| The Dream Solution - Extract's |
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On this page you will find a extract from
Bernard O'Mahoney's book The Dream Solution published
by Mainstream Publishing :- |
Involved with the Taylor sisters
If my brother Paul hadn't been charged with wounding and
assault I woudn't have become involved with the Taylor
sisters. Paul had fallen out with a friend, and it had
resulted in violence. He'd been remanded in custody to
Belmarsh Prison in south-east London after police told
magistrates they feared he might try to interfere with
witnesses.
I wanted to help my brother escape the charge, and I had
every intention of interfering with the witnesses he was
now prevented from visiting. I had a long list of convictions
myself, and had served two prison sentences for wounding,
so I knew the system.
I knew what level of proof the police would need to secure
a conviction. I also knew precisely what evidence would
be needed to derail their case. I didn't know whether
Paul was guilty or innocent. I wasn't even going to ask
him: it didn't bother me.
My job as a nightclub doorman meant I had plenty of free
time during the day to find ways of discrediting what
the police alleged. For me, any work I could do to undermine
the police was a labour of love. I didn't mind using illegal
methods because, as far as I was concerned, so did the
police.
From my own experience I knew how they could lie and cheat
and use all sorts of illegalities to fit people up. I
knew their tricks, but I'd learnt several of my own to
counter them. In short, I hated the bastards and would
do anything in my power to defeat them.
Within a week or so I'd gathered together enough 'new
evidence' to enable Paul to make a credible application
for bail. He was given a date in July 1992 to have his
application heard. The venue was the Old Bailey. I decided
to attend the hearing. Like most people reading newspapers
at that time I'd been following the Taylor sisters' trial.
Reports had frequently made their way onto the front pages,
with lurid follow-ups inside. I was used to violence,
but I still found the case disturbing. I'd come across
violent women before, but I just couldn't believe that
such young women could carry out such a vicious attack
on another woman.
I could just about imagine a woman defending herself in
such a frenzied way against a potential rapist, for instance,
and I could just about imagine a woman in an extreme moment
sticking a knife several times into another woman or an
unfaithful lover, but 54 times? No way.
Only a man could do something like that: I'd certainly
encountered quite a few men who had that capability. From
the newspaper photos the alleged murderers looked like
ordinary south London girls. I prided myself on my ability
to size people up quickly — to a large extent my
job as a doorman depended on it - and to me the Taylor
sisters didn't look hardened or potentially violent.
They looked like ordinary girls, the sort of girls I met
in droves several nights a week on the door at the nightclub.
Perhaps because of my instinctive feeling that they couldn't
have done it, I felt uncomfortable with the coverage in
the tabloids. Several of them seemed to report the story
as if the sisters' guilt was obvious. Yet I hadn't read
anything that convinced me they were.
There certainly didn't seem to be any so-called 'smoking-gun'
evidence. Everything seemed circumstantial — and
highly questionable. At the same time, it was all academic
to me. I didn't personally know anyone involved with the
case, and there were more important things on my mind.
The fact that the trial was taking place at the Old Bailey
hadn't really registered with me.
So when I arrived there for Paul's bail hearing I was
intrigued by the long queue of people for the public gallery.
I'd gone there with my brother's case in mind, nobody
else's. An elderly woman was standing at the back of the
queue clutching what looked like a lunch box of sandwiches.
I asked her what the queue was for. My ignorance displeased
her.
She said with irritation: 'It's those Taylor girls. The
murder.' I walked towards the entrance, down past the
mumbling line of murder groupies. Some of them must have
thought they'd spotted a queue-jumper. I heard a few shouts:
'Oi, you! Get to the back!' and 'We've been here hours!'
I politely told them to fuck off and walked to the other
smaller queue that had formed for security clearance.
A guard asked me several prepared questions regarding
recording equipment, bags and mobile phones. Satisfied
I had nothing on his list, he waved me through. I went
in search of the court usher to find out which court my
brother would be appearing in. A man in a well-ironed
black gown almost sighed with boredom when I asked him
for information.
He asked me my brother's name and began to flick through
his sheaf of listings. Then he looked up and said: 'It's
been adjourned for seven days.' I asked him why. He said
he didn't know. I can't say I was surprised. I'd often
felt with my own cases that the legal process was one
long adjournment. All the same, I felt exasperated by
my wasted journey.
I didn't have anything else to do for the rest of the
day, so I decided on a whim to sit in on the Taylor sisters'
trial for a few hours. I had, after all, managed to jump
the queue for the public gallery, although I'd neglected
to bring sandwiches. 1 followed some people from the queue
who were being let in a few at a time. An usher stood
guarding the open door of the courtroom.
He looked behind him to check for vacant spaces inside
before letting us in. I spotted a gap in the middle of
a bench and squeezed past several pairs of bunched knees
to secure my place in the packed courtroom. Before I sat
down I noticed John Shaughnessy, the victim's husband,
sitting directly behind me. I recognised him from the
newspaper photos.
Looking around I also spotted a few members of the Taylor
family on a bench to my right. The proceedings had not
yet started, but Michelle and Lisa were sitting in the
dock. In the flesh they seemed even more unlikely as murderers.
They just looked like nice ordinary girls, although there
was one detail which, to my cynical eye, made Michelle
seem a little more cunning and worldly than she might
at first have appeared: she was holding a Bible, a picture
of Jesus Christ and what looked like a chain with a small
crucifix attached. Nice touch, I thought — a show
of Christian piety for the benefit of the jurors.
Seasoned criminals had over the years taught me several
courtroom tactics for swaying gullible jurors - using
a walking stick for sympathy; dressing nerdishly to destroy
the image of hardened criminality; crying 'No! No! No!'
when the victim gave particularly damaging evidence. I
assumed Michelle had received similar guidance while on
remand. |
| Contact : bernard.omahoney@bernardomahoney.com |
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