[MONDAY JULY 5, 2010]

YOU WILL DIE IN FOUR DAYS

Sean goes shopping.

It’s Monday morning.

You text him a shopping list with a reminder to get a needle and thread for the badger hat. LOL.

He buys milk, burgers, chicken dippers, water, lamb kebabs, biscuits, cutlery, torches, a couple of phones, a dictaphone, three tapes, a Yorkie bar and a Toffee Crisp.

At base camp Karl cooks. You eat a burger.

Your plan is to steal an X5 [a police vehicle] with all the guns inside. You formulate exit strategies and talk about camera locations and possible public activity, things like that, but what you’re thinking, inside your head, is that you’d give anything to have a quiet meal with Sam right now, out here in the countryside, but it’s all fucked, properly fucked, and you’re going to be on the naughty step for a very long time after all of this. The strange part is, you’re actually less stressed today than you were a week ago. It all just feels like a weird video game now, a cross between Bourne Identity and Grand Theft Auto, like you can do whatever you want, when you want, because people don’t see what’s really going on. They don’t want to see. They just want to live their happy lives. Which is why the police get away with what they get away with, but not anymore. You’ve read these pleas in the papers, about how they’re wanting a reasonable resolution out of this, well there can’t possibly be one, because you’re a cop killer for a start. Though in fairness, the papers reckon that officer from the other night is fifty-fifty. So there you go. That’s life. You’re not too fussed about not killing him. You were going to go and finish him off, but it’s not really the point. He got two shots. That’s enough. At the end of the day, if he’s looking a bit of a mess, it might not have been him that’s been picking on you, but he can hold the officers that were picking on you responsible. So what do you do now? Every time you think about shooting yourself, which you think about a lot, it’s not that you’re not able to do it, it’s just that somebody else can do it. The weight’s been lifted off your head now. It’s not a case of having to take a bunch of tablets. You can just go out and keep shooting police officers and eventually you’ll get hit. At the end of the day you expect to get sniped. You’ll have to get sniped, then it’s over. You want it to be over. You don’t want to be doing this for ages, because the longer you’re doing this the longer you feel the fucking pain, you suppose. So that’s what you’ll do. You can’t turn back what you’ve done. An idea did come into your head today though. Sean was saying how he’s going to write a book about all of this, and him and Karl can sell their story to the highest bidder, because there’s plenty of money to be made out of this, and what you thought is, if you get a dictaphone, you can make an audio log and give it to the papers, then people will know the truth, which is why Sean’s bought a dictaphone from Argos this morning, so you can sit in the tent, put a tape in and press record [this is an edited and rewritten version of a seventy-six-page typed transcript of recordings you made, containing your thoughts],

