The Wicked Mr Hall (14 page)

I don’t know whether the information I gave him did the trick, or whether he did it by other means, but the next day he returned with an architect’s plan of the Russian Consulate. Again, I helped, pointing out the two offices that I’d been taken to. This time, as he packed away his briefcase, he said: ‘If anything else comes to mind, no matter what prison you are in, inform the Governor that you wish to talk to me, and it will be arranged.’ Out of courtesy, but with no real expectation of getting any favours, I said that I would and thanked him. ‘And, Roy,’ he added, ‘don’t be surprised if you don’t serve the full two years.’ With that he walked away. I thought this was empty rhetoric. With my record, and with such a short sentence, early parole seemed an impossibility. As I was to realise
later, the Special Branch Commander was a man of his word, and such covert officers wield more power than people realise.

Two days later I was transferred to Long Lartin prison in Worcestershire. Bill Perry, my old Governor from Hull was in charge, so I knew there would be little corruption and a fair regime. It was there that I first set eyes on David Wright.

Ruth continued to visit me. Due to my circumstances, our only communication had been by letter or across a prison visiting table. We had never properly talked through the subject of my bisexuality, or my love for David Barnard. She had married a man who had confessed to loving another man. In the marital problem stakes, this one was gargantuan. Once the threat of a long sentence vanished, both of our thoughts returned to our relationship. I could not deny my sexual nature. If I had been able to, I would have. To hurt Ruth was to hurt myself. I loved her as much as I could any woman, but not as much as I could a man. My love for Dave went beyond words, beyond gestures. It was inexplicable.

I told her to divorce me. She left the prison in tears. When the day ended, and all that could be heard was the footsteps of an occasional warder doing his rounds, I let my tears flow under the cover of a blanket and the night. I cried for Ruth’s pain and for the illusion that had been our marriage.

You may leave your clothes at reception at the start of a sentence, but you take your testicles with you to your cell.

David Wright was a handsome young man in his mid-twenties. Although he gave me the signals that I interested
him, I didn’t bother to respond until the day he came to my cell and asked about jewellery. I gave him some information, and he gave me his arse. Sexually, he was a dream. I would lay back, while he worked himself up and down on my cock. He liked to do the work, and he was a beautiful young man. Emotionally there was no involvement, but once I had tasted him, I couldn’t keep my hands off him.

It had long been my habit for John Wooton to hold my funds. At my expense, and on my instructions, Mary Coggles was continuing to visit Dave in Hull. At the time of my arrest, I had put the Jag in for a respray. The day I had longed for, his parole date, was fast approaching. I told Mary to collect the log book and keys and, on the day of Dave’s release, to drive the Jag to Hull and present it to him, which she did. In the weeks that followed, he visited me regularly. We talked of the future – at most I’d be out within twenty months.

Dave had been in prison for twelve years. Four weeks after his release, in the spring of 1974, he was driving the Jag on the M6. He was just south of Carlisle when he lost control of the car and crashed into the motorway barriers. He was killed instantly.

Some moments are inconsequential, and some are life-changing. In the seconds it must have taken for him to lose control of the steering, for the car to hit the barriers and then to spin and flip, killing its human occupant, in those seconds, half a minute at most, my life changed irreversibly. When Dave Barnard’s young body was so cruelly crushed to death, part of me also died. This was a blow from which I
would never truly recover. The tragic events that were to follow, the killing of innocent people, being condemned to live out the rest of my natural life behind bars, none of that would have come to pass if that high-powered car had reached its destination. It seemed to me that I had paid a terrible price for my wrongdoings. The anger and despair that I felt from having the only real love I had ever known snatched from me, would leave me less than human. What did I care for life now? My life, any life?

A
s my sexual relationship with Wright continued, I started to learn more about him. As far as crime went, he was strictly petty. Sexually, he was quite promiscuous, girls as well as men. Before he turned his attentions to me, he’d been the lover of one of the Great Train robbers. There’s no doubt that we just used each other. I was a thief of some standing and experience, he constantly picked my brains. His assets were his looks and his slim youthful body. It was a fair trade. His release date was well in advance of mine and, to this end, I told him of Grimshaw Hall.

There was no way that I would even consider robbing it. If Wright robbed it when I was still in prison, I had the perfect alibi. I gave him all the information he needed, how to get in, the layout of the rooms, what to take, and where it was. We agreed that he would do it and I would be paid a percentage. Before he left, I asked John Wooton to buy him
a couple of suits, an overcoat and shoes. I cannot say I missed him when he left. It just meant I had to find someone else to fuck.

