Murder on the Farm (Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates Book 21), page 2
The Court of Appeal deemed that in 11 other cases involving the bent copper, the confessions were to be considered unsound and should be struck from the evidence.
The murder at Caldblow Farm was one of those cases.
As the history books now tell us, after 12 years behind bars, in 1988 the Hares were acquitted and released as free men.
A MIXED REACTION
Cumbria Constabulary at the time disputed the outcome. Reluctant to accept the verdict of the Appeal Court, for many years the force remained in denial. One discredited confession did not make another so.
However, it was plain that there was no direct evidence to link the Hares to the Caldblow Farm murder. No forensics were produced to show they had been at the farm. No trace was ever found of the missing antiques (and the Hares were anything but sophisticated in the fencing of stolen goods in their previous offences). There was no verified sighting of the Hares at Caldblow Farm. Only the vague connection between the “red estate car” and their second-hand Post Office van remained – and, as June Hare pointed out, a van is not an estate car, and only her boys were daft enough to commit burglaries in a distinctive postman’s van.
Perhaps because the victims of their malpractice were inveterate criminals, the police did not receive the scrutiny that was due. Indeed, when the Hares had come up for sentencing and their lifetime catalogue of misdemeanours was read out in court, there was great public opprobrium. Despite their subsequent acquittal, among some observers there was a feeling that the 12 years wrongly served was the least the Hares deserved.
As one seasoned local put it, “Flee wi’ t’ craws, get shot wi’ t’ craws”.
And perhaps he was a fair representative of the vox pop at the time.
IF NOT THE HARES?
This, dear reader, is the question we at the Gazette hope to address. We have teamed up with Turnpike Media, makers of internationally acclaimed, award-winning investigative documentaries and podcasts.
Starting in this week’s edition – under the banner of Murder on the Farm – there will be a regular news article, and a podcast that you may stream or download from our website. Yes – the Gazette takes one small step into the 21st Century! All of this will feed into a feature-length documentary, an investigation that will be led by renowned TV crime-buster, forensic psychologist Professor Simeon Freud, head of faculty at our very own University of Cumbria, and familiar to viewers nationwide through his recent hit documentary series for Channel 4, Shrinking Crime.
And this is where you might come in.
Yes, it was a long time ago – near enough half a century; two generations have passed. But some things can be seen more clearly from a distance. And hindsight can be a wonderful thing.
Perhaps an idea has already occurred to you, or maybe the podcast will jog a memory, long forgotten. The Gazette has set up a confidential telephone line and email address, and of course you can write to us by the traditional means. Any piece of information, however small, will be welcomed. Who knows – it could prove to be the key that finally turns the lock in this uncomfortable mystery.
Is this important?
Why, yes – together, we may be able to bring Will Featherston the justice he deserves.
NORTHWEST CUMBRIA
1. ROOM 101
Top Floor, Police HQ – 10 a.m. Friday 16 July
‘What do you reckon, Guv?
Skelgill, standing at the window with his back to his colleagues, remains gazing at the view.
DS Leyton persists.
‘It’s not often the Chief praises anyone in advance, Guv.’
Skelgill makes what amounts to a snorting sound.
‘Kiss of death, Leyton.’
He turns to look at DS Jones, as if to gauge her reaction; she appears a little conflicted, but she is supportive.
‘She says it will be the most high-profile case in years.’
The suggestion is that Skelgill and his team ought to be honoured.
But Skelgill is reluctant to buy into the logic. He digs his fists into his pockets; it might almost be an unconscious act of rebellion. The fingers of his left hand tighten around a hank of baler twine.
‘There’s only one thing worse than getting the most high-profile case in years – and that’s Smart getting it.’
DS Leyton emits an involuntary chuckle of approval. But he has other, more pressing things on his mind. While Skelgill has gravitated automatically to the row of windows that, from waist height, line two sides of the spacious corner room, on the top floor of the headquarters building, DS Leyton lumbers to inspect what lies beyond an internal door. He emits an exclamation of surprise.
