Crime Scene Investigator

by Paul Millen

  The house was small. A large three-piece suite took up most of the cosy front room. My first thought was to look in the immediate vicinity of the door where Errol had been found hanged. I was struck by its cleanliness. The white paint was a little old and the wallpaper clean but also old. Not a trace of any fingerprint powder. Even after cleaning, I would expect to see some of the tell-tale signs. Some traces in the cracks or edges. But there were none. Perhaps the doors had been removed and taken away for examination at the police headquarters laboratory. I knew West Mercia Police had a good scientific support department with committed staff, some of whom I knew. Had they ever been called? Had they even attended? I wondered. I looked at the door hinges to see if there was any disturbance to confirm their removal. There was none. The hinges were still painted over. Jimmy Ross confirmed that the doors had not been painted for a few years. The wallpaper also showed no sign of treatment with chemicals.

  It dawned on me with some horror that this central part of the scene, possibly the whole scene had not been examined. This in spite of the new investigation called within a few months of Errol’s death. What about the assurances of the chief constable and Home Secretary that everything possible was being done?

  I felt embarrassed. I should not be there. How had I got to this scene, ten months after the event, but before the police who are investigating it? How could the family be let down in such a way, and how could a police force, one with a good reputation, committed staff and an excellent scientific support department let themselves down in such a way?

  My interview there and then showed my shock and disappointment. My inclination was to throw the film crew out. I had done that at least once before in my career as an investigator when I found one in a scene. This was very different. Our presence there was because of the lack of proper investigation.

  The scene had waited ten months. In my opinion it was still worthy of examination. This was because only Jimmy lived there and although we were present and perhaps others had been in the intervening months, we were unlikely to leave our finger marks on the door and wall in any quantity without specific activity there. In any event our marks could be eliminated. I was struck by the thought that perhaps a suspect (if Errol’s death was suspicious) may have touched the door or the wall in a struggle and their finger marks might still be there. Even with the passage of time they could still be present. In any event, if nobody looked we would never know. It was later suggested to me that any marks would have disappeared, but that is simply not true. Marks can be found months or years later on a suitable surface and both the door and walls were just that. Even ten months after the event, evidence was still potentially there. I put myself in the position of the scene investigator. If I found the finger marks of a white man on the door, a man who had no legitimate reason to be in Jimmy Ross’s home and who had made threats against Errol, would the senior investigating officer be interested? My answer, you bet he would.

  I gave some advice to Jimmy, not to paint or disturb the door unnecessarily and to keep visitors away from it until the police examined it. I was determined the police would. They had by far the best facilities and it was their job. I knew their boss and some others; I had probably helped train some of them.

  The documentary would be shown within a few weeks. I was aware that the police had no idea what the documentary would show and what my views were. This gave me real concerns. If the documentary produced an increase in the investigation activity, I would hope that it would include re-examining or, more accurately, examining for the first time the house at Urban Gardens. My deepest concern was for Jimmy and his safety. If in fact Errol had been murdered, his murderer would know that the scene may contain some incriminating evidence. Not wishing to be melodramatic, stranger things had happened and I knew that, having worked within the police for a number of years. I feared that someone might try to burn the house down with little regard for Jimmy Ross if he were still inside. So I faxed Ian Hunter and demanded that he made the police aware of the content of my views.

  By coincidence, Peter Hampson, the chief constable, had been my boss when he was assistant chief constable in Surrey. He was a good, honourable man, an absolute gentleman and a talented and competent leader. He was a great supporter of forensic science and it had been a pleasure to work for him in Surrey. He is exactly the type of person you would want to see as a chief constable. This made it all the more remarkable that his force was being criticised in such a way. It was my personal view that someone, somewhere, had let him down. Such was the honour of the man that he put steps in place, trusting others under his command to put it right and to his absolute credit apologising to the family for the original investigation. It went against the strong view held by many police that they should never apologise, never explain. It was, however, the right thing to do.

  On the morning after the screening, the police attended Urban Gardens and removed the door and other items mentioned in my report.

  A few months later, as the date of the inquest approached, I was contacted by the McGowan family’s solicitors who asked me to formally look at the case on their behalf and prepare a report for them, one which they would send to the coroner. I agreed and received a pile of documents and statements which I requested for the review.

  Much of the detail I had received was confirmed as accurate and I set about reviewing the investigation as best I could. My thoughts about the lack of examination at Urban Gardens were also confirmed. However, in a rebuttal of my view that the doors may contain some fingerprint evidence, the head of scientific support for West Mercia, Tristram Elmhirst, disagreed. He had reviewed the case at the time of the first re-investigation and concluded that there would be nothing there after such a time. I had a lot of personal respect for Tristram, but I felt that he was wrong on this matter.

  My statement was submitted to the coroner and I was advised that I would be called to give evidence at the inquest.

  The atmosphere in Telford became more intense following the death of Errol’s nephew on New Year’s Eve. He was found hanging from railing outside a pub. His death was being dealt with as a suicide but the family were further convinced of foul play. The police were under pressure to demonstrate their commitment to finding out the truth.

