It was imperative that we were able to include something in those initial press releases to indicate that the man who had been shot was armed and dangerous and that the police had been threatened. The diplomacy of Steve Whitton in getting two small but significant references into the media statement — that the dead man was wanted for armed robberies and that a non-police-issue gun was found near his body — had the effect of practically eliminating any ideas that trigger-happy cops were cruising the streets of Brighton shooting at will, which may otherwise have prevailed.
At the subsequent inquest, it was established that the gun was an airgun. This only become apparent after the gun was closely examined. The armed officers had no chance of knowing this when it was aimed at them. It was also revealed that Fitzpatrick had told a friend he’d rather be dead than go back to prison. The jury returned a lawful killing verdict, and noted that Fitzpatrick had probably died within two minutes of being shot. They found, too, that the officers had been forced to make that split-second decision to protect the lives of the public and themselves. Their conduct was described as exemplary.
Lots of public meetings, briefings to elected and executive officials and MPs, painstaking preparations for the inquest and IPCC report and convening Independent Advisory Groups became a huge part of my job. Apart from a couple of examples of injudicious statements in the media, the impact of this tragedy on the life of Brighton and Hove was minimal.
It’s not always that way. The press can take delight in writing thousands of words and many column inches dissecting a decision that an individual cop has had milliseconds to make. Anyone can be wise in hindsight; my former colleagues rarely have that luxury.
16: Hell Hath No Fury
Thirty-five-year-old Canadian ‘action man’ seeks professional white single female between thirty and forty for companionship, days out, holidays and possibly more! Must be willing to tolerate ‘Walter Mitty’ personality, hidden violent background, refusals to accept rejection, obsessive stalking, psychological torture, arson and plots to harm you and your family.
If only people could be this honest. If only Dr Alison Hewitt had had this insight into the new man in her life from the outset. Much the same goes for Red Westwood, besotted with her lover turned would-be killer, Bryce Laurent, in Want You Dead. Had she been given a glimpse beneath his phony immaculate veneer then surely she would have chosen a different path. One that did not involve the complete destruction of her and her family’s life.
DCI Nev Kemp worked for me as the Head of Crime for Brighton and Hove. He had been a friend for years and I had mentored and supported him into CID and up the promotion ladder. I had recognized his talent and potential and, when I retired, he succeeded me as Divisional Commander at Brighton and Hove.
Nev was a grafter who had a knack of separating the wheat from the chaff. He had a fabulous eye for detail and could scan the dozens of crimes reported each day and pick out those that might come back to bite us.
As the only other senior officer in the city with a CID background, he felt safe using me as a confidant in those decisions that were not always clear-cut. Professionally and personally I was glad to help; command can be a lonely place. I saw myself as Chief Superintendent Jack Skerritt to his Roy Grace.
The arrest of Al Amin Dhalla leapt off the page at him. It seemed a relatively low-level incident, in the scheme of things, but something about it made him worry.
‘Graham, I’m not happy about a job that’s come in. Can I just run it past you to check my thinking?’ he said as he entered my office one morning in March 2011, gently closing the door behind him. ‘It’s a stalking job but I think it’s going to blow up into more than that.’
‘Tell me more.’ The very term stalking grabbed my full attention. These cases were never easy and too often dismissed as minor irritations.
Early in my career, I had great hopes to be part of a change that would finally protect people from the horrors of obsessive behaviour. As Staff Officer to ACC Maria Wallis, I had been at the centre of devising anti-stalking laws under the Protection from Harassment Act 1997. Unfortunately, as is sometimes the case, the police, through clumsy implementation, watered down the effect this Act was intended to have and countless victims were left unprotected.
You have probably never heard of Aston Abbotts. That would not be surprising; it’s not fame that its 500 residents crave. A scan of its website depicts a charming Buckinghamshire village which appears to be struggling with its transition from a nineteenth-century self-supporting agricultural community to an idyllic rural retreat for professional townspeople. Nothing illustrates this better than its boast of being home to ‘one pub, one church and one helipad’.
What a joy it must have been for Alison Hewitt to be brought up in such a lovely little village, even with its issues with incomers. Despite the sad death of Alison’s father, her mother, a former probation officer, saw that she and her three younger brothers, Mark, Paul and Dave, wanted for nothing. Alison’s ambition to read medicine and qualify as a doctor was nurtured by her perfect Middle England upbringing in this quaint spot. Life was safe, life was good.
The horrors that would befall Alison, however, could have come straight from the pages of a Roy Grace novel. The twists, the turns, the chase, the bluffs, the sheer adrenaline that this real-life nightmare entailed prompted many to question: which is stranger, fact or fiction? The eventual publicity that followed this case, including a gripping Channel 4 documentary ‘Living with My Stalker’, was among the inspirations for Peter to write Want You Dead, to highlight the horrors of stalking and to promote the domestic violence charity the White Ribbon Campaign.
It’s no secret that the lot of a junior doctor can be tough. Long, unsociable shifts interspersed with hours of being on call, coupled with endless studying, means there is precious little time for romance. Only those who inhabit that frenetic world understand the demands it makes on tomorrow’s consultants. Alison was so immersed in her work and her passion for the outdoor life that she simply did not have time for dating.
At thirty-five, however, she wanted to find the man she would spend the rest of her life with. She’d had some false starts and, frankly, craved a short-cut to happiness. Unlike Red’s preferred route to find love, she did not fancy the idea of online dating. She wanted more control; less chance of landing a weirdo. A friend recommended the London-based Executive Club dating agency. Since it catered for the more discerning professional, she felt safe. Even if she didn’t find Mr Right, at least she would not end up with some nutter who would not take no for an answer.
Al Amin Dhalla had been a member of the agency for a while. As a thirty-five-year-old Canadian accountant who had been in the UK for a number of years, he seemed quite a catch. Other than being perhaps a little too generous with his first date gifts, nothing about him had rung any alarm bells with the agency. He appeared to be a most eligible bachelor. His introduction to Alison could easily have been yet another success story for the Executive Club.
Alison lived in a small, anonymous rented flat just a short walk from the Royal Sussex County Hospital where she worked. Her and Al’s companionship, to start with, was unremarkable. Given her punishing schedule, they would spend what spare time she had enjoying trips out in London, romantic walks along the Brighton seafront or just nestling up together in her flat. He seemed genuinely charming and his knowledge of history, castles and films fascinated Alison. They established a routine of him travelling down to the city from his Croydon home to spend their weekends together.