‘There’s like a kitchen through here – and a flippin’ karsey!’
DS Jones moves across to look.
‘I had no idea this room even existed. But I did notice the door locked automatically behind us.’
She turns questioningly to Skelgill, but he does not reveal the status of his own knowledge. Certainly the room has the qualities of a self-contained suite. Centred towards one end is a long boardroom table that seats ten in upholstered chairs, and in the corner where the windows converge an arrangement of two sofas around a square coffee table. The main wall that houses the door through which they have entered is fitted with large pinboards and a wipe-clean whiteboard which doubles as a screen for a wireless projector hung from the ceiling. The only incongruity is an irregular stack of Bankers boxes that has been piled either side of the door to the kitchenette, about thirty in all, aged-looking and sagging, ready to burst in places.
But Skelgill’s eye has been drawn by a neat array of three manila files, marked “Confidential” and each placed before a chair at the table, a red felt pen on one side and a yellow highlighter on the other. They are like three place settings. Each file bears the name of one of the detectives.
Rather uncannily, without instruction or mutual agreement, the trio take their places, Skelgill at the centre. They sit unmoving, like diners expecting a waiter to materialise in order to explain the etiquette. It is DS Leyton that breaks the silence.
‘Blimey, Guv – it’s like that Dungeon Escape up at Carlisle Castle. We took the nippers at Easter. They lock you in, and you have to crack the clues to find the combination for the lock before your time runs out.’
Skelgill appears vaguely interested.
‘What happens if you don’t?’
DS Leyton colours and squirms sheepishly.
‘Thing is – we chose the kids’ level of difficulty – so I didn’t like to stick my oar in – being in the business, so to speak.’
But Skelgill now sees that DS Jones has already turned the cover of her file. The first page is a printout from the website of the Westmorland Gazette.
‘Here’s your chance to do it for real, Leyton.’ He scowls unfavourably. ‘Let’s hope they’ve stocked that fridge.’
DS Jones murmurs – it seems she contains a laugh in her throat. But she has already read the first side and turns the page.
‘1976. The Caldblow Farm murder.’ She glances questioningly at Skelgill. ‘Do you know of this?’
Skelgill opens his own file. He glares at the page. Almost imperceptibly, he seems to give a shake of his head.
‘I’ve heard of it. Like I’ve heard of the Moors Murders and the Yorkshire Ripper.’
DS Jones reads on.
‘Except the Caldblow Farm murder is unsolved.’
DS Leyton, now also perusing the article, gives a gasp of exasperation.
‘Wait a minute – this has got next Friday’s date on it. What’s going on? Is the Chief up to some kind of trick?’
Skelgill merely glowers at the text that swims before his eyes.
‘What did I just say, Leyton? Kiss of death.’
DS Jones is onto the next item. It is a densely typed report of several pages stapled together. She raises it, though they each have a copy.
‘This is our brief. It’s authored by the legal department.’
Her statement is sufficient to convince Skelgill that he has been sitting down long enough. He pushes back his chair and drifts again to the window. The elevation is a novelty, providing a fine view of the shallow vale where the rivers Eamont and Lowther converge, counterintuitively flowing eastwards towards the Pennines, prior to the confluence with the Eden and the eventual return of its trajectory westwards to the Solway. With trees in full leaf, the great flood plain has the look of Royal parkland, though populated by countless sheep that patiently crop the green sward, ruminating, converting cellulose into prime lamb and methane. Sleek black swallows shimmer as they hawk for dung flies.
‘Shall I read aloud?’
DS Jones has some sympathy with Skelgill’s inclination; it goes roughly along the lines that, if humans have been speaking and listening for the best part of a million years, what is so good about the modern obsession with writing and reading?
She takes the resigned shrug and lack of a rebuttal as an affirmative. Moreover, he drops onto a settee and hooks one leg over an arm.
DS Leyton is poised obediently, index finger on the first word.