  The inquest was to be held at the Moat House Hotel in Telford. The coroner’s court was too small for the purpose as there was likely to be a large press presence. The Moat House was centrally located and large enough to fit the needs of what, for all intents and purposes, was a very public event. I was advised that Ronald Thwaites had been instructed to represent West Mercia Police at the inquest. This too surprised me. Ronnie Thwaites was no lover of police. I had come across him many times in my time with the Flying Squad where he had defended suspected armed robbers. It was the view of many police officers that he believed that all police officers were liars. Indeed, shortly afterwards he was the subject of an article in The Police Review where he openly stated that it was his job to attack both the evidence and the witnesses’ credibility. All was fair game as far as he was concerned. The irony was not lost on me. There was Ronnie Thwaites representing the police and there was I appearing on the ‘other side’, so to speak. I was not looking forward to the encounter, but I was firm and felt safe on my ground, not that Thwaites would have any respect for that.

  Early one evening I got the call from the family’s solicitor that I was required to give my evidence to the inquest first thing the following morning. It was accompanied by the view that Thwaites was after me.

  I decided to travel straightaway and stay at the Moat House. The drive would take me a few hours and I wanted to be fresh and rested the following morning, ready and at my best and most alert for Mr Thwaites. Having confirmed a room was available, I set off.

  Many rooms at the hotel were occupied by interested parties, members of the press, police and other witnesses. I ran into an old colleague from the Metropolitan Police. Ron Woodland and I had worked together at City Road and For
est Gate. He was an extremely competent detective and I enjoyed his friendship. He had a great sense of humour, and working with him had been enjoyable and fun. Ron was now attached to the Racial Crimes Investigation Squad at New Scotland Yard. They had been formed after the death of Stephen Lawrence and had a nationwide remit and interest. Ron had read my statement and knew of my appointment with Ronnie Thwaites the following morning. He for one was looking forward to the engagement, and he told me so with gleeful relish.

  The inquest was being held in one of the larger ballrooms of the hotel. After a light breakfast I made myself known to the coroner’s officer.

  The spacious location allowed for large numbers of press and public to occupy the rows of seats behind counsel who were representing the police and the family. The coroner sat on an elevated position on the ballroom’s stage and the inquest jury along the far wall opposite the witness box.

  Tristram Elmhirst had already given his evidence the previous day. Peter Herbert was the counsel for the family and it was he who took me through my evidence in chief. This mainly concerned my visit to the scene and the view that the scene had not been examined and was still worthy of examination. It also included that, at various times before my visit to the scene, the police had ample opportunity to review and consider that the scene should have been examined.

  Apart from the examination of the door and the wall, I also emphasised that it was never too late to resurrect an investigation when new information was received and even old information realised. All it took was to review the information and act to find out what could still be examined and investigated. There had been an underlying failing in the police investigation, graphically indicated by the scene still not being fingerprinted ten months after the death of Errol McGowan.

  Having completed my evidence in chief it was Ronnie Thwaites’s turn and he did not disappoint. True to form, his first attack was on the witness not the evidence. He questioned my qualifications and right to offer such an opinion. He compared me with Tristram Elmhirst, the head of scientific support for West Mercia Constabulary. I had held the identical post in Surrey for eight years. Tristram was a graduate whereas I had a Higher National Certificate vocational qualification in chemistry awarded by the Royal Institute. Tristram held a bachelor’s degree in a pathology science, from recollection. This was all very impressive but not necessarily any more relevant to this field than my own qualification. Thwaites was not going to give up. I then hit upon the idea of having a bit of fun, it would be tricky but the outcome could be worthwhile if I could get away with it. It would go something like this:

  ‘It is true, Mr Thwaites, that I do not have a degree in pathology and neither do I have a more relevant qualification such as the prestigious Forensic Science Society Diploma in Crime Scene Investigation,’ I would say.

  ‘So, Mr Millen, you have no qualification in this field. Can you explain why not and why we should listen to you?’ Thwaites would seize the opportunity.

  ‘Well, I set up the Forensic Science Society’s diploma and ran the examination board for seven years!!’ I would close.

  I knew Thwaites would have done his homework and probably have been briefed by the police, which made me wonder why he was taking the approach of attacking my qualifications. In case he had not and as he seemed keen to attack my qualifications it was worth a try. I felt I could not lose.

  It was the sort of fun Ron Woodland was expecting and I could see him grinning in the public area. But in any event it wasn’t to be. The coroner, Michael Gwynne, wasn’t going to allow any such criticism of my right to express my view. He intervened and stopped Thwaites in his tracks. The coroner had already heard my evidence in chief and found what I had said made perfect sense. It had. It was good practice.

  In the interest of truth, the coroner asked for Tristram and me to confer outside the court and agree common ground.

