скачать книгу бесплатно
* * *
At precisely 2.30 p.m. there was a knock on my office door. ‘A Mr and Mrs Downing to see you, Don. They have an appointment?’ said Susan, one of our advertising reps.
‘Yes, of course, show them in, please,’ I replied, and ushered the pair into my private office. Ray Downing was struggling to hold a large pile of documents, which he then dumped firmly on my desk. I had to move them aside slightly so I could see their faces.
Ray was a fairly small man with a bald head and a worried expression. I guessed he was probably in his late fifties or early sixties. His wife, whom he introduced as Juanita, was about the same age. She looked quite frail and had sharp, almost bird-like features. She was very nervous and extremely thin. Both wore their Sunday best.
Ray outlined his reasons for contacting me. He claimed his son Stephen had been jailed in 1974 for the murder of a woman in the town cemetery the previous year. Ray kept saying he was innocent, and that everyone in Bakewell knew he was innocent. He kept stressing that word.
‘What’s more,’ said Ray, ‘I can probably tell you who was responsible. Nearly everyone in Bakewell seems to know who did it.’
I was taken aback by his comments. Ray didn’t mention any name, but I was puzzled by his claim and wondered, If it was all so obvious, why was his lad still in jail?
Ray alleged that Stephen had been framed for the murder as part of a conspiracy because the town needed someone else to blame. He claimed the police forced Stephen to wrongfully confess to an assault on a young, married woman, who later died from her injuries.
Ray claimed the woman, Wendy Sewell, was promiscuous, and had taken several prominent local businessmen as lovers. He suggested a long list of individuals, and said they were all well known in the Bakewell area. He believed the powers that be in the town had conspired to protect the victim’s secret life, and perhaps themselves, from a massive scandal.
He explained that several other characters had been seen in or around the cemetery on the day of the attack, and that potential witnesses had either been ignored by the police or deliberately warned off.
He strongly believed that one particular officer, who ‘had it in for Stephen’, went flat-out to get a quick confession. Ray said that although his son quickly retracted it, the confession still formed the main plank of the prosecution evidence from which he was convicted.
Ray said there had been some previous attempts to obtain an appeal against conviction, the first being in October 1974, a few months after his trial, and the second some 13 years before, in 1981. Both failed. He then admitted to hiring a private investigator, Robert Ervin, a former army investigator, who worked on the case for about ten years but died some time ago.
Juanita let Ray do most of the talking. She looked uncomfortable and agitated, and began fumbling through the paperwork, before extracting some old cuttings that reported the previous attempts to appeal. She explained that the rest of the paperwork included court papers, copies of some old witness statements from years ago and various other official reports she thought I might find of interest.
Ray was anxious to continue, and he confirmed that the reason they wanted to see me that day was because a woman had telephoned them anonymously to say she had sent both me and the editor of the Star some fresh evidence that could help clear their son’s name.
‘The Star?’ I asked. ‘Do you mean the Sheffield Star or the Daily Star?’
‘Don’t know, she just said the Star.’
‘Look, I’ve just returned from a short break,’ I said. ‘I don’t think anything’s arrived here, nobody has mentioned anything, but I’ll go and check.’ I brushed past them and made my way to the main office.
‘Does anyone know anything about a letter concerning Stephen Downing?’ I asked. ‘His parents think some fresh evidence may have been sent here.’ Everyone shook their heads.
Jackie said, ‘Whatever came in that we couldn’t deal with is on your desk. I don’t recall anything about a Stephen Downing, though.’
‘What’s this all about?’ asked Norman.
‘I’m not quite sure at this stage, but their son Stephen has been in jail for murder for over 20 years. They are desperate and need a lifeline. I’ll ask Sam when he comes back,’ I replied.
I returned to my office and told the Downings that nothing had been received so far, but that I had contacts at both newspapers and would get back to them as soon as I could. We made arrangements to meet a day or two later at their home in Bakewell.
I was intrigued by what they had said. They were obviously biased, but it seemed worthy of investigation – particularly if some fresh evidence had come to light.
The Downings seemed a likeable couple, who genuinely believed in their son’s innocence. Ray had spoken of numerous conspiracy theories, while Juanita had maintained a more dignified stance, sitting there patiently listening to her husband’s defiant explanations.
I was apprehensive about getting involved, but my youngest son was now about the same age as Stephen was when he was convicted of murder.
Sam returned with another cigarette in his mouth. The ash was hovering precariously. ‘Did Ray Downing come in?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Sam. So what do you know about the case?’
