Read Where There is Evil Online
Authors: Sandra Brown
Where There is Evil (24 page)
Before going home, I saw Jim briefly and related to him my conversation with Mr Griffiths. I left him saying that I would not, however, let the matter rest there. ‘Didn’t think you
would,’ he replied with a grin.
Next day I dashed off a letter of complaint to the Crown Office, and a few days later I received a brief formal reply, which politely fobbed me off. It pointed out that it was a long-standing
tradition of the Scottish Crown Office not to disclose to anyone its reasons for arriving at decisions. I did not need to be told.
It was a polite brush off, which I related to Jim in some disbelief.
‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘it would be an idea to get yourself a good lawyer.’
‘A lawyer! But I’ve done nothing!’ I protested. ‘Why on earth should I need one?’
‘It’s just a thought,’ he replied. ‘I think you need to get some good independent advice from the best you and your cousins can afford. If you’re not giving up at
this point, then you should. You’re sailing into deep waters, Sandra.’
‘I’m not giving up. I’ve discussed it with my cousins, and neither are they giving up on this,’ I answered. ‘If it will help, I’ll seek some expert
advice.’
‘Do it. You’ll need it.’ Jim’s voice was resigned. ‘You’re up against it. Good luck.’
Later, I discovered that rarely does anyone in Scotland quibble over the decisions of the Crown Office, particularly not an ordinary member of the public. Only two alternatives were open to me:
either to publicize this unbelievable decision, or to pursue a private prosecution.
Nowhere in Scotland does an independent body exist, chaired by a lay person, to investigate a complaint against the legal system, which can duck behind its get-out protection
clause by saying that it is not accountable for any decisions and need not reveal why they were taken. At present the support mechanisms favour the offender, rather than the victim. I was being
ignored by the legal authorities, I told Jim, who agreed to my next request. I wanted to meet with Eileen McAuley, the local reporter who had given massive local coverage to the re-investigation.
Jim knew her well and respected her.
That August, media interest in Moira and my dad had not died down. Speculation continued to hit the headlines, but even now, no link could be made between the man being questioned repeatedly in
Leeds about the disappearance of Moira Anderson in 1957 and the man being accused by a group of women in Coatbridge of sexual abuse. Those south of the border were also unaware of this connection,
according to Ann Inglis, assistant minister at my church. She had been on holiday with her family in Yorkshire, and had been astonished to hear details I had told her in confidence reported as the
main item on the local television news.
‘I was flabbergasted,’ she said to me later. ‘They clearly stated that a local pensioner was being investigated by Scottish police who had visited Leeds three times in
connection with Moira’s case, and they showed a picture of the little girl who was from his home town in Lanarkshire. They said he was presently on bail while a decision is being reached by
the Scottish Crown Office as to whether they will press charges. The whole thing was headline news down there.’
Such a splash in my father’s own territory unnerved me. Despite her reassurances that I would make a credible witness, based on her experience as a barrister, I still dreaded a huge court
case with all its accompanying publicity. I did not relish ‘celebrity’ status as the woman who had accused her own father of a murder that had taken place when she was an eight-year-old
child.
Eileen McAuley and I met in a small café, close to the office of the
Airdrie and Coatbridge Advertiser
. We talked of William’s unexpected involvement, about how devastated
my cousins and I were at the latest events, and the possibility of employing a lawyer who could take on the establishment. I mentioned that I had thought of approaching John Smith, the local MP.
Two of my cousins were in his constituency.
Eileen frowned. ‘He might help. He’s honour bound to do all he can to help them, if not you. He can’t have missed the developments on this case.’
We spoke for an hour, but I was careful not to mention either my father’s or my cousins’ full names. We shook hands and agreed to keep in touch. I felt reluctant to speak to any
other journalist, and somehow the link with Jim helped. I had a positive feeling about Eileen and knew she would respect confidentiality. I wrote to John Smith.
