| The Dream Solution
- Articles |
29/01/02 - Got away with murder?
Real Issue 2/2002
A notorious crime of passion: Michelle Taylor was convicted
of stabbing her lover's wife to death, aided by her sister
Lisa. But the sisters were freed on appeal, after serving
only a year of their life sentences. Here, Michelle - now
married with young children - talks for the first time about
living in the shadow of a crime so many people still believe
she committed.
By Pilar Canas
Every day I stand by the school gates, waiting for my two
children. But I'm careful not to get drawn into conversation
or even catch anyone's eye. The other women think I'm aloof,
perhaps even a snob. They'd never guess that I was convicted
of murdering my lover's wife.
That I spent nearly two years in Holloway prison after an
Old Bailey jury found me guilty of a 'frenzied attack',
in which I supposedly stabbed her 54 times while my younger
sister Lisa stood guard. We were infamous the Taylor sisters.
'Cool, calculated and wicked' was how the police described
us.
The facts are simple. I was 21 and having an affair with
John Shaughnessy, 29, but was a friend of his wife Alison.
There was even a video of me at their wedding, kissing him
on the cheek. The 'cheats kiss', one newspaper called it.
I'd wanted Alison, 21, out of the way, the court was told,
and along with Lisa, 18, had decided killing her was the
only option.
My diary was read out as evidence: My dream solution would
be for Alison to disappear as if she never existed, and
then maybe I could give everything to the man I love. It
was a trial the public devoured until the jury returned
the 'right' verdict: guilty.
But Lisa and I were innocent. We were freed a year later
after three appeal judges ruled our convictions 'unsafe
and unsatisfactory' on two points: police failed to disclose
evidence at the original trial and 'sensational and inaccurate'
press coverage had been sufficient to prejudice a jury.
So, essentially, our conviction was quashed on a technicality.
And because of that, everyone still believes we killed Alison
Shaughnessy. That was nine years ago. Instead of celebrating
my innocence and freedom, I've become a woman with a secret,
and still fear being recognised. I'm married now, mother
to Amy, four, and Michael, six. It's taken me five years
to secure a job as an office administrator because time
spent in prison is difficult to explain on a CV.
I don't trust anyone except my husband Pete, my parents
and Lisa. My kids are too young to understand what I went
through, but I'll have to explain it when they're older...
I was 19 when I began dating John, an assistant purchasing
manager at the Churchill Clinic, a private hospital in South
East London where I was a wages clerk.
He was my first serious boyfriend, a confident charmer.
I lost my virginity to him, convinced he was The One. But
five months into our relationship, he confessed he was engaged
to Alison, a bank clerk. I was distraught and angry. I'd
believed him when he'd said he was visiting friends at weekends,
and assumed he was simply being professional when he insisted
we keep our relationship secret at work.
'You can do much better than him,' Lisa reassured me. And
so I acted indifferent, even when John brought Alison to
an office party. She was slim and pretty. I should have
hated her, but something about her eager-to-please personality
reminded me of myself. She was as much in the dark as I
had been.
That should have been the end of it John was getting married.
But he was persistent and five months later, we resumed
our affair. I lived at home with my parents, Lisa and our
sister Tracey, 12, in South East London, so John and I would
make love in his room at the clinic. I didn't tell anyone
about the affair, not even Lisa, who worked with Dad in
the family window-cleaning business.
My bottled-up emotions spilled over into my diary. Eventually,
I moved into the staff accommodation at the clinic to be
nearer to John. Our affair grew more intense and I prayed
he'd call off his wedding in Ireland. Instead, he invited
me and paid for the trip. We spent the night before the
wedding making love.
The affair didn't end, even after Alison moved in with John.
Most Monday evenings, while she visited her parents, I'd
help John with the clinic's flower arrangements, and we'd
have sex. I hate Alison, the unwashed bitch, I wrote in
my diary one night. Another time, after John and I had made
love in the clinic's garden shed, I scrawled: I hate the
feeling after.
I feel sick with myself. Finally, after 10 months, I realised
John wasn't torn between two women he was simply enjoying
a passionate double life. I found the strength to end the
affair. My love for John disappeared. When I heard he and
Alison were moving into a rented flat in Vardens Road, Battersea,
I offered to help.
By being a normal friend, I was showing he no longer meant
anything to me. For the same reason, I still helped him
with the flower arranging over the next six months, and
even agreed to clean their windows with Lisa. But when we
arrived, Alison said she'd already done them. 'I'm sure
you've something better to do with your evening,' she smiled.
