Justice for Helen by Marie McCourt

Author:Marie McCourt [McCourt, Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: John Blake
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The victims’ champion

I

t was becoming crystal clear that Simms had no intention of telling us where Helen was. So, if he wasn’t going to speak, I’d have to make him – by any means possible.

Soon after the conviction, in March 1989, I made an appointment with a barrister who specialised in family finances.

‘Can I sue him?’ I asked.

Let me stress here that I did not, under any circumstances, want a penny from Simms. But money was his God. He was renowned for being mean. This was the man, remember, who would remove the door handle from the pub’s stockroom so no one else could gain access.

And on the afternoon of Helen’s disappearance, he’d torn a strip off his manager, Ken Booth, for not alerting him when the Labatt representative arrived at the pub. He’d told the court that he was ‘steaming with’ Kenny ‘because he had not told me about Labatt’s which meant a loss of money’.

So, I reasoned, I could reach him through his pocket. Hard. However, I was conscious that his wife, who had now filed for divorce and moved back to her childhood home, had two small children to bring up. They were victims in all of this, too. I wanted to ensure they’d be OK financially.

* * *

Nadine’s mum looked stunned to find me on the doorstep.

‘I haven’t come here to cause bother,’ I assured her.

She invited me inside to speak with an equally surprised Nadine.

‘I’ve been advised to sue your husband but I want to make sure you’re OK, first. He’s going to be in prison for a long time and you’ve got the pub to sort. Can you just do me a favour and let me know when you’re sorted? That’s all I ask.’

She nodded. Then she said quietly: ‘I’m so very sorry. I wanted to go out searching at the time. I felt I should, but . . . ’

I was touched. ‘No, no, you didn’t have to do that,’ I said.

‘One of the reasons that stopped me was that I thought your family might not be happy with me being there,’ she added.

I shook my head firmly. ‘My family are easy-going. There wouldn’t have been anything like that.’

She nodded. ‘But it could have been a distraction you didn’t need,’ she continued.

I thought about it: she was right.

‘Thank you,’ I told her.

She wrote to me afterwards thanking me for considering her and the children. Later, I heard that she had moved away from the area and remarried. I gather both of the children took their stepfather’s surname and neither visited their dad in prison.

A few months before that chat with Nadine I’d paid a visit to Simms’ mum – and mistress. In May 1989, I was driving home from Friday evening mass when I saw Tracey Hornby’s car parked outside Simms’ mother’s house. Before I had time to think, I’d pulled over and knocked on the door.

A tall lady answered.

‘Mrs Simms?’ I asked. ‘I’m Helen McCourt’s mother.’

She gave a nod. ‘I know, Mrs McCourt,’ she said.

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