Sam grabbed my arm and led me back into my office. ‘Ray’s well known around here,’ he explained, closing the door. ‘He drives people crazy with this tale about his son’s innocence. He has spent years trying to solve the crime and clear his lad. Poor sod. I really can’t blame him, though. Stephen was only a kid, and a bit simple too, from memory.’
In his hat and coat, Sam looked like a detective from a 1950s movie. I explained about the family’s current claim of an anonymous caller and some potential fresh evidence. He wasn’t too impressed. He had two or three more drags on his cigarette, then started to talk about the case through a haze.
‘It was all a long time ago, but I was on the story leading up to the trial. As far as I can recall, there was a slight feeling of surprise when he was convicted. He was only 16 or 17, I think?’
‘Seventeen, Sam,’ I confirmed.
‘Yes, whatever. I know other names were bandied about and the murdered woman was well known in the area, if you see what I mean?’
‘No, not really, Sam.’
‘She’d left her husband and I think there was some sort of scandal. You know what Bakewell is like. I think Stephen admitted something, then retracted it.’
‘I’m going to their house on Thursday. They want to show me a few other things of interest.’
Sam stared at me. ‘Be careful, be very careful,’ he said. ‘It’s a minefield. Don’t get sucked into it.’
CHAPTER 2
The Downings (#litres_trial_promo)
I contacted my friend Frank Curran at the Daily Star and Rob Hollingworth at the Sheffield Star. Neither had seen any letters relating to the Downing case, but said they would call if anything turned up.
My reporters were keen to become involved with something out of the ordinary and willingly helped with my investigations. Jackie spent a lot of time collating information from old newspaper cuttings from the early 1970s, trying to build up a true picture of the Wendy Sewell murder. She also contacted all the official channels for copies of any important paperwork. I tried to track down any relevant forensic or medical reports, and between us we soon built a substantial portfolio about the case.
Over the next few weeks we held several case conferences to discuss updates or developments. Following my initial review, I wrote to the Chief Constable at Ripley, asking for the release of some paperwork and any other relevant information regarding the murder.
It appeared the murder had naturally made quite an impact locally, but not necessarily nationally. And most of the press reports were fairly consistent.
On Friday 14 September 1973, the Derbyshire Times declared:
MURDER BID CHARGE
Critically ill in Chesterfield Royal Hospital with serious head injuries is an attractive 32-year-old housewife, who was found unconscious in a Bakewell cemetery just after lunchtime on Wednesday.
Yesterday morning, Derbyshire police said that a young man had been charged with attempted murder and would appear at a special court in Bakewell later that day. The accused is understood to be 17-year-old Stephen Downing, a gardener from a Bakewell council estate.
The woman, Mrs Wendy Sewell of Middleton-by-Youlgreave, was found just after 1.15 p.m. She was rushed to Chesterfield Royal Hospital but early yesterday morning had still not regained consciousness. Police are waiting at her bedside.
She was discovered lying face downwards between gravestones in an old part of the churchyard, close to dense woodland. The cemetery was sealed off as police began their investigations.
Fifty CID and uniformed officers were drafted into the quiet market town and the area surrounding the cemetery was combed by tracker-dogs. Detective Supt Peter Bayliss announced that a 17-year-old youth had been formally charged with attempted murder.
Mrs Sewell worked for the Forestry Commission. She left the office just after midday and was seen walking along the ‘Butts’ in the direction of the cemetery shortly after 12.30 pm. Neighbours said on Wednesday night that Mrs Sewell often visited her mother at Haddon Road, Bakewell, after finishing work.
A slightly later cutting, dated Friday 21 September, explained:
WOMAN DIES AFTER ATTACK IN CEMETERY
Stephen Downing (17), a gardener, is due to appear in court following an eight-day remand in custody.
The papers for the case have been forwarded to the Director of Public Prosecutions, but no information was available this week as to whether the charge would be increased to one of murder. Downing made a two-minute appearance before a special court in Bakewell last Thursday and was charged that he did attempt to murder Mrs Wendy Sewell.
On 22 February 1974, following the trial at Nottingham Crown Court, the same paper reported:
YOUTH ON MURDER CHARGE IS FOUND GUILTY
Stephen Downing, aged 17, was found guilty of murdering 32-year-old typist Mrs Wendy Sewell in a cemetery in Bakewell, Derbyshire, by a unanimous verdict.
