Essex Boys, The New Generation (8 page)

Brave words indeed, but Kerr’s ordeal was far from over. Five weeks after the acid attack, he was lying in his hospital bed when he heard a nurse laughing in the corridor outside his ward. Instinctively, he looked towards the door and saw a man carrying a large bunch of plastic flowers walking towards him. The man was dressed in a clown suit and wore a grinning mask, Dracula fangs and a ginger wig. As he approached Kerr’s bed, he looked straight into his eyes before producing a sawn-off shotgun from the inside of his jacket. Nobody was laughing.

‘He was aiming for my head,’ Kerr later told police. ‘It was an instinctive reaction to twist away and that is what saved my life. The man was a professional. It was not the man who had thrown acid in my face. And I am sure that this was not the first hit he had carried out. I actually managed to stagger out of bed after I had been shot. I saw him walk out; he did not run, he walked out. I am very lucky to be alive.’

Kerr underwent emergency surgery to save his life. The hole that had been blasted through his shoulder was so large doctors said it could have been made by an artillery shell.

Despite being subjected to two horrific attacks in just five weeks, Kerr still refused to assist the police. Amongst the police and criminal fraternity in Essex, speculation about who had carried out the attacks was rife.

Many blamed the Essex Boys firm and, in particular, their leading henchman, Patrick Tate. There was nothing of substance to support this allegation; the Hulk, as he was known, was safely behind bars at HMP Whitemoor in Cambridgeshire at the time. People just assumed that members of the firm were the only people in the area capable of committing such an atrocity.

Without Kerr’s assistance, the police investigation into the attacks was destined to fail. In the weeks and months that followed, Kerr himself came under intense police scrutiny. Unable to get to Kerr to carry out a follow-up attack, Jones and his associates began to leak information, much of it false, to the police about his business activities. As a result of this, Kerr’s home was searched and his associates were questioned, though nothing of evidential value was found. Outraged by the double standards of his rivals, Kerr later said, ‘They were expecting me to abide by the criminal code not to grass, but they were bending the rules to suit themselves. A constant stream of information was being passed about me to the police. Allegations were being made about my business affairs. These turned out to be entirely false; the police found no evidence of wrongdoing against me. I did not make a statement to the police even after the shooting. I was still abiding by the code. But when my home was raided, It was obvious that the information that had led to the search had been supplied by the other side. I knew then that there was no reason why I shouldn’t make a statement about them to the police.’

When Kerr did eventually tell the police who had attacked him, he and his wife and their eight-month-old son were moved to a secret address and given round-the-clock armed police protection. Kerr’s evidence, and fingerprints that were found on vehicles used in the crime, led police to arrest 28-year-old Russell Jones and 24-year-old Thomas Watkins. They were charged with grievous bodily harm with intent and kidnap.

When they stood trial at Basildon Crown Court, the proceedings were halted after it was revealed that one of the jurors had been offered a bribe to convict them. Prosecution witnesses were also threatened before the start of a second trial, which was then moved to the Old Bailey. When this trial did eventually get under way, the jury was placed under police protection. Both Jones and Watkins pleaded not guilty, but, after hearing three weeks of evidence, the jury found them guilty of all charges. Sentencing Jones and Watkins, Judge John Rogers QC said, ‘This was a case of horrible vengeance. It was premeditated, it was vicious and it was inflicted on a man who has been your close friend for ten years. I’ve noticed not a flicker of emotion or remorse throughout the proceedings. You bragged about what you were capable of and he learnt about it in the most unpleasant way possible. Mr Kerr will be disfigured for the rest of his life, scarred both mentally and physically. The only way I can view it is as a deliberate act of calculated cruelty, aggravated by the fact that you delayed him going to hospital.’

Jones was sentenced to sixteen years’ imprisonment for causing grievous bodily harm with intent and four years for false imprisonment. At an earlier hearing, he was sentenced to serve four years’ imprisonment for his part in the bank fraud and for firearm offences. Watkins was jailed for five years for the attack on Kerr and two years for false imprisonment. Michael Boparan was sentenced to five years’ imprisonment for his role in the fraud. It’s hard to comprehend how such a trivial dispute can escalate into senseless carnage, but the use of excessive violence to settle petty disputes is hardly unusual amongst feuding criminals in the county of Essex.