DS Jones clears her throat.
‘It begins with a list of protocols. All materials to be kept in the incident room. The code to the keypad is not to be shared beyond designated team members. There is to be no external publicity of police involvement and no mention within police circles. To all intents and purposes, this is not happening.’
She pauses and looks up and receives nods that she should continue.
‘Next, a section headed “Chronology”. I’ll just read it verbatim.’
She scans for a moment, and turns a couple of pages to get her bearings.
13 August 1976 – CALDBLOW FARM MURDER
Caldblow Farm, near Santhwaite, 3 miles south of Whitehaven.
Killing of delivery boy, Will Featherston, 17; believed to have interrupted a burglary of antiques. Death caused by single shotgun blast to the temple. No prime suspect. Several persons of interest, including of note a local man, Percy Tuseling, 28. Sufficient evidence to investigate further.
20 September 1976 – KIRKSTILE FARM ROBBERY
Kirkstile Farm, Brackenthwaite, near Loweswater; 16 miles east of Caldblow Farm.
Unsuccessful antiques burglary. Shotgun discharged; no casualties. Fingerprint evidence and eyewitness testimony led to arrest of Joel and Jasper Hare of Workington, twins, aged 18.
27 September 1976 – MURDER CHARGE
Following confessions, Hare twins charged with robberies at Kirkstile Farm and Caldblow Farm, and murder of Will Featherston at Caldblow Farm.
12-16 September 1977 – HARES’ TRIAL
Pleas entered of not guilty. Joel and Jasper Hare convicted of robberies, and murder of Will Featherston. Sentenced to life with a minimum tariff of 25 years.
4 October 1977 – BELLTOWER FARM MURDER
Belltower Farm, near Santhwaite.
Killing of farmer Colin Bell-Gibson, 60. Death caused by single shotgun blast to the temple.
DS Jones hesitates. Perhaps it is both the significance and the similarity of the incidents that gives her pause for thought. But she has also scanned ahead.
‘What is it, girl?’
DS Leyton has followed doggedly, word for word; now he looks up expectantly, as though he must wait for the narrator.
She resumes.
Caldblow Farm and Belltower Farm share a field boundary. The land was jointly farmed from the latter. The perpetrator of the Belltower Farm killing – who handed himself in – was a local man who had permission to shoot birds on both farms. The man was Percy Tuseling.
She gives a shake of her head that might almost be a jolt of disbelief; the action dislodges a lock of fair hair and she pauses to brush it from her cheek.
20-24 March 1978 – TUSELING TRIAL
Pleas entered: guilty to manslaughter; not guilty to murder. Jury returned unanimous verdict of guilty to murder. Tuseling sentenced to life with minimum tariff of 18 years.
7-9 June 1982 – HARES’ FIRST APPEAL
Unsuccessful.
10 February 1988 – HARES’ SECOND APPEAL
Convictions for murder of Will Featherston at Caldblow Farm quashed on grounds of unsafe confessions. See commentary below.
5 October 1996 – TUSELING RELEASED
Percy Tuseling released on licence, having served full term of 18 years without remission or parole for murder of Colin Bell-Gibson at Belltower Farm.
The section ends and she looks at her colleagues to check for a reaction. The facts are largely new to them. But taken together with the press article the inference is clear. Indeed, DS Leyton homes in on this point.
‘Where do we come in?’
His question is in part rhetorical, in that they all know as much as one another. DS Jones lays a palm on the papers before her.
‘The next section is entitled “Commentary”, okay?’
Skelgill is staring at her keenly – in fact so much so that he might almost be looking through her, beyond into some distant past, perhaps into those mists of childhood in which swirl incomplete fragments of adult news and pop songs of the time – then meaningless, but having left a lingering imprint, having evoked an emotion without accompanying explanation, like striking graffiti glimpsed from a speeding car, startling and salient, but lacking significance or relevance, be it artistic, territorial or political.
