Essex Boy (19 page)

As soon as Nicholls stepped out of the car, the officers snatched his mobile phone from him and handcuffed his hands behind his back. As he looked up the road, he could see Bridge, also handcuffed, being put in a police van.

‘Do you know why you have been stopped?’ asked one of the officers.

Nicholls said nothing. He just shook his head.

‘Where have you come from?’ asked the officer.

‘Colchester,’ Nicholls replied.

‘Well, there have been a number of burglaries in Colchester and you’ve been stopped today because we would like to search your van in connection with those burglaries.’

Nicholls nodded, ‘OK, fair enough, but everything in that van is mine. Colin is just driving it for me. He has nothing to do with anything. It’s all down to me.’

Because the back of the van was empty except for the toolbox, it didn’t take the officers long to find the ten kilos of cannabis inside.

‘What are these, then?’ asked the officer.

‘They look like chocolate bars to me,’ Nicholls replied. ‘What do you think they are?’

A huge grin broke out on the officer’s face. ‘I think they’re drugs and you’re under arrest.’

All the way to the police station Nicholls had been expecting his friend DC Bird to appear and tell the officers they had made a terrible mistake.

Nicholls could imagine him saying, ‘No, this one’s OK, he’s on our side.’

But DC Bird was never going to come to his rescue: he, too, was facing some awkward questions. Nicholls realised that the only man who could save him now was himself. He decided he would give ‘no comment’ answers to all the police questions until he knew exactly how strong their case was. Only then would he decide what path he was going to take. One thing was for sure: saving himself was top priority.

At 2116 hrs, Nicholls asked if he could speak to a nominated police officer who was known to him, but his request was declined. At 2326 hrs Nicholls was interviewed for the first time about the importation of cannabis. He answered ‘no comment’ to all of the questions.

At the end of the interview, DC Winstone, who was asking Nicholls the questions, said, ‘I don’t intend to say any more about the possession with intent to supply at the moment. The time by my watch is 2335 hrs and you’re now going to be arrested for being involved in the murders of Pat Tate, Craig Rolfe and Tony Tucker. Do you wish to make any comment to the fact you’ve now been arrested for those murders?’

After a pause, Nicholls replied, ‘No comment.’

The following day, as the extent of the evidence against him began to be revealed, Nicholls realised he was in a hopeless position, but he still refused to comment when each question was asked. In addition to all of the Customs and police surveillance records – which now included video footage and still pictures – the police had access to his phone records. Additionally, Nicholls had been caught in possession of drugs. Colin Bridge had been released after just two or three hours because it was clear to police he had played no active part in the drug-smuggling operation. Nicholls had told the officers that everything in the van was his, so prosecuting Bridge would have been impossible.

At the end of his second interview, DC Winstone said to Nicholls, ‘Last night you asked if you could speak to a police officer. Would you like to tell me who the police officer was?’

Nicholls looked at DC Winstone and said, ‘No comment.’

‘All right, I can tell you that at the moment two police officers from Essex have been arrested and are currently in custody.’

Nicholls’s mouth dropped. ‘Oh, fuck, I don’t believe it . . .’

DC Winstone continued, ‘The officers have been charged with a number of offences including some linked to the possession of controlled drugs. We have evidence that you have had numerous dealings with one of the officers. Is there any comment you wish to make now?’

‘No, no fucking comment,’ Nicholls replied.

As soon as the tape had been switched off, Nicholls asked to see a senior police officer. DS Barrington was summoned and Nicholls asked him if he were to give him the name of the police officer who had been arrested, would he confirm it? DS Barrington said that he would.

‘Is it DC Bird?’ DS Barrington confirmed that it was. Nicholls told him that DC Bird was the reason he had got into all of this trouble. ‘I’ve been set up,’ he said.

Nicholls knew that he was now facing the toughest decision of his life. If he managed to escape prosecution by the police, which was extremely unlikely, the fact that he was Ken Rugby, police informant, would come out and if he were sent to prison he would undoubtedly be in extreme danger. Even if he escaped imprisonment, all of the people in Braintree he had grassed on and set up would find out, and he would have to move. There was no way out for him. Whichever path he took, he faced ruin.

