DAVID HALLIWELL: I received information from an outside source that there was a gun within the prison. My source informed me that the gun was located on A wing inner, the same side as where Bourke was located. Bourke was the prisoner for whom the gun had been brought in. At the same time, my source informed me that the same officer had brought a mobile telephone into A wing for another prisoner. I was also informed that a prisoner called Kenny on A wing was also involved with the same officer, bringing alcohol and drugs into the prison for him, via a contact called Terry at the Brown Bull pub in Salford. The pub was located near Granada Studios.
A complete lock-down of the prison took place. Preparation to search A wing completely, using all available staff, including arms-and-explosives dogs, commenced at 1900 hours. The search was completed at 2130 hours and was negative. During the morning of Friday, 2 December 1994, a search was made of the visits area, reception, kitchen and the officers’ mess, which was again negative. I then contacted my source within the prison, who stated that the gun was definitely on A wing inner. The reason that we had not found it was because Bourke, the category A prisoner concerned with the gun, had been seen messing about with steel panelling, both in his cell and in the toilet and shower areas.
The dogs indicated that there was something on A2 in the recess area, at the same time that work staff and Senior Officer Platt, who had been searching the recess area A3, found a package. The police were called in and the package was later identified as a gun.
My source also informed me that Colin, whilst meeting friends of Kenny at the Brown Bull, had shown an interest in a cabriolet car driven by one of Kenny’s friends. They had indicated that Colin could have it for Christmas. He said that they were not really giving Colin anything, as it was a shed and only worth a couple of grand.
The source also stated that Baxter had in the past been seen to take telephone cards valued at £4 each onto A wing and pass them to two prisoners, Colin and another man. At 0800 hours on Tuesday, 6 December 1994, Colin was told that he was being suspended.
The effect of the gun was simple: it robbed Thomas Bourke of a fair trial and his lawyers say that he was convicted of double murder on shaky evidence. The scandal exploded at a critical point near the end of his trial. On the day that Customs had sounded the gun alert, Bourke’s QC had just finished summing up. Instead of carrying on the trial the next day and summing up himself, the judge postponed it until Monday, and suspected gun-planter Bourke was whisked back to Strangeways and placed in a segregation unit not knowing what was going on. When he returned to court on Monday, he’d gone from being an average con to Public Enemy Number One. The gun inside Strangeways was all over the papers and TV (the media strongly hinting at who the intended recipient may have been without actually naming him) and the jury had been at home all weekend soaking it up.
When the court case reopened on Monday, Manchester city centre was dramatically closed off and Bourke was protected by a fleet of armed police cars. When the jury retired, they were guarded by an armed policeman. The kitchen staff were not even allowed to serve the members of the jury with meals. The meals were brought up in a lift and taken in by the police. The police, court ushers and the jury had a floor of the hotel to themselves. Consciously or unconsciously, the jury were getting an impression of Bourke as a guilty, dangerous man, whether he was or he wasn’t. Legally, this phenomenon is known as prejudice and is against the law. Not surprisingly, they found him guilty, after nine hours and fifty-two minutes of deliberation. He was lifed off immediately.
Mr Justice Sachs said, ‘On a scale of human depravity, this must rate high. It was an utterly callous and brutal execution of decent public servants. You are a most dangerous man from whom society must be protected for a very long time.’
THOMAS BOURKE: On Thursday, 1 December 1994, upon completion of the summing up of my leading counsel, Mr Richard Ferguson QC, Judge Sachs announced that he would not sum up until the following Monday. He gave the jury leave to return home and come back on the following Monday morning. On the Thursday evening, when I got back to HMP Strangeways, I was placed in the segregation unit. On the following day, Friday, 2 December 1994, I found out the reason for this – that the prison was closed down because a firearm and ammunition had been found, and the police were searching in case there were further similar items. I spent the whole of the following weekend in the segregation unit, and when I was about to return to court on the following Monday, I was amazed to find that I had a massive armed-police escort, and that the roads into the town centre had been closed off to permit the escort to pass through to the court. I was at no time charged in relation to the firearms or ammunition.