Downing, who was alleged to have bludgeoned his victim with a pickaxe shaft and sexually assaulted her before leaving the body among the tombstones, was ordered to be detained at the Queen’s pleasure. They took only an hour to reach their unanimous verdict last Friday.
Passing sentence, Mr Justice Nield told Downing, who worked in the cemetery as a gardener, ‘You have been convicted on the clearest evidence of this very serious offence.’
Mr Patrick Bennett QC, prosecuting, had described how Downing had followed Mrs Sewell in the cemetery before carrying out the savage attack with a pickaxe handle. Downing claimed that he had found Mrs Sewell’s half-naked body and then sexually assaulted her.
Mrs Sewell, who lived at Green Farm, Middleton-by-Youlgreave, died in hospital two days after the attack from skull and brain injuries. Downing was alleged to have admitted the assault late at night after spending several hours in the police station. He was alleged to have described how he struck Mrs Sewell with the pick shaft on the back of the head and undressed her.
Police officers denied that Downing had been shaken to keep him awake after spending hours at Bakewell police station. His mother, Mrs Juanita Downing, told the jury that her son had never gone out with girls and only had one good friend.
Downing said that bloodspots on his clothing got there when Mrs Sewell raised herself on the ground and shook her head violently. He had told the jury that he found the victim lying semi-conscious in the graveyard after going home during his lunch hour, but the prosecution said that his lunchtime walk was only an alibi after he had carried out the attack. Downing had pleaded not guilty to the murder.
Other regional papers carried similar copy, stating, ‘A savage assault by a teenager with a pickaxe handle. She sustained repeated blows as many as seven or eight to the head – and had then fallen against tombstones.’
Many papers made a reference to Judge Nield, who kept referring to Downing’s statement, which was ‘signed over and over again’ and formed the main plank of evidence for the prosecution.
To all intents and purposes, it seemed like a fairly straightforward conviction. A confession had been obtained on the day the attack took place, and although Downing retracted it before trial the prosecution case still relied very heavily on this admission.
The trial lasted three days. The jury heard just one day of evidence and took less than an hour to reach their unanimous verdict of guilty. It all seemed so quick, clean and convenient. This alone made me consider it curious and worthy of initial investigation.
* * *
A few days later, I set out on the short but pleasant drive along the A6 to Bakewell. The Downings lived at Stanton View, just a few hundred yards from the cemetery – the scene of the crime. They lived in a small semi-detached house on the council estate. It was the same property that Ray, Juanita, Stephen and his sister Christine had all lived in together until that fateful day in 1973.
Despite the fact that Stephen had remained in custody ever since his arrest, his mother kept his room just as it was. The family had campaigned for his freedom ever since his conviction. Ray never looked well, and at first he probably thought I was just another journalist who would write a brief update and then disappear into oblivion.
Ray told me about his work as a taxi driver and, over a cup of tea, explained how he and Juanita first met in a Blackpool ballroom in 1952, when he was completing his national service in the RAF.
Juanita, who had been watching me like a hawk, told me to call her Nita, and explained how she had been adopted from the age of three and never really knew her parents. Born Juanita Williams, she was brought up near Liverpool. She and Ray later married and moved to Burton Edge in Ray’s home town of Bakewell.
Following national service Ray obtained a job at Cintride, as a first-aid attendant, before he left to drive ambulances and coaches. Stephen was born at their home in March 1956, with their daughter Christine born exactly three years later.
Ray said Stephen had a quiet, reserved nature, just like his mother, and was good with his hands but struggled academically. He confirmed that Stephen had the reading ability of an 11-year-old at the time of the murder, and said he believed himself to be a failure at school, with few friends, and preferred his own company.
Nita, though, explained how Stephen loved animals, and said that on the day of the attack he returned home to change his boots and to feed some baby hedgehogs found abandoned just a few days earlier.
She also said Stephen was a bit lazy and a poor time-keeper – a worrying problem that had cost him several jobs. On the day of the cemetery attack Stephen was employed there as a gardener for Bakewell Urban District Council.
I knew that if I were to have any hope of understanding this case and the Downings’ allegations, I would need to examine the crime scene myself. Ray agreed to give me a tour of the cemetery, and we walked across the road to it. It was hard to imagine how such a gruesome murder could have been committed in broad daylight, and so close to a busy housing estate, with much of the area overlooked by dozens of houses. Ray was somewhat disappointed that I had not read much of his paperwork, and at first seemed quite abrupt. I told him that I needed to keep an open mind.