The police had already established Nicholls was DC Bird’s informant, so they knew he wasn’t averse to informing on people, even friends. They also knew he had nowhere safe to turn and so they threw him a lifeline. If Nicholls could tell them who had murdered Tate, Tucker and Rolfe, and tell them about the drug importations they were involved in, they would put him and his family on the Witness Protection Programme. This would give him and his family a new identity, a new home in a new area, a completely fresh start in life. Nicholls didn’t hesitate: ‘It was Mick Steele and Jack Whomes. They murdered them,’ he said.

Nicholls constructed a convincing web of lies based on circum-stantial evidence, the jury believed him and two innocent men were jailed for life. However, new evidence is emerging all the time and I am in no doubt that Steele and Whomes will soon be acquitted and freed. Securing convictions using people such as Nicholls, who have nothing to lose by telling the police what they need to hear but everything to gain, is unjust, dangerous and reckless. Sadly, Whomes and Steele are not the only ones who have suffered at the hands of a devious liar and a jury that was misled.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Everybody in the Essex underworld appeared to be experiencing traumatic
times and it’s fair to say that I wasn’t having the best week of my life either. Malcolm Walsh had telephoned me from Essex to say that the police wanted to talk to me about ‘a bit of work’ we had done in Essex. Apparently, they suspected Malcolm and me of committing an armed robbery near the Lakeside shopping centre more than two years previously. I told Malcolm not to worry.

‘It’s just pub talk; you know what they’re like. Just because I am out of the area every man and his dog assumes that I am responsible for all of the crime committed in the south-east of England,’ I said.

Malcolm wasn’t so easily convinced. He said that he had already been questioned and if our stories didn’t match we could be heading back to prison.

‘Stay out of the way until it blows over,’ he pleaded. ‘I don’t need any more shit at the moment.’

My brother-in-law, Steve, had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer and I was planning to go and visit him in Essex, but Malcolm was keen to point out that I would find the experience upsetting. He said that he had met Steve on Southend seafront recently and he had ‘looked awful’.

‘I hardly recognised him, he was thin and gaunt, the guy is really ill. He looks like he is going to die soon. You are better off remembering Steve as he was before his illness,’ Malcolm said. However, when I indicated that Steve’s rapid demise gave me more of a reason to see him urgently, Malcolm’s tack changed, ‘Don’t you worry about Steve, he will outlive us both.’

I knew that Malcolm was trying to prevent me from visiting Essex in case the police arrested me and so for his peace of mind I agreed to stay away. I, of course, had no intention of staying away, particularly after hearing just how ill Steve appeared to be. I knew that my brother-in-law had cancer but I hadn’t considered the possibility that he might die just yet, as he had only been diagnosed in the past two weeks, and Steve was a very strong young man.

I asked Malcolm about the problems that he was experiencing and he told me that he had become embroiled in a festering dispute with two brothers, eighteen-year-old Steven Tretton and his twenty-year-old brother Stuart, who he claimed owed him £200 for drugs. For a number of months, the Tretton brothers had been subjected to a catalogue of threats and abuse from Malcolm and when their mother Lydia had been informed, she had confronted him, calling him a scumbag and low life. Not the type of lady to mince her words, Lydia warned Malcolm to leave her boys alone or he would regret not doing so. Thereafter, the opposing parties exchanged abuse and threats every time their paths crossed. This turned out to be an all-too-regular occurrence because Malcolm often visited his ex-wife and their children, who resided in Locksley Close, where the Trettons also lived.

I asked Malcolm if he needed any back-up in sorting out the issue but he declined my offer, saying that Damon Alvin, who he was now ‘doing business with’, was more than prepared and capable of helping him, if indeed help was ever needed. I knew all about Damon Alvin; few in Essex had been spared the stories of his gratuitous violence and bullying. When Alvin wasn’t sleeping, drinking, fornicating or thieving, he was terrorising those who displeased him in the area where he lived. I warned Malcolm to be wary of Alvin but he just laughed and said that I was being paranoid because he considered him to be a ‘sound guy’.

Alvin, to me, was a control freak, like Tucker; he would bully or beat senseless weaker people who would not give in to his whims and wishes. One person who did resist Alvin’s attempts to control her was his long-term girlfriend Clair Sanders. Weary of Alvin’s constant brushes with the law and his empty assurances that he would mend his ways, Sanders had eventually told Alvin that their relationship was over. Embarrassed by the fact that he had been dumped and distraught at the loss of his first love, Alvin immediately left Essex in the hope of starting anew.

