  He continually implored Lynne to run away with him. He said he had the right to bring up his baby − “Don’t let that prick Hamilton anywhere near her!”

  His rage and anger increased with every message, causing him to lose control a few times. I visualised his spittle showering his mobile phone.

  The jury were played the final message that I believed would surely seal his fate.

  “If you refuse to come away with me, Lynne, believe me, you’ll be sorry. No one else is going to bring up my baby. You’ll all
suffer, I’m not kidding.”

  The court official turned off the audio cassette player and Mr Winn maintained a dramatic silence, enabling the jury to absorb the implications.

  I realised the full extent of the torment Lynne must have endured. Why didn’t she tell me? Probably thought if she did, she’d lose me. If only I had known, I’m sure I could have done something about it.

  I remembered too, that the intense fire had destroyed her mobile phone with the incriminating messages on it. Otherwise, the police might have arrested Hartley sooner.

  Mr Winn moved on to the murder of Leroy Johnson. He played the mobile messages between Greenland and Hartley and between Johnson and Hartley. They clearly signalled Johnson’s intent to blackmail Hartley for the arson attack.

  The judge had previously agreed the messages could be admitted as evidence.

  In the final message played to the court, Hartley said to Greenland, “He’s (Johnson) blackmailing me over that arson business.” A few members of the jury made a note.

  Then he played the taped conversation between Hartley and Greenland, confirming Greenland’s involvement and highlighting the fact that Hartley now knew about Alisha’s affair with Johnson.

  Mr Winn introduced the issue of the clothes, trainers and chloroform bottle found in Hartley’s flat.

  He called a witness from the Forensic Service who confirmed that Johnson’s DNA, taken from hair and skin samples, had been found on Hartley’s clothes and that the mud on his trainers matched that at the crime scene, Bermondsey Wall West on the Thames Embankment.

  Mr Winn pressed home his point by presenting further evidence I hadn’t heard.

  “The police discovered Johnson’s bloodstains and two fragments of his teeth on the concrete floor of a disused workshop underneath the arches close to Southwark Park. Footprints from a pair of Nike trainers were found there too… the same pair of Nike trainers found at the defendant’s flat.”

  I almost got the shakes when Mr Winn asked the court official to pass over to the jury stills of CCTV evidence showing ‘Hartley’ driving his car from the railway arches to the Embankment close to the estimated time of Johnson’s death.

  He pointed out that, although the images were less than perfect, the driver of the car appeared to be wearing clothes similar to those the police discovered at Hartley’s flat. Also, the number plate on the car was registered in Hartley’s name.

  “And, members of the jury, during the search of Hartley’s flat, the police also discovered the key to the railway arch door in a sideboard drawer, which conveniently had the address written on the key fob.” He held up and shook for effect a transparent evidence bag containing the exhibit.

  I recalled Bruno reminding me to make sure I left it there.

  “And now, I’m afraid there’s a piece of vital evidence which I can’t show you. I can’t show you because it’s been destroyed. Someone set fire to the defendant’s car. The same car which the prosecution believe was used to transport Leroy Johnson to his death and used in the abduction of a key witness, Alisha Alleyne, whom you will hear from later. Convenient, don’t you think?”

  At 4.30pm, Judge Winter adjourned for the day.

  It had been a good one.

  *

  The following day, the prosecution called their first witness, Hartley’s ex-wife, Katherine Kelly. She’d reverted to her maiden name after her divorce. I had never given her existence a second thought.

  Slightly overweight, aged about fifty with short mousey hair, she appeared a fading beauty. She wore a jacket and skirt last seen in ten-year-old fashion magazines.

  She held her head low, avoiding any eye contact whatsoever with Hartley. He constantly glared at her with contempt. She spoke in a soft voice with a hint of an Irish accent.

  Mr Winn, sensing her timidity, carefully and slowly cross-examined her.

  He coaxed out of her what life had been like living with Hartley.

  “We met in 1989. We were both married before. It was the second time for me and the third for him. At first, he was charming and romantic. He earned plenty of money and he spoiled me. He’d give me anything I wanted. But after a few years he grew bored with me. Never spent time at home; out having affairs all over the place.” She glanced nervously at the jury.

  Mr Winn encouraged her. “Please go on, Miss Kelly.”

  “Whenever I tackled him about it, he’d fly into a rage, like I’d thrown a switch. He’s fine until he can’t get his own way. Then he’s violent and controlling. He got angry if I didn’t do exactly as he wanted. I considered leaving him, but on each occasion, he talked me round. He’s good with the blarney.”