4

  THE OMEN COMETH  

In the summer of 1998, Malcolm
Walsh, a man who could not contemplate losing face for one moment, had himself become embroiled in a festering dispute. It was such a trivial matter that none of his former friends can even agree on its origins. According to Ricky Percival and several others, Malcolm was gunning for two brothers, Steven and Stuart Tretton, who he claimed owed him £200 for drugs. An alternative version given by Damon Alvin for the alleged bad blood is that the Tretton brothers had been dealing drugs to Percival’s customers and Percival, who was serving a prison sentence for possessing a can of CS gas spray at the time, had solicited Malcolm to warn them off.

It is true that Malcolm and Percival had been good friends at this time, but their relationship centred on their mutual interest in keeping fit rather than drug dealing. They would train together almost daily, but away from the gym led separate lives. Percival earned a living selling drugs, and Malcolm was in partnership with Alvin committing burglaries.

Percival was no fool, but he was certainly no hardened drugs baron either. Still in his teens, he and a friend, who has asked me only to refer to him by his nickname, ‘Meat Head’, roamed the streets playing childish pranks, like many of the local kids of the same age. Meat Head and Percival had acquired a can of CS gas and had spent the evening travelling around Leigh-on-Sea, spraying it in the open air in the hope that they would cause a little mayhem. The gas is an irritant used by police forces throughout the world to subdue those resisting arrest or being otherwise violent. Although the effects can include a burning sensation in and around the eyes, symptoms do tend to completely wear off within minutes. For the gas to be effective, it generally has to be dispensed from close range and so spraying it in the street is a fairly pointless exercise. Feeling disappointed that their efforts were having no effect on potential victims, Percival and Meat Head decided to spray the gas in a local garage.

‘We got caught doing it in the garage forecourt on very good quality CCTV: colour, smiling faces, the lot,’ Meat Head told me. ‘The old bill kicked my mum’s door in the following morning and I got carted off to the police station. I didn’t see Ricky when I arrived, but I knew he was already in the cells because his name had been written on the board above the sergeant’s desk.

‘When I was interviewed, I could hardly deny it was me smiling up at the camera, and the police already knew the other guy with me was Ricky. When we went to court, Ricky was convicted and sent to a detention centre, but I somehow managed to get found not guilty. The CCTV had recorded me, but my back had been to the camera when I sprayed the gas. Ricky always thought that I had grassed him, but I hadn’t. The police were determined that Ricky should be convicted. It wasn’t my doing.’

It was while serving this short sentence that Alvin claims Percival appointed Malcolm to collect his alleged drug debt. Alvin conceded that he had heard the story about the drug debt from a second-hand source ‘down the pub’ and it is certainly not supported by any first-hand knowledge or factual evidence. Alvin’s explanation for the rift seems unlikely because Percival was good friends with Steven Tretton at the time, and even if he had needed somebody to ‘talk to’ the Trettons, his elder brother Danny would have been the obvious person to call upon.

From a very early age, Danny had been an awesome boxer. Initially trained in Thai boxing and martial arts, he progressed to the noble art of traditional boxing and fought for the famous West Ham Boxing Club in the East End of London. Aged 27, Danny thought his chance at the big-time had gone. Despite chalking up a decent record of ten wins in fourteen amateur fights, he was flitting from job to job to finance his training at Broad Street gym in London.

One night, whilst working as a bouncer at a nightclub in Dartford, Danny became involved in a brawl with a group of men who had been intent on causing trouble. As Danny employed his boxing skills to defend himself, he was unaware that he was being watched by none other than top boxing promoter Frank Maloney, who happened to live nearby. After Danny had dispatched the men, Maloney approached him and asked if he wanted to turn pro. Without hesitation Danny accepted the offer and began training under the watchful eye of Maloney. His boxing skills were dramatically improved and ‘Danny the Doorman’, as Maloney called him, won his first three professional bouts. If either of the Percival brothers had a problem, there was certainly no need for them to call upon others for assistance, as Alvin suggested.