I wondered if she suspected. But I didn't mention it to
John, or Lisa, even when she and I spent the afternoon shopping
together three weeks later, in Bromley, Kent, on 3 June
1991. At 5pm, we went to the clinic. Lisa and I chatted
with our friend Jeanette Tapp, a cleaner, in her room. I
left Lisa there while I went to help John with the flower
arranging.
After we'd finished, I gave him a lift home in my car. The
house was dark when we arrived at 830pm. John opened the
front door and flicked on the hall tight. Suddenly, he stopped
and let out a guttural sound. I was scared. 'What is it?'
I demanded. He turned round, his face white. There, on the
landing, was a black court shoe.
Slowly, the rest came into focus..,a blood-smeared leg,
a black skirt pulled high over a bare thigh. Alison. Blood
covered her face and body. Her eyes were closed, her skin
grey-blue. John was sobbing, shouting her name. I pulled
down her skirt, trying to restore her dignity, then lifted
her wrist. No pulse. She was dead, obviously murdered.
I couldn't see a weapon, but her bag and its contents were
strewn around her as if she'd been felled suddenly. I moved
the hair from her face, unaware of the blood covering my
hands. 'Get help,' I said, but John was incapable of reacting.
I ran outside to the pub on the corner. 'My friend has been
killed,' I cried. 'Call an ambulance and the police.'
I went back to the flat. But when I saw Alison's body again,
I felt nauseous. As I leaned over the toilet, I noticed
my hands were stained with her blood. I scrubbed them in
the bathroom sink. Later, at the police station, I answered
all of their questions except one. I denied my affair with
John.
I was scared of my family's reaction. I moved back home.
I returned to work, waited for news. Surely they'd find
the killer, the murder weapon, some clue. John stayed off
work and moved in with Alison's parents. I didn't call him.
Alison's murder made the national news. The police appealed
for information.
Then they wanted to talk to me again and, separately, to
Lisa. Their manner was cold, their questions relentless.
I knew I was under suspicion. I tried to remain calm, again
didn't mention my affair with John. Lisa panicked and lied
too, saying she'd never been to their flat. Lying was stupid,
made it appear we had something to hide.
But we were both scared. Police searched my rooms at the
clinic and my parents' house. They found my diary and knew
about my affair with John. 'I lied,' I admitted, 'but it's
been over for six months. I liked Alison.' I thought that
would be the end of it, but at 6am on 7 August 1991, they
came to arrest Lisa and me for Alison's murder.
At Wandsworth police station, we were questioned, separately,
all day. 'You've made a mistake,' I kept repeating. 'I didn't
kill Alison.' Tell the truth. It'll be better that way,'
a detective said. They'd calculated that Alison was killed
at 5.35pm. 'I wasn't there,' I said. 'I didn't do it. I
can prove it.'
From 5pm we'd been with Jeanette Tapp. 'Ask her.' They brought
up my affair again, and the comments in my diary. 'I was
upset and confused,' I explained. But now they had their
motive: jealousy. The next day, they charged us with murder.
Later, we discovered Jeanette had changed her story, claiming
she hadn't returned to the clinic until 7.15pm, destroying
our alibi.
She'd withdrawn her statement after the police threatened
to charge her with conspiracy to murder. Lisa was given
bail because she was only 18. I was sent to Holloway prison
on remand. I was frightened and lonely. I didn't hear from
John, and regretted ever becoming entangled with him. 'I'm
so sorry,' I sobbed when Lisa and my parents visited.
I was lucky. They never doubted my innocence. 'We'll get
you out of here,' they promised. We believed in the justice
system. There was no proof, no forensic evidence, no eyewitnesses,
no murder weapon only an overdramatic motive. Our trial
began on 6 July 1992 at the Old Bailey, London.
I was painted as the jealous mistress who'd killed her lover's
wife to get the man she wanted, Lisa as my accomplice. 'Michelle
was completely infatuated with John,' Mr John Nutting, the
prosecution barrister, told the court. 'She stabbed Alison
in a frenzied and violent attack.' And John's words were
damning. He described me as an obsessive lover who'd become
angry when he'd tried to end our affair.
He also denied ever having asked me or Lisa to clean his
windows. As Lisa's fingerprints had been found at their
home, our explanation was effectively destroyed. The prosecution
alleged I'd murdered Alison because John had said they were
planning to start a family and move back to Ireland lies.
They speculated that Lisa had urged me to take action.
