You Could Do Something Amazing with Your Life [You Are Raoul Moat]

by Andrew Hankinson

  The tape stops. You turn it over.

  The psychologists said I can’t be helped, even though I’m really intelligent. They wrote me off. But to me, it’s not about a psychologist saying, look, you’re not a lunatic, you’re just twisted and fucked, we can’t do anything with you. Instead they should sit there and work with me, but none of them have done that. They’ve just done a witch-hunt. At the end of the day, if I’m wrong in ways I don’t understand I want that sorted. I can’t have it sorted now. It’s too late. They never gave me a chance. As far as I’m concerned they’re lying, all conspiring, I do believe that. I don’t believe for one minute I’m as wrong as they’re saying. Well, I am now, but this is part of why I’ve gone a bit fucking daft. This is what they wanted me to be, but I treasured Sam more than anything, and that’s the direction I would have gone I think. I couldn’t have lived without Sam. I always knew that. So I went to court and told them to shove their deal up their arse. I told my barrister it was over, no point in fighting anymore, because they’re all just bullies. I’d take the jail instead. It’s no holiday camp though. The cells stink. They’re smaller than a dog’s kennel, and the beds are piffling things. When you’re a big guy it feels like you’re going to snap your head off, and meal times are pathetic. I couldn’t hack it really, not then. If I went to jail now I could hack it, because I’ve nothing anymore. That’s why I came out and got my vengeance. Now I can just take the shootout and everybody’s happy, everybody’s got their vengeance, and I’m quite content. But back then I was thinking about Sam constantly, all day. The police will spin it and say it’s obsession. Maybe love is obsession. People talk about stalking. When me and Sam split up I used to go round and give her flowers and talk to her every day, but that’s not stalking to me, it’s showing I love her and care. Stalking is when you follow someone around and are just being a nob. That’s unhealthy. If people want to call what I had with Sam an obsession, call it an obsession, but it’s not what I’d call it. I’d call it a deep-seated love, a little bit down to lacking parts of my personality, missing her, needing her, that kind of thing. I couldn’t take her out of my mind. It’s a happy place. She’s a drug to me. If this situation is ever going to resolve itself, it’s going to be through Sam, but I don’t think that’ll happen. It’s inevitable what’ll happen at this stage. But anyway, I was in jail and I got myself a job sweeping floors, because I’m a hard worker. The same mundane thing each day though, and I can’t hack that kind of routine, because I’m an intelligent guy, I get bored, and that brings on aggression, and with that comes problems. So I was in jail and I heard these rumours [which are false], and she visited me and I went to give her a kiss, but she wouldn’t let me. I think she gave up when I got found guilty to be honest. I’m not a forceful guy, because with a girlfriend that’ll never be forgotten, but sometimes I am a little more forceful and I get annoyed, but when I was inside I heard about this Chris Brown, which really does piss me off, and it’s taken a lot away from what I think about Sam. I put her on a pedestal and don’t want to think of her like that. I blame him. I know it’s her as well, but I blame him. It’s probably why I’ve done a lot of the things I’ve done. If it’s happened. I might be barking up the wrong tree [she wasn’t seeing Chris until after she broke up with you]. So I’m inside, and I’ve been let down by Sam, and she comes for the visit saying it’s over and all the rest of it, really tearful, which upset me, seeing her cry, and I’m also not getting my retrial, so I’m fucking pissed off with the police, wondering whether to blow up Etal Lane police station, and very early on it’s becoming clear that I’ve got a problem with being banged up. I hate the idea of being locked in a room, probably from being constantly grounded as a kid. It brought back all these memories I tend not to think about, and it just dragged me down. You’ve got two types of people in jail. You’ve got scum, just little charvers who deserve to have nothing, because no matter what you do, they’ll just be shitbags. Then you’ve got your normal, regular lads, who’ve fucked up, made one mistake, often drugs, and everybody thinks just bang them up, but jail should be a last resort. It costs £120 a day from what I understand, and that’s just taxpayers’ money wasted. It’s not productive. They’d be better off sending me to Afghanistan, then I’d have some pride, I’d be