The Law Killers (27 page)
Among the readers that afternoon was a 17-year-old youth who devoured every word. He studied the photographs and read the account of the police hunt over and over again. Then he went to Pitalpin Court and made his way to the incident room.
‘I’m the guy you are looking for,’ he told Detective Chief Inspector David Fotheringham. ‘I was on the bus with her.’
The chief inspector’s first impressions were that the slightly built young man standing before him seemed remarkably young and inoffensive – and friendly. There was a complete absence of hostility and the dialogue between them continued amicably. His instincts told him to keep it that way, for he was certain there was much more to hear.
‘We’d better have a chat away from here,’ the policeman said softly. ‘We’ll go down to headquarters in Bell Street.’
The interview that followed came straight from the good cop–bad cop textbook. DCI Fotheringham, naturally easy-going and conversational, but one of the most productive interrogators in the force, probed gently and the story the youth had to tell slowly started to unfold. He identified himself as James Mullady, who lived in Kings Cross Place, on the other side of the wall which separated Pitalpin Court from the Beechwood estate. That night, he explained, he had been on the same bus as Diane and they had alighted at the same stop. He caught up with her and they had walked together and struck up a conversation. Then they had gone into the basement area of the multi-storey block and briefly ‘kissed and cuddled’ before he climbed the boundary wall to make his way home to Beechwood.
It was evident that his version of events had been only part of the story and the other detective sitting in on the interview slipped effortlessly into bad-cop mode, demanding loudly to be told the full story and showing none of the chief inspector’s sympathy. He shouted and raged and in an apparent temper, stormed from the room. DCI Fotheringham leaned conspiratorially towards the 17-year-old sitting anxiously in front of him.
‘Look, before he comes back, what really happened? ‘he urged. ‘I’m sure you didn’t really mean to kill her.’
It was the key that unlocked a confession. In a tumble of words James Mullady explained that when he had approached Diane in the basement of the multi-block she had pushed him away, mockingly saying he smelled.
‘Do you mean you had been drinking?’ asked the chief inspector.
‘No. It was my feet. I have awfy smelly feet and she said I was stinking,’ said Mullady by way of explanation.
He quickly went on to disclose that after being pushed away by the 16-year-old in the red mini-dress, he had responded by shoving her in return, when she fell down. He wasn’t sure what had followed but he slowly came to the realisation that she lay dead at his feet, the result of a terrible accident. Further coaxing by DCI Fotheringham brought the admission that he had stolen the boots, handbag and gloves – ‘everything shiny’ – because he imagined they might have had his fingerprints on them. The burns on the body had been caused, he explained, by matches he lit to locate the items he had removed. Shortly afterwards, he accompanied police back to Pitalpin Court and pointed out a drain near the tower block where he had concealed the stolen property. When his home in nearby Beechwood was searched, Diane’s metal comb with her name scratched on it, was found under the mattress of his bed.
Six weeks later, at the High Court, Mullady pled guilty to a charge of murder and robbery. The proceedings lasted barely two minutes and the 17-year-old who had gone to ‘help police’ after reading in an evening paper that they were looking for him, was ordered to be detained during Her Majesty’s Pleasure – the equivalent of a life sentence for someone his age.
Everyone connected with the case felt immense sympathy for the family of Diane Graham, who died for no other reason than that she happened to get on a particular bus. Among those most deeply affected was Chief Inspector David Fotheringham. Later he was also to admit to feeling considerable compassion for the youth who had been so willing to confide in him.
20
Evil dwells in unlikely places. It takes no heed of geography or seasons and often announces its presence when least expected. It inhabits improbable minds and is no respecter of age. It penetrates the soul of the young just as readily as it infiltrates the psyche of the mature …
That bright summer’s evening in 2001 it lurked at its most menacing – and most unforeseen. On the sunny slopes of the Law, dog walkers exercised their pets, children frolicked and couples meandered hand in hand. It was 6.30 p.m. in the middle of the trades holiday fortnight and the city was at play and at peace. No one spotted the powerful figure wearing the blue baseball cap and matching top and trousers who padded lightly through the undergrowth bordering the paths that criss-crossed the hill. He moved swiftly and silently and in his hand he carried a knife.
When he suddenly burst into view in front of the woman walking her dog, he paused for only a moment. Then he grabbed her, dragging her roughly back into the bushes from which he had unexpectedly emerged. He brought the knife swiftly across the throat of his petrified victim – then he started to swing it as though he was possessed by the Devil himself. He didn’t stop until it had flashed twenty-nine times. By then the poor woman was dead. She lay on the ground bleeding profusely from wounds to her head, throat, face, chest, back, abdomen and an arm. She had not cried out, for the first thrust of the blade had severed her voice box. Before he departed, the figure in blue stamped on her face. Then he ran away down the hill, his urgent footsteps making no sound as he ducked and swerved through the heavy bushes.
It was some time before anyone became aware of the evil that had descended on the popular beauty spot that August night. The body of 34-year-old civil servant Anne Nicoll, whose home was only a few hundred yards away in Byron Street, lay undisturbed in the brushwood for almost an hour. At first she had the company of her beloved Sophie, the Airedale terrier she walked morning and evening on the Law, but the pet, distressed at the lack of response from his mistress, had finally retreated whimpering from the scene. Sophie remained in the vicinity and was still there when Anne’s partner of four years, 33-year-old Gordon McKenzie, anxious at their failure to return home, came looking for them, retracing their usual route. The terrier led him through the woods to the thicket where Anne lay crumpled and bleeding on her side.
He did not know that, as he desperately tried to revive the woman he loved, his every move was being watched by a figure crouching behind a bush a short distance away. The silent observer no longer wore blue, for after he had run from the hill the disciple of the Devil had hurried to his home nearby and showered. Then he returned to watch and await the discovery of his handiwork.
