Confronting Murderous Men, page 28
The following day at the resumption of the hearing, Hammond remained in the cells being attended by a doctor before appearing in the dock. His eyes were bloodshot and he appeared ill at ease and jerked about in his seat. Crown prosecutor Neville sought leave for Hammond to be provided tablets for pain relief. A short break was allowed and Hammond returned to the dock aided by his wife. It set the scene for Dr Richard Rockett to be called for the defence. He told the court that he had not seen Hammond during a fit, but had seen him after he had been in the RAAF for about six weeks. ‘From what his father told me, Hammond had had a major epileptic fit,’ he added.
Pharmacist Fredrick Rudwick told of giving first aid to Hammond in 1942 or 1943. ‘Hammond was in bed. I rolled him on his back and drew portion of his denture from the back of his throat. In 1944, I gave him some capsules for epilepsy. He was not in a state of convulsion.’
Dr James Bentley said that he had attended Hammond in April 1943 and issued a certificate stating he was suffering from a mental disorder. More recently he had examined him and was of the opinion he had suffered from at least six epileptic fits between October 1942 and June or July 1945. Hammond’s counsel had advised the court he intended to draw evidence showing his client suffered from epileptic fits and must have been suffering from a disturbance of an epileptic nature. To the Crown’s questions, the medical men backtracked when pressed. Hammond had been asked to have X–rays taken of his head, but had refused, claiming he didn’t want to know if something was wrong with him. He had no family history of epilepsy. Dr Bentley described how a fit could bring on actions beyond the control of the patient, which may last a second or two, or even hours or days. Pressed by the Crown prosecutor as to whether this had occurred to the accused, Bentley thought it was possible but unlikely that Hammond was in that state.
Patrick Fenton, lecturer in charge of the psychological department of the University of Western Australia, told the court he had examined the accused through a psychological test for intelligence. He formed the opinion his mental condition was low, though not low enough for him to be classed as a mental defective. He was on the borderline between low-grade normal and the mentally defective.
Sydney Hammond took the stand and gave an account of what had occurred before his arrest and his early life. He didn’t challenge the statement made to Detective Sergeant Parker, but told the court he was practically worn out when the detectives questioned him after his arrest and that Detective Sergeant Parker had practically dictated the statement to him. He added he had been at Heathcote for a month. This was a reference to the Heathcote Reception Home for people with recent and recoverable mental illnesses. Throughout his evidence he restated he had no intention of shooting or harming anyone.
Cross-examined by the Crown prosecutor, he was asked, ‘Would it surprise you to know that you were at Heathcote for only seven days?’ Hammond replied, ‘It would, because I was there for a month.’
Crown: ‘Your discharge from the RAAF had nothing to do with your health, had it?’
Hammond: ‘No, it had not.’
Crown: ‘You drove a Standard motor car, rode a motorcycle and drove a high-powered MG car and yet you knew you were always likely to have fits?’
Hammond: ‘There was usually someone with me.’
Crown: ‘When you were riding the motorbike, too?’ Hammond made no reply.
The Crown called the Inspector-General of the Insane, Ernest Thompson, who told of examining Hammond at the Fremantle Gaol on 11 November and listening to his version of the shooting. He came to the conclusion that Hammond was not certifiably insane, but that his intelligence lay between that of a low-grade normal type and a mental defective; that he had given evidence of moral delinquency from an early age; that he was capable of understanding the difference between right and wrong, but that on account of his low mental standard he had a low appreciation of the true consequences of his actions; that over the last three years he had had periodic fits at long intervals; that some of these fits were hysterical and not true epileptic seizures; that his state of loss of memory between the time of cranking the car for his wife and his arrival at Claremont Park, even if not feigned, was not a true loss of memory, but might be explained as an hysteroid retrospective amnesia brought about by the shock of realising the seriousness of the act he had committed.