On 11 September, as I stretched out in bed with the Saturday morning paper and a breakfast tray, he rang me. The voice at the other end of the phone was brisk but kindly. ‘I understand
from your résumé of events that two victims are my constituents?’
‘Yes, and they would be happy to meet with you. They are entitled to have their day in court, and have people listen and believe in them. Not like before, years ago, when nobody wanted to
know.’
‘Well, that attitude is changing, but I agree there are still those who prefer to look the other way,’ he commented. ‘There has been a spate of these cases in Scotland over the
past five years or so, which date back thirty years or more. It is indeed a feature of these that the victims were unable to come forward at the time, and one hopes today they are treated more
sensitively than in the past.’
We discussed my meeting with Mr Griffiths, and how my father had linked himself to Moira. ‘But it must be terribly difficult for your family,’ Mr Smith said, after a brief pause. He
revealed he could remember the original case without difficulty, such was its impact. ‘Although your brothers were just very small children in 1957, nevertheless, they share his name, and in
a place the size of Coatbridge, they are bound to feel everyone will know if it comes out who is responsible. They must be very concerned about being identified, and I can understand that
perfectly. I know you feel your principles are the correct ones, but there are times when you have to choose between your family and your own integrity. You run the risk of damaging family
relationships.’
I murmured agreement, but pointed out that another family in his constituency would never know the truth about their child. I went on, ‘Everyone has the right to tell the truth about her
childhood, her upbringing, her life. Keeping silent about painful memories is in the interests of the abuser. Silence doesn’t help anyone, and little girls are still at risk from
him.’
Mr Smith said he would do his best to help: he would write to Lord Rodger, the Lord Advocate, personally and request a meeting. He wished me well, and indicated he would be in touch shortly.
I reflected on what he had said about family relationships. I didn’t wish the rift between my brothers and me to widen, but there was no going back. I thought of the last time we’d
met up, when Norman had insisted I drop everything and stop supporting my cousins. ‘I don’t know how you’re going to feel, Sandra, at the end of all this,’ he’d
declared angrily, ‘when that lassie turns up.’
‘What lassie?’
‘Moira Anderson. When she turns up safe and well, how will you feel then?’
I was dumbfounded. He had still not come to terms with the truth about our father.
Two or three weeks after our meeting, Eileen published a piece in her newspaper about the latest developments in our case, but took care to make no link to the Moira Anderson investigation. Her
headline of 3 September said:
WOMAN IN PRIVATE PROSECUTION BID
.
A woman is poised to take out a private prosecution against her father in respect of child abuse allegations dating back 30 years. The former Coatbridge woman, who cannot be
named for legal reasons, is furious the authorities have decided not to prosecute. Mrs X claims her 73-year-old father – who no longer lives in the area – sexually abused four
female members of her family during the early 1960s.
Monklands detectives, who investigated the claims, submitted a report detailing a series of Lewd and Libidinous allegations to the Procurator Fiscal in Airdrie. But the Fiscal’s
Office, acting on Crown Office advice, ruled it was not ‘in the public interest’ to proceed with the case. Mr A. Taylor Wilson, the P.F., this week refused to discuss the case,
stating he had ‘no comment to make’.
Mrs X maintains the justice system has failed her family and stressed there was no ‘statute of limitations’ on sex offences. ‘I am extremely disturbed by the Fiscal’s
decision, backed by the Crown Office, not to proceed with charges against my father,’ she said. ‘Because of this situation we are being forced to seriously consider taking out a
private prosecution against him. It is intolerable for the Fiscal to say it is not in the public interest to proceed.’
Mrs X also claimed the Fiscal’s office ‘minimised’ the alleged offences against her four cousins. She stated: ‘I pointed out the long term effects were still evident.