A couple of weeks later, I was sitting in the TV room, watching
Police Five
, when a photograph of Grimshaw Hall was shown. It had been robbed the previous night. I was pleased that Dave had pulled it off. It would get him on his feet and, if he had any scruples at all, some money should be coming my way. As time went by, no word. I had bought him clothes, set up a job for him, and nothing. Lowlife! He was just a whore.

As in all prisons there was scheming and planning for escape attempts at Long Lartin. My sentence was so short I didn’t bother getting involved. I still remembered Wilson’s words in Brixton ‘Don’t be surprised if you don’t serve the full sentence.’ Whether this was just the natural human state of clinging to the tiniest hope, or an inkling that he meant what he said, was difficult to tell. But I had a feeling. The feeling was borne out when, against all normal procedure, the parole board recommended me for release. Wilson, unlike Wright, was as good as his word. There’s no doubt that his influence had me freed. Fourteen months after my conviction, I stepped free of Long Lartin. The parole conditions this time were for me to spend six months in the prison hostel of Winston Green, Birmingham.

The hostel room was a hovel. My prison cell had been better. I was told I would share with three other men. Empty milk bottles, discarded tins and stale food littered the room. I looked at the men I was expected to share with
– they were filthy pigs, lowlife scum. I said to the warder: ‘I hope you don’t think that I’m going to live in this room.’ His reply was: ‘You’ll live where we tell you to live.’ He asked me whether I needed an advance. I declined. I had £300 up my arse.

In disgust I went over the road to the nearest pub, and had some consoling brandies. Just as well barmen don’t sniff the money you give them. Further along the bar were two prison officers. I watched them drinking and laughing. Who were they to dictate to me? I was a thief, yes, and when I got caught, they put me in prison. Fair enough, that was the name of the game, but forcing me to live in filth and shit with men who probably came from slums and had never got out of the habit – I wouldn’t even take a piss in that place. I swallowed more brandies. They tasted nice, the pub was pleasant, it felt good to be free. Free, really, to do what I wanted. I made a phonecall. Two hours later, John Wooton turned up. He had a car and money. The screw who’d told me I’d live where he said could go and fuck himself. I got in the car and we drove up to Scotland. John dropped me off at Kilmarnock, and from there I got a train to Stranraer. Besides money, he’d brought me one of my old passports. I felt like a trip. Ireland seemed like a good idea.

From Stranraer, I could cross to Larne in Northern Ireland. My plan was to go from Larne, to Belfast, and then across the border and down to Dublin. By the time I arrived, I’d missed the last ferry. The hotel that I booked into was hosting a banquet for Scottish police. Needless to say, I stayed in my room all night. First thing in the morning, I started crossing the Irish Sea. I told Customs that I was an
antiques dealer, with relatives in the country. My trip was for business and pleasure. They wished me a safe journey. After hiring a taxi to take me to Belfast, I caught the
Dublin-bound
train, and that night I booked myself into the Gresham Hotel. I was thinking of moving on to mainland Europe. That night, I picked up a young gay man, and took him back to my hotel room. Tired of thinking, I lost myself in his body. Once he’d gone, I slept for a long time. I felt tired. I was free, but Dave was dead. Everything I was doing, I should have been doing with him. There was no one to share the freedom with. I was free, but trapped by loneliness. I missed him terribly. His passing had torn the heart from my body – I had waited all my life for love, only to have it shown to me and then be snatched away.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my bedroom door. I opened it to two detectives. I was arrested, and that day taken by police car to Belfast and back into the hands of the British authorities. I was flown to Blackpool and then taken to Walton Prison, Liverpool. As an escapee, I was put in the punishment block. My thoughts and feelings were very black. I was going round in circles and slowly disappearing. Walton is a filthy Victorian hole. I wanted to return to Long Lartin. My request was ignored and I started a hunger strike in protest. At first, they didn’t take me seriously, but after four weeks living only on sips of water, my condition began to deteriorate. I got my way. I was returned to Lartin, where I served the remaining eight months of my sentence. Rather a prison cell than squalor.

