The World's Most Perfect Crime. A Contemporary Document

Over the phone he had sounded a brisk business-like character – a man who knew his job. And I had no doubt that this man’s eyes had witnessed some of the craziest individuals of that most extraordinary of species ever created by God – the human race.

At first he seemed to just merely chuckle at my request for an interview. No doubt (I thought) because of the very article I had seen; he had already received many similar requests from other writers and he was now getting bored and fed-up with them.

Or maybe, he thought, here’s some misguided knucklehead wanting to change the world – or wanting to make a quick buck for himself at the expense of other’s misfortunes. Anyway, whoever he is, here’s somebody wanting something, because at the end of the day, everybody wants something. So I’ll have to give him a hard time. He’ll have to get on his knees and beg me, and when he’s begged me enough – why - I’ll simply turn him down flat - just for the spite of it. So start begging mister - now.

‘An interview you say? Well I don’t really know about that. We’re very busy at the moment Mr Mountain and I really don’t think we can spare time for such - such unnecessary indulgences.’

I then mentioned the reporter of the article – the one who had apparently already been granted some kind of access facilities in order to interview Daniel. (Writers just love to quote precedents!).

‘Oh her? Well to be honest, that was a one-off. She happens to be the daughter of one of the Board of Governors you see, and I felt, well we felt, that she would not represent any kind of security risk. You do understand?’

Oh I understood all right, I understood perfectly that nepotism was still safe and well in some quiet backwoods of the world – but I certainly had no sympathy with it - although I did sense a quick flash of guilt - as I secretly wished that one of my relatives was on that blasted Board of Governors.

‘Yes, perfectly sir, I entirely understand. And let me say Dr Sloan I’m glad that you allowed that small window of public access – I’m sure a lot of people locally were very interested in it. But - what I was thinking about, was more of - reaching an international audience.’

That would set your ego racing away with it’s own importance, I thought.

‘Well I’m sorry to inform you, but the Board of Directors – and especially myself - have no wish at this time to be exposed to any kind of international audience thank you very much.’

‘Is there any particular reason for your concern Dr Sloan?’

There was a silence – a long silence.

‘Well, I don’t wish to go into those matters right now. But let us just say, the article you referred to, did contain some barefaced inaccuracies, which certainly did not reflect too well on this establishment. There was at least one gross error in particular which made me very cross indeed.’

Now there was another long silence but this time on my part.

‘Hello, is there anybody there?’

‘Sorry Dr Sloan, I was just trying to recall the article I read - did it by any chance misquote your good self in any way?

‘Yes it did indeed misquote me – and to be very frank I was furious.’

If I remembered right it had been a very short quote. Maybe less than twenty words – how could anybody misquote such a short statement?

‘Was that the one concerning Daniel’s state of well being? Where you had supposedly said that Daniel was very uncomfortable about his treatment - or something to that effect? I thought it was strange myself at the time - but then I didn’t –‘

‘Yes, that is the very one I am referring to. What I said in fact was; that Daniel was - was extremely comfortable with his treatment at this time. And that silly young bi - she – she – well she -‘

No bloody wonder he didn’t want to give any more interviews! I thought.

‘Oh no! I can see now – yes, yes,, I can see. No wonder you were angry Dr Sloan. Personally I would have sued the newspaper until their pips squeaked if that had happened to me. Did you not request a printed apology? If not, it’s not too late. Newspapers would rather do that than risk a lawsuit any day.’

‘No, well I – I’m a very busy man and I – ‘

‘Look Dr Sloan, please listen for just one second. I happen to know Charles Barnsworth, the editor of that local rag – he’s a friend of mine. I’ll call him personally and tell him of the blunder. He’ll go potty I’m sure - and with a bit of luck and a following wind a full apology will be in tonight’s edition – at least I’ll try. Now what time is it?  Yes, I should be able to catch their deadline if I move fast. Leave it with me Dr Sloan – I’m right on it. I’ll call you back later. Must go – bye.’

‘Ah, well, if you – ‘

I slammed the phone down and jumped for joy – the interview was mine – I just knew it. One good turn deserves another and all that.

Well of course I was completely bullshitting him! I never even knew a Charles Farnsworth - never mind one who might be the current editor of that or any other local rag – but then again I figured, neither would Dr Sloan.