Eighteen years of age, homeless and unemployed, Alvin’s options were at best limited. He eventually washed up in south-east London, where he set up home with a woman named Barbara Russell, who was several years his senior. Despite the age gap, the couple had a lot in common and knew many of the same people. It wasn’t surprising really, because Barbara was Alvin’s aunt. By all accounts, Barbara is a thoroughly decent woman, who did all she could to make things work with him. Unfortunately for Barbara, her hopes of happiness were dashed by Alvin’s overwhelming desire to become a somebody. The life he chose to lead brought the same sort of trouble to her door that his previous partner Clair had endured.

Bullying the youth of sleepy Leigh-on-Sea is undoubtedly less treacherous than picking on the street urchins that roam the streets of south-east London. Upon his arrival Alvin made a half-hearted attempt to intimidate the locals by declaring that he feared no man, but they punched him around the street, dismissed him as a fool and warned him about his future conduct. Fearing for his safety, Alvin purchased a stun gun, which the police found one evening after he was stopped during a routine spot check. When Alvin appeared in court for possessing the prohibited weapon, he was given a conditional discharge and an order was made regarding the destruction of the stun gun.

Disillusioned and genuinely in fear of the local teenagers, Alvin abandoned his wafer-thin plans of a new life in London and returned to Essex with his Auntie Barbara. The news that awaited Alvin upon his return to Leigh-on-Sea did little to please him. Malcolm Walsh, Alvin’s mentor and idol, was having an illicit affair with his beloved Clair. Gritting his teeth, Alvin pretended to accept that both he and Clair had moved on but behind his false smile lurked a cauldron of seething hatred and jealousy. Despite the fact that Alvin was living with Barbara, he was desperate to break up Malcolm and Clair, so he told Malcolm’s wife Bernadette about the affair. After confronting Malcolm about his infidelity, Bernadette demanded that he leave her home.

Owing to circumstance rather than choice, Malcolm immediately moved into Clair’s flat. When Alvin learned that his mischief-making had resulted in Malcolm moving in with Clair, he was devastated and began telling friends that he wished Malcolm was dead. Despite his apparent loathing of Malcolm, Alvin continued to commit burglaries and share the fruits of their labour equally with him. Three days after I had warned Malcolm about the company that he was keeping, Alvin arrived at Malcolm’s flat. After parking his car, Alvin noticed that the back window in Malcolm’s new 3 Series BMW had been smashed. The offending house brick that had been used to cause the damage had bounced across the roof and ended up on the bonnet, damaging all of the paintwork it came into contact with along the way. Malcolm flew into a rage when Alvin broke the news to him.

‘Bastards, bastards, bastards,’ he screamed. ‘I will kill those fucking Trettons.’

Before Alvin could say another word Malcolm had run out of his home and disappeared up the street. When he eventually returned, he told Alvin that he had caught Steven Tretton on the stairs at his grandmother’s house and beaten him.

‘Don’t think that this is over yet,’ Malcolm screamed. ‘That bastard Stuart is going to get it when I see him.’

Malcolm was rarely wrong and this occasion was no different. This particular feud was far from over.

The following week, Malcolm drove to Locksley Close to pick up his children. As he got out of his car several members of the Tretton family and their friends happened to be gathered in the street. As usual, both parties glared at one another and began trading insults. By the time Malcolm had been into his ex-wife’s house and collected his children the Trettons had gone and so he got back into his car and drove away. That night, the Tretton family received several threatening and abusive phone calls from Malcolm. He warned them that their home was going to be petrol bombed and their stepfather, Terry Watkins, would soon be a dead man.

The following morning, when Malcolm returned to Locksley Close with Clair Sanders to drop off his children trouble flared again. Lydia, the Trettons’ mother, began shouting at Malcolm from her window and when he began hammering on the front door her husband Terry opened it. Enraged by the threatening phone calls that his family had been subjected to the night before, Terry began waving a knife around shouting, ‘You’re going to get it.’

A friend of Malcolm’s named Robert Findlay appealed for calm but he was ignored by both men. As Terry stormed out of his house Malcolm was heard asking him to drop the knife but Terry kept repeating almost robot-like, ‘You are going to get it.’

Witnesses later described Terry then thrusting the knife forward in a stabbing motion.

As blood began to pour from a wound in Malcolm’s chest he looked at Terry in disbelief and said, ‘You want to get yourself a decent knife. That one’s blunt.’

He then staggered backwards and fell into the arms of Robert Findlay. Moments later he collapsed, dying just yards from where his young children were standing. Less than an hour later, Malcolm was pronounced dead at Southend General Hospital.