This is Raoul Moat on the fifth of July 2009 and this is an audio log. It’s a record of what I’m doing, what I’m thinking, and why I’m doing what I’m doing. It’s for the public, but it’s going to the papers first. I’ve tried communicating with the police, but they’re holding a lot back. As far as I’m concerned the public has a right to know the truth and they will know the truth by the end of this tape. Right, as people are aware, me and Sam started seeing each other in 2005. Well, it was New Year’s Eve in 2004, so you could say it was 2004, but either way, we were seeing each other for nearly six years. Before I met Sam I’d always wanted to die, but I wasn’t willing to kill myself because my gran put her whole life into bringing me up. If there is an afterlife, which I believe there is, it would piss her off to watch me throw it away, but irrespective of my religious beliefs, I was happy for people to take pot shots at me. I worked my ticket. Kids came in my house with boiler suits and swords and machetes, all kinds of rubbish going on. Back then nobody made me happy, even though I was with some really good women, though this business about Marissa being terrified of me is bollocks. Me and her fought like cat and dog, and okay, I set about her, she got a few clips, which weren’t too light either, but she’s like a weapon against me [you punched her and throttled her and hit her with a baseball bat, smashed her head with your knee, pushed her into a wall, threatened to hire a hit man to murder her, and left her terrified of you even after your relationship had ended], but anyway, who cares, the thing with Sam was, I liked her way before I went out with her. She was stunning, with lovely hair, great legs, a real head-turner. She used to go down to the Bigg Market, inappropriately dressed, you know. I didn’t know how young she was, but she used to come and talk to me on the door. She was seeing someone at the time though, and me being me, I don’t want to put my cock where somebody else’s is, so I said to get rid of him, which was a double bluff really, but she’s stubborn beyond belief, and the second week passed and that was it, time’s up, so I started seeing this other woman who was reasonably pretty, but a little on the big side for me. The bottom line is, I’m not a person who settles for second best, so I got this call from Sam on New Year’s Eve and we had a good talk. I don’t like many women. I don’t understand them. But with Sam it was like having a conversation with myself. We decided to go out. We loved each other even before it got physical. It was like out of a textbook, and very quickly she moved in. We were inseparable. It was fantastic. She was jealous, very possessive, which I liked, being honest, but we had a few problems, and it wasn’t so much the swearing, but she could be hurtful, quite mean, and there was one day when I lost it and pushed her. It came from nowhere. I didn’t expect it. I didn’t think I could do it with her, but she hit the floor and split her head. I was fucking gutted to be honest. It showed up straight away in her blonde hair, and obviously she was upset. She was crying. I was upset and pissed off with myself, because I didn’t want that with her, so we both calmed down and I said I’d be off if I ever did that to her again, because violence always progresses, a slap turns into a punch, and we’d end up shooting each other. I told her she had to stop getting in my face, and me and her were fine after that. Whenever I had an outburst it was just punching things, anything but her, but the thing is, you can’t be smashing up things you’ve paid £150 for, or hurting your hands, so it became apparent I needed to cut Marissa out of my life. I shouldn’t have kept my ex that close. After she was out of the picture the arguments became non-existent and it was fantastic again, though we had a few more break-ups. This thing in the paper pissed me off actually, saying she went to her gran’s after getting beaten up. Not at all. The first time she went to her gran’s was when I was getting it from both sides, Sam and Marissa, and I got them in the car and said, listen, just get out there and have a fight on that bit of grass, but they’re not fighters, they can’t fight to save their lives, so it was a stupid thing to do. Two women shouldn’t be fighting, but Sam was upset about that and went to her gran’s, which is when I sweet-talked her and she came home, but it was nothing to do with domestic violence [Sam said she left because you’d been violent]. Sam was the turning point in my life. I went straight when I met her. I came off the doors. I spent all my time with her. Most days we went out together, and I’ve got loads of recordings on the computer, going to the coast and the kids being on the horsey beep-beep ride, things like that. Great times. But I got arrested for daft things, like the conspiracy to murder, which sounds terrible, but it was a nonsense, just part of the hunting season on Mr Moat, while others were being protected, and it was around then that I taxed this gun and buried it.

The tape runs out. You turn it over and press record.

