by Dick Kirby
And apart from these matters, there was one more strike against the Hill/Marrinan association that was going to cause a lot of trouble for the crooked counsel in the very near future. During 1956 the Home Secretary had authorized warrants for the calls to 159 telephones to be intercepted. One of them related to Billy Hill’s telephone; consequently, everything said between him and Marrinan was known to Tommy Butler.
Meanwhile, back to Dublin’s Bridewell. Butler now demonstrated his own brand of trickiness. He had had enough of Eire’s judicial procedures; more proceedings were being threatened – an unsuccessful application was made for a Sergeant James Bell to be committed for contempt of court for failing to promptly release the prisoners – and although a booking had been made on an 8.45 pm flight from Dublin to London, this was cancelled. Instead, the prisoners were driven by the Gardaí to the Eire/Ulster border (with, it was said, four large policemen sitting on a wildly struggling Blythe) where they were met by officers from the Royal Ulster Constabulary. They were driven to Belfast Gaol, put into a prison van and taken to Nutt’s Corner Airport, where they were placed on a BEA flight to London. Upon arrival at Paddington police station, both men refused to stand on identification parades; Superintendent McIver therefore confronted them from their cells with Rita Comer who, when asked if she recognized the prisoners as being amongst the men who attacked her husband, on both occasions replied, ‘Yes’.
This led to an outburst from Rossi who exclaimed, ‘You’re wrong – I never saw that woman in my life.’
Upon being charged with the attack, Blythe replied, ‘It’s ridiculous.’
Rossi said, ‘I want you to state I’m innocent’ – which given McIver’s status would have been problematic.
Both men appeared at Marylebone Magistrates’ Court and were remanded in custody until 11 July, when it was ruled that Rita Comer need not provide the description which she had given to the police of two of the men who had attacked her husband; this was a legal decision which prompted Marrinan’s rhetoric to go sky-high:
If the Crown wishes to hedge and hide behind technicalities in this matter, I say now, whatever the consequences to me, that it is a disgrace, an absolute disgrace to justice! Two men are standing here charged with a very serious offence for which they can be sent to prison for life, in an atmosphere of horrible prejudice; and if the Crown wishes to deprive them of any opportunity of testing the accuracy of witnesses . . .
It was at this point that the magistrate, Mr Raphael, interrupted Marrinan’s flow of grandiloquence, observing with the quiet urbanity with which many stipendiary magistrates were blessed, ‘It doesn’t seem to be an occasion to ventilate a protest.’
Evidence was given by Rita Comer, who again identified the men in court and said that on the night of the attack she had seen Blythe bending over her husband ‘sort of digging things into him’ and that Rossi had ‘had a few whacks at her husband’.
She was predictably and scathingly attacked by Marrinan, as was Butler regarding his testimony; Marrinan was assisted by Rossi, who jumped to his feet, telling the magistrate, ‘Sir, I have never said any such words’, and by Blythe, who asked, ‘Sir, can he say anything he likes?’
It appeared that he could, and the pair were remanded in custody for one week; but by the time that remand arrived, they had been joined in the dock by one William Edward ‘Ginger’ Dennis, a thirty-one-year-old car dealer from Royal Road, Kennington. He had been arrested on 15 July by Tommy Butler, who had tracked him down to a bungalow in Brighton. As he started to search the premises, Mrs Dennis picked up her handbag and went to leave the dining room. Butler stopped her, searched the handbag and found two letters addressed to her at Brighton which caused her to exclaim, ‘Oh, please, don’t find those! Give him a chance!’
The letters were certainly incriminating, because as they left the premises, Dennis said to Butler, ‘Can’t you bang those letters back to her? It’s worth half a hundred to you.’
It might well have been, but once the offer was refused, Dennis said, ‘With those, I’ve got no chance, as they’ll put me out there with the other two.’
When Dennis was invited to take part in an identification parade, he replied, ‘If this is a straight ID, Spot’s old woman won’t pick me out.’
It was, and she did; when Dennis was charged, this man who had three previous convictions for shopbreaking and storebreaking replied, ‘I’m innocent.’