doing something worthwhile. A lot of people agree with me on that. There’s no rehabilitation for me. All I’ve done is come out and do this. Anyway, me and Sam argued when she visited, and next thing is she wouldn’t answer the phone, then she came on the phone saying it’s over, and how apparently I’ve slept with a stripper. I’m not a crybaby, but this situation had me fucked. I said, okay, find this stripper, because I’ve not been seeing a stripper, and I offered that lie detector test. I said I’d come out and fix everything, and the thing with it is, she didn’t even know this, but I was thinking about coming out and getting back into the unlicensed fighting, £1000 a fight. There were lots of things like that, nice little surprises for her, because I just wanted her to have everything, you know. But it had me fucked. It’s just everything over the last year really. I probably underestimated how knackered I was when I went to jail. They took the most important bit of my life, the queen on the chessboard, so it was inevitable that this would happen. These bastards stitched me up. They caused this. I might be funny in the head, and maybe I’m potentially capable of doing this anyway, but when they take all the cards off the table, of course this would happen. Being honest, there are times I wanted Sam to move on and be happy, but I cannot do it, I cannot do it, not in a million years. I’m fucking screwed. It’s ridiculous. I feel like King Kong when he’s at the top of that flaming building, you know. I’m all messed up. But that’s the situation, I’m in jail and I’ve got to write Sam off, especially when she says she’s got a boyfriend, and from what I understand he’s a cop [he wasn’t, but Sam said he was], and he’s been posted up here from down south. He must have been besotted with her. Probably it’s a relationship through the internet, something on Facebook [she met him while he was handing out flyers for karate lessons]. So that’s the situation. I’m inside, and I heard something about motorbikes, and something to do with taekwondo, so I’ve got these pieces of a jigsaw, trying to put it together, driving myself nuts. Sam’s not a slapper, so she must have been hurting. I get out of jail and it’s a fucking mess. My house isn’t the house I remember. It’s like a carbon copy of my house, but not a good one. The grass is long. The hedge needed cutting. There’s rubbish everywhere. The floors needed a good scrub. Sam used to have it immaculate when she was there. Then I’m trying to talk to her on the phone and she gets mean, saying I can’t go to her house, and how he’s a police officer and he’ll put me on my arse, and it made me feel shit, because I’m well aware that I’m past my prime, which I’ve always felt was a fucking mean trick, finding Sam at the end of my youth. So she’s going, nah, nah, nah, winding me up, and I don’t feel well by the way. Shooting that copper the other day felt like some kind of Doom game. It’s obviously affected me. I’ve got two hostages here, and they say I don’t half grind my teeth in my sleep. The hostages are fine by the way. They’re not in danger, but they don’t really know that. Anyway, Sam’s giving me hell on the phone, got me in tears at one point, saying don’t go down there, how he’s an officer of the law. So this guy is in the way the whole time, and an idea’s forming. If he’d been anyone else this wouldn’t have happened, but Sam’s on the phone again, asking why I’m across at her house, and my phone runs out, so I flew home, grabbed a charger and the gun, and Karl was with me. I made him come. He didn’t want to be part of it. But I phoned her back and she’s saying I never went to jail for her, and she denied the conversation about getting a retrial ever happened, even swore on my daughter’s life that it never happened, which hurt, because I don’t swear on a child’s life to that, and she’s saying we’ve been finished for months, but the bottom line is, she’s saying hurtful things, which is why I said I’d fight him right now, thinking that if I win I’m a cunt,