  We met outside the court and went with a coroner’s officer and representatives of counsel into a side room. I was firm and was not prepared to concede on the matter. When I visited the scene, it was still worthy of examination. This had been strengthened by the fact that the police subsequently removed the door. The fact that they had found nothing, no finger marks at all (not even Jimmy Ross’s) I accepted, albeit with a little disappointment. Tristram had to agree that the finding of marks after such a time could not be excluded until they had looked.

  Our agreement was fed back via counsel to the coroner and I was not required to give any further testimony.

  At the end of my evidence I was approached by members of the McGowan family, including Errol’s younger brother, who thanked me. They had just wanted someone to look and they had got that.

  The inquest concluded that Errol had received racial abuse but his death was suicide. It was a painful pill for the family to swallow. Errol’s mother would never accept it and the delay had only worsened that view. Justice delayed was justice denied as far as she was concerned.

  In his closing remarks at the inquest, the coroner commended my views, recommending to the police that they should ‘give some detailed thought to the views of Mr Millen, which seemed eminently sensible to me’. That was the last I heard of the case. So what, many might think. The path of justice had prevailed, the outcome could not be judged until all the matters known were explored to their natural conclusion.

  The greater tragedy was that at a time of deep grief, a family had to fight to get their concerns investigated. All they had wanted was for someone to look.

  I would like to believe that if the allegation of Errol’s racial murder (as the allegation from the family was) had happened in Mozambique and his body returned to the UK, as Andrew’s and Caroline’s had, the coroner and the police would have launched a proper investigation. That is based on the hope that the coroner and senior investigators would see their responsibility, as I’m in no doubt they would.

  Both families expected, indeed demanded, that the death of their loved ones be investigated, that someone looked and that someone cared. They wanted justice. However, justice delayed, in the face of answerable questions, is often justice denied.

  25. A Cockney at the Source of the Nile

  Glancing down, I saw the student adjust a piece of paper under his seat. I had caught a student police officer cheating in an examination. The response perhaps should have been automatic dismissal. My response was immediate, but a little wisdom was needed. This was Jamaica and I had been running a crime scene investigation course for the Jamaican Constabulary Force. Funded by the UK Department for International Development, it was part of the international commitment to bring the island’s police up to date.

  The competition amongst the students on the course was immense. They relished the new skills which they were being taught and they were all highly motivated. I was committed to help them develop and this mid-term test was to see how both they and I were doing. So I was a little upset that this fine student had not heeded my words of encouragement. I wanted to know what they had taken in. What surprised me further was that the student in question was one who I knew was committed. He had ensured that he sat in the very front for the test. I could not fail to recognise his nervous glances down to the piece of paper under his seat. Cheating is something that cannot and must not be tolerated in a police officer. In the police work environment there is no greater sin than dishonesty. I had to consider how they would learn, and how to respond to the needs of a developing nation. Should I cut away and make an example? This environment and situation was new territory for me. Cutting away is OK, but how much do you need to cut before you have firm ground on which to build, will there be anything left and what happens to the rejected? Do they go somewhere else, not treated, to fester and cause more problems for society later? Is it not better to treat and heal the problem? That is OK provided no one else gets hurt in the meantime. Evolution not revolution was the stance I took. I knew that the student in question was a good one. He was a sound and active participant in the class
work. So I decided to remove the offending piece of paper and let him continue. After the test, having marked the paper, which he comfortably passed anyway, I decided to give him the biggest dressing down I could. He took my harsh words, but he shuddered with guilt and embarrassment as he realised exactly what I felt of his conduct. I had already considered the fact that all the students carried their service issue side arms at all times. During the dressing down I particularly noticed that on the side of his belt he wore an automatic pistol. I was in full flow by then and it was too late to change my tack. Had he been offended or angered by my words he could have reacted differently. Perhaps by then he realised I was not going to take the matter further. I left him in no doubt about his responsibilities and the position of trust which he held. Although my words to him were in private, the rest of the class knew what had gone on. I used the episode as an example of trust, honesty and growth, which seemed to benefit the whole class. The future of their own community and how it was policed was in their hands. He went on to be a sound student and there were no signs of any repetition, by him or any of his classmates, in the final tests. I hope our conversation worked.

  The backdrop to the course was the increasing illegal drugs trade, itself being felt back in the UK, and social unrest, mainly in Kingston, the capital. The country had an extremely high murder rate in the community, something that did not affect the tourists who visited the island beauty spots and who never got to hear about it. The first weekend I was there, there were riots in parts of the capital. Many were killed, including at least one police officer. It resulted in a curfew and the bodies of many of the dead were left lying in the streets overnight, as it was too dangerous to recover them. I was given a police escort, sandwiched between two police cars in my hired white jeep, from the training centre back to my hotel. It was during this that I realised that my guard and I were the sole occupants of this middle vehicle, but by then it was too late. We drove a long route, avoiding the main hot spots but we still drove through barricades. I stuck to the lead vehicle like glue but lost the vehicle behind me before I entered my hotel’s gates safely. It was a difficult few days and crystallised the training needs of the students and the environment in which they would be working.