The shillelagh which had been used in the assault and which had been found on a rubbish heap in the centre of Dorset Square about a quarter of a mile from the scene of the attack was helpfully produced by Sidney Frank Wheeler, a gardener of Ouseley Road, Balham – and with that, the trio were soon committed to the Old Bailey to stand their trial.
The trial was held in front of Mr Justice Cassels, then aged seventy-nine, a stern old gentleman whose legal career had been interrupted by the First World War, where he fought on the Western Front, achieved the rank of captain and was twice mentioned in dispatches.
Inevitably, Reggie Seaton led for the crown and described the events on the night of 2 May when Jack Spot and Rita managed to ascend just the first three steps leading to their flat before the savage attack commenced. Rita identified Billy Hill as being there, as well as Blythe and Rossi; in Dennis’s case, the piece of cloth covering the lower part of his face had slipped down as he attacked her husband, causing her to scream at him, ‘I’ll know you – I’ll know you!’
Cross-examined by Malcolm Morris for Rossi, Rita Comer stated that the attack was not altogether unexpected. ‘Someone had told my husband he was going to be “done up”’, she said, and when she was asked if she would agree that she might be mistaken in her identification of the three men in the dock, the answer was an emphatic ‘No’.
Jack Spot was brought into court, and the doctor who had treated him at St Mary’s hospital pointed out his injuries. After evidence of the arrests, it was the turn of the defence, with Blythe going into the witness box first.
Denying that he had taken part in the attack, Blythe said he had known Jack Spot since 1947 and had seen his wife ‘on three or four occasions’. He had known Billy Hill for a number of years and Rossi since he was a schoolboy, but knew Dennis ‘not too well’. Blythe told the jury that on 29 May he had gone to Ireland ‘for a rest’ and stayed in a house in Dublin owned by Billy Hill, who paid all the expenses; he was later joined there by Rossi. But it was when he was being cross-examined by Reggie Seaton regarding his admissions upon his arrest that he came into his own. Picking up the Bible in the witness box and pointing dramatically to Butler and Vibart, he shouted, ‘Those are the men who have framed me! It’s all lies! Every word they’ve said is lies!’ In case he thought that he might not have put his case across to the jury sufficiently forcefully, he added, ‘They’ve taken the oath on this Bible and may the curse of God be upon all of them!’
The following day, it was Rossi’s turn and he too denied having anything to do with the attack on Spot. The night before the attack, he told the courtroom, he had been to a boxing match and on the night of the assault he had gone to the Empress Club, where he settled a bet made with a friend the previous evening and had stayed until 11.15 pm.
Rossi denied saying to Inspector McMahon, ‘How did you trace us here?’ And when it was put to him that he had told Tommy Butler, ‘I told Blythe I knew Hill would give us away when he knew the law was getting near to him’, Rossi replied, ‘If I said that, I ought to be before a psychiatrist and not before a judge’, adding ‘I never said anything like that, I swear that on the life of my two children.’
Asked if he had said, ‘The game is up’, Rossi replied, ‘I never use that expression; it reminds me of something out of Sexton Blake.’
Rossi had denied ever seeing Rita Comer before, so when Seaton asked, ‘Why did you object to appearing on an identification parade if you never took part in the attack and had never seen Mrs Comer in your life?’ Rossi replied, ‘Knowing what Mrs Comer is from past exp
erience, I wanted a fair identification. I’ve read quite a lot about her. I remember a case where she bribed a parson.’
After two hours of deliberations the jury returned to court on 15 October, the seventh day of the trial, to tell Mr Justice Cassels that they could not unanimously agree a verdict on the charge of inflicting grievous bodily harm with intent. The judge sent them out again, saying that they must find one way or another, and after a total of almost three and a half hours the jury returned a verdict of guilty on a lesser charge of unlawful wounding in respect of all three men.
In mitigation, Gerald Howard QC for Blythe said his client had kept out of trouble for five years: ‘Bearing that in mind, I ask the court to deal with him as leniently as possible.’
Malcolm Morris said that Rossi was not a man of violence, and Kenneth Richardson for Dennis said that he had no convictions ‘even remotely connected with violence’.
Asked by the Clerk of Assizes if the prisoners had anything to say before being sentenced, there was a predictable outburst from the dock. Dennis protested, ‘There were people on that jury who obviously found us not guilty and then they were bullied into finding us guilty after they had been out for another one and a half hours. How can they find us not guilty first, and guilty afterwards? I am innocent.’