When Alvin heard the news, he had ranted about throwing grenades through Terry Watkins’s windows and shooting the Tretton brothers. I did wonder if these were the same grenades that he had offered to give to me to kill Tucker. It was always hard to tell if Alvin was being serious or talking bullshit.

Malcolm’s death was not all bad news for Alvin. He realised that Clair Sanders, his true love, was single once more. Alvin pledged that he was going to do everything in his power to win her back, and made himself available day and night to console his grieving ex-girlfriend. Friends of Clair at the time describe him as being ‘her rock’.

When the police arrested Terry Watkins for Malcolm’s murder, he said that it had been Malcolm who had first pulled out the knife.

‘He came over in a right aggressive manner. I wasn’t going to be intimidated by him. He came round here tooled up. I saw the glint of the knife. I am very sorry that he is dead, but it isn’t down to me.’

Malcolm’s death resulted in a barrage of threats and abuse being levelled at the Tretton family. Neighbours stopped talking to them and they began receiving up to 50 nuisance phone calls per week. It’s fair to say that the family was far from popular in the eyes of many of the local community.

Another who had been badly affected by Malcolm’s premature death was his close friend Ricky Percival. I knew Ricky reasonably well because I had been friends with his older brother, Danny, a professional boxer who worked as a doorman around Southend. The Percival family hailed from Upton Park, near the West Ham United Football Club ground in the East End of London. David Percival and his wife Sandy had two children, Danny and Ricky. Danny did well at school but Ricky experienced difficulties, which stemmed from him being dyslexic. Teachers, who failed to recognise that Ricky had a problem, wrongly assumed that he was lazy, slow or simply not trying hard enough. This resulted in him being punished, which understandably made him resent everything about school.

When Ricky was eight years old, his parents took the agonising decision to leave the home they loved in London and move to Leigh-on-Sea in Essex. They had found a school there that was prepared to give Ricky some assistance by providing one-hour sessions of one-to-one tuition. The teacher that worked with Ricky regularly has described him as the perfect pupil. Unfortunately, all of the other time that Ricky spent in school was in a normal classroom environment and this led to him becoming frustrated, understandably bored and, as a consequence of that, disruptive. By the time Ricky had reached 15 years, he had tired of school and the school had tired of him. It was agreed by all parties that it would be better if he sought gainful employment rather than struggle on at school.

Shortly afterwards, Ricky started work at a local fresh fish shop. The job involved him getting up in the early hours of the morning and working for long hours in an extremely cold and damp environment. His mother did not like him having to work in such poor conditions but Ricky concluded that anything was preferable to school. Ricky’s older brother Danny had attended kick-boxing and martial art lessons since the age of eight. By his mid-teens he was, by all accounts, exceptionally good at both. Like most boys, Ricky looked up to his older brother and wanted to emulate him. With his father’s encouragement, Ricky too began training. He was careful about what he ate and attended the gym religiously. It was while training at a local gym that he had become friends with Malcolm. Unfortunately for Ricky, through Malcolm he also became acquainted with Damon Alvin.

Ricky reminded me of Craig Rolfe in many ways; always trying to impress and please those that he considered to be friends. Ricky would adhere to all of Alvin’s wishes and try to laugh off his bullying and intimidating behaviour. I can recall one incident when Alvin had handcuffed Ricky to a bridge for a ‘joke’. Laughing insanely, he had threatened to burn Ricky, beat him and subject him to all manner of unpleasantries. Nobody ever did manage to see the funny side of this particular prank.

Ricky’s desire to look and feel as confident as Malcolm and Alvin was hampered only by his lack of finances. The menial jobs that he attributed to his dyslexia ensured that he was never going to be able to afford their lifestyle and so, rather foolishly, he accepted Alvin’s offer to sell drugs in order to boost his income. Unlike Alvin, Ricky’s sincere and warm personality made him easy-going and approachable and so he found that he had no shortage of customers who were prepared to do business with him.

In the gym where nightclub bouncers and their ilk went to train, Ricky met and befriended many ‘useful’ contacts, who were involved in the seedy world of drugs. These people – who not only had influence, but also unhindered access to the pubs and clubs where drugs were sold around Southend, which was extremely valuable – soon helped Ricky’s business to boom. Long before his 20th birthday the dyslexic boy, who school teachers had said was destined to fail, was wearing designer clothing, driving executive-class cars and enjoying regular foreign holidays.