MURDER HE WROTE

As a rookie cop, there were many times when I felt vulnerable. Pub fights, large scale public disorder and high-speed pursuits were the usual suspects. The first couple of events rarely had any rules and I was always mindful that an errant punch could deprive me of my prominent, but nonetheless cherished, front teeth.

Having been mistakenly deployed to the miners’ strike in the early eighties, when the Kirke without an ‘e’ should have gone instead, as a wet behind the ears twenty-one-year-old I can still remember the picket lines of men as old as my dad baying for our blood. ‘Maggie’s Stormtroopers’ was a label that was snarled virtually every time I left the protected carrier, a modified 3-litre Ford transit.

Pursuits, or annoyingly referred to as ‘follows’ by the control room, were OK if I was driving but as a passenger, it was a completely different experience, as my arse would chew the seat at every bend in the road and howling through a red light was often like a game of chicken.

Then there was the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) office. The home of the seasoned detectives who could smell the blood of a raw recruit woodentop from miles away. Truly terrifying! Even after a few promotions, the CID office was still a daunting place to enter as a uniformed officer. The next step up was the shock and awe of an Incident Room which would be occupied by the crème de la crème of the detective breed, very often investigating a murder.

Murder can evoke several emotional reactions: horror, intrigue, and despair to name but a few.

Media is dominated by the characterization of the perpetrators, classification of their mental states and the timelines of their offending.

The classic whodunnit has entertained the masses for generations. Murderers become household names and they can very often become the only headline feature. Gruesome icons who commit the ultimate crime.

Yet in reality, of the murderers I met when they were locked up