Quite clearly, there were no reporting restrictions about the firearm and ammunition. The story was in the press and on national radio, to which the jury had had access during the previous weekend. Following Judge Sachs’s summing up on Monday, 5 December 1994, the jury retired for the afternoon and went on throughout that night, the whole of the next day, Tuesday, and returned to their hotel that Tuesday evening. The deliberations of the jury continued until about midday on the next day, Wednesday, when they returned to present their verdict, which, by a majority of ten to two, found me guilty of both murders. This was on 7 December 1994.
Whilst the jury in my trial were in their hotel, they were under armed guard after the gun had been found at Strangeways prison. It is more than reasonable for me to presume that, in addition to the jurists having had access to the press, such activities at the hotel supported their ‘knowledge’ that the gun clearly related to me.
For Haase, there was only one small problem: to the underworld, stitching up Thomas Bourke would be considered evidence that John Haase was a grass. The revelation would ruin the ‘no bodies’ image of his gun-planting scheme, destroy his street credibility and possibly put his life in danger. Bourke was a popular inmate in the prison system, known as the Milky Bar Kid because his hair and glasses gave him a resemblance to the famous chocolate-ad icon. If Haase’s dark secret got out, there could be hell to pay. Haase immediately began spinning against the rumours, discrediting Bourke’s sisters, who were fighting for justice for him, as ‘madwomen’. Instead of keeping schtum, Haase bragged about the plant, claiming that the Bourke connection was not deliberate but an unfortunate mistake. Haase sneeringly told this version of events to eccentric Manc godfather Domenyk Noonan, who wasn’t having any of it.
DOMENYK NOONAN (OR DOMENYK LATTLAYFOTTFOY): I was serving a 14-year prison sentence at HMP Whitemoor. During my stay, I met John Haase, whom I had met in HMP Leeds and HMP Full Sutton. During my stay in HMP Leeds, John and myself became good friends. We would exercise daily while being held in the segregation unit.
During the mid-’90s, I learned that a gun was found in HMP Manchester and the rumour [through the prison grapevine] was that John Haase was involved. Later, I encountered John Haase at HMP Whitemoor and asked him if he was involved in it. He stated clearly to me that he had arranged for the gun to be brought in at HMP Manchester via a prison officer and that he hid it behind wall panels in the toilets on A wing. I asked if the prison officer was aware the gun was inside the sandwich toaster and he replied, ‘If he had, do you think he would have brought it in?’ and then laughed.
He went on to say that a lad [Thomas Bourke, known as the Milky Bar Kid] was accused of getting it in. He said everything went ‘pear-shaped’, which meant not according to plan. He told me that he informed Customs it was inside the prison. He said that he had mentioned the lad’s name as being involved. He explained that because they never caught the lad with the gun, they could never charge him with it, because there was no proof. My impression was he had set someone up to get a deal for a lesser sentence.
He told me that he had done deals with the police and Customs on recovering guns and drugs and no one ever got arrested. He said it was a well-planned operation which worked fairly good to get a pardon. He more or less said he ‘fucked the system’, but it is unfortuna
te that the lad’s [ . . .] trial was wrecked.
Following Thomas Bourke’s conviction, there was a flurry of activity at Strangeways. Colin was suspended from duty on 6 December, the day before Bourke was convicted. He told the local paper, ‘I did not take a gun into prison. I’ve been framed.’ Two weeks later, he quit the job after he confessed to not declaring minor convictions when he applied for the job. He later pleaded guilty at Manchester Magistrates’ Court to bringing in the sandwich toaster without knowing there was a gun inside, as well as bringing in a mobile phone and a bottle of Bacardi.
But his lawyer rapped the prison for putting their youngest officer – then just 21 – on the wing housing the most dangerous inmates, with little training. The lawyer said that Colin had come under the influence of hardened criminals. ‘This kid was just chicken fodder.’
