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main gates of Wormwood Scrubs prison
Welcome to the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, all set within and beyond the West End.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY: On Saturday 23rd of June 1979, a decision was made for two prisoners to share a cell at wormwood Scrubs prison. One was convicted of a driving offence, and the other was a psychopath convicted of murder.
THE LOCATION
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SOURCES: This case was researched using some of the sources below.
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT OF THE EPISODE: Welcome to Murder Mile. Today, I’m standing outside of Wormwood Scrubs Prison on DuCane Road, W12; one road south of the death of Lena Cunningham, four roads north of the child rapist Bernard Cooper, the same street as the infamous police massacre, and a short walk from ‘The Squawk’ - coming soon to Murder Mile. Designed by Edmund DuCane, Wormwood Scrubs Prison was built in 1875 on scrubland named after a herb used to eradicate parasitic worms, which – of course - our painfully biased tabloids love to draw a comparison to, as these flag-waving bigots spew their bile to its readers that “most of these convicts are foreigners, and your taxes are paying for it”, even though many of the arseholes who run our tabloids are foreigners, whose own income is registered overseas… so they pay no taxes. Oh the irony. As 1 of 32 Victorian prisons still operational in England and Wales, after 149 years, Wormwood Scrubs still houses just over 1000 Category B male prisoners for crimes ranging from theft to rape to murder. With a mixture of single and shared cells, careful consideration is made when mixing prisoners charged with different offences. On Saturday 23rd of June 1979, a decision was made for two prisoners to share a cell; one was convicted of a trivial matter, and the other was a psychopath convicted of murder. It’s a tragic case which occurred 45 years ago this week, and although it was said that “lessons should be learned”; with higher crime rates, increased population, aging prisons, chronic underfunding and overcrowding, it’s a system in a rapid state of collapse, and the situation is only going to get worse. My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 260: Cellmates. Paul Lehair was an ordinary lad struggling to find his feet in an ever-changing world. Born on the 26th of October 1958 in Manchester, Paul was one of seven siblings to his mother Irene, a hardworking woman who strived as best she could, especially following her divorce to her husband. Like many young boys leaving school aged 16 with a basic education but no plan, he dabbled in a range of low-paid and semi-skilled jobs such as being a housepainter and a cook in pubs and cafes, but with big dreams and no cash, none of these tickled his thirst for adventure or his entrepreneurial spirit. Being 6 foot 5 inches tall, almost a foot taller than most males in the 1980s, some assumed that Paul was a tough guy, but weighing just 14 stone, he was tall, thin and said by many to be “a gentle giant”. He wasn’t a bad lad, he was just a little bit cheeky and easily distracted, but he got on well with people. In 1978, aged 19, he moved to London, he got a bedsit in Tottenham, and tried his hand at any work which paid him a wage, but being broke, he stole. Even Paul’s mother would say “he wasn’t an angel, he was a petty thief”, but he wasn’t in a gang, he wasn’t a hoodlum, he wasn’t escalating to bigger crimes, and he also wasn’t an idiot who banged on about “the life” and thought that dealing weed would lead to him being feared and respected like Al Pacino in Scarface, only to end up in a pine box. Paul was just a bit lost, he’d made some stupid mistakes, and he knew it. On the 16th of June 1979, he’d shared a joyous day back in Manchester as his mother Irene had married his stepfather Clifford, it was a fresh start for this struggling family. Rightfully, it was a happy occasion, but Paul’s dalliance with crime would turn his life (which had only just begun) to disaster and tragedy. On Tuesday the 19th of June 1979, Paul was recalled to Tottenham Magistrates Court. A few weeks earlier, he had been convicted of his first offence, and having taken a car without the owner’s consent, being uninsured and having stolen a penknife worth 50p, he was given a suspected sentence. In short, all he had to do was commit no crime within a mandated period of time, and he wouldn’t go to prison. Keeping his nose clean, as Paul hadn’t been to prison before and didn’t want to, he tried his best. But being unemployed, unable to pay the £20 fine (£250 today), that non-payment resulted in a breach of his suspended sentence, and even though the magistrate himself regarded the crime as a “trivial offence”, with the law being the law, he was sentenced to six months at