A FACE and a name come back unexpectedly and unwantedly from the murky past; especially the face – leering, arrogant and unquestionably evil. It was the face of a man who murdered for the perverse pleasure of knowing he held the power of life and death over innocent people.
Having looked on the face of Peter Manuel for weeks on end, there is no doubt in my mind that he was bad and not mad. Now, 50 years later, the memory is being revived for the worst of reasons: pointless curiosity and to stir up a mildly melodramatic
controversy where there was none.
The Manuel case was sensational enough, a series of mass murders followed by the most dramatic of trials. The verdict, guilty of murdering seven people, was right; the sentence was the only one that could be passed at that time and in those circumstances – death by hanging. Such was the revulsion at the man and his crimes that no one, not even those opposed to capital punishment, disputed sending Manuel to the gallows at Barlinnie Prison.
Now, Dr Richard Goldberg, of Aberdeen University's law school, questions whether the trial was fair and believes evidence about Manuel's mental health was suppressed to make sure he was executed. He claims if the court had been told about the problems, including a form of epilepsy many believe can cause criminal behaviour, the verdict could have been diminished responsibility.
Apart from repugnance at anyone coming to the defence of a monster like Manuel, Dr Goldberg is plain wrong. All the evidence showed that Manuel was a coldly calculating killer who knew exactly what he was doing and enjoyed it.
As a young reporter with verbatim shorthand, I was sent to Glasgow High Court in 1958 to supply a word-for-word account of what was thought to be a straightforward trial but developed into an extraordinary public spectacle which kept Scotland enthralled. The dominant factor was Manuel's personality, a small man enjoying his starring role while manipulating the police and the finest brains in the Scottish legal system.
He has since been described as "a James Dean lookalike", and he would have loved that. But, in fact, with weasel-like expression and slickly Brylcreemed hair, he looked like a classic small-time crook in a Fifties film. He stood cockily in the dock, dapper in a smart blue blazer with a phoney badge and light trousers. Even at the grimmest moments, he showed neither emotion nor remorse; for him, it was a battle of wits and he was in no doubt that he could match the lawyers. This was not a man with weak mental faculties.
The killings and his court performance gave point to his seedy existence – born in New York, returned to Scotland aged five, a juvenile delinquent, jailed at 16 for rape, and a career villain and burglar. For years, it was suspected that he was also a killer, but the scale of his homicidal spree was beyond anyone's imagination. He was sentenced for seven murders and it was believed he killed 15, but he boasted the true total was 18.
The common factors were that the killings took place at holiday times when there would be a delay in discovering the crimes; victims were all chosen because they were vulnerable; the guns made up for his lack of physical stature; and the impotent Manuel achieved sexual gratification in the act of killing.
In court, Manuel revelled in starring in his own drama and every other day he stage-managed another headline-grabbing scene. The confrontation with William Watt, who spent two months in jail wrongly suspected of slaughtering his own family and was impeached by the Manuel defence; the grisly moment when a victim's skull was produced and a rusty iron bar fitted into the holes while her family wept in the public gallery; Manuel sacking his counsel, Sir Harald Leslie QC, a star of the Scottish Bar then brilliantly conducting his own defence, tying police witnesses in knots and being complimented by the judge on his legal skill; and, finally, the solemn moment when Lord Cameron pronounced the death sentence.
Despite Dr Gordon's posthumous plea on Manuel's behalf, there was no miscarriage of justice and no cover-up. Lord Cameron reported: "I saw no sign indicative to a layman of any illness or abnormality beyond callousness, selfishness and treachery in high degree, but I did form the impression that he was even then laying the foundation of a suggestion that he might in the end of the day be presented not as a criminal, but as one in need of medical care."
Under Scottish law, Manuel was sane enough to hang. Nowadays, psychiatrists and lawyers would argue the definition of a psychopath and excuses would be found to show that a man who killed and went on killing could not possibly be 'normal', as with the Yorkshire Ripper and the depraved Robert Mone.
There is no reason to re-open the files for Manuel's sake, but there might be to answer questions about the police investigations. How did a known house-breaker and rapist, arrested time after time for the murders, get away with it for so long? How many died unnecessarily due to stubborn ineptitude and lack of co-operation between local police forces?
My last sight of Manuel was after his appeal failed and he was led away, a shambling shadow of the man he had been because he knew he was going to die. He deserved his unmarked grave in Barlinnie – and his victims should be allowed to rest in peace.
The full article contains 949 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