but at least I’ve got my dominance, and if I lose, then Sam’ll relax a bit. It’s a win-win situation. So I’ve gone across. And I’m sorry about shooting her. I read that she was critical, but she’ll live now, so I’m pleased about that. She’s set for life. I miss her though. I never wanted this. But I am what I am, and there’s only one thing left to do. I’m not on the run. Friends advised me to leave. I’ve got zero contact with them now by the way. But I’m not leaving. I’m not going to France or Ireland. I’m staying to fight the only fight that’s left to fight, and that’s with the police, who are rubbish by the way, because I’ve been right under their fucking noses a long time and they haven’t got a clue. I move around. I’m never far away. And from what I understand the social worker and a few other arseholes are in hiding. Well they caused this. You can kill someone a long time before you ever punch them or hurt them or stab them. You can kill somebody without ever going near them. That’s what they did to me. They took everything from me. The minute they took Sam away they killed me. But what the police are putting in the newspapers is a pack of lies. I never jumped on Sam’s belly [she says you did]. There’s been pushing and shoving, a few open hands, but very rare [she says you dragged her by the hair and throttled her]. Get all these other fuckers on the lie detectors as well. That’s the reason I had cameras, for my own protection against all these liars, big liars, lie, lie, lie, so this is my thing, this is where I break my own rules and I’ve got a bit of a problem with myself to be honest. From now on, for each lie I see in the paper, any paper, I’m going to kill an innocent member of the public, right. I’ll phone up and let them know which lie pissed me off and I want each person who’s told this lie to go on a lie detector, right. Those are my rules. And if they don’t do this, right, if people don’t comply, I’ll just continue killing people, it’s as simple as that.

  The tape ends. You put the third tape in.

  This is Raoul Moat on the fifth of July 2010, continued, tape number three. As I was saying, I’ve got a bit of a problem with what happened to Sam. I didn’t mean to hurt her. My intention was just to make her very wealthy for the rest of her life. But he’s turned her into something I didn’t want her to be. She’s better than that. This kid was an arse, but he’s dead now, so he looks a bit stupid. Here’s something — I’m hearing he had an iron bar. I didn’t notice it on the night, but he’s brought that to a fight, a fair fight, where I’m supposed to be evenly matched, in fact he’s supposed to be bigger than me, yet he’s brought an iron bar. Well I brought a gun, ha ha ha. Anyway, he clearly wasn’t after a fair fight. He’s not a fair person. That paints his character. Whatever kind of instructor he’s supposed to be, he obviously felt he was going to get his arse kicked. So he’s no hero. And I’m pissed off with this story about me shooting Sam first. I didn’t shoot her first, and he didn’t chase me. He ran away like a fucking gutless carrot [after you shot him], and I gave chase and shot him. I’ve no qualms about it. He deserved it. It’s amazing how the mighty fall when Mr Moat turns up. Speaking of which, yes, I did smash Terry’s windows. So fucking what? What’s good for one is good for the other. But the papers have made me out to be a cunt. I’m a killer, fair enough, I’ll take my hat off to that, but there’s no way I domestically abused Sam, not in the way they’re talking about it [Sam and her family say you did]. So there you go. Every time they print a fucking lie, watch what happens. I’ve spent the last couple of days pondering what to do. I was worried Sam would die, because if she dies it’s for nothing, but the bottom line is, the bit I don’t understand — she shouldn’t have taunted me. I’ve had to really think about that. She couldn’t have known it would come to this. She would never have believed I’d shoot her. I read in the papers that he’s not a police officer, well fuck that, I know he is. She knew it would provoke a reaction, and when it gets to that stage it doesn’t matter whether someone’s a rocket ship or whatever. I proved that’s the case the other night with the officer in his T5. By the way, it doesn’t matter which officers go into hiding, because my theory is they work as a unit, a collective bunch of shitbags. I’ve only met one or two decent officers in my time. One was from Etal Lane. He treats everyone with respect and I’ll give him credit for that, but the majority are turds, especially the women. So it doesn’t matter whether I killed the right one, it’s all the same person as far as I’m concerned. One thing I’ve noticed is there are no bobbies on the beat. I’m expecting the crime rate to go up, but that’s not my intention. It’s amazing how they scurry and hide when someone fights back. That’s the thing about liars, they like to hide. I don’t hide. My conclusion is that after all the times they’ve taken the piss, all the cars they’ve taken, the relationships they’ve wrecked, the times they’ve stitched me up, everything they’ve done, they’re finally taking me seriously. And this thing in the paper about shooting my kneecaps, they’d be foolish to try that because I’ll carry on shooting as long as I’m alive. I wish I could have been a better