As DS Jones resumes her recitation, it is political that emerges as the watchword.
Records of strategic decisions at the time of the Caldblow Farm murder are not preserved, if any existed. This is unfortunate. It can be concluded, however, that the Hares’ confessions shifted the entire focus of the inquiry. The wider investigation was wound down. In the context – the confessions themselves, the immense drain upon police resources, and intense public pressure and media scrutiny – this can be viewed with hindsight as an understandable if regrettable course of action.
Furthermore, Percy Tuseling’s admission to the killing of Colin Bell-Gibson at Belltower Farm approximately one year later meant that a limited investigation took place: just sufficient to establish a degree of intent and premeditation in order to support a charge of murder. By that time, the Caldblow Farm case was closed, and the Hare brothers imprisoned.
Following a petition to the Home Office, the court bundle in the trial of Percy Tuseling was supplied to the solicitors representing the Hares. Information therein may have been influential in gaining leave to appeal in 1982. The appeal, however, was unsuccessful.
In 1987, further to revelations by a retired officer (“Officer X”) of the West Pennines Constabulary, significant doubt was cast upon confessions obtained by a fellow officer (“Officer Y”) in a number of cases over a period of 15 years. The Director of Public Prosecutions ruled that the evidence was sufficient that a test case should be reviewed by the Court of Appeal. The latter court accordingly found the conviction unsafe.
The corollary was a review of all such cases. During 1976, Officer Y had been briefly assigned to Cumbria Constabulary. It emerged that Officer Y played a lead role in obtaining confessions in the case of the Caldblow Farm murder. It should be noted that prior to their trial the Hare brothers had retracted their confessions and averred that they were made under duress; a position they maintained throughout their period of incarceration. Without reference to the facts of the case, in view of the primacy of the confessions in obtaining a guilty verdict, the Hares’ convictions were ruled unsafe and quashed by the Court of Appeal in 1988.
DS Leyton exclaims and slaps the papers before him.
‘So, it’s a blot on the copybook, ain’t it? The powers that be don’t want us airing their dirty washing in public.’
He looks about at his colleagues. They nod; this seems to be the way of things. But DS Jones, the youngest and least-time-served of the trio is first to question this motive.
‘Surely there’s more to it? What would be the problem with admitting to procedural inadequacies and a rogue officer from a different force almost fifty years ago? There can’t be anyone here now who was working then. Even the whistleblower – if it was to protect their identity – he or she must surely have passed away?’
There is a deliberative silence.
‘Percy Tuseling.’
It is Skelgill that speaks.
His colleagues turn to look at him.
‘He must be alive. And there must be evidence that says he did it.’
Skelgill jumps up and strides purposefully towards the stacks of boxes.
‘What are you doing, Guv?’
‘Time for a mash, Leyton – since no one else is offering.’
But his tone is sardonic – and the timing of the hiatus is clearly intentional. His colleagues exchange grins as they hear cupboards banging and crockery clinking, a metallic sound, running water. Skelgill is a queer fish when it comes to attention span. They know he can focus for hours upon end – they have both seen him in his boat, still and silent as a hungry crocodile – and other times he is more like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof, unable to settle, in need of an off-ramp; when enough is enough and some form of digestion is called for.
There is the jangle of a teaspoon against china and a minute later he reappears with steaming mugs. He doles them out and now resumes a place at the main table, though he sits opposite and does not take his papers. DS Jones thoughtfully reaches to rotate the open file and slide it to within range.
She has read further ahead.
‘Guv – you’re right. He is alive. Listen to this. This is where the press article preview ties to – well – to us.’
She waves a hand over the document, as if to signify that she will summarise its contents.
‘This TV production company – Turnpike Media.’ She indicates to the press article. ‘Here it just refers to the case in general – that’s obviously the public position – for the purposes of the podcast and documentary they intend to record, Murder on the Farm. But in our brief it explains that Turnpike Media have reached a confidential agreement with Percy Tuseling.’