Regardless of who is wrong and who is right about Malcolm’s motivation for wanting to confront the Trettons, what isn’t in dispute is the fact that Steven, 18, and Stuart, 20, were subjected to a catalogue of abuse and numerous threats of violence over a number of months. Eventually, their mother, Lydia Watkins, became involved.

Not the type of lady to mince her words, Lydia confronted Malcolm, calling him a scumbag and a lowlife. Thereafter, the warring families exchanged abuse every time their paths crossed. This turned out to be on a regular basis because Malcolm often visited his ex-wife and their children, who happened to reside on Locksley Close, where Lydia and her sons lived.

In the spring of 1998, a mutual friend of Alvin and Malcolm named Richard Rice committed suicide. Rice was older than Alvin and Malcolm and enjoyed a reasonably affluent lifestyle; he lived on a farm, worked the land and dabbled in the car trade. As a sideline, anything that Malcolm and Alvin stole of value whilst out committing burglary Rice would usually buy and sell on at a profit. His income didn’t match his lifestyle and so his debts began to mount. Facing financial ruin and the prospect of losing his home, Rice decided to take his own life.

On the morning of his funeral, Alvin drove to Malcolm’s flat on Shannon Close, Leigh-on-Sea. As he pulled up alongside Malcolm’s recently acquired 3-Series BMW, Alvin noticed that the back window had been smashed. The house brick used by the vandals had bounced across the roof and ended up on the bonnet, damaging all the paintwork that it had encountered along the way.

‘What’s happened to your car?’ Alvin asked Malcolm when he opened his front door.

Initially, Malcolm thought that Alvin was joking, but, after searching his face for a hint of a smile and finding none, Malcolm pushed Alvin aside and ran into the street. ‘Bastards! Bastards! Bastards!’ he screamed when he saw his pride and joy. ‘I’m going to kill those fucking Trettons!’

Leaping from side to side in a kind of deranged jig around his beloved car, Malcolm finally ran off, leaving a bewildered Alvin shaking his head in disbelief. When he eventually returned, Malcolm was still ranting and raving about the damage to his car and the damage he was going to inflict upon those he deemed responsible. He said that he had already visited the Trettons’ grandmother’s home, apprehended Steven on the stairs and beaten him up.

Throughout the funeral later that day and in the days thereafter, Malcolm constantly reminded everybody that the matter was far from over and both the Tretton brothers were going to pay. On 9 June 1998, Malcolm drove to Locksley Close to pick his children up. Several members of the Tretton family and their friends were in the street when he arrived. They glared at Malcolm and began to shout insults. Malcolm responded in kind, before collecting his children, getting back into his car and driving away. That night Lydia Watkins received several threatening and abusive telephone calls from Malcolm. He said that her house would be firebombed and her husband, Terry, would soon be a ‘dead man’.

The following morning at 9 a.m., Malcolm returned to the close with Clair Sanders to drop off his children, but trouble flared again. Malcolm was subjected to a barrage of abuse by members of the Tretton family. As he advanced on them, they backed off towards their home, at which point Terry opened the door. Enraged by the threatening phone calls that he had been subjected to the night before, Terry was seen outside his home by several witnesses, holding a knife and shouting at Malcolm: ‘Yes, you’re going to get it!’ Robert Findlay, a friend of Malcolm, went over to try to calm the situation but could only watch in disbelief as Terry confronted Malcolm. Findlay heard Malcolm asking Terry to drop the knife, but he just repeated, ‘You’re going to get it!’ Terry then thrust the knife forwards in a stabbing motion.

Malcolm looked down at his clothing for blood, looked back at Terry and said, ‘You want to get yourself a decent knife. It’s blunt.’ Then he staggered back and fell into Findlay’s arms before collapsing, dying just yards from where his young children were standing. An ambulance was called to the scene, but the crew were unable to revive Malcolm and he was pronounced dead less than an hour after the incident.