Wormwood Scrubs Prison. As a first timer, a stint inside could have shaken him up, made his re-evaluate his choices, and set him on the straight and narrow to a stable life. It all depended on what experience he had in prison… … and who he shared a cell with. On the 2nd of March 1978, politicians in the Houses of Parliament debated the state of British prisons, stating “the prison population, which is over 41500 shows no sign of falling, and with overcrowding in local prisons (like Wormwood Scrubs) it is a matter of continuing concern. I hope that some relief will be afforded by building schemes which are expected to provide 4700 extra places by 1981–82”. After decades of underfunding, even back then, these crumbling prisons weren’t fit for purpose; many cells squeezed three or four inmates into a space built for two, punishments by staff had led to many high-profile riots, and with unsanitary practices like ‘slopping out’ (where each morning, prisoners had to carry and empty their own bucket of faeces elsewhere, as the cells didn’t have working plumbing) still enforced until 1996, Paul was about to enter a world which would be alien to a modern youth. With his hands and feet manacled to the chair, as the prison van pulled off DuCane Road, Paul would have been terrified by the large fortress-like gates of Wormwood Scrubs. Designed in white stone and brown brick like castle turrets, they declare “from here, you will never escape”, and although as a first offence - with good behaviour - he would most likely be out in three months, for Paul, that was true. For all prisoners, whether first offenders or life-long lags, day one starts with an induction. In the reception room, he was disrobed of his clothes, his possessions, and given a prison unform as he was no longer an individual but an inmate. Stripped of his name and identity, he would be known for the rest of his term by his prison number, as he had lost all of the privileges that a free man enjoys. With his fingerprints and a photograph taken, any contraband was removed from his person, officers took his details, a doctor assessed his medical and psychiatric needs, and he was given a two property boxes of bedding, clothes, a ‘first night pack’ of tea, milk, sugar, soap and a sometimes a toothbrush. Unlike in films where newbies are stripped bare, burned with lice powder and thrown in a cell as old lags taunt them by chanting “fresh fish”, in 1979, as today, Wormwood Scrubs has a ‘first night unit’. After a shower, a meal, and a fitful night’s sleep away from the main block, it was here that Paul was observed, and being a nice chap who could handle himself, a decision was made over his cell mate. As days and nights in prison can be long lonely affairs, it was vital that Paul got on with his cellmate. For Paul, the hardest part was to be the isolation and the monotony. Moved to the Young Prisoner’s Wing as he was under the age of 21, his cell door was unlocked at 8am, three times a day he ate a barely edible meal in his cell (costing 28p per day), and given one hour for exercise, as a newbie with no work or education to occupy him, at 6pm, he was locked-up in a cramped cell until the morning. By day, surrounded by bored criminals with violent pasts and undiagnosed mental illnesses, this baby-faced boy was an easy victim to bully, rob or beat-up for food, ciggies or to pass the time. But by night, with the door locked and no way to get help except by screaming, he was at the mercy of his cellmate. Debated in Parliament, Fred Silvester, the MP for Withington in Manchester would raise Paul’s case to the then-Minister for State, Leon Brittan, saying “I understand it would be most unusual to allocate a young man on a first sentence for a minor offence to the cell of a man with pronounced and well-known violent tendencies. In this case, almost immediately, the decision was taken to mix Paul Lehair with a prisoner called Vincent Smith - in other words, to mix a minor offence with murder”. The right people were asking the right questions in the right place about the issues of prison overcrowding… …but by then, it would be too late, as Paul was already dead. His cellmate was 20-year-old Vincent Richard Smith. Born on 13th of March 1959, Vincent’s life started badly and got progressively worse. Abandoned at a few weeks old and gripped by a feeling he was unwanted, although a couple adopted him and gave him love, hope and a better future, this early trauma left him anxious and disturbed. Sent to a school for maladjusted boys, Dr Elmo Jacobs said “he had a history of psychiatric problems since he was eight” and having left home as he hated his adopted mother with a vengeance, he turned to crime and was incarcerated for most of his teenage years. Diagnosed with "a severe psychopathic personality disorder”, in 1973, aged just 14, he attempted to take his own life while in police custody. Vincent was a confused young boy