Rossi also asserted his innocence, and then Blythe shouted, ‘I have said I am innocent; I am still innocent. The police have framed me. When I said that, I could not tell you the reason why. Now you have heard the reason read out. They have framed me on this charge but I am entirely innocent.’
In passing sentence, Mr Justice Cassels – reputed to be a ‘brusque’ judge – said:
If men like you get tough with other people, you will be made to realize, if you come before a court, that the law can get tough with you. This was an outrageous assault upon a man who was never able to defend himself against you three and the others who were with you. It may be that you did not know that he was likely to be wounded, it may be that you were merely taking a part because you thought you could give him a bang or two, but in the course of that attack, Comer received wounds which necessitated seventy-eight stitches and he was undoubtedly very badly wounded. You took a part in it and now you have to pay the penalty.
He then sentenced Blythe to five years’ imprisonment and Rossi and Dennis to four years each.
It is interesting to note that the maximum penalty for inflicting grievous bodily harm with intent – of which the three prisoners had been acquitted – was life imprisonment. For the offence of unlawful wounding – of which they had been convicted – the maximum was five years’ imprisonment, which was what Blythe had received. Had he been convicted of the more serious charge, given his previous convictions, would his sentence have been double? I rather think it would.
Hearing the commendation which the judge bestowed upon the police officers – it was later endorsed by the commissioner (Butler’s thirty-third, Vibart’s thirty-fourth) – can hardly have been music to Blythe’s ears as he was dragged off to the cells shouting, ‘It’s a mockery of justice!’.
And what did he mean when he told the judge that he could not previously say why the police had framed him but now ‘the reason had been read out’?
Simply this. When Superintendent McIver told the court of the prisoners’ previous convictions, together with the circumstances of them, he mentioned Blythe’s conviction for cutting a Flying Squad officer in the face, requiring the insertion of twenty stitches, after he went to arrest him for being an army deserter.
The Flying Squad officer’s name was Peter Vibart.
*
Three weeks later, the Lord Chief Justice refused Fraser and Warren leave to appeal against their convictions, and ten weeks after that, Rossi, Blythe and Dennis similarly had their leave to appeal refused, despite their counsel, ‘Khaki’ Roberts QC, stating that the jury’s verdict had been ‘monstrous’.
‘Billy-Boy’ Blythe never served his full sentence. On 18 February 1957 he was taken from prison to Walton Hospital, where he died following an emergency operation after a duodenal ulcer had burst.
His funeral, six days later, was organized by Billy Hill, and twelve Rolls-Royces led the way from his address at Myddleton Street to St Mary’s Roman Catholic Cemetery, Kensal Green. The floral tributes alone cost £1,500; one of them read, ‘The End – to Uncle Bill’ and another, ‘At Rest, Bill – from Billy Hill’.
Thus Billy Blythe was laid to rest. However, events had got underway in London which Patrick Marrinan would find anything but restful.
CHAPTER 8
A Busted Brief
As it turned out, Patrick Marrinan was to commit professional suicide. As soon as the trial of Blythe and Rossi was finished, he made a complaint of perjury against Butler and Vibart. There had been a great deal of damaging publicity regarding Marrinan’s actions, and the day following his official complaint the police hit right back, complaining about his conduct in Dublin; the matter was then passed to the Attorney General, and in January 1957 Marrinan was summoned to a meeting with the Bar Council. Sir Hartley Shawcross presided over the threeman committee, and after informing a shocked Marrinan of the existence of the telephone intercepts, the committee decided the affair was so serious that it would have to be referred to the Masters of the Bench at Lincoln’s Inn. In a later letter to the Bar Council, Marrinan wrote:
Please do not believe that I would have any personal association with these horrible criminals. Necessity forced me to be caught up with them, particularly Hill . . . I have erred in allowing myself to be imposed upon by worthless people, but one thing I did not do was to tell Blythe to avoid arrest. There is no profession I love more than the law. Now this dreadful thing has come along, accusing me of dishonour . . . If it is within your power to recommend suspension rather than expulsion, in the name of humanity, I ask you to do so . . . my mind is in turmoil.