Nevertheless I phoned the editor (who was in fact a woman) and told her that I’d picked up a little morsel of potentially damaging information, through my ‘sources’ at Broadmoor, that she might be interested in knowing about – and as a fellow writer I was giving her a chance to put it right – before she got sued by Dr Sloan’s lawyers – and that if she moved fast she could take pre-emptive action on that litigious issue – before they did got their snouts in the trough. I then emphasised to her – but don’t call him for Christ’s sake – he’s hopping mad. Just make sure there’s a grovelling apology on the front page in tonight’s edition in bold typeface - and I’ll then do you another favour - by making sure its sitting on his desk first thing in the morning – as I’ll pick up a copy and get it to my ‘sources’ inside Broadmoor tonight - just to make sure that actually happened. Much better if he thinks you’ve done it off your own bat, after spotting it yourself – that way - you get all the glory – and the paper’s owner will appreciate it too – you never know? - it might turn out better than you expect. Just leave it to me.

Of course, I’d advised her not to phone Dr Sloan because I didn’t want her to call him - not because he was hopping mad – but because I was hopping happy at that point – and I didn’t want her to queer my pitch by her contacting him and then trying to wheedle out yet another interview - so she could ‘do the right thing by you Dr Sloan - and I’ll write it all up again by myself – just to make sure.’ – No, flipping heck no – I didn’t want her newspaper contacting him or getting anywhere near him until I had finished my self-assigned task. She’d had her chance and now it was my turn.

The poor woman couldn’t refrain from profusely thanking me (I felt a pang of guilt at the time – but it soon went) and she said something like ’bloody typesetters’ – and as a writer I knew what she meant straight away. For this potentially highly sue-able incident was nothing more than a simple ‘typo’ as editors, journalists, writers and typesetters - within the publishing and printing trade refer to these kinds of errors as.

And I’d bet my boots that that nepotistic reporter of that nepotistic member of the Board of Governors would probably have been as mad as Sloan - had she herself spotted it, but I knew she hadn’t by the surprised tone of the editor when I had first informed her.

Even as Sloan was first mentioning it to me I knew instinctively that no writer worth his or her salt would be likely to make such a stupid, crass mistake as that. What? – In a twenty-word quote? No chance! But I sure as hell wasn’t about to tell Sloan that’s what I believed it was – because I was (even as he spoke) planning to use that God-given silly stupid mistake to get my size ten boot wedged firmly in Sloan’s half open door.

I then immediately phoned my ‘sources’ inside Broadmoor and told Sloan that I had very good news for him and hoped that it would make him a much happier man and that I’d deliver it personally to him tomorrow at 10 o’clock – if he could spare two or three minutes of his ‘very valuable time’. No? Busy at eleven too? Oh, you want to make it at three? – Hold on I’ll quickly check my diary – yes I can just about fit that in Dr Sloan – look I’m sorry but I gotta rush, I’m due at Number 10 in an hour, and I daren’t be late for that – I hoped he understood that I had to get off the phone right this minute, gotta get spruced up you know? – See you tomorrow then - yes, yes don’t worry, three on the dot – yes bye.

I went to see my mate Harry to return the lawnmower I had borrowed from him last week. He lived at 10 Lightwater Close, just about a four minute walk from my home. I wasn’t lying to Sloan; it was number ten – just not the same one he’d thought it was. I never lie - unless I’m protecting someone – and today I was protecting myself.

Welcome to Broadmoor

Perhaps the reader will readily understand why such a yarn intrigued this desperately clapped out writer - who was so hungry for a really good pain-aching human tragedy - that at two-thirty the following day I found myself standing before those massive daunting steel doors of England’s most secure facility for the criminally insane.

The rusty slot in the Judas gate creaked open. Perhaps it hadn’t been used since it was built in 1863 for they don’t get many visitors in here I’ll bet.

‘Identity’ The guard held out his hand. I deposited my writer’s union card, my passport, my driver’s license and even my library card in his sweaty palm. I’d forgotten my birth certificate. He then slammed the slot so quickly it nearly chopped off the end of my fingers.

‘Jus’ a mo’ – jus’ checkin.’ – I heard this through some unseen grill.

After ages the gate itself now creaked open ‘Gorra be careful – y’know – come on quick – get inside then – mind that step! He then quickly slammed it shut with an almighty clang and bolted it four times.

I was now officially inside the most secure place in England. The Tower of London or the Bank of England are mere child’s play in comparison – and I’ve been in both. At the gatehouse I was stripped – handed a towel and asked to step on a mat. I was then subjected to the most embarrassing treatment I’ve ever experienced in my entire life - where I was inspected and poked in every orifice except two – my ears. Then I was metal detected back and front – and everything in my briefcase was x-rayed and turned upside down – and inside out. They even looked inside my fountain pen. Could they also look inside my mind I thought? And was quite shocked when the guard said:

‘I know what you’re thinking sir’.

He looked around apprehensively as though he might be attacked at any moment.

‘But we can’t take any chances here.’

He then pressed a buzzer whereby another guard promptly appeared as if from nowhere.

‘This one’s for the governor, Bob.’

‘Officer Bob’ addressed me like I was in the army.