with no mentor or moral barometer. Burdened by a violent streak, he lashed out without warning, he attacked those he liked, and claiming he heard voices, he struggled to make sense of whether what he did was right or wrong, or what he saw was real or imaginary. In February 1977, aged 18, Vincent escaped from Feltham Young Offenders Institute and hitched a lift to Oxford. Six weeks later, in the early hours of 30th of March, in an unnamed park (said to be Oxpens Meadow), he claimed that 51-year-old Nicholas Feodorous sat, began chatting him up, and then “he touched my bottom”, Vincent said, “I told him not to, and said, if he did, he’d get a bang in the mouth”. Believing the boy was playing hard to get, Feodorous fondled Vincent again. As promised, he punched the lecherous sex pest in the face, but now thinking this was a kinky little game, Feodorous’ hands kept groping him. “I lost my temper” Vincent said recalling the sexual assault “and I steamed into him”. Dragged off the bench, with no control over his pent-up fury, Vincent punched and kicked the bleeding man as he tried to flee. Constricting his neck until the last breath seeped out of the dying man’s lungs, as he collapsed, still trying to fight back, Vincent stamped on the semi-conscious man as he lay helpless on the ground and booted his head like a football. Barely alive, but still somehow flailing, for nothing more than malice, Vincent pulled out a pocketknife, and slashed and stabbed him in his legs and back. But after three or four wounds to his throat, Vincent said “I knew had gone too far”. Pulling his body down to the river, Vincent stole his money and fled back to London. But being racked with guilt having taken a life, returning to Feltham, he gave himself up, and was arrested for murder. Vincent Smith was given a life sentence for the killing of Nicholas Feodorous… …but why did that, and his adopted mother, lead Vincent to murder his cellmate? (Cliffhanger) Questioned by the police, in a second statement, Vincent gave a very different account of the murder of Nicholas Feodorous. As a gay man seen getting off the train after a night out, making his way home through the park, Vincent admitted he planned to rob him, and “I was thinking about killing someone. It always appealed to me to watch someone die, so seeing this bloke, I said it was going to be him". With a replica gun, Vincent robbed him of his wallet, and then unleashed a volley of fists and feet for his own sadistic pleasure. Smashing his victim over the head with the butt of the gun, as he lay collapsed and bleeding, Vincent stole the man’s drink, took a swig, laughed at this cowering lump, and then “I laid into him, kicking, punching and stabbing him. I then picked up a brick and smashed in his head with it”, and as the skull cracked open and the man’s brains spewed, Vincent suddenly stopped. “I got bored”, the instant fix of killing a random stranger for no reason had lost its thrill as dead was dead, and a dead man neither screams nor fights back. “Suddenly I didn’t find it as funny anymore”, so having stabbed this lifeless body once more, he dragged it over to the river, and walked away. Tried on the 7th of October 1977 at Northampton Crown Court, 19-year-old Vincent Smith would claim that the second statement which implicated him in an unprovoked murder was a lie, and that the first statement about Nicholas sexually assaulting him was true. With no witnesses and much of the crucial evidence having washed away in the river, his word had to be taken as fact. Psychiatrist Dr Peter Noble concluded “it is impossible to form a clear view of his state of mind at the time of the offence. I thus do not feel able to quantify the extent to which his responsibility was impaired at the time". Found guilty of wilful murder, Vincent was sentenced to life in prison… but if the law had the evidence to prove ‘diminished responsibility’ (as the second statement had suggested), Dr Noble said “Vincent would not have been put in a regular prison, but somewhere like Broadmoor Psychiatric Hospital”. Vincent Smith was diagnosed with a psychopathic personality disorder, but without Section 60 of the Mental Health Act being considered at his trial, upon his first day initiation – along with all of the other new prisoners – he was assessed by the prison doctor who determined “his mental disorder was not of such a degree to warrant psychiatric detention”, and he was sent to the Young Prisoner’s Wing. Some said, he belonged in a secure hospital, but the law disagreed. Placed in a drab, cold and lifeless cell for 23 hours a day for the next 20 years, with nothing to occupy his mind but four blank walls in a space measuring just four-square metres, prison is a particularly brutal place for even the most mentally stable, but it’s worse when you’re already mentally disturbed. In April 1978, he attempted suicide, and was placed on report for the attempted