Jonathan Rose - Innocents

DC Roberts was debriefed to ascertain what, exactly, David Greenwell had told him, how both men had approached the scene, and whether either of them had touched or moved the body. But Greenwell could not, yet, be considered only as a witness, since it is not uncommon for the person ‘finding’ the body of a murder victim to be the perpetrator of the crime he claims to have discovered.

With this common occurrence in mind, and the knowledge of the description of Greenwell’s van, Dick Holland ordered that the man be interviewed at length, and his movements between Friday, 3 October and Wednesday, 8 October checked and corroborated. Greenwell explained how he had been working in Rochdale for three weeks on the shopfitting job, saving money by sleeping in his van Monday to Thursday, before returning to his home in the Clifton area of Nottingham for the weekend. He had a perfect alibi, confirmed by his parents, Arthur and Siegrid, with whom he lived, who told the police that Greenwell had spent the relevant weekend at home with them, mostly working on the repair of his mobile home. Neighbours of the Greenwells, Iris Dennis, who lived next door, and George McClean, who lived opposite, also supported the man’s account. The police also checked with the tyre company and scrap yard where Greenwell claimed to have gone that weekend to buy spare parts for his van.

Anthony Stych, a workmate, confirmed that Greenwell had given him a lift to his home in Sheffield on the Friday, and had picked him up again at 10.10 a.m. on the Monday. Together with the foreman, Michael McClean, he was able to vouch for Greenwell’s whereabouts from the time he began work in the early morning through to the early hours of the next morning, for it was common practice for the six employees to work late, and then go out for a meal and a drink together, usually until about 1 a.m., since each of them was working away from home. The only exception to this routine had been the Tuesday night, when Greenwell had gone straight from work to his ‘home’ in the lay-by.

McClean described how Greenwell had arrived on site at about eight twenty on the Wednesday morning, looking shaken, pale and worried. He had immediately spilled out his terrible experience, and both Stych and McClean had urged him to report his find to the police.

The above accounts, coupled with reported sightings by passing motorists of the van in the lay-by between Monday night and Wednesday morning and with the information from his home town and his workmates – not least of which were descriptions of him as a good worker, though quiet and nervous – were sufficient to satisfy the police as to Mr Greenwell’s movements. The alibi was accepted, and Mr Greenwell was no longer regarded as a suspect.

That said, there remained the question mark over the sightings of the yellow van; and, of course, Greenwell himself, although absolved of any part in the death of Lesley Molseed, remained a crucial witness in the case. This was not merely because of his discovery of the body, but because he had spent many hours at and around the area in which the police were interested, including hours when the child’s body could have been dumped. He was interrogated further, in the hope of gleaning from him any strand of evidence which could later be woven into the rope with which the killer would be caught. The clothes he was wearing at the time of the discovery of the body and his small yellow van were also taken for forensic examination to eliminate any particles or traces which he might have left at the scene or, of equal importance, to obtain anything which he might inadvertently have removed from that terrible place.

Then, and only then, could the habitually nervous shopfitter go from the police station, free to resume his normal everyday life the best he could after what he had seen.

On the Turf Hill Estate enquiries were being made by officers anxious to achieve a result, but their questioning also revealed the effect which Lesley’s disappearance had had on the local community and, in particular, the anguish being suffered by the parents. The community’s desire to have the killer apprehended was based only in part on feelings of sympathy towards the Molseed family. It was also founded on the fear that an outsider had intruded into the communal safety of the estate, putting each of their own children at risk.

Turf Hill was once a rural farming area adjoining the mill town of Rochdale, but as the town became swollen with the increasing population which accompanied industrial expansion, the growing need for accommodation sent tentacles of urbanisation into the readily available and easily accessible land which lay, untouched, nearby.

It was a typical council housing estate, with brothers in every town and city of substance in Great Britain. Rows of (then) modern three-bedroomed terraced houses with small front and rear gardens were joined by a series of connecting roads and the intersecting walkways known as snickets. Two main roads, Broad Lane and Turf Hill Road, serviced the estate, giving access to a major arterial road in and out of Rochdale. The remaining farmland that surrounded the estate stretched towards the neighbouring town of Oldham, running along the edge of the M62, between junctions 20 and 21 of that great cross-country motorway, which served as the boundary line between the two towns.

The community of Turf Hill, not atypically, was self-contained and close-knit. Most of the children knew each other, as did their parents. The local availability of schools, shops and a youth club brought parents and children into regular contact with each other. Many socialised together, making use of the various pubs, clubs and sporting facilities available in the area.

A feature of such a community was that news, whether bad or good, travelled with great speed. Rumour and gossip mingle with fact and hard news, and exaggeration and distortion are inevitable features in the retelling. In the Molseed enquiry this feature was repeatedly to cause problems for the police, who were constantly required to sort fact from fiction, evidence from rumour, credible witnesses from gossip mongers. Conversely, out of the community spirit came the positive feature of the residents’ willingness to help each other and the police (who were not the natural friends of many in that community) to find Lesley and, later, to find and catch the child’s murderer.

Within hours of the discovery of the child, the grim mechanism of murder was grinding into action, starting with the knock on the door of 11 Delamere Road that the occupants had hoped would never come. As gently as possible, the parents were notified of the finding of a body, and before that shock had penetrated minds and hearts, they were taken on a journey, by police car, to a mortuary at Halifax Royal Infirmary, to identify the child, hoping against hope that it would not be Lesley, that a mistake had been made.

It was a duty for a mother to perform alone. Although she had steeled herself for the task ahead, April’s nerves were strained by a delay in proceedings, and she and Danny waited together in a small room. But she became claustrophobic and left the room to pace up and down the corridor, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts.

At last, a policeman’s footsteps on the hard, Victorian hospital floor, followed by ‘They’re ready for you now, Mrs Moleseed,’ and she is escorted, one officer beside her and two behind. Inside the room are more policemen, in plain clothes. But while the uniformed officers had seemed considerate and caring, these men seemed to be avoiding her, or certainly avoiding her eyes. And then it became clear for her. There was no need to look. They had found Lesley, and these men knew it.

The mother has to be the one to speak: it is her duty. Words are hard to find and April struggles to make a sound, until she whispers, ‘I’d like to hold her,’ But as April steps forward to embrace the tiny frame, she is stopped from doing so. ‘Don’t touch her!’ The command is barked, breaking the solemnity of the room, but instilling immediately the importance of not disturbing the child.