The cemetery was situated at the top of a steep hill overlooking Bakewell. The main access was via two large iron gates. Just inside was a gatekeeper’s lodge. It was quite a compact area, probably about 450 yards in length, with two main tarmacked pathways running parallel, one adjacent to Catcliff Wood and the other close to a large beech hedge. The woodland area included a dark, secluded section. The main path ran directly towards the old chapel, and a bit further on and to the rear was the unconsecrated chapel, where Stephen worked at the time of the murder.
Ray showed me where Wendy Sewell was attacked. He then indicated where Stephen said he found her, lying on the path next to an old grave. The headstone bore the inscription ‘In the Midst of Life We Are in Death’. It was the grave of Anthony Naylor, who died in 1872.
Immediately behind the grave was a low drystone wall, and a few feet below was Catcliff Wood. I could see how someone could easily escape if they had attacked Wendy, disappearing into thick undergrowth.
As we wandered further along, Ray pointed out another spot across some displaced gravestones, back towards the centre path. ‘Now here is where Wendy moved to,’ he explained.
‘Moved to?’ I asked, as we carefully negotiated our way around a number of ancient and broken graves.
‘Yes. After Stephen found her he went to get help, but when he returned she’d moved,’ he said. Ray then stopped next to the grave of Sarah Bradbury. ‘Wendy was found just here.’
I was surprised. ‘So how did she move, Ray?’ I asked, wondering how a seriously injured woman could drag herself 25 yards or so along the path, and across several gravestones.
‘Well, there’s the mystery,’ said Ray. ‘No one has been able to answer that one. It didn’t come up at trial either, and the police never queried it.’
Ray then showed me Stephen’s former workplace inside the unconsecrated chapel. He explained that this was where the council workers stored their tools, and that it had been used by quite a few men at the time of the murder.
We turned and headed back out towards the main gates, and I tried to put the case into some sort of perspective as I listened to Ray. He kept mentioning the names of several individuals who had supposedly been identified near the cemetery at that time. I realised I would need to read his papers for any of this to make sense.
As we headed part way down the Butts, a very steep walkway heading back into town, Ray showed me the Kissing Gate, an old two-way iron contraption that led back into Catcliff Wood.
It was the reverse route to that taken by the victim as she approached the cemetery during her lunch break. It was also the path taken by a number of key witnesses, who could perhaps have helped confirm Stephen’s alibi and his movements on the day.
As I tried to consider all the probabilities and possibilities offered by Ray, I thought this so-called remote location appeared more like Piccadilly Circus immediately prior to and just after the attack, with people coming and going back to work after lunch. It seemed to be a simple routine, and yet, according to Ray, everyone reported different timings and information within their statements.
We returned to the Downings’ home, where the kettle was already whistling on the stove. Nita had seen us both walking back, and as we walked in she said, ‘I thought you would have been back before now.’
‘There’s a lot to see,’ Ray replied. ‘And Mr Hale wanted to see everything.’
‘It’s Don, Ray. Call me Don. This Mr Hale sounds more like a bailiff.’
Ray laughed. ‘Don’t mention bailiffs. There’s one round here that we don’t care for at all, isn’t that right, Nita?’
She laughed too. It was obviously some in-joke. Nita handed me a hot mug of tea. It was a family home full of personal mementoes and treasured photographs, yet Stephen’s face was always missing, apart from a few childhood snaps. Their only contact with him now was on infrequent visits to a distant prison several hours’ drive away.
This thought of Stephen suddenly reminded Ray of something, and he scurried away into the lounge before returning with a large basket. He said excitedly, ‘This is Stephen’s clothing from the day of the attack,’ and tipped out the contents on to the table.
I was shocked to see Stephen’s old jeans, T-shirt and work boots, together with rings, a watch and a leather wrist strap.
I couldn’t understand why the police had returned these items, and why the family still retained his clothes after all these years. Incredibly, as I looked much closer, I could just about see some very tiny spots of blood on his T-shirt, but only because they were highlighted by a yellow forensic marker.
Ray pointed out a particular dark stain on the left knee of these discoloured and dirty jeans, which he said was congealed blood. No other stains were obvious to the naked eye. ‘Look at all these clothes,’ he said. ‘They are not drenched in blood. And yet our Stephen was said to have battered this poor woman to death.
‘If he had, he would have been covered in blood from head to toe. The only blood he got on his clothes was from kneeling next to her when he found her. What’s more, I know the ambulanceman who took Wendy to hospital that day. He carried her into the ambulance.