assault on a guard. Again in November 1978, he had to undergo an operation owing to self-inflicted wounds to his wrists. In January 1979, he was placed in segregation having been suspected of bullying. And although he was described as aggressive, a report states “his behaviour is not uncommon amongst his age group”. Across the bulk of 1979, Vincent was placed in a single cell, but beginning to settle, he briefly had two cellmates in the later part of that year, and it was said “they had got on fine”. At the start of June 1979, with Vincent having attacked a prison officer with a fork, having been released from segregation, as the Young Prisoner’s Wing was fit to burst, it was decided that a new cellmate should join him. That prisoner was Paul Lehair. There were several reasons why Paul was placed in a cell with Vincent. Both men were aged 20. Unlike Vincent, Paul was mature for his age and hadn’t been institutionalised. Being a foot taller than Vincent, it was thought that Paul could handle himself if he had to. And as a Category B prison, in which the Young Prisoner’s Wing was overcrowded, with almost 100 inmates under 21 serving life sentences for rape, manslaughter or murder, it was likely that Paul’s first and only cellmate would be a lifer. Released from the ‘first night unit’, Wednesday 20th of June 1979 was Paul’s first day on the wing. Unceremoniously introduced with a curt “Smith, you got a new cellie”, as the door slammed shut, Paul found himself face-to-face with Vincent. They knew nothing about each other, and as far as they knew they had nothing in common, and although Paul tried his best to chat, Vincent didn’t want to know. By day, they distracted themselves with routines. But by night, being locked-up from 6pm to 8am, they heard each other breath, they smelled each other’s odour, their bunkbeds creaked as they tossed and turned all night, and with no screen to hide their blushes, in front of each other, they had to shit. Thursday was no better as Vincent barely uttered a word. By the Friday, it had got worse, as Vincent’s silence had turned from disinterest to inaudible mutterings. Paul tried his best to make friends, and although Vincent had been nice to his last cellmates, there was something about Paul that he disliked. It all came to a head on Saturday 23rd of June 1979. There were three incidents reported. The first was a small spat in which Vincent called Paul a “dirty bastard” and accused him of not washing. This was deemed no different to most cells, as when men are banged up together for 14 hours straight, even the closest of cellmates sometimes get a bit tense. The second was when Vincent made remarks to other inmates stating “he disliked Paul and had hostile intentions towards him”, but again, as a common occurrence in any prison, it wasn’t reported to staff. Vincent asked to move cells and this request was agreed to. Not being as straightforward as it seemed, as almost every aspect of prison life must be signed off by layers of bureaucracy – with paperwork to be triplicated, inmates to be moved, and space to be made – with the quickest they could give him a new cellmate being Monday (in two days’ time), the report states “Vincent was happy with that”. Arrangements were being made, and Paul was told that he was to be moved, which was a blessing. Later that afternoon, Vincent asked a trustee in the prison office for a letter opener. When asked why, his answer was cryptic, as he chillingly replied “you’ll find out in the morning”. Rightly, he wasn’t given it, but with this inmate not wanting to be a grass, it wasn’t reported to the staff until it was too late. At 6pm, the cell doors were locked, as both men sat quietly on their bunks. At 10pm, lights out meant that every cell was only illuminated by moonlight. And for the next ten hours, both men would silently suffer each other for what should have been the penultimate time, but would in fact be the last. (silence, night sounds, prison walla) Sunday 24th of June 1979, at just before 8am, a buzzer echoed the walls, as Vincent asked to use the wing’s toilet as his slops bucket was full. Being a reasonable request, the guard agreed, but as Vincent walked away, he casually said “oh… there’s a stiff in my cell”, and in his bed, Paul was found dead. Paul’s mother wasn’t allowed to view her son’s body. When asked, the Police told her (perhaps to give her some sense of peace in her grief) “that the way it happened, he felt no pain”, but having spoken to the undertaker, he said “it was obvious there’d been a struggle and Paul had fought for his life”. During the night, possibly while Paul was sleeping, having bunged up the observation hole in the door so any warders couldn’t see in, he launched a violent and horrific attack on this defenceless man. With thick black welts about his frozen face, and deep purple bruises about his neck and chest, Vincent had tied Paul’s wrists and ankles