Kenny had suddenly been shipped out of the prison, fuelling speculation among cons that he was somehow linked to the gun. Initially, the rumours suggested that Kenny had unknowingly helped to smuggle the gun into the prison. Then the story changed to Kenny somehow helping Haase to stage the plant and getting credit for helping Haase to inform on the guilty conspirators. This later rumour seemed to hold more water, especially after it emerged that Kenny was not in any trouble and in fact had started to receive better treatment – mysterious rewards often being granted to informers for helping the authorities. For instance, his trial for wounding and attempted murder was stopped after an audience was arranged with the trial judge. Rumours abounded that Haase and Bennett had given evidence at this secret meeting. Had Haase and Bennett told the judge how Kenny had helped foil the gun plot? Had Kenny played a key role in telling the authorities about the Strangeways gun and was now getting payback?
This scenario seemed to be confirmed in a report in the Manchester Evening News that said an unnamed inmate had turned informer and was hoping for a reduced sentence at a trial he was facing at Manchester Crown Court. It all pointed to Kenny.
Astonishingly, his trial was then moved to Carlisle, some say giving him a better chance of getting off. He did, and soon Kenny was back on the street. Bourke’s sister Jo Holt, who was gathering evidence that her brother was turned over, confronted Kenny at his home.
JO HOLT: I asked [Kenny] about the gun. He was extremely nervous and said he did not know anything about the gun, in fact he had been moved out of Strangeways straight away, but he said he would try to help me and he would try to find out as much as he possibly could. About a week later, I went back to see him at his home. Kenny introduced me to the Moss Side gang-boss. They both blamed the gang-boss’s cousin for the gun being smuggled into Strangeways prison. Eventually, I spoke with the cousin, who denied being responsible, and I believed him. Later, I was at home when, at about 8.10 p.m., the phone rang. It was the Moss Side gang-boss. The man told me that his good name was being threatened and that it was going to be in the press about the gun in Strangeways prison and his involvement. He told me that if his name appeared in the papers, then I would see what his family would do. I took this to be a threat and told him so. He put the receiver down and I dialled 1471 and phoned him back. He answered my call. I told him I would not be threatened and he said he felt threatened by having his name in the newspapers. He told me I would see what his family would do and he hung up.
As word spread around the underworld, even hardened gangsters were appalled at Haase’s stitch-up. In his book written with James Morton, London kingpin Mad Frankie Fraser reveals how he branded Haase a grass and refused to go near the lag-mate with whom he’d done time:
He [Haase] rang me up. I said, ‘No. On your bike.’
He said, ‘You calling me a grass?’
I said, ‘Yes, I am.’ It broke my heart because I liked him so much. ‘I’m not having nothing to do with you.’
While Haase was on remand for 18 months, a gun was found in the top-security wing and there was a suggestion in the press that it had been brought in for a man who’d done a couple of tax inspectors in Stockport. That wasn’t the case. Anyway, not too long ago, a London brief got in touch with me to say would I get hold of Johnny Haase and get him to come clean and say he’d been in collusion with the law over bringing it into the nick. I said I wouldn’t even think of talking to him. First, it would be a waste of time, and second, the next thing you’d find yourself up on a conspiracy to pervert, with a man like that.
15
THE TAX MEN
Haase and Bennett’s power to defraud a Royal Pardon from the system was down to one asset – money. This was the stuff which kept the whole show on the road – buying guns, planting them, wages for the lads, bribes. Without the loot, the whole charade would have come to nothing. So where exactly was the money coming from?
On top of the £200,000 each in cash the pair had lying around, they had the 50 kilos of heroin which had been supplied by the Turks before the bust. Because of the bust, the £1 million sale price for the 50 kilos due to the Turks had not been met. The 50 kilos was worth various amounts depending on how it was sold. If they got rid of it quickly by the kilo, they could easily get £25,000 a kilo. That meant a total of £1.25 million. That was all theirs. Haase and Bennett could bump the Turks for the £1 million cost by blagging them that they were spending it on gun plants and bribes that would benefit them.