I was still in that cell, when on 25 June 1975, I was given the news of my mother’s death. Cancer had finally taken
her. Besides dealing with my own grief, my heart went out to John. Our sense of loss was devastating. I was refused permission to attend the funeral without an escort or being handcuffed. The indignity of standing over my mother’s grave in shackles was too much to bear. I sat in my cell, and prayed that she had found peace.

My release date came, and I returned to Lytham.

One day turned into another, and at times my grief overwhelmed me. There was a hole in my soul the size of an abyss. I went to stay with John. I would walk silently on the beach. With each brandy I drank, I toasted Dave. Why? Why had this happened to me? Only someone who has experienced losing the one they loved could understand the depth of my sadness and the emptiness left.

I was walking on the beach at Lytham, when I passed a seafront hotel. Wanting to make a phonecall, I walked into the reception area. They were holding a Masonic dinner of some kind. This didn’t hold much interest for me, but what did catch my eye was a stack of fur coats on some seats. I spotted minks. Stepping into the phone booth, I made my call, all the time watching the receptionist at the desk. When she disappeared into the back office, I walked over to the stack of coats and, picking up a full-length mink coat, folded it and placed it inside my overcoat. I walked out of the hotel, and to my car which was parked minutes away. I was just about to drive away when I thought: ‘No, an opportunity wasted, is a crime.’ Going back inside, I stole two more. Doing this gave me a sparkle I hadn’t felt in weeks. There is no doubt that I am addicted to stealing. It’s something I show a rare talent for. I phoned Ruth in London and asked
whether I could visit. She said yes. On the way south, I stopped off in the Midlands to see an old friend. I gave his wife one of the mink coats, we had some drinks, and I told him to remember that the next time I was passing he would owe me £500. He was pleased, and agreed to the sum. I carried on with my journey.

Ruth gave me a warm welcome. I gave her both the remaining minks. It was good to see her. I was lonely and seeking comfort. Next to Dave, Ruth was the only human being that I had truly been in love with. I told her that I still loved her and that I was sorry that I’d caused her so much pain. I had never meant to hurt her.

That night we made love. It was good to feel someone’s arms around me, good to be held by someone I knew truly cared for me. I was inside her. Physical release eases mental torment, it releases energies and it can calm. As my body approached climax, my emotions came to the surface, the name was spoken before I knew I’d said it: ‘Dave. Dave!’ I called, the name of the man I loved while inside the woman who loved me. I will never forget the look on her face as she pushed me off her. It seemed that whatever my intentions, I always ended up hurting my poor innocent Ruth. You love who you love. I don’t know that you have a choice in such matters.

I was sitting in John’s house in Lytham when I saw an advertisement in
Country Life
, for a butler to a Lady Margaret Hudson, Kirkleton, Dumfrieshire. I sent off a letter, outlining the relevant particulars. A quiet, secluded estate in Scotland was just what I needed. I could recharge my batteries in the countryside, and think about what I would
do with the rest of my life. Seven days went by before I received a reply. I was invited to travel up for an interview.

Lady Margaret was a small, ageing woman with spectacles. Kirkleton House was filled with antiques that were worth a fortune. I quickly settled into the household. I became friends with Maggie the housekeeper. All Lady Margaret’s staff had been with her for twenty years or more, so I was very careful. Obviously I would rob her, but for the moment I was happy just to stay there. I enjoyed the swimming pool, the beautiful gardens, shooting with her wide range of shotguns and rifles, and I enjoyed being with Tessa. Tessa was Lady Hudson’s Labrador, a beautiful dog. After a short while, she considered me her master. I fed her fresh game and gained her loyalty.

Lady Hudson often had a female companion with her, an Enid Lloyd. Mrs Lloyd did not take to me. She was suspicious. I searched her bedroom for her jewels time and time again, but I could find only trinkets, never the real valuables. In front of me, she would speak French to her friend. Knowing that I could not understand, I suspected that she made disparaging remarks about how she didn’t trust me, and how she suspected me of being an imposter. I did my job well and Lady Hudson was well taken with me. What Mrs Lloyd didn’t know was that when the lady of the house was drunk, which was almost nightly, I would carry her up to bed. On one occasion I laid her on her bed, and she grabbed me: ‘Oh Roy, I’m so lonely, I’m so lonely.’ I didn’t fancy her, but I felt sympathy. I had sex with her out of the kindness of my heart. It was all I could do to keep an erection. It was an act of charity.