Dr Thompson considered Hammond was not suffering from a mental disease at the time of the crime, that he knew that what he was doing was wrong, and that he was capable of controlling his actions. To Mr Byass, Hammond’s defence counsel, Dr Thompson said there was no limit to what epileptics might do at the time of their seizures. Hammond was an emotional type. He added, ‘I am not prepared to accept a diagnosis of epilepsy unless the person concerned was actually seen in a fit by some competent person such as a doctor or qualified nurse.’ This must have cut the other witnesses, who had never seen Hammond fitting.
On 20 November, after hearing closing submissions and the Chief Justice’s summing-up, the jury retired to consider its verdict. They returned just 35 minutes later, and the foreman pronounced both accused guilty of the murder of Carl Roe. In the case of Cecilia Hammond, he announced the jury’s recommendation for mercy due to her age and the influence of her husband.
Those present recorded that the Hammonds turned ashen at the verdict. The Chief Justice did not don the black cap in announcing that he agreed with the recommendation to mercy. He did not pronounce a sentence of death, but it was recorded. Turning to Sydney Hammond he said, ‘As for you, Sydney Hammond, the sentence is that you be returned to your place of former custody, and that at a time and place to be appointed by the Governor you are to be hanged by the neck until you are dead.’
As expected, both death sentences were commuted after a meeting of the Executive Council on 2 December 1946. Cecilia Dursley Hammond was sentenced to seven years hard labour. Sydney Hammond was sentenced to imprisonment for the term of his natural life. Cecilia Hammond was released on 6 February 1952.
On 30 September 1947, the Lieutenant-Governor of Western Australia, Sir James Mitchell, presented the King’s Police Medal for Gallantry to Lesley Roe – widow of the late Detective Constable Carl Roe – and their son. Among those present were Carl Roe’s mother, Lesley Roe’s sister, Mrs Lamb, and her husband Detective Sergeant Cecil Lamb, who was one of the investigators who arrested Ronald France for the murder of Constable Laurence Buzza at Nannup in 1940 (see Chapter 18). Coincidentally, Carl Roe and Laurence Buzza had joined the Western Australia Police Force on the same day in 1936 and had trained together. Both of them would fall, shot in the back by dolts with scant regard for human life.
CHAPTER 22
1952
Constable George Howell KPM
Caulfield, Victoria
George Howell. Courtesy Victoria Police Museum
Young men who decide to perform service for their community as constables take on the burden of sometimes dangerous duty, yet they are not disassociated from normal involvement as citizens. They do not jettison their desire to live as community members with their family, friends and neighbours. George Howell was no exception. Born on 5 October 1926, at Brunswick, he enlisted in the Australian Army on 21 November 1944 at 18 years of age. Attaining the rank of sergeant, he remained in that service until January 1947. He joined the Victoria Police Force in May 1948, and spent about three years of his service at East Malvern police station. That year he also lost his 23-year-old sister Edith, who died as a passenger in a vehicle that collided with a stationary truck in Point Nepean Road, near Chelsea. It was the same year he married, perhaps in youthful haste, as the couple divorced in 1951. The ebb and flow of young life carried him with it, and he became well known to the people he served as became apparent after he was shot at Caulfield on 30 January 1952, four weeks from his impending marriage to June Lomax. The church where the couple were to wed would instead be engulfed by thousands who paid their respects to his service and sacrifice.
George Howell had been tasked with suppressing thefts in the Caulfield and adjoining areas that were a growing problem. Trouble spots were around areas where people needed to park and leave their cars. One of these was the popular Crystal Palace picture theatre in Dandenong Road, so popular it could seat over 1200 patrons, making it a magnet for thieves as those inside left the real world, their cars and cares, to embrace an hour or so of fantasy.
Constable Howell was on bicycle patrol, in uniform and unarmed. As a favour he swapped shifts with his best mate, Constable Robert McPhillips, and rode around the known ‘hot spots’ in search of his targets. He called into the foyer of the Crystal Palace to speak with the manager, Mr Gange, who he knew well. Continuing on, Howell was returning to his bicycle when saw a man acting suspiciously near a parked car. Gange would later tell of two young men running into the theatre who asked him to ring the police. They had seen Constable Howell chase a man for about 50 metres, when the man swung around, produced a firearm they thought to be a revolver and fired at him at point blank range. The constable fell to the ground and rolled about in pain. Gange rang the police and then ran to Constable Howell, who was lying in the centre of the road on the tram track under the viaduct in Station Street. He was bleeding profusely and Gange arranged to tell his fiancée what had happened.