Moving on, me and Sam got the house in Fenham, and she gave birth to my daughter. That was a nice experience. I’m a little paranoid where women are concerned. I’ve seen them at their worst on the doors, but I trusted Sam and enjoyed watching her grow. Even with her huge belly I still fancied the pants off her. She was getting everything ready, a different kind of woman, really upmarket, and I went to the hospital for her to have the baby. It was emotional, nice, a kid born out of love, a good memory. So I came home, and of course there was the inevitable downside. It sounds daft, but Sam mothered me. I need cuddles. I like to lie and have my hair stroked, that kind of thing. It’s nice to feel that bond, but inevitably when you have a baby you get pushed out. I got through it though, and suggested opening a business to secure our future together. She had faith in me, because I am a grafter, and if I put my mind to something then anything is possible, so I opened Mr Trimmit, a landscape company. I worked all hours God sends, seven days a week, trying to make it a success, when I could have done any number of things, like gone back into licensed fighting, but Sam didn’t want that. She liked the bad boy thing for a while, but she liked this other side of me more. Unfortunately this other side of me is a bit boring. So I opened the company, and before I realised it things were deteriorating. The problem was, like I said, I need my bond. It’s not sex. I never had that kind of relationship with Sam. That’s not what I was with her for. It was just that she was angry, because she was left on her own while I was away working, so there were fights between me and her, pushing and shoving, that kind of thing, which I’m not proud about. I get funny when I get hurt. The problem of it was, I might be able to control a punch this time, or a slap that time, but she was getting in my face again, and I knew it would progress. I did give her a few clips, but always with an open hand, never with a fist, and she hurts me more with her mouth than I hurt her with my fist [she said in court that you stamped on her and dragged her by her hair and throttled her]. I took time off work to be with her, but I didn’t want to let the business go. I should have closed it and romanced her again properly, but on January the thirteenth of last year I came back to the house from work and she’d gone. The only two people I ever cared about are my gran and Sam, on equal levels. I don’t give a shit about anybody else. My kids, yeah, but I’ve no interest in other adults. I was devastated. I tried my magic, but got nowhere. On Valentine’s Day I got close, but she pulled away. My heart sank. I tried to address it. I didn’t push her though, because sex has to be given, so I took her home and it was in limbo. Now I’m funny about truth and honesty. I don’t like fucking liars. But Sam asked a few times if I’d cheated on her while we were split up. I told her I’d met a couple of girls and always said no, but Sam never quite believed it, probably because she knew what I was like before her, when I always had three or four women on the go. The way I tried to explain it to her was that I’d changed. I told her the way I used to see women was, I’d put a hundred fishing rods out to catch ninety-nine small fish and one whopper, because back then I thought if I only put one fishing rod out at a time I might waste much of my life waiting for that whopper. But now I’d caught that whopper, which was Sam, and there was no way I was going to let it go. So it occurred to me that there are these things in the Yellow Pages where you can ring up and do a lie detector test. I thought it would make a nice little present for Sam, which I wish I’d never mentioned, but anyway, time progressed and I started to deteriorate, because she’d say things like she wanted me out of her life, which meant I was crying a lot, and it’s terrible to say, really terrible, because I love my kids, but Sam comes before anything, and it’s more than love. It’s something else. It’s probably something depraved. Then it was June, and that’s when the allegation of assault [on a child] came. Obviously it’s not worth going into. I’ve given my account. Whether people believe me is entirely up to them. As far as I’m concerned the medical evidence proves I didn’t do it. I’ve been punching people for years and whenever I punch them they get a huge amount of swelling, so there’s no possible way I could have hit a child and not caved them in. It’s just common sense. But the witch-hunts started and the police stuck their oar in and all the rest of it, and I’ve ended up being hanged for something I didn’t do, and I’m pissed off, because I’ve had enough trouble off the police, arresting me for things I didn’t do, and now I’m seeing these things in the paper, like the sword in my car boot, which this is the thing, right, that sword was just an unsharpened sword going to a collector’s because it had a snake on it which scared the girls so I was getting it out the house. Then there’s this knuckleduster thing, which is I allegedly had a knuckleduster, but there’s no way, because I’d kill someone with a knuckleduster if I hit them with it, look at the size of me, so during the interview I told the officer I wanted a swipe done on my hands for metal fragments to prove I’d never had any metal on them, rings or anything, but to cut a long story short, they were saying I’d jumped on this guy’s head, even though I didn’t even want to fight in the first place as I was a bit knackered actually, and anyway, these things always fell apart when it got to court, like the knuckleduster didn’t even fit on my hand, but I’ve been pulled over one hundred and eighty-four times [again, Northumbria Police recorded you being pulled over fourteen times between 2000 and 2010], and it shows there are officers targeting me for whatever reasons.

The tape runs out. You put a second tape in and press record.