Damon Alvin had been working at Shoeburyness that morning with his brother Darren. His partner, Barbara, telephoned him as soon as she heard about the stabbing. News of Malcolm’s condition varied depending on whom she asked and so Barbara arranged to drive to Alvin’s workplace and give him a lift to the hospital. Alvin assumed that his best friend, a survivor of numerous violent incidents, hadn’t been badly injured; however, when Alvin spoke to several people on his mobile phone, they warned him that his friend might not survive. By the time Alvin and Barbara arrived at the accident and emergency department of Southend hospital, 32-year-old Malcolm Walsh had already been pronounced dead.

Kevin Walsh recalls Alvin being ‘an emotional wreck’ when he was given the news. ‘Alvin became very withdrawn and very, very angry,’ he said. ‘He started talking about getting back at Terry, but I didn’t take much notice. Everybody who knew Malcolm was upset about his death and so I just thought Alvin was doing and saying what others were doing and saying: “I’m going to kill this person or that family.” I thought it was all just hot air brought about by grief. I never believed for one moment that Alvin or anybody else would actually do anything.

‘Malcolm’s funeral seemed to make Alvin even angrier. He helped to carry the coffin and was really, really distraught. I have to admit, I did become slightly concerned about some of the threats he was making that day and in the days that followed. He was talking about getting hold of grenades to attack Terry Watkins’ house. Perhaps it was just the drink or drugs talking, I really couldn’t say.’

When the police arrested Watkins for Malcolm Walsh’s murder, he claimed that it was Malcolm who had brandished the knife. He said that Malcolm had somehow been stabbed with his own weapon after a confrontation and struggle on his doorstep.

‘He came over in a right aggressive manner,’ he told police. ‘I wasn’t going to be intimidated by him. He came round here tooled up. I saw the glint of a knife. I am very sorry he is dead, but it isn’t down to me.’

Malcolm’s death resulted in a barrage of threats and abuse being levelled at the Tretton brothers and their mother. Neighbours stopped talking to the family and they were receiving up to 50 nuisance calls per week, so it’s safe to say that they were far from popular in the eyes of many in the local community.

Eighteen-year-old Ricky Percival was saddened by the loss of a friend and joined in with the name-calling and idle threats that many who knew Malcolm were making. These were not the actions of a homicidal maniac plotting bloody revenge; they were simply nuisance calls and immature insults being made by a young man trying to come to terms with a violent and unnecessary death.

Lydia Watkins accepted this at the time and told police that she had not felt threatened by the calls or insults at any time. The sheer number of calls, however, became impossible for Lydia to bear and so, in an effort to stop them, and the abuse, she asked her solicitor to write to not only Percival but two females who had also made calls and given her grief.

The solicitor’s letter warned all three individuals that if their campaign of harassment did not stop, further action would be taken. As a result, Lydia did not receive another nuisance call and the abuse stopped forthwith. That was until Percival and Lydia came face to face at Chelmsford prison.

Percival had been visiting a friend and Lydia had been to see her husband. What was later described by police as a ‘bit of a slagging match’ took place between the pair and Percival was arrested under Section 5 of the Public Order Act, for which he was fined the princely sum of £90 and ordered to pay £150 in costs. The unusual decision to prosecute Percival for such a trivial matter was taken because Essex police said they were concerned about witness intimidation. Because the killing had taken place in such a close-knit community, they said they wanted to send out a clear message to everybody that this type of behaviour would not be tolerated.

Terry Watkins would later claim that the incident in Chelmsford prison had been more than a slagging match; he said that Percival had, in fact, threatened to shoot him and his family. ‘My wife came to see me in prison just before my trial,’ he said. ‘She was upset because she had just seen Ricky Percival. He made threats that he was going to shoot my family, including my little girl, Laura, who was just four years of age.’

Watkins, of course, had not personally heard the threats and so his account of this incident cannot be given credence. Whether Lydia’s claims are true or false, there was undeniably a growing feeling of intense hostility towards Terry and his family in the Southend area, but very little of it originated from Percival. Some of the threats were childish, others more sinister, but they were all treated as serious by the police.

On one occasion, Stuart Tretton nearly came to blows with a neighbour who had complained to him bitterly about loud music being played at unsociable hours. During the argument, the neighbour said to Stuart, ‘You had better watch your back.’ Unfortunately for the neighbour, even such a common phrase as this, used by many in similar altercations, was reported to the police as a death threat.