The Pembrokeshire Murders: Catching the Bullseye Killer Read online

  The

  Pembrokeshire

  Murders

  Brought to you by KeVkRaY

  The

  Pembrokeshire

  Murders

  Catching the Bullseye Killer

  Steve Wilkins

  with

  Jonathan Hill

  Seren is the book imprint of

  Poetry Wales Press Ltd

  Nolton Street, Bridgend, Wales

  www.serenbooks.com

  facebook.com/SerenBooks

  Twitter:@SerenBooks

  © Steve Wilkins & Jonathan Hill, 2013

  The right of Steve Wilkins to be identified

  as the Author of this Work has been asserted

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs

  and Patents Act, 1988.

  The image from Bullseye is used by permission of ITV Studios.

  Jonathan Hill thanks his wife for her considerable help

  in the making of this book

  ISBN 978-1-78172-800-0

  Mobi 978-1-78172-013-4

  Epub 978-1-85411-022-6

  A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication

  may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

  or transmitted at any time or by any means

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording

  or otherwise without the prior permission

  of the copyright holders.

  The publisher works with the financial assistance

  of the Welsh Books Council

  Printed by Short Run Press, Exeter

  Contents

  List of Illustrations

  Take Him Down

  The Scoveston Park Murders

  The Coastal Path Murders

  The Milford Haven Attack

  Career Detective

  The Elephant in the Room

  Operation Ottawa

  The Prime Suspect

  A Leap of Faith

  Going Public

  ‘Let’s Get Him Talking’

  Facing the Man

  A Shock in the Night

  ‘You Can’t Beat a Bit of Bully’

  The Golden Nugget

  ‘Charge Him With the Lot’

  Preparing for the Big House

  Day of Reckoning

  Conclusion

  Postscript

  Dramatis Personae

  List of Illustrations

  Helen Thomas

  Richard Thomas

  Scoveston Park

  Peter Dixon

  Gwenda Dixon

  Cooper on Bullseye and comparable artist’s impression

  The various manifestations of the stolen shorts

  Cooper’s shed

  Take Him Down

  IT WAS THE MORNING of 26 May 2011 and the jury at Swansea Crown Court had been out for two days considering its verdict. The clock in the courtroom crept towards midday and I could feel the tension in the room. Why were they taking so long? Surely after nine weeks of evidence it must be clear to them that John William Cooper was guilty of the horrendous crimes that had cast a dark shadow over Pembrokeshire for a quarter of a century. It was a very strange feeling. For the last five years I had been in control of the investigation codenamed Operation Ottawa that had brought Cooper to justice. I had had the privilege of leading the finest team of police officers and support staff I had come across in more than thirty years of service but this was a moment beyond my control; it was in the hands of twelve ordinary men and women.

  Detectives are resourceful individuals, trained to notice the smallest changes in human behaviour and I had a team of the very best. “Today’s the day boss,” one of them said. “The jury have got their ‘drinking gear’ on. They’ll be going out at lunchtime.” This was the best indication to me that the jury had broken from their regular pattern and not ordered lunch for the first time in nine weeks. Today was definitely going to be the day.

  As I looked around the drab little side room which had been our home during the trial I could not help thinking that everyone who mattered was there: the Ottawa team, the Crown Prosecution team led by Tom Atherton, and the Crown led by Gerard Elias QC. Suddenly the door burst open and in front of us stood the ample frame of Detective Sergeant Gareth ‘Rambo’ Rees. “Verdict!” he exclaimed. The room burst into life. For me it was important that I spoke to the Ottawa team alone before we went into court. As the barristers dashed though the door we gathered in a tight circle. It felt right that we were together, as we had been since the very beginning. My words were simple. “It has been my absolute honour and privilege to have led you on this journey, I could not have asked for more and you could not have done any more. Whatever the verdict here today we will receive and accept it with dignity. There will be no reaction from us. Good luck!”

  The courtroom was packed and every seat was taken. To my right I could see the families and relatives of the victims who had waited so long for justice. Tim and Julie, the children of Peter and Gwenda Dixon, who had been murdered in cold blood whilst on holiday in Pembrokeshire some twenty-two years before. Next to them were the James family, cousins to siblings Richard and Helen Thomas, who had been blasted to death in their farmhouse in the mid-nineteen eighties. Unknown to most people in the courtroom the victims of a rape and robbery attack in Milford Haven were sitting in the viewing room behind a darkened glass window. They were all victims of one man – John William Cooper.

  The press gallery was packed as it had been throughout the trial; they too had heard every piece of evidence and we were now moments away from the conclusion. I myself sat near Cooper’s family who had attended court throughout the nine weeks, and I could not help but admire the dignity they had shown throughout.