This is Raoul Moat again. July 2010. So, coming to the cars now, which is basically some daft lad who took the number plate off my car for whatever reason, so I put it in the windscreen until I could get more sticky things, and the next thing I know is, I’m rewinding my tapes. The CCTV by the way is for protection against the police, because they’d arrest me for some pretty amazing things if I didn’t have it. I’m well aware they might plant something in my garden. People don’t want to know the police are like that, but that’s my opinion. They’ve tried everything but leaving cheese out to get me off the streets. The bottom line is I wake up and there’s a ticket on my car, so I rewind my tapes and they’re going over my car, which is why I go straight to Etal Lane police station and put in a complaint, asking why they’ve got nothing better to do, with crackheads and smackheads and all kinds of shit going on at that estate, and next thing is, my car’s been uplifted. So I’m fired up, and I’m shouting and bawling on the phone, and I go up to the station saying the car’s been crushed, well, not crushed, but I’m telling them how it’s in a million bits now, totally smashed, and they tell me I’ve got to go up to Ponteland, so I go up there and get some smarmy cunt, blah, blah, blah, saying it didn’t have a tax on the window. Fair enough, it had been vandalised at the time and had a smashed windscreen, and what it was is, I’d taken the lights out the back in case they got smashed, because I had a rick with somebody at the time who was a bit of a crazy gunman, so there’d also been a crowbar put over the windscreen and the top of the roof [all this damage had happened before the police took your vehicle away], big fucking deal, and the copper’s attitude was just like, fuck off. Moving on to the more serious stuff in my criminal history. The conspiracy to murder beggars belief. That was in about 1999 [it was in 2000]. I remember being in the house when they pulled me in and it was like the Terminator, just about every cop outside the house, and they said to exit one at a time. I came out last, and apparently I’d conspired to murder this guy, but obviously I’m not worried because I haven’t conspired to murder anybody. So that’s that, which is boring. I was locked up for five days I think, and they love to do things like not give you any water so you’ve got to drink out the toilet. Well fuck that, I don’t give a monkey’s, I’ll drink out the toilet. They put you in the hottest cell so you sweat your knackers off, but I’m not bothered. It’s nothing compared to Spain. Anyway, I got interviewed and it’s not worth discussing really. They had nothing on me. Their story was I was planning on going to this location to shoot this guy, and apparently I set a shotgun off down the phone. My argument was it could have been a balloon bursting, but supposedly I threatened to shoot him and they were arguing that I was going to lead him to this spot. So they raided my house and pulled it to bits, footmarks up the wall, on the sofa, bin bags emptied — trashed, basically. The next thing is, they try to send me to court without footwear. Now by law I have to have footwear in court. I think that’s how the law works anyway, so I said that to them, and in the end they gave me shoes, size six, even though I’m size twelve, and me being me, I just chewed the backs off and used them as flip-flops. In court they were talking about putting me on remand before a trial, but the story sounded ridiculous because you don’t go from normal citizen to blasting anyone [this is your version of what happened] so I got an NFA [the CPS withdrew the charges]. Next thing is I’m working as a doorman and this woman keeps making a beeline for me, offering me drinks at night and things. Well, I’ve been teetotal since I was seventeen because I need my inhibitions, without them there are problems. So she’s asking me about the doors and fights and violence, and something’s not right, which is why I start digging. Next thing is, my friend tells me he thinks she’s involved with the police, so I spin her a line and tell her that some guy got my girlfriend pregnant and how I’m going to take him fishing off the rocks at Whitley Bay and he’ll have himself a little tumble, no forensics. Next I rang another mate and got him to ring me, to create a theory of conspiracy, but I didn’t tell my girlfriend or the guy I was saying had got her pregnant, because they might not have gone along with it. Anyway, it worked like a charm. The police were all over it. Whether my friend said anything to anybody, I don’t know, but I’m convinced it was this woman [you don’t know what happened]. She tried to defend herself and I just smirked and she let rip, saying I was born with nothing and the police would make sure I had nothing for the rest of my life. Well she didn’t say police, but I knew where the message was coming from, and I found out the hard way, because they’ve been mucking my life up ever since. I lost my job on the doors because of the police, after I kept gripping them [that’s what you believed, but there’s no evidence for it]. They’re the biggest army there is, the biggest gang in town, that’s what they say, worse than doormen. Half of them were bullied at school, just prom leftovers, shagging each other’s wives, drowning them in the bath and all that shit, and there were other things the police arrested me for, I’m just trying to think of them. Oh yeah, this traffic warden I supposedly assaulted. I used to pull up outside Sam’s work. She worked at a hairdresser, so to save parking halfway across town I’d pull up and just wait, where this traffic warden was. Anyway, about a year later I was driving along the bottom of the Bigg Market and I said to my friend, look, there’s that tosser, and my mate’s daft so he shouts something about how this traffic warden should get a proper job, you fucking mug. So this warden comes over and he’s putting his head in the window and I’m winding the window up on him, and unfortunately I put my hand on his back, so I try to drive round him to leave, and the next thing I know is, I’ve got the cuffs on and I’m in the back of the van, so obviously Sam is crying her eyes out, she’s hysterical, which is why I’m getting rowdy in the van. Down at the station I get interviewed, and it goes to court, and there are these inch-high private eyes, and obviously nobody’s going to believe I was doing anything other than trying to defuse the situation, so I got let off [this is your version of what happened]. But this is just skimming the surface. The main thing is, there’s a law for the public and a law for Raoul, and the law for Raoul is I cannot defend myself. A herd of wildebeest with flick-knives can try to do me in and I just have to stand there and take it. Anyway, that’s all rubbish. My main problem with the police is I’ve gone straight with Sam yet they’ve hounded me. They even came to my door, after the charge, saying they’ve got information that leads them to believe I’m in danger [you were asked to visit the police station, where you were warned that a person or persons may want to cause you physical harm, though the police wouldn’t give you any more details other than saying it was nothing to do with the current charge against you; it’s called an Osman warning]. Well, unless it’s Martians invading, I can’t see what that was about, so I was asking if I’m going to be shot or stabbed or what, or if it’s just fisticuffs, trying to get more disclosures really, but they wouldn’t say anything, which isn’t much help. It’s not like I haven’t made enemies, like this guy who I went to the station about this other time, because unfortunately his car had burst into flames, I’m not sure how that happened, but the police came round saying they saw me drive away, which is impossible, because like I told them, the camera at my house proved it couldn’t be me. Anyway, they gave me this warning that I was in danger, but all they’ve done is get me winding myself up in the house [a few days later you called the police officer who delivered the warning and told her you thought they were deliberately provoking you into starting a fight with someone, at which point they would then arrest you, proving that you were out of control and violent, and you told her the timing would be perfect for Northumbria Police, describing it as the cherry on top of the case; she said the warning had nothing to do with the current case and assured you there was no hunting season on Mr Moat]. And at the same time, funnily enough, a lot of my friends were becoming informants. I nearly caught one of them because he was getting these funny cheques at his house. When I asked about it he said it was benefits, but it looked like the wrong colour. Also, this woman who’s sweet to me came over one day and said my house was going to get raided. I’d noticed the helicopter following me actually. So I ditched my friends around then. It was just me and Sam after that, the way I like it.