‘Right sir. If you will kindly accompany me I will escort you to your final destination. Please do not engage in casual talk or ask questions, and speak only when you are spoken to. Do not look me directly in the eye or try to remember my face; do not make any signals or any sudden moves. Keep your hands out of your pockets. Keep strictly to my left side, do not drift behind or move in front– except when I request you to. Now do you perfectly understand those instructions sir?’

I quickly nodded with impatience and waited for him to start walking.

‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND SIR? – PLEASE MAKE A VOCAL RESPONSE!’

‘Yes, yes, I understand, I understand perfectly well, I used to be in the navy myself and I do understand that y –‘

‘Sir, I just formally requested you not to engage in casual talk. Please sir?’

‘Jesus Christ’ I said under my breath.

Then with much rattling of keys, looking through slots, checking hundreds of CCTV screens, unlocking and locking of innumerable doors and gates, where I was instructed to move in front – move behind, not look him in the eye, stand aside, not scratch my arse or brush my hair – and after what seemed like a million checks and double-checks - I was finally seated in front of Dr Bertram H. Sloan: the world-renowned psychiatrist and current Governor of Broadmoor Mental Hospital.

One lump or two?

‘Good afternoon, would you care to share a pot of tea with me Mr Mountain?’

I was flabbergasted by the normality of it all; here I was in this quiet well-ordered little haven that was Dr Sloan’s private office - surrounded by rigid rules, violence and madness – and about to enjoy that most genteel of English conventions, and one which had civilised some of the most barbaric and wildest countries in the old Empire.

‘That sounds excellent Dr Sloan – thank you – I don’t mind if I do.’

I smiled appreciatively and nodded, equally in accordance with accepted custom. He then daintily but solemnly rang a small pretty silver bell – whereby about thirty seconds later a robotic looking inmate served us tea on an equally pretty silver tray.

Dr Sloan and I were sitting at his desk where a copy of the local rag was spread out – the one that I had just handed to him with such gusto – as a kind of friendship gift – for all potentates bear gifts of one sort or another.

‘One lump or two?’

‘Ah, one lump please Dr Sloan.’ I really wanted three or four. He delicately plopped the sugar lump into my cup and smiled appreciatively at me.

‘I cannot thank you enough Mr Mountain. Front page apology eh? I must phone the newspaper immediately and thank Mr Barnsworth for his swift and sensible action.’

‘I wouldn’t waste your time if I were you doc. He was due to fly to Cyprus this morning for a two-week holiday. He asked me to apologise to you on his behalf – and that he hoped that the front-page apology (in bold typeface too - that was a nice little touch) could mean that you would accept that the matter was now ended – to everyone’s entire satisfaction. And of course I told him that I had no doubt that you would also see things that way too – you know - gentleman’s agreement and all that eh? I hope I did the right thing Dr Sloan? The matter is ended - yes?’

This interview was mine – it was in the bag – this man was going to co-operate with me 100% and give me the best interview ever – and I was also going to get Daniel’s no doubt epic story as well and make a quick million quid or maybe two. Now where shall I book my next holiday? – Oh and yes - I’d now be able to order that new car with the –‘

‘Of course Mr Mountain. And if its not too much trouble can I ask you to inform him when he returns that I appreciate his sentiments entirely – it’s a pity that that girl reporter – you know, the daughter of the – ugh – you know? – got a telling off – I hope she didn’t take it too badly. I feel a bit guilty about that now, I must confess.’

You might, I thought, but I didn’t feel guilty in the slightest – because I knew she didn’t even know about what had happened – and probably never would know – as typos are as common as muck in this business. I was convinced that by now she was no doubt already on her next story but, and more importantly, I was still on this one – hooray!

‘It’s just one of those silly things that happen sometimes Dr Sloan, especially when they don’t use a recorder. I always do – because then one can’t make the type of mistake she made. What do you think Dr Sloan? – For the next time that you are being interviewed? – I bet you’ll insist on a tape recorder being used then eh? – Next time?’

I confidently reached over for my briefcase to retrieve my tape recorder and again starting dreaming of my new red car – a supercharged Ferrari coupe – and of course that luxury holiday on a desert island somewhere in the Maldives with the exotic women and the ice cold beers and -

‘There won’t be a next time Mr Mountain! – I’ll never do another interview in my entire life ever again – that incident has put me off interviews forever.’

The reader may have heard; there is an old saying that one should never count one’s chickens before they hatch. It’s the oldest saying in the bloody farmyard. And I had just been abruptly forced to stop counting.

Whinging for my supper

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair – with a silly fixed grin on my face I blurted out.

‘But you can’t mean that Dr Sloan?  SU – RE –LY?’

But he was still adamant.

‘Once bitten twice shy Mr Mountain – isn’t that a wise saying?

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