But penitent or not, Marrinan had still not learnt a much-needed lesson. Two days before his summons before the Bar Council, ‘Gypsy’ Riley, Hill’s paramour, was involved in a fight in the Miramar Club during the course of which a certain Arthur Ranns was blinded in one eye by having a table lamp shoved into it. A woman who was in his company was also attacked. When Riley was arrested and charged in March with inflicting grievous bodily harm on the unfortunate Mr Ranns, it was Marrinan who unsuccessfully applied for bail and then went on to defend her. At a remand hearing, although Detective Inspector Evans told the magistrate, Mr Geoffrey Raphael, that ‘witnesses had been intimidated’, the witnesses’ memories, despite their having picked Riley out of an identification parade, astonishingly became defective, and the case was discharged.
Of course, the magistrate was unaware that later Riley would crow, ‘I done her good and proper – I was surprised she was able to identify me afterwards’, but the fact that Marrinan was still carrying on his association with Hill and Riley could have done him no favours whatsoever.
On 27 June 1957 Marrinan was called before the Benchers of Lincoln’s Inn sitting as a disciplinary body, and it was alleged that he had associated on terms of personal friendship and familiarity with Billy Hill, Albert Dimes and other persons in a manner unbecoming to a gentleman and a barrister. It was further alleged that this association was for the purpose of soliciting and obtaining professional work; that he gave legal advice to Blythe or Rossi without being instructed by a solicitor; and that he attempted to obstruct Detective Inspector MacMahon in the execution of his duty, including by saying to Blythe, ‘They are all outside and are going to nick you again. If I were you, I would make a dive for it’, or words to that effect.
Rather recklessly, Marrinan asked for the hearing to be in public and for details of the intercepts on Hill’s phone line in which he featured to be read in court.
They took some explaining, as did the fact that Hill had arranged for a flat to be made available for Marrinan at Seaforth Lodge, Barnes in the same block of flats that he was living in. Marrinan denied referring o
n the telephone to Hill’s partner as ‘Gyp’ and similarly refuted the claim that he referred to Hill as ‘Billy’, telling the Benchers rather unconvincingly, ‘He is known as Mr Bill Hill.’ The reason why Marrinan could dispute these matters (and many more) was that he had discovered the original tapes had been destroyed.4
The enquiry, which included evidence from police officers, continued until 2 July 1957. The Benchers expressed some doubt that Marrinan had obstructed Inspector MacMahon or that he had shouted a warning to Blythe but were unanimous that with regard to the first three charges he had been guilty of conduct unbecoming to a gentleman and a barrister. Consequently, he was disbarred and expelled from the Honourable Society of Lincoln’s Inn.
Within five days of his expulsion, Marrinan began hitting out in all directions, providing copy for Sunday newspaper, the People. Previously, it had been Jack Spot whom Marrinan had described in court as being ‘that corner boy of the lowest ilk’. Now it was Hill’s turn to be described in print as ‘a cockney corner boy whose every other word was a curse . . . he is a notorious character’. Although Patrick Aloysius Marrinan had been heavyweight boxing champion of the Irish Universities, this was nevertheless a foolhardy thing to say; fortunately, Hill appeared to find the spectacle of Marrinan’s public humiliation amusing, rather than his words warranting a ‘striping’.
In October that year Marrinan appealed the decision before Mr Justice Barry; it did him no good at all. And in February 1962 Marrinan alleged that Butler and Vibart had conspired to publish defamatory documents about him to the Director of Public Prosecutions, the Central Criminal Court and the Benchers of Lincoln’s Inn. At the High Court, Mr Justice Salmon kicked this set of unfounded allegations into touch as well.
After the failure of this appeal, all parties left the Royal Courts of Justice and walked into the Strand. Marrinan shuffled away, his reputation deservedly in tatters. The two police officers were met by a Flying Squad car, which conveyed them back to the Yard, Butler to the Flying Squad office, where he was now the superintendent, and Vibart to his office in Criminal Intelligence, where he held the rank of chief inspector. The following year, ‘The Terrible Twins’ would be immersed in the Great Train Robbery investigation and would go on to further accolades and advancement: Vibart to the rank of detective superintendent and the award of the Queen’s Police Medal, Butler to detective chief superintendent and an MBE.