The tape stops. You turn it over.

The psychologists said I can’t be helped, even though I’m really intelligent. They wrote me off. But to me, it’s not about a psychologist saying, look, you’re not a lunatic, you’re just twisted and fucked, we can’t do anything with you. Instead they should sit there and work with me, but none of them have done that. They’ve just done a witch-hunt. At the end of the day, if I’m wrong in ways I don’t understand I want that sorted. I can’t have it sorted now. It’s too late. They never gave me a chance. As far as I’m concerned they’re lying, all conspiring, I do believe that. I don’t believe for one minute I’m as wrong as they’re saying. Well, I am now, but this is part of why I’ve gone a bit fucking daft. This is what they wanted me to be, but I treasured Sam more than anything, and that’s the direction I would have gone I think. I couldn’t have lived without Sam. I always knew that. So I went to court and told them to shove their deal up their arse. I told my barrister it was over, no point in fighting anymore, because they’re all just bullies. I’d take the jail instead. It’s no holiday camp though. The cells stink. They’re smaller than a dog’s kennel, and the beds are piffling things. When you’re a big guy it feels like you’re going to snap your head off, and meal times are pathetic. I couldn’t hack it really, not then. If I went to jail now I could hack it, because I’ve nothing anymore. That’s why I came out and got my vengeance. Now I can just take the shootout and everybody’s happy, everybody’s got their vengeance, and I’m quite content. But back then I was thinking about Sam constantly, all day. The police will spin it and say it’s obsession. Maybe love is obsession. People talk about stalking. When me and Sam split up I used to go round and give her flowers and talk to her every day, but that’s not stalking to me, it’s showing I love her and care. Stalking is when you follow someone around and are just being a nob. That’s unhealthy. If people want to call what I had with Sam an obsession, call it an obsession, but it’s not what I’d call it. I’d call it a deep-seated love, a little bit down to lacking parts of my personality, missing her, needing her, that kind of thing. I couldn’t take her out of my mind. It’s a happy place. She’s a drug to me. If this situation is ever going to resolve itself, it’s going to be through Sam, but I don’t think that’ll happen. It’s inevitable what’ll happen at this stage. But anyway, I was in jail and I got myself a job sweeping floors, because I’m a hard worker. The same mundane thing each day though, and I can’t hack that kind of routine, because I’m an intelligent guy, I get bored, and that brings on aggression, and with that comes problems. So I was in jail and I heard these rumours [which are false], and she visited me and I went to give her a kiss, but she wouldn’t let me. I think she gave up when I got found guilty to be honest. I’m not a forceful guy, because with a girlfriend that’ll never be forgotten, but sometimes I am a little more forceful and I get annoyed, but when I was inside I heard about this Chris Brown, which really does piss me off, and it’s taken a lot away from what I think about Sam. I put her on a pedestal and don’t want to think of her like that. I blame him. I know it’s her as well, but I blame him. It’s probably why I’ve done a lot of the things I’ve done. If it’s happened. I might be barking up the wrong tree [she wasn’t seeing Chris until after she broke up with you]. So I’m inside, and I’ve been let down by Sam, and she comes for the visit saying it’s over and all the rest of it, really tearful, which upset me, seeing her cry, and I’m also not getting my retrial, so I’m fucking pissed off with the police, wondering whether to blow up Etal Lane police station, and very early on it’s becoming clear that I’ve got a problem with being banged up. I hate the idea of being locked in a room, probably from being constantly grounded as a kid. It brought back all these memories I tend not to think about, and it just dragged me down. You’ve got two types of people in jail. You’ve got scum, just little charvers who deserve to have nothing, because no matter what you do, they’ll just be shitbags. Then you’ve got your normal, regular lads, who’ve fucked up, made one mistake, often drugs, and everybody thinks just bang them up, but jail should be a last resort. It costs £120 a day from what I understand, and that’s just taxpayers’ money wasted. It’s not productive. They’d be better off sending me to Afghanistan, then I’d have some pride, I’d be doing something worthwhile. A lot of people agree with me on that. There’s no rehabilitation for me. All I’ve done is come out and do this. Anyway, me and Sam argued when she visited, and next thing is she wouldn’t answer the phone, then she came on the phone saying it’s over, and how apparently I’ve slept with a stripper. I’m not a crybaby, but this situation had me fucked. I said, okay, find this stripper, because I’ve not been seeing a stripper, and I offered that lie detector test. I said I’d come out and fix everything, and the thing with it is, she didn’t even know this, but I was thinking about coming out and getting back into the unlicensed fighting, £1000 a fight. There were lots of things like that, nice