The savage and apparently motiveless killing stunned the city. It was murder at its most wicked. The victim was liked by all who knew her, a decent woman who took pleasure from the simple things in life and who never had a bad word to say about anyone. Police were only too aware that anyone who could take a life so randomly and with such unbridled ferocity was perfectly capable of repeating the act. Dog walkers deserted the hill and children were kept indoors.
More than a hundred detective and uniformed police officers swamped the area in the following days, with reinforcements being brought in from a neighbouring police force. Hundreds of people who frequented the Law or lived in the area were interviewed. The response from the public, outraged by the indiscriminate attack, was unprecedented. Four days after the fearsome stabbing, Detective Chief Inspector Andy Allan announced a breakthrough. One of those who answered the press appeals was an elderly lady who had also walked her dog that night and had been alarmed after an encounter with a stranger. The 68-year-old told how she had spotted a figure in a brilliant blue tracksuit and baseball cap flitting through the woods. Then he had suddenly appeared on a path in front of her and instinctively she had said ‘Hello’. He did not return the greeting, but had grunted and stared at her. After he passed, she turned to find that he too had turned and was continuing to look at her.
The woman, who had walked her dog on the hill for eight years, became frightened and hurried away. Describing her encounter, she said: ‘I thought to myself, “I had better get out of here quick”. I don’t know why.’
Police immediately issued a nationwide appeal for information about the ‘man in blue’. It brought instant results. Others came forward to say they too had become anxious after sighting a suspicious figure in a corresponding outfit – except it wasn’t a man but a youth. An 11-year-old girl told how she had been on the hill with her 12-year-old cousin when a teenager clad in blue suddenly came out of the trees to appear behind them. He started to follow the children and the 12-year-old, frightened and apprehensive, keyed the 999 emergency number into his mobile phone, keeping his finger on the ‘call’ button ready to connect the call in case anything happened. A 15-year-old, who had been walking his dog with two other teenagers, told how they too had become afraid when a menacing figure in blue had passed them on the hill, moving fast and constantly looking behind him. Crucially, one of the trio said the stranger seemed to be aged about 15 or 16 with red or blonde hair, and with a pierced eyebrow. It was a major lead. Police had suspected from the moment the murder hunt had been launched that the perpetrator probably lived locally and knew the hill intimately because of the apparent ease with which he had moved across it. The likely age of the person who had become their prime suspect indicated he may even be one of the teenagers from the area who used the thickets of the Law as a gathering place for assorted activities, including the consumption of drugs and alcohol.
Police concentrated their investigation on the movements of youths who frequented the area. Among them was Robbie McIntosh, a 15-year-old schoolboy who lived in Kenmore Terrace, less than 200 yards from the murder scene and in a house whose window looked directly into the home of victim Anne Nicoll’s father. He had red-blonde hair and a pierced eyebrow. His mother was a social worker at HM Young Offenders’ Institution, Castle Huntly, Longforgan, a few miles from Dundee, and he was the dominant figure in a gang of teenagers who roamed the hill. Locals knew him as a sullen troublemaker who became difficult when he didn’t get his own way. Some said he had an evil streak.
The burly teenager had been among the first people the murder team had spoken to after the discovery of the mutilated body. He had been part of a group of ten youths who gathered on the hill to spectate as police taped off the death scene. All had their names and addresses taken as potential witnesses and in the following days McIntosh, among others, was interviewed on several occasions. He became of particular interest after eyewitness descriptions of the ‘man in blue’ began coming in, and his status changed from important witness to prime suspect.
McIntosh admitted to having been on the Law prior to the discovery of the body, but each time he was questioned he gave a different account of his movements on the night of the killing. He described how he had seen Anne Nicoll walking her dog and watched as she had a conversation with another woman who had also been exercising her pet. He told of a man sitting on a bench near the spot where the corpse had been found. Later, he said, he saw a well-known ‘junkie and weirdo’ who sniffed gas from a canister. Each interview brought a new explanation of his movements and variation in timescales. He spoke of a suspicious figure he had spotted while he strolled the hill in early evening. Finally, he confessed to having gone to the Law to smoke a joint of cannabis.
Police decided to round up all the young witnesses and interview them individually again, this time simultaneously so there could be no exchange of stories. They called at McIntosh’s house at 7 a.m., only to learn he had departed for Glasgow Airport to bid farewell to his sister who was returning to her home in Canada after holidaying in Scotland. Uncertain about whether he might return to Dundee, detectives rushed to the west and brought him back from the airport for interview at police headquarters. He was arrested the same day.
Nine days later, McIntosh appeared before a sheriff to be judicially examined by a procurator fiscal, a procedure which allows an accused person to give an account of any circumstances relevant to the case, such as a plea incriminating someone else for the crime, or that the accused had acted in self-defence or had some other justification for what may have happened. McIntosh was advised that if he did not answer any questions at that stage, but later said something at the trial which he could have disclosed at the examination, that this omission could go against him. Citing the advice of his solicitor, the teenager declined to answer any questions. By the time the long-awaited trial opened at the High Court in Forfar the following April, McIntosh had turned sixteen and his protected status as a juvenile had expired, allowing him to be publicly identified.
Being charged with murder did nothing to lessen his arrogance. On his first appearance in court he laughed and joked all his way to the dock. During his journeys to and from court, he blew kisses to photographers and when his friends took their seats in the public benches he greeted them with a grin, acknowledging their presence with a knowing nod of his head. Nor was he overawed by the solemn majesty of the High Court. While some of the teenagers who gave evidence against him were in the witness-box, he fixed them with a brooding, unwavering stare. At one point, the proceedings had to be interrupted after McIntosh sat making obscene gestures to a young witness under the pretext of moving his hand round his face.