bloke for Sam. I’m an intelligent kid. I could have done so many amazing things with my life. I could have made her life so much better. But people like the police demoralise me. That’s what bullies do. Also, this thing about people saying I’m crazy with cameras all over the place. Probably I am a bit paranoid, but it’s because I always expected something from them. I never saw how they could take my family from me, but I remember PC 190 making that comment in the back of his T5 [he pulled you over and confiscated your vehicle because you didn’t have insurance to carry scrap metal]. I was telling him he’d taken everything off me and they could just fuck off [it was David Rathband, who you later shot, though you never realised it was the same officer]. He said I still had my business and my family, and I remember thinking at the time, how could they take more off me than they already had? Well I’ve found out good and proper. My theory’s always been that I can’t stop the police planting drugs in my house, or a firearm in my car. They could just get a bag out my bin with prints on it, or a tub, and put crack in it, Bob’s your uncle. That’s what I’ve been anticipating. They never got round to it, but they tried everything else. I can’t believe they had me in jail for this thing with the assault. I’d been straight, working hard, paying my taxes, doing the right thing, not cheating on my woman, and I get fucked more than any other time in my life. It’s a clear sign that the criminal way is the best for me, but it’s not something I want to go back to. I can’t now. One other thing, just to be clear, I’ve got no interest in Sam’s family. I was very tempted to shoot her mother, but that’s Sam’s mum, and Sam needs her. I want Sam to have a happy life. I don’t expect any kind of thank you from her for that. The crazy part is I’ve given her more opportunities than I ever could have given her if I’d been straight. This country’s crazy for that. The harder you work, the more you get fucked. The more you’re a nob, the more you get. Me and Sam worked hard. Just because she stayed at home doesn’t mean she didn’t work hard. She worked really hard. She did all the housework and looked after the kids. That’s a job in itself, and she deserves more from life than I could give her, but what I’ve done gives her the chance of a decent life. She’ll meet somebody else. To be honest, he wasn’t what I’d expected. He didn’t look big and chiselled. He looked podgy. And he wasn’t particularly good-looking. She can do a lot better than that. She can do better than me. Soon she’ll be minted and do very well for herself. I’ve looked out for her. One thing I am worried about is my kids — whether they’re going to get picked on and bullied. There are downsides to this I never thought about. I’m apprehensive about their future. One thing I know is that doing my duty was never going to be good for me. Unfortunately I was in a position where I loved my woman more than anything else. I could have done all the right things, but the heart would still have been empty. I feel guilty about that. It sounds selfish, but that’s not quite how it is. Anyway, I can’t profit from my crimes, but I don’t see why the people I love should suffer. So taking care of my loved ones, including Sam, that’s the priority a
t the minute. The idea came from reading all this rubbish in the paper from people saying I pointed the gun at them. They’re after compensation. Everybody was a hero that night apparently, but if anybody had got involved or tried to tackle me they would have been shot. It’s as simple as that. The coast was clear. I had a damn good check. Everybody cowered in their houses. Rightly so. I can’t criticise them for that. They’ll all be quids in now though. It’s like the lottery coming. The only one who doesn’t profit is me. Well, at least I get a certain satisfaction that everybody’s taken care of. Every cloud has a silver lining. Every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction. Something good comes from every bad. I’ve been thinking about that a lot. Now it’s just a case of me doing my thing. It’s not that I’m frightened of going to jail. It’s just common sense. It’s no good for me. That three months in there hasn’t helped. If they put me in there for fifty years a lot of people will be getting done in. At £120 a day of taxpayers’ money, that’s no good for anything. It’s been a strange day. I’ve been to the shop. People are walking past and not batting a fucking eyelid. I didn’t think I’m the kind of person who blends in. I’m plastered all over the front pages, but not one person’s recognised me. It’s been a nice change being out here. It’s quite peaceful.