little surprises for her, because I just wanted her to have everything, you know. But it had me fucked. It’s just everything over the last year really. I probably underestimated how knackered I was when I went to jail. They took the most important bit of my life, the queen on the chessboard, so it was inevitable that this would happen. These bastards stitched me up. They caused this. I might be funny in the head, and maybe I’m potentially capable of doing this anyway, but when they take all the cards off the table, of course this would happen. Being honest, there are times I wanted Sam to move on and be happy, but I cannot do it, I cannot do it, not in a million years. I’m fucking screwed. It’s ridiculous. I feel like King Kong when he’s at the top of that flaming building, you know. I’m all messed up. But that’s the situation, I’m in jail and I’ve got to write Sam off, especially when she says she’s got a boyfriend, and from what I understand he’s a cop [he wasn’t, but Sam said he was], and he’s been posted up here from down south. He must have been besotted with her. Probably it’s a relationship through the internet, something on Facebook [she met him while he was handing out flyers for karate lessons]. So that’s the situation. I’m inside, and I heard something about motorbikes, and something to do with taekwondo, so I’ve got these pieces of a jigsaw, trying to put it together, driving myself nuts. Sam’s not a slapper, so she must have been hurting. I get out of jail and it’s a fucking mess. My house isn’t the house I remember. It’s like a carbon copy of my house, but not a good one. The grass is long. The hedge needed cutting. There’s rubbish everywhere. The floors needed a good scrub. Sam used to have it immaculate when she was there. Then I’m trying to talk to her on the phone and she gets mean, saying I can’t go to her house, and how he’s a police officer and he’ll put me on my arse, and it made me feel shit, because I’m well aware that I’m past my prime, which I’ve always felt was a fucking mean trick, finding Sam at the end of my youth. So she’s going, nah, nah, nah, winding me up, and I don’t feel well by the way. Shooting that copper the other day felt like some kind of Doom game. It’s obviously affected me. I’ve got two hostages here, and they say I don’t half grind my teeth in my sleep. The hostages are fine by the way. They’re not in danger, but they don’t really know that. Anyway, Sam’s giving me hell on the phone, got me in tears at one point, saying don’t go down there, how he’s an officer of the law. So this guy is in the way the whole time, and an idea’s forming. If he’d been anyone else this wouldn’t have happened, but Sam’s on the phone again, asking why I’m across at her house, and my phone runs out, so I flew home, grabbed a charger and the gun, and Karl was with me. I made him come. He didn’t want to be part of it. But I phoned her back and she’s saying I never went to jail for her, and she denied the conversation about getting a retrial ever happened, even swore on my daughter’s life that it never happened, which hurt, because I don’t swear on a child’s life to that, and she’s saying we’ve been finished for months, but the bottom line is, she’s saying hurtful things, which is why I said I’d fight him right now, thinking that if I win I’m a cunt, but at least I’ve got my dominance, and if I lose, then Sam’ll relax a bit. It’s a win-win situation. So I’ve gone across. And I’m sorry about shooting her. I read that she was critical, but she’ll live now, so I’m pleased about that. She’s set for life. I miss her though. I never wanted this. But I am what I am, and there’s only one thing left to do. I’m not on the run. Friends advised me to leave. I’ve got zero contact with them now by the way. But I’m not leaving. I’m not going to France or Ireland. I’m staying to fight the only fight that’s left to fight, and that’s with the police, who are rubbish by the way, because I’ve been right under their fucking noses a long time and they haven’t got a clue. I move around. I’m never far away. And from what I understand the social worker and a few other arseholes are in hiding. Well they caused this. You can kill someone a long time before you ever punch them or hurt them or stab them. You can kill somebody without ever going near them. That’s what they did to me. They took everything from me. The minute they took Sam away they killed me. But what the police are putting in the newspapers is a pack of lies. I never jumped on Sam’s belly [she says you did]. There’s been pushing and shoving, a few open hands, but very rare [she says you dragged her by the hair and throttled her]. Get all these other fuckers on the lie detectors as well. That’s the reason I had cameras, for my own protection against all these liars, big liars, lie, lie, lie, so this is my thing, this is where I break my own rules and I’ve got a bit of a problem with myself to be honest. From now on, for each lie I see in the paper, any paper, I’m going to kill an innocent member of the public, right. I’ll phone up and let them know which lie pissed me off and I want each person who’s told this lie to go on a lie detector, right. Those are my rules. And if they don’t do this, right, if people don’t comply, I’ll just continue killing people, it’s as simple as that.