One victim has required regular psychiatric treatment over the years because of childhood events and another has experienced great difficulties with relationships because of the abuse. The type
of attitude taken by the Fiscal’s office sends out the wrong signals about child abuse. During the ’60s people simply did not discuss it, it was a strict taboo, especially among
families. Now that members of my family have had the courage to make an official complaint, they have been slapped in the face by the justice system. I understood the prevailing attitude
nowadays to be more enlightened than that displayed by the Fiscal’s office in Airdrie.’
The article ended by indicating that the police felt it inappropriate to comment. Privately, however, Jim McEwan and Billy McCloy were both supportive.
Jim phoned. He had been studying aerial photographs from the fifties that showed the pond at Townhead. Glasgow University experts had told him the topography of the land there had changed
dramatically over the years, particularly following the hot summer of 1959. He told me how important any find by divers would be that made a link between Moira and her killer . . . a heavy tool
from a bus, or a wheel that would have acted as a weight. I reminded him that the leather bucket bag and the wax cloth Co-op book she had had would not have been biodegradable either.
‘You should’ve been a cop,’ Jim laughed.
My cousins A and B had been worrying that should a trial go ahead it would be their word against my father’s, given that there had been no other witnesses to the abuse. Billy phoned and
reassured me that, in Scots law, a factor called the Moorov Doctrine comes into play where allegations of a pattern of behaviour emerge. Named after a Glasgow case from years back, in which a
shopkeeper had molested his assistants on evenings when he asked them to work late, its thrust is that when a group of independent witnesses come forward with similar complaints about an abuser
their statements are treated as corroborative.
On 13 September 1993, I received a formal reply from John Smith, with the green portcullis logo of the House of Commons.
Dear Mrs Brown,
I refer to our telephone conversation, and to the letter you sent to me which very fully sets out your concerns. As I suggested, the best thing for me is to take up the matter with the
Lord Advocate which I have now done. I will let you know when I get a response.
I mentioned the complication that you are one of Lord James Douglas-Hamilton’s constituents. I have written to him explaining why I have taken up the issue with the Lord Advocate,
but it might be appropriate for you to approach him also. Kindest regards.
I did not particularly wish to write to my own MP to set out all the facts – so difficult to condense in a few lines – but as John Smith was concerned about parliamentary protocol, I
did so.
My letter ran to four pages, and took me almost as long to compose as my latest Open University essay. I glanced through the last section, for which I had had to do some research in one of the
Edinburgh libraries, on what the Sexual Offences (Scotland) Act 1976 involved. This was the one my father had contravened, and I had been keen to check it out, highlighting the part that mentioned
the main crime he had perpetrated against my cousins:
Sexual Offences (Scotland) Section V:
Lewd (i.e. lustful), indecent or libidinous (lustful desire for sexual indulgence) practices or behaviour towards a girl less than twelve years of age.
I had read the footnotes concerning Presentation of Abuse, and recognized the hallmark of my dad clearly defined over a paragraph or two.
The sexual encounter between the child and the adult may be of a single episode which may be very violent and traumatic, particularly if the abuser is a chance acquaintance,
or a stranger. It may be the motive for the murder of a child. Much more often the sexual contacts and encounters are multiple with the initial advances made towards the child being relatively
minor, but as days, months, and years pass by, the advances become more involved often coming to a stage where sexual intercourse or sodomy is occurring with the child. A crescendo type history
is typical of such complaints.
If the sexual encounter has been violent, the child will often present with severe injuries to the body or genitals as an emergency; on occasions this encounter may also result in death of
the child. The victim has been restrained, strangled or throttled in the process, or sharp or blunt force trauma has been perpetrated against the child to ensure that the child succumbs to the
sexual demands being made of it, or as part of the sadistic nature of the assault. The very act of penetration of a child by an adult can ‘per se’ result in death of the child as a
result of vagal reflex cardiac inhibition. The body of a young child on occasions may show no other evidence of violence other than features of sexual penetration.
Very often, presentation is non-acute, and may even be delayed, and frequently is, until adult life when the presentation is to psychologists, psychiatrists, and marriage counsellors –
indeed, under-reporting is a feature of childhood abuse.
