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June 6, 2017

JOURNALISM is essentially an appeal for truths from those who know those truths….
Those who knew important truths – mostly police officers, the intelligence community and civil servants – bought and sold them for huge sums of money paid by journalists working for Rupert Murdoch and then closed ranks in a web of lies, deceit and obfuscation to protect themselves from scrutiny over their disgustingly dirty dealings.
They also closed ranks at a very high level to cover up the murder of a private investigator who was going to expose them, say journalists Peter Jukes and Alastair Morgan in their book Untold: The Daniel Morgan Murder Exposed, £14.99, Blink Publishing 2017.
A group of men motivated purely by money, many of whom were freemasons and former officers in the Metropolitan Police colluded with known violent criminals in closed cabals within private security companies in south London to gather intelligence which they could sell to journalists or use to influence decisions by the rich and powerful. They also “fitted people up” by planting evidence on them to get them wrongly convicted and they regularly threatened and abused people.
I asked questions as a journalist purely and simply in the optimistic hope that honesty would prevail – I had no money to offer for answers and I had no access to confidential private information which would pressurise people into giving answers.
Journalists for the News of the World as well as other red-tops, however, offered huge cash rewards (£1,500 for a page lead and much bigger sums up to £50,000 for private revelations from the rich, famous and powerful) and they employed bent coppers to bribe and blag (pretending to be officials to access private and confidential information about individuals of interest to them from organisations like the NHS, the DVLA as well as banks and building societies), hack into their computers and mobile phones to get all their private communications, and secretly place surveillance equipment in their homes and cars, follow them and report on their movements.
Police and intelligence officers, of course, were trained in these “dark arts” – covert surveillance and proactive policing methods including traps as well as access to the Police National Computer and a whole host of other state computer information storage systems is often the only way you can prove wrongdoing.
It appears that they took their expertise and “dark arts” skills to private security companies after careers in the Met and found that one of their best customers were tabloid newspapers, whose staff including disgraced Fake Sheik Mazzer Mahmood made regular private payments to them for unearthing huge amounts of private information about huge amounts of people which, of course, the newspaper management knew nothing about.
What is most disturbing of all in this book is just how easily they did it and with few if any consequences. Some of them are still at large, having evaded the law. These factories of foul and filthy corruption were unhampered by any morals, ethics or cosy sensibilities.
They socialised with each other in pubs and exchanged cash and favours – some journalists had their children’s education fees paid and were ferried around by known criminals who offered them protection as well as inside information.
Daniel Morgan discovered that this unholy alliance between former police officers, crooks and journalists included details about a drugs deal which implicated criminals and corrupt police and customs officers, say the two journalists (Alastair is Daniel’s older brother, who trained to be a journalist in order to get justice for his brother).
He was going to expose it and knew too much and had too many enemies so had to be murdered in cold blood with an axe to his head in the car park of the Golden Lion pub in Sydenham, south London, in March 1987.
The sensational book comes thirty years on after five failed police investigations and an ongoing inquiry. His murder in the dingy car park (a huge dark red blood stain remained on the ground after) is now the most investigated in British history yet still it remains unsolved despite a deluge of evidence indicating that Morgan’s business partners wanted him dead and had even talked about it with some stating that they had been offered cash for doing the deed by his business partner.
Dixon of Dock Green was a romantic myth and this book sadly strips you completely of any romantic ideas about the police and the establishment very bluntly and very, very brutally. Some of it would struggle to be accepted as fiction. Elements of it seem comical and absurd in a sickly black, menacing, Pinteresque way.
The Daniel Morgan Independent Panel will report some time in 2018 and many of the confidential information kept secret will, hopefully, be released.
This book is required reading for anyone who wants to be brought up to speed on this grim, grisly and greatly dark and disturbing tale.

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