An ambulance took the stricken man to hospital accompanied by Constable Patrick McIvor, who had spoken with him as he lay on the ground. Howell described his assailant and when asked how he was, replied, ‘They got me in the guts.’ Before he went into theatre, Howell restated his description of his assailant and said he was shot about 10.30 pm. McIvor said, ‘Well, George, we had better get some sort of statement down.’ Howell agreed and told McIvor, ‘At 10.25 pm, I saw a man hanging around some cars. I was questioning him. I asked him what was in his bag. He then threw the bag at me and ran. I chased him under the viaduct then he turned around and shot me at point blank, about three or four feet away. I had nearly caught him and he turned and fired straight at me, he was so close he just couldn’t miss.’ At this stage he began to falter and told McIvor, ‘Pat, I think I’m finished. Did you get the hat and the bag?’ McIvor affirmed his assailant’s discarded items had been collected and Constable Howell was taken to theatre.
In the chase the gunman had also dropped a bunch of car keys, a screwdriver, a pair of tinsnips, a torch, a small tin box and a black ‘porkpie’ hat. These items would prove to be invaluable as evidence against the gunman, and Constable Howell had attached the hat and brown satchel to the suspect by telling others nearby they belonged to the man who had shot him.
Investigators quickly went to work preserving evidence, holding parked cars for fingerprinting, interviewing every known thief within reach and having forensic analysts at the cutting edge of this improving field begin their work. It would prove to be a very fine investigation.
As Constable Howell seemed to rally it was decided to hold a line-up of men and a suspect at his bedside. A doctor and nurse were present to assist him with oxygen. Howell couldn’t even identify some police personnel he knew and though he tried to look at the line of men, he weakened and muttered, ‘I can’t, I can’t. I’m too sick,’ before falling into semi-consciousness. His fiancée sat with him until late and when leaving he told her, ‘Keep your chin up, June. I’ll be alright. I’ll get there on the 27th somehow.’ Despite his optimism, Constable Howell lost his battle and died at 4.30 am the following morning, 1 February 1952. He was 25 years of age. Dr Refshauge would later recount that during three hours of surgery Howell had improved, but died suddenly.
Public grief and outrage caused by the manner of a young constable’s death took form in a very large gathering at his funeral service and crowds that lined the streets for several miles between Ewing Memorial Presbyterian Church, East Malvern, and the New Cheltenham Cemetery. A capacity 400 people took their positions in the church and an estimated 5000 others stood outside. Reverend Christopher Goy, a close friend of Constable Howell, conducted the service in which he spoke these truths:
I am sure everyone shares with me feelings of shock, sorrow and righteous anger at the deed which had caused George Howell’s death. It is an event like this that makes us realise how much we owe to the police force, a service we usually take for granted. Without that police force, there would be chaos and lawlessness leading to anarchy. The police are the guardians of our civil security. In their duty they take grave risks; even make the supreme sacrifice. We honour the name of this young man who made the supreme sacrifice in pursuing his duty. He has set a splendid example to others.
Like all funeral services it was heartfelt and appropriate to make kind, even heroic, remarks, but beneath the niceties there lay an undeniable truth, thoughtfully set out by Christopher Goy; the absolute indispensability of a body of police. This is evidenced by remembering a time, not long past in terms of modern history, when an organised police did not exist anywhere in the world.
Victorian police kept to their task, interviewing and eliminating suspects until they focused on William John O’Meally, a shop-breaker and thief who was well known to them. He had been in their sights early on and had been questioned. He was placed in a line-up of 11 men at the city watchhouse on 5 February.