In my spare time, I drank in a bar nearby. I became friendly with a young man who worked there. Within weeks this supposedly straight guy would kneel at my crotch. He loved to suck my cock.

In the past, at Long Lartin, David Wright had loved to suck me. I phoned John Wooton on a weekly basis, and during one phonecall I heard Wright was trying to get in contact with me. John gave me his number. Wright had screwed me over the Grimshaw Hall job and he couldn’t be trusted. He had crossed me and I am not the forgiving type. In the end, my cock got the better of me. I couldn’t think of him without getting hard. I phoned the number, and invited him up.

I met him at Carlisle station and then drove him to the house. On the drive there he talked non-stop. He was in trouble with the police again in Birmingham over a robbery, but the reason he was here, seeking the sanctuary of Kirkleton House was because he’d had a rather distasteful episode with a Pakistani in a gents’ lavatory. He had lured the small Asian into a cubicle with the promise of sex. What had been meant to be a mugging had gone wrong. The Pakistani ended up dead. Dave Wright ended up with me. I didn’t comment on the murder of the gay Paki, his sordid little crimes were of no interest to me. I made no mention of Grimshaw Hall. All I wanted to do was have sex with him. He was low-life shite.

I told Lady Hudson that he was an old friend from way back, and had just come out of the Army after ten years of service. She invited him to do some work on the estate in return for lodgings and keep.

We drank her wine and spirits in our off-duty hours, and then we had sex. Most days we would swim in her ladyship’s outdoor pool, afterwards we would lie naked beside it, fondling each others cocks. From the house, my ageing employer would watch us through her binoculars. I think it excited her. I could see the sun glint off the telescopic lenses. I enjoyed being watched.

I settled into life at Kirkleton. I was allowed the use of any of Lady Hudson’s vehicles, including the Rolls. John was a frequent guest, coming up for shooting weekends and general relaxation. The food, wine and surroundings were of the highest quality. Each day, I inspected Lady Margaret’s jewellery, which she kept in her bedroom dressing table. I knew each piece and its value. Only after I left would she be robbed. For the time being, this was as good a place as any to live. Dave continually pestered me as to why we didn’t rob it straight away. I told him to be patient. If I hadn’t enjoyed sex with him so much, there would have been no way I would have tolerated having him around. He made snide little comments about how he might let details of my past slip out to my employer. He ran up debts of hundreds of pounds with the local bookmaker, which I paid for him. He was an ungrateful little bastard. Yet still I let him stay.

The change in his fortunes and mine came about when I noticed a diamond ring missing from her ladyship’s jewellery drawer. I searched Wright’s room and found it in a rolled up sock. Later that day, we argued. In the heat of the quarrel, he threatened to expose me to Lady Hudson. Then, taking one of the cars, he vanished, presumably to the local
village. If past history was anything to go by, he would get drunk, have sex with me and then apologise. Until the next time. Deep down, I despised him. Whore! I went to bed with a good book.

It was the early hours of the morning when the sound of car tyres on gravel awoke me. Wright was back. I thought: ‘I’ll talk to him in the morning when he’s sober,’ and I went back to sleep. I was woken by the explosion of a bullet entering the headboard of my bed. It had missed me by inches. In the doorway stood a drunken Wright, in his hand the smoking weapon. Drunkenly he walked towards me. He started screaming: ‘We’re not gonna work here anymore. We’re gonna rob it tonight.’ I spoke calmly and quietly: ‘Of course, Dave. We will. But let’s leave it till the morning.’ I feared for my life. ‘Dave, give me the gun, let’s talk.’ I tried to touch him, I wanted to get the gun. He was very volatile. Grabbing the rifle barrel, I tried to pull it from him. Dave was much younger than me, we struggled, his strength proved too much. Wrenching my hand off, he brought the rifle butt up to my face. I fell on to the floor. Laying at his feet, I pleaded with him. I told him we would do whatever he wanted. Then sinking to his knees, he started to cry. The anger became self-pity. He was sorry, he’d had too much to drink, he was upset. I took the rifle and locked it back in the gun room. Then I took Dave to his room. He was drunk and tearful. Helping him to get undressed, I climbed into bed with him. I got on top of him and fucked him, all the time thinking: ‘You wanted to kill me, well I’m going to fuck you.’ I didn’t kiss him. That would be the last time anyone would fuck Dave Wright. I
had decided to kill him. Tomorrow. I fucked him until I came, and then went back to my own room.