If Haase and Bennett had the time to sell it in smaller amounts, say ounces, then that would generate millions and millions. To accomplish this plan, the gang would need the luxury of time – which they had. Sold in street wraps, Customs estimated that the parcel would generate up to £18 million. It was unlikely that Haase would do it that way, but feasible.
Either way, Haase’s gang were awash with cash. And word began to spread. Suddenly, other gangsters decided that, with the main men in prison, they were free to try to steal the cash or the 50 kilos from Haase’s henchmen, who were outside. After all, who were they going to tell – the police? The war chest was quickly becoming as much of a scary liability as an asset for Haase’s men who were put in charge of hiding it. The drugs they possessed brought with them the risk of ‘have-offs’ and ‘tie-ups’ – being robbed by other gangs. Liverpool’s second generation of drug dealers had spawned a ruthless new phenomenon – specialist gangs of kidnappers and torturers who preyed on drug dealers, ‘taxing’ them of their super-profits. They often burst into rooms where deals were going down or drugs were stored, masked and armed with assault rifles, to relieve dealers of their ‘tackle’ and tens of thousands of pounds in cash.
There were now two massive but secret operations bubbling under the surface of Liverpool’s underworld and waiting to explode: the gun-planting and the hunt for Haase’s heroin. The two opposing forces were on a collision course that would only lead to disaster. None of it would ever have happened if Customs had not allowed the first 50 kilos to slip through the net. So just how did it happen?
In mid-July 1993, before the big arrests, Haase’s men had taken possession of the 50 kilos. This originated as follows:
1. 17 May–2 June 1993: 110 (+1) kilos of heroin are prepared in Turkey. Ten kilos are given to Turkish couriers in France as payment for transport from Turkey to Paris. The 100-kilo load is switched from the Turks to two of Haase’s men in Paris. The Scousers are now responsible for taking it back to the UK.
2. 8–13 July: 100 kilos of heroin arrive in the UK on the Calais–Dover ferry. They are stored in Purchase Street, Camden Town, London.
3. 14 July: Turkish Connection meets Bennett in Upper Street, Islington, to discuss payment for 100 kilos, which are now winging their way to Liverpool.
4. 16 July: heroin arrives in Liverpool. Turks meet Scousers in the Black Horse pub in Prescot Road, Liverpool. At this point, 17 kilos are shaved off the load, possibly without Haase’s knowledge. This was done by either Neil Garrett, Chris No-Neck or a man called John, who, with his brother, was a protection racketeer. Some sources say it was never seen again and others say the 17 kilos possibly came back into Haase’
s possession at a later date and were put into his war chest.
5. 17–20 July: the remaining 83 kilos are split into two parcels for cutting and distribution. The larger, 50-kilo parcel is given to Croker. The remaining 33 kilos are given to Garrett. The 33 kilos are transported in a blue Honda Previa for dilution and splitting into dealable amounts. This is the heroin that will make up the bulk of the war chest.
6. 26 July: Croker arrested and 50 kilos seized.
Customs officers tracked the movements of the heroin on 21 July 1993 – the day on which they lost the second load. The surveillance log reads:
21 July: Gloves and bags to cut up heroin collected from Cherry Lane, Liverpool. Heroin picked up by Eddie Croker from Chaser pub, Liverpool. Heroin taken to Dane Street in heavy canvas bag to be cut. Garrett arrives at Croker’s house. Both seen travelling in Croker’s blue Previa via various places, including Asda supermarket, then to [the safehouse] at Dane Street. Croker and Garrett both go into [the house at] Dane Street. Drew seen to emerge. Garrett is wearing surgical gloves. So is Croker. Croker seen to put a large green holdall into the Previa and another white man called Dave puts a black one in it. Previa leaves and is seen later parked outside Croker’s parents’ house with holdall inside. At 1650, Croker gets out of car but the mystery white man Dave remains inside with the heroin. It is then driven off to a secret stash which had been checked out earlier. [One of the bags possibly contained the mystery 17 kilos and the other contained the 33 kilos Croker later admitted to.]
Druglord Page 21