William O’Meally
Walter Feltham, a taxi driver, had picked up a man shortly after the shooting who hailed him and got into the taxi breathing heavily. Feltham said, ‘You are all out, mate, have you been running?’ He replied, ‘Yeah. I didn’t think you were going to stop.’ He asked to be taken straight to St Kilda. The man looked out of the window and around him and continually rubbed his hair back with his right hand. Feltham said, ‘Have you lost somebody, mate?’ He replied, ‘Yes, my mate. I lost him about half an hour ago.’ He felt in his pocket and asked Feltham for a cigarette. He was given one and lit it at the filter end, tearing it off to relight it. As they drove along Balaclava Road a police car passed in the opposite direction. Feltham said, ‘Hello, the boys are out again.’ The man snarled, ‘Fucking wallopers,’ as he followed the passage of the police car until the taxi stopped at a red light. The man alighted, paid him five shillings and ran off. Feltham watched as he ran into a side street. He told police later that the man spoke with a brogue Irish or Lancastrian accent, even a bit Yankee, though he wasn’t a foreigner. He described his passenger as having shaggy hair and wearing a well-worn coat.
Feltham couldn’t pick the man police were interested in from the line-up. A short time later he told police that he had identified O’Meally and had been confused by his hair being shorter and black and he bore a black moustache.
The investigators had published photographs of the property found at the site of the shooting, particularly the black hat and brown satchel, which were identified by their owners. The hat belonged to Philip Carney and proved vital to the case.
Mrs Muriel Carney of Huntingfield Road, Toorak, told Coroner Burke SM at the inquest into Constable Howell’s death that she returned to her house at 5 pm on 30 April 1952 to find it had been ransacked. She gave the police a list of property that had been stolen. At the court she identified property that had been part of that list. She also identified other items as her property. All had been recovered from O’Meally’s home.
Cecil Watts Coutanche, a salesman for a city tailor, told the court that Philip Carney had brought a hat to him about ten years before and he cut the brim of it down. Shown the hat from the scene of the shooting, he said that it had obviously been cut down. This was not often done. He said Mr Carney had a peculiar shaped head, causing his hats to break at the brim. The hat produced was broken at the brim and he thought it to be Carney’s.
Kenneth Dowling, when shown two Holden car keys, said they belonged to him. Key number H710 was for the ignition and door. The other was number 8495 and was for the boot. Evidence was given by Senior Constable Patrick Cashin that the keys had been found beside cars parked near the Crystal Palace theatre on the night Howell was shot.
Dowling told the court that on 24 November last he had been having work done on his garage and parked his car on the nature strip opposite his home. He remembered a wedding being held nearby. When he returned to it at 6 pm he found the keys and a street directory had been stolen. He identified a street directory and a small map of Apollo Bay as his property. They had been recovered from O’Meally’s home.
John Willis, supervisor of General Motors-Holden told the court that locks of Holden cars were made in the United States and two sets of door and boot keys were sent out with each lock. The keys were numbered H-601 to H-825 and boot locks 8000 to 9499. This gave 225 different ignition keys and 1500 boot keys. He said it was practically impossible for two cars to have identical combination of ignition and boot keys. More was to come.
Audrey Jean Dunse told the court that O’Meally was married to her sister. She had once seen him wearing a black hat similar to the one in court. When O’Meally and his wife stayed at her parents’ home, he pulled out a drawer in her presence and she saw some keys bundled together. She commented that she couldn’t see why he shouldn’t throw them out. She had also borrowed a torch from O’Meally, which was similar to one shown to her in court. Mrs Dunse said that when she first met O’Meally his hair was black and a bit longer than at present. He had a moustache – not a real one; it had been put on artificially.
Roy Lewis Kay, milkman, said he was married to O’Meally’s wife’s sister and during a visit to them on 11 January he had seen a torch similar to one shown to him in court. He had also seen a black hat similar to the one shown to him in court while he was there. When he first met O’Meally he wore his hair long and brushed back. It was black and O’Meally had told him he wore it long to cover an old war wound on the back of his head. Kay also identified a screwdriver, a pair of tinsnips and a spark plug tin he saw on the same visit, which were similar to ones shown in court.