  “All rise!” the court usher bellowed. Everyone stood. The judge, John Griffiths Williams walked briskly into the court resplendent in his red robe. Over the years I have never really suffered from nerves, pressure has always given clarity to my thoughts. Now though my mind was racing and I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs; in the silence of the court I thought I could actually hear it. My Ottawa team were in a group on the opposite side of the room. As one they all looked to the dock as Cooper was brought into court. He was wearing a grey suit with a pink striped tie, as he done every day of the trial. He looked more like a crooked accountant who had been caught with his fingers in the till than the cold, calculating serial killer that I knew he was.

  The judge looked down at the clerk. “We have a verdict I understand, please bring the jury in.” The jury door opened and the twelve members walked into the court. None of them looked at Cooper. For the first time I thought how young and innocent they looked and what a burden reaching such a decision must have been. Some of the girls on the back row were holding hands, one was crying. They sat down quietly; the court was in total silence. “Will the foreman please stand.” One of the men in the front row stood up. “Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?” said the clerk. “Yes,” he replied. “Is that in relation to all charges?” “Yes.”

  I noticed other members of the jury were now crying. “On charge one of the indictment, the murder of Helen Thomas, do you find the defendant John William Cooper guilty or not guilty?” Without hesitation he replied, “Guilty.” There was a gasp in the court. “The murder of Richard Thomas, guilty or not guilty?” Again he replied, “Guilty.” In my mind these were the two charges that I feared for the most as we had the least evidence. If the jury had convicted him of these murders then we must be home and dry I thought
. I turned to my Assistant Chief Constable, Nick Ingram, who was sitting next to me and whispered, “We’ve got him. It’s a full house.” At that moment I could hear Cooper’s family sobbing openly. “The murder of Gwenda Dixon, guilty or not guilty?” continued the clerk. “Guilty.” I could hear emotion in the juror’s voice and I could see tears running down his cheeks. I willed him to get through it. “The murder of Peter Dixon, guilty or not guilty?” “Guilty.”

  Still no reaction from Cooper, he stood in silence staring straight ahead. “On count five of the indictment, guilty or not guilty?” said the clerk. “Guilty,” the foreman replied. “Is that of rape or indecent assault?” he was asked. “Rape,” came the reply. Cooper snapped his head towards the foreman and shouted, “Rubbish! That’s rubbish!” His face was contorted with anger. This was the first time he had shown emotion and I knew why. He was being consistent to the end because he knew what this conviction would mean. This was nothing to do with victims or the truth. He was now a convicted child rapist and having spent eleven years in prison already, he knew how this particular crime would affect his treatment behind bars. “On count six, indecent assault, guilty or not guilty?” “Guilty!” again came the reply. “This is a set-up. You haven’t heard all of the evidence. Rubbish!” shouted Cooper. He now fixed the jury with his chilling stare. The judge shouted at him, “Mr Cooper, be quiet or I will have you removed.” “On counts seven, eight, nine, ten and eleven the offences of attempted robbery, guilty or not guilty?” “Guilty!” said the foreman, one final time. He had made it, he had managed to get through, voice breaking with emotion and tears running down his face. Well done, well done, I thought. By now the press were running from the court, some were texting or tweeting from their mobile phones, they all wanted to be the first to break the news to the world. Cooper’s family now stood up. They were crying and I genuinely felt sorry for them, they looked broken. As they walked past the dock Philip Cooper shouted to his brother, “We are here for you John!” They left the court and for a few seconds there was a stunned silence.

  I looked across at my team, sitting together as one, not a shred of emotion on their faces though I knew that inside they must be screaming. They had just made history as part of the team that brought John Cooper to justice. Keith Dixon, Peter’s brother, who was also in court, looked at me and mouthed the words, “Thank you.” I felt a lump in my throat and had to look away.

  The judge addressed Mark Evans QC, counsel for the defence. “Mr Evans, it is my intention to pass sentence. Is there anything you would like to say?” He stood and in a low voice of total resignation replied, “My Lord I fear that there is little I can say that will affect the inevitable sentence you must pass on these most serious of offences.”

  By now Cooper was contorted with rage. “Rubbish, you have not heard all the evidence!” he shouted. “This is a set up, look at the internet!” he continued to protest.

  “John William Cooper...” the Judge began but Cooper continued to shout over him. “John William Cooper,” the Judge continued defiantly. In my experience, the sentencing judge is less than tolerant over interruptions and would quickly direct the attending prison officers to ‘take him down’ whilst sentence is passed. There was no chance of that in this case and it was clear that Justice John Griffith Williams was going to sentence him whilst he stood before him in the dock so Cooper could hear his inevitable fate. In giving him four life sentences Justice Griffith Williams added the words I had wanted to hear: “The murders were of such evil wickedness, the mandatory sentence of life, will mean just that.” Cooper would die in prison.

  The more Cooper shouted and interrupted the more his voice twisted into anger and hatred. It was the voice heard by Sheila Clark, who had been so violently robbed at gunpoint in her home; the voice heard by the five innocent teenagers who went out to a field to play only to return broken and terrorised; the voice heard by the Thomases and the Dixons in their last moments. If the jury had needed any more proof, he had just given it to them. This was the real John William Cooper.