  Mr Winn probed further. “Did his behaviour improve?”

  “No. No. It got worse. We rowed every night. He said he wanted more excitement in his life and that I held him back. I didn’t like to argue with him too much because if I did, he’d get more violent.”

  “Why didn’t you leave him?”

  “What could I do? I had no money. He controlled the finances. I had to accept that at least he provided me with financial security. I did leave him in the end. I’d been humiliated.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “I discovered one of the women he was having an affair with was Lynne Burrows. She worked in the same car dealership. I questioned him about it. Eventually, he admitted he’d been seeing her. Said he wanted to leave me and run off with her. Said she was expecting his child. Said, ‘That’s it, this marriage is over’.”

  “And when, exactly did you have this conversation?”

  “I can’t tell you the exact date, but around late January 1996.”

  “And how did you react to this?”

  Katherine Kelly suddenly came to life. Her eyes blazed and she leaned forward, gripping the front of the witness box. Her Irish accent cut in strongly as her voice level increased.

  “At first, it destroyed me. Then I decided to see what she looked like, what she had that I didn’t. We’d been trying for a baby, but it didn’t happen. He blamed me, of course. He had an obsession about becoming a father. He’d never had kids with his previous wives either.” She glanced at the jury again.

  Mr Winn prompted her, “And…”

  “I found out where she lived and called on her out of the blue. I shocked her a bit, that’s for sure. I told her to keep away from him. He’s bad news, I said. She got herself in quite a state. Said she wanted nothing to do with him and to tell him she’d never go off with him. Said she had a new man in her life and was expecting his baby. It was all over between John and her. She pleaded with me to tell him to stop harassing her or she’d go to the police.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I went back, told him what she’d said. He went ballistic! He said, of course it was his baby. Told me not to be so stupid. Said he’d sort it out with her. His exact words were, ‘If I can’t have her and my baby, nobody else will!’”

  The Queen’s Counsel turned, faced the jury and said, “You’re sure that’s what he said, word for word?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned back to face her again.

  “Please continue.”

  “He wanted to be with them, not me. So I filed for a divorce, packed my bags and went to live with my sister in Belfast. I’ve been there ever since.”

  “Have you seen the defendant since then?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kelly. That’s all.”

  I recalled Lynne being decidedly edgy and fractious in the early months of her pregnancy. I put it down to her changing hormones, but now I realised she must have been under intolerable pressure.

  Hartley going to jail in February saved her. She probably assumed Kathleen Kelly had persuaded Hartley that running away with her wouldn’t work following her threat.

  I never told Lynne anything about Hartley leaving the company, or discussed the embezzlement. This happened around the time Nick abducted Georgie and took him to Florida so she had enough on
her plate. And at that time, I certainly wasn’t her flavour of the month.

  *

  Anthony Jones QC led the defence team. He was built like a heavyweight boxer and was at least fifteen years older than his adversary.

  I thought the former Mrs Hartley would wilt under his aggressive cross-examination, but if anything, she became stronger. His last question summed up their verbal duel.

  “Miss Kelly, by your own admission you say you were humiliated by the fact that your husband at the time had had an affair with Lynne Burrows and in his opinion had made her pregnant. So isn’t it possible that your recollection of what he said is coloured by feelings of revenge on your part?”

  Her eyes blazed again, indignant that Mr Jones had challenged her evidence.

  “Absolutely not! I remember the conversation exactly. It turned out to be the turning point of my life.”

  “No more questions, your honour.” Mr Jones had met his match.

  The prosecution next called Alisha to the witness box. As well as being connected with the major players in the trial, DCI Flood had linked her abduction with the case against Hartley.

  RP had warned us about the risk of Alisha being called as a witness. It meant the defence could challenge her over the precise nature of her relationship with Johnson. And with me, for that matter.

  Prompted by Mr Winn, she explained, in great detail, the sequence of events regarding her abduction in Hartley’s car.

  When she finished, Mr Winn asked, “Do you have any idea who might have arranged this dreadful act?”

  “I have an idea, yes.”

  “Please tell the court.”

  “The defendant, John Hartley. He got someone to do his dirty work.”

  “And why do you say that?”

  “I think he found out about me seeing Leroy Johnson and thought he’d have told me about Hartley’s involvement in the arson.”

  “And what did you do with this information?”

  “Nothing. What could I do? I had no proof, only my suspicion. And anyway, it’s difficult to get justice in the courts these days.” Her eyes scanned the jury and settled on Judge Winter for a moment.