Although she looked fragile, detectives saw her as 'having
backbone'. They claimed we'd knocked on Alison's door at
5.35pm. According to the police, I'd struck as she reached
the first landing, while Lisa kept watch.
They alleged we'd killed her, destroyed any scientific evidence
and disposed of our bloodstained garments before driving
four miles back to the clinic - all in 23 minutes. A witness
claimed to have seen us driving in there at 6pm. John had
an alibi - he'd been buying flowers from Buster Edwards
at Waterloo station.
But I'd been so calculating, the jury heard, I'd returned
with John at 8.30pm, touched Alison's body, then washed
my hands in the sink, thereby eliminating potential forensic
evidence. My diary, seized by the police, now served to
crucify me. Ultimately, however, the prosecution's evidence
was circumstantial.
Lisa's fingerprints had been found on the inside of their
front door. But that only showed she'd lied about never
having been there. A cyclist, Dr Michael Unsworth-White,
claimed to have seen two girls fitting our description leave
Alison's house at the time of the murder, but couldn't pick
us out in an identity parade.
We were confident the jury wouldn't convict us, so nothing
prepared us for the verdict. Guilty. I felt faint, gripped
Lisa's icy hand to stop myself swaying as we were sentenced
to life imprisonment. 'We'll fight it,' I told her. 'We'll
appeal.' 'I don't think I can cope,' she sobbed. Lisa and
I were lucky to share a cell, could take it in turns to
be strong.
Our parents organised a campaign to free us, working with
our defence team. Among disregarded evidence, they discovered
that in Dr Unsworth-White's original statement, he'd said
one of the women leaving the flat 'may have been black'.
Our team also discovered that the doctor had received the
£25,000 reward offered by Alison's employer, Barclays.
It proved critical. The Court of Appeal ruled that failure
by the police to disclose an inconsistent description by
the prosecution's crucial witness had been a material irregularity.
The judge went on to criticise the negative press coverage
we'd received, claiming it had 'created a real risk of prejudice',
making a retrial impossible.
So we were freed. Nearly two years of our lives had been
stolen while the killer remained at large. But I was guilty
of immoral behaviour. I'd had an affair with a married man
and, because of that, no one wanted to believe I hadn't
killed Alison. Without jobs or relationships, Lisa and I
struggled to rebuild our lives.
We each received an interim compensation payment of £20,000,
but the money went to pay legal fees. I was 22, Lisa still
only 19. In prison, we'd grown extraordinarily close. We
decided to rent a flat together. I was depressed for a year.
I hadn't been prepared for the stares, and the obvious scorn
over our release.
That's why I agreed when Bernard O'Mahoney a man I'd exchanged
letters with while I was in prison suggested writing a book
about our experience. I figured it would help make sense
of what had happened and be a way of moving on. I soon realised,
though, that we would never be allowed to move on.
Everyone we met was obsessed with our past. Eventually,
I knew I couldn't continue as the old Michelle Taylor. I
was a woman now, no longer the teenager who'd fallen for
John. So I moved away and slowly reinvented myself. I never
thought I'd fall in love again but Pete changed all that.
I told him the truth about myself soon after we began dating.
I'd wanted to wait but a friend of his recognised me, so
I had no choice. 'I know you didn't do it,' was Pete's reaction.
'I trust you.' But my past refuses to go away, and I'd be
lying if I said it hasn't taken its toll on our relationship
over the past eight years. Motherhood is the only thing
that is untainted.
My children are my achievement in life and the reason I
keep the past a secret from the other mothers at the school
gates. Because, as soon as anyone discovers my real identity,
they want to play armchair detective. Maybe Lisa and I really
did kill Alison? John has moved back to Ireland.
He's remarried and has a three-year-old son. I haven't seen
or spoken to him since our trial, and don't want to. I detest
him. Even Bernard, 40, betrayed us. I had a four-month relationship
with him following our release, but left him when I discovered
he was still involved with a former girlfriend.
He's now published his own book, claiming I 'confessed'
to the murder. It's all lies and he has no proof, but it
means our innocence is under scrutiny again. I think he
befriended me just to make money. Scotland Yard's Murder
Review Group is currently deciding whether to reopen the
case. Lisa and I want it to be Alison's killer should be
caught.
Ultimately, my only crime was to have an illicit affair,
something thousands of people do every year in Britain.
Only most people can forget theirs. I'll never escape the
consequences of mine. |
| Contact : bernard.omahoney@bernardomahoney.com |
|
|
|