  “Take him down,” ordered Justice Griffith Williams. Cooper spun around and walked to the door leading from the dock to the cells still ranting, “This is rubbish! Read the internet, you haven’t heard the evidence!” The door closed and he was gone. I had spent years looking at his picture and months staring at his face and now this would be the last time I would see him. There was a moment of silence.

  The judge then went through the formal process of thanking the jury and discharging them from any future service; they had served their public duty to the best of their ability and would now return to everyday life, having sat in judgment over an evil man. Our paths would never cross again, but I felt proud of them and at the same time sorry that they had had to hear every single piece of evidence, a daunting responsibility indeed. The judge went on to commend the Ottawa team, paying tribute to their hard work, dedication and professionalism. Somehow, it just did not seem enough, considering all the commitment they had given for the last six years.

  The jury filed out in total silence and the courtroom started to buzz with noise as twenty different conversations went on at once. I could see the Dixons and James families in an embrace, many tears being shed. The Ottawa team, disciplined to the end, sat in silence; I knew they must be bursting with pride and fantastic sense of achievement and probably wanted to get back to the police room to let it all out. The press gallery was empty and I knew that in a short space of time I would have to face them and the TV cameras on the steps of the court. Prosecutor Gerard Elias QC and his junior counsel were in a huddle. They had been simply fantastic and it had been a privilege to see a master at work; it was fitting that this had been his last case.

  I looked towards the darkened glass of the viewing room knowing that two of Cooper’s victims from the Milford Haven sex attack were looking into the court, together with the mother of Maria, one of the victims, who had died only a couple of weeks before the trial. She had never recovered from the attack by Cooper and had passed away without seeing her tormentor brought to justice. It was a great sadness to me and the rest of the Ottawa team. I couldn’t see their faces through the glass but I knew they were there; I smiled and nodded towards the screen.

  The conviction of Cooper for four murders was always going to grab the headlines because they were the high profile cases but for me the conviction for the attack on the children was the most rewarding. I had insisted on it being kept on the indictment because it was the mortar that held together the bricks of the Dixon and Thomas cases. More importantly I had visited the victims of the rape and indecent assault fifteen years after they had been attacked to tell them we were to arrest Cooper the next day. The impact was devastating. They had tried to move on and make new lives but the pain had never gone away. I was now telling them that they had to go through it all again and if need be go to court and face Cooper to give evidence. The victim of indecent assault, Susan, was determined to do so, but Jayne her friend was reluctant, as her partner and children did not know she had been a victim of rape. I remember walking out of her house with Detective Chief Inspector Lynne Harries and we were both shaken by that conversation. Over the months building up to the trial the victims of the Milford Haven attack would go through many emotions and needed constant support. Up until the day they gave evidence I was not sure that they would go into the witness box. Helen Coles and Donna Thomas, my family liaison officers, had managed to support, coax and cajole the girls to court to give evidence. Now here we all were, with Cooper convicted, and I was proud of them all. They too had been caught up in the moment and I was faced with a scrum of bodies in one mass hug. We shared a moment together that will remain private. My mind now turned to the media frenzy that was erupting on the court steps.

  Leading up to the verdict I had done a number of television, radio and newspaper interviews to be used only in the event of a conviction. They had been difficult because I did not want to tempt fate. I had prepared some words for
both a guilty and not guilty verdict. If Cooper was acquitted it had been my intention to resign from the police, accepting all responsibility for failure. I am a great believer that if you are willing to accept the bouquets for success, you should also accept the consequences of failure; this has always been my way. I knew as the jury walked back into court that this could be my last day as a detective. Now here I was standing on the court steps with the Dixon family, ready to deliver my statement. Thankfully the not guilty version stayed in my pocket.

  The media had massed outside the front door of the Court and Tim and Julie Dixon had agreed to give a statement on behalf of all of the families and victims. Over the years Julie had been a person of few words but today she was determined to speak, and I was so pleased. Her brother Tim was very suspicious of the press because of the way he had been treated by them when his parents were murdered. The level of intrusion at his parent’s funeral had been beyond belief; photographers had entered his home unannounced and uninvited, they had caused the funeral cortege to stop so they could take photographs of the grieving family and they had taken away photographs of his parents that have never been returned. Worst of all they had sneaked into the church and recorded the funeral service. Thankfully the press at court had behaved impeccably and the family understood that they needed to say something.

  We now stood together on the steps of the court and Julie addressed the press: “We, the family of Peter and Gwenda Dixon, are pleased with the verdict today. We are also pleased with the verdict with regard to the Thomases case. While it can’t take away our loss and grief we can now rest knowing the person responsible for these terrible atrocities has been served justice. To many Peter and Gwenda are just another two faces that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But to our family they are irreplaceable. There are no words that come near to explaining the impact this has had on us. An integral part of our family is missing. Peter and Gwenda were loving, gentle and loved people. They were also a charismatic couple that invested a lot of time and energy in the local community. They had wisdom, humour and were benevolent. Even after two decades their absence is noticeable.