The tape ends. You put the third tape in.

This is Raoul Moat on the fifth of July 2010, continued, tape number three. As I was saying, I’ve got a bit of a problem with what happened to Sam. I didn’t mean to hurt her. My intention was just to make her very wealthy for the rest of her life. But he’s turned her into something I didn’t want her to be. She’s better than that. This kid was an arse, but he’s dead now, so he looks a bit stupid. Here’s something — I’m hearing he had an iron bar. I didn’t notice it on the night, but he’s brought that to a fight, a fair fight, where I’m supposed to be evenly matched, in fact he’s supposed to be bigger than me, yet he’s brought an iron bar. Well I brought a gun, ha ha ha. Anyway, he clearly wasn’t after a fair fight. He’s not a fair person. That paints his character. Whatever kind of instructor he’s supposed to be, he obviously felt he was going to get his arse kicked. So he’s no hero. And I’m pissed off with this story about me shooting Sam first. I didn’t shoot her first, and he didn’t chase me. He ran away like a fucking gutless carrot [after you shot him], and I gave chase and shot him. I’ve no qualms about it. He deserved it. It’s amazing how the mighty fall when Mr Moat turns up. Speaking of which, yes, I did smash Terry’s windows. So fucking what? What’s good for one is good for the other. But the papers have made me out to be a cunt. I’m a killer, fair enough, I’ll take my hat off to that, but there’s no way I domestically abused Sam, not in the way they’re talking about it [Sam and her family say you did]. So there you go. Every time they print a fucking lie, watch what happens. I’ve spent the last couple of days pondering what to do. I was worried Sam would die, because if she dies it’s for nothing, but the bottom line is, the bit I don’t understand — she shouldn’t have taunted me. I’ve had to really think about that. She couldn’t have known it would come to this. She would never have believed I’d shoot her. I read in the papers that he’s not a police officer, well fuck that, I know he is. She knew it would provoke a reaction, and when it gets to that stage it doesn’t matter whether someone’s a rocket ship or whatever. I proved that’s the case the other night with the officer in his T5. By the way, it doesn’t matter which officers go into hiding, because my theory is they work as a unit, a collective bunch of shitbags. I’ve only met one or two decent officers in my time. One was from Etal Lane. He treats everyone with respect and I’ll give him credit for that, but the majority are turds, especially the women. So it doesn’t matter whether I killed the right one, it’s all the same person as far as I’m concerned. One thing I’ve noticed is there are no bobbies on the beat. I’m expecting the crime rate to go up, but that’s not my intention. It’s amazing how they scurry and hide when someone fights back. That’s the thing about liars, they like to hide. I don’t hide. My conclusion is that after all the times they’ve taken the piss, all the cars they’ve taken, the relationships they’ve wrecked, the times they’ve stitched me up, everything they’ve done, they’re finally taking me seriously. And this thing in the paper about shooting my kneecaps, they’d be foolish to try that because I’ll carry on shooting as long as I’m alive. I wish I could have been a better bloke for Sam. I’m an intelligent kid. I could have done so many amazing things with my life. I could have made her life so much better. But people like the police demoralise me. That’s what bullies do. Also, this thing about people saying I’m crazy with cameras all over the place. Probably I am a bit paranoid, but it’s because I always expected something from them. I never saw how they could take my family from me, but I remember PC 190 making that comment in the back of his T5 [he pulled you over and confiscated your vehicle because you didn’t have insurance to carry scrap metal]. I was telling him he’d taken everything off me and they could just fuck off [it was David Rathband, who you later shot, though you never realised it was the same officer]. He said I still had my business and my family, and I remember thinking at the time, how could they take more off me than they already had? Well I’ve found out good and proper. My theory’s always been that I can’t stop the police planting drugs in my house, or a firearm in my car. They could just get a bag out my bin with prints on it, or a tub, and put crack in it, Bob’s your uncle. That’s what I’ve been anticipating. They never got round to it, but they tried everything else. I can’t believe they had me in jail for this thing with the assault. I’d been straight, working hard, paying my taxes, doing the right thing, not cheating on my woman, and I get fucked more than any other time in my life. It’s a clear sign that the criminal way is the best for me, but it’s not something I want to go back to. I can’t now. One other thing, just to be clear, I’ve got no interest in Sam’s family. I was very tempted to shoot her mother, but that’s Sam’s mum, and Sam needs her. I want Sam to have a happy life. I don’t expect any kind of thank you from her for that. The crazy part is I’ve given her more opportunities than I ever could have given her if I’d been straight. This country’s crazy for that. The harder you work, the more you get fucked. The more you’re a nob, the more you get. Me and Sam worked hard. Just because she stayed at home doesn’t mean she didn’t work hard. She worked really hard. She did all the housework and looked after the kids. That’s a job in itself, and she deserves more from life than I could give her, but what I’ve done gives her the chance of a decent life. She’ll meet somebody else. To be honest, he wasn’t what I’d expected. He didn’t look big and chiselled. He looked podgy. And he wasn’t particularly good-looking. She can do a lot better than that. She can do better than me. Soon she’ll be minted and do very well for herself. I’ve looked out for her. One thing I am worried about is my kids — whether they’re going to get picked on and bullied. There are downsides to this I never thought about. I’m apprehensive about their future. One thing I know is that doing my duty was never going to be good for me. Unfortunately I was in a position where I loved my woman more than anything else. I could have done all the right things, but the heart would still have been empty. I feel guilty about that. It sounds selfish, but that’s not quite how it is. Anyway, I can’t profit from my crimes, but I don’t see why the people I love should suffer. So taking care of my loved ones, including Sam, that’s the priority at the minute. The idea came from reading all this rubbish in the paper from people saying I pointed the gun at them. They’re after compensation. Everybody was a hero that night apparently, but if anybody had got involved or tried to tackle me they would have been shot. It’s as simple as that. The coast was clear. I had a damn good check. Everybody cowered in their houses. Rightly so. I can’t criticise them for that. They’ll all be quids in now though. It’s like the lottery coming. The only one who doesn’t profit is me. Well, at least I get a certain satisfaction that everybody’s taken care of. Every cloud has a silver lining. Every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction. Something good comes from every bad. I’ve been thinking about that a lot. Now it’s just a case of me doing my thing. It’s not that I’m frightened of going to jail. It’s just common sense. It’s no good for me. That three months in there hasn’t helped. If they put me in there for fifty years a lot of people will be getting done in. At £120 a day of taxpayers’ money, that’s no good for anything. It’s been a strange day. I’ve been to the shop. People are walking past and not batting a fucking eyelid. I didn’t think I’m the kind of person who blends in. I’m plastered all over the front pages, but not one person’s recognised me. It’s been a nice change being out here. It’s quite peaceful.