with ripped strips of his pyjama bottoms, and pulling it taut and twisting his pyjama top tight so it fashioned a makeshift noose, he strangled Paul until his body went limp. An inmate in a neighbouring cell said “about midnight I heard a yell and a choking noise”, but being a strange place where the night echoes with all manner of unsettling sounds, he didn’t raise the alarm. There were no witnesses to this murder, but even though Vincent was the only person other than the victim in that locked cell that night, his callous confession would convict him - “I killed him. I do not know why. The geezer was only serving six months. He did nothing to me. I am very sorry I did it”. Interviewed by Dr Jacobs (a forensic psychiatrist), when asked why he murdered Paul, he claimed “I didn’t mean to. I woke from a dream, and saw what I thought was my adopted mum, and I lost it”. After 20 years, his hatred for her was still so great, that in a haze of half-sleep, that ‘something’ about Paul that Vincent disliked welled-up inside of him, and he killed Paul as - apparently - they looked alike. But was this real, imaginary, or an excuse to be sectioned? (End) On 28th January 1980, having pleaded ‘not guilty’, telling the judge “I am sorry for what happened, but I cannot help myself”, Vincent Smith was found guilty of manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility, and this time, he was committed to Broadmoor with no time limit. Finally the law said he belonged in a secure hospital, but Paul’s mother disagreed, saying “he isn’t crazy, he’s pure evil”. Assessed by Dr Bowden, it was concluded that Vincent was a dangerous man, and with regards to the earlier murder of Nicholas Feodorous, “that psychiatric evidence at the first trial was flawed". Dr Nobel whose lack of evidence of ‘diminished responsibility’ led to Vincent not being sectioned, later revised his report by stating “with hindsight it is of course regrettable that he was not sent to Broadmoor”. At his 1997 appeal, Vincent’s conviction for that murder was quashed and replaced with manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility, he remained at Broadmoor for the rest of his life. Later changing his name to Charlie Smith, on the 1st of December 1989 and again on 2nd of November 1990, under the 1976 Adoption Act, he lost a further appeal to have his birth certificate released. As Sir Stephen Brown, who presided over the Family Division of the Appeal Court said “he is a double killer with an abnormal personality and in view of the circumstances of the second killing”, that of Paul Lahair, “the identification of his natural mother could be tantamount to signing her death warrant”. In August 2006, Vincent Smith died in prison. At the first Christmas after Paul’s death, as if the bureaucracy of the law hadn’t hurt her enough, his mother received a letter from Tottenham Magistrates Court. It was a summons addressed to her dead son, demanding the payment of the unpaid fine of £20, a fine which had led to her son’s death. The Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast has been researched using the original declassified police investigation files, court records, press reports and as many authentic sources as possible, which are freely available in the public domain, including eye-witness testimony, confessions, autopsy reports, first-hand accounts and independent investigation, where possible. But these documents are only as accurate as those recounting them and recording them, and are always incomplete or full of opinion rather than fact, therefore mistakes and misrepresentations can be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast is a 'dramatisation' of the events and not a documentary, therefore a certain amount of dramatic licence, selective characterisation and story-telling (within logical reason and based on extensive research) has been taken to create a fuller picture. It is not a full and complete representation of the case, the people or the investigation, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity, speed and the drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, and therefore it will contain a certain level of bias and opinion to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated. Murder Mile is just one possible retelling of each case. Murder Mile does not set out to cause any harm or distress to those involved, and those who listen to the podcast or read the transcripts provided should be aware that by accessing anything created by Murder Mile (or any source related to any each) that they may discover some details about a person, an incident or the police investigation itself, that they were unaware of.
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AuthorMichael J Buchanan-Dunne is a crime writer, podcaster of Murder Mile UK True Crime and creator of true-crime TV series. 
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