A car horn beeps. Birds chirp. You press stop.

…

It’s 10pm. The three of you get in the car. Sean drives.

…

You want food, but you’ve got no money. You tell Sean to look for somewhere quiet to rob. You see a chippy in Seaton Delaval.

It looks empty.

Sean drives past a couple of times.

He parks in the alley behind it. You get out.

You’ve got the gun.

You walk to the front door of the shop and go inside. There are no customers, just an Asian guy with a moustache.

You point the gun at him and shout,

Give me the money!

He looks terrified. He gives you £100.

Easy.

You walk out the front door and go round the corner to the alley, but the shop guy is in the alley too. He must have come out the back door. You point the gun at him and shout,

Come on, then!

He goes back inside. You get in the car and laugh. Sean puts his foot down and you throw a handful of notes at Karl,

Wonga.

You fancy a KFC.

…

Sean drives to Blyth, but the guy on the speaker says they’re closed and you shout,

Fuck off!

Sean drives away.

…

Let’s go get a Maccy D’s.

Sean drives to McDonald’s in Ashington. It’s open. He orders at the hatch, two large Chicken Select meals with chilli dips, a Diet Coke for you, Coke for Karl, Big Tasty meal with Coke for Sean and three Yorkie McFlurry ice creams. He parks facing the exit.

…

You eat. Another car pulls up, just some girls.

…

There’s a police station around the corner.

…

You see a police car drive past. You say,

Will I get him?

But you don’t. You’re busy eating your McFlurry.

…

Sean starts driving back to Rothbury. A police car follows you, but pulls off after half a mile.

Lucky bastard.

You do nothing.

Your mood has changed.