The Law Killers: Dundee Crime

Many of us like to read about crime. But we are divided in how we do so. I read recently that the crossover between readers of crime fiction and those of true crime is surprisingly small. Those who work in crime bookshops learn to spot the difference between fans of the genres. Though I've breezed through the odd Quentin Jardine and Carl Hiaasen book admiring the chicanes and cheroots, it's true crime for me. I read two or three a year.

True crime breaks down into four basic categories. There are semi-academic criminological volumes; prurient semi-fictionalised retellings of gruesome cases (look for the severed head on the cover!) and books which centre on the psychology of crime, usually via one criminal or one type of offence. Alexander McGregor's The Law Killers – True Crime from Dundee falls into the fourth category of journalism.

As Chief Reporter for the city's two daily newspapers (The Courier and Evening Telegraph), McGregor has covered some of the most disturbing cases of Dundonian crime in recent decades. Despite its rejuvenation, Dundee has a reputation as a tough, grey city, yet a book like this shows that murder occurs in the leafy cul de sac and the tower block.

As a minor adept of true crime, I was surprised I hadn't heard of William Bury, the earliest criminal whose case is recounted here, a religious psychotic who was hung for killing his gullible new wife only months after they inexplicably moved to the city from London. Rumours that Bury was Jack the Ripper soon spread and indeed, some Ripperologists still have Bury on their list of candidates.

As a pragmatic newspaper man, McGregor doesn't tarry too long on the psychology of the cases, leaving the reader to decide why, say, Alistair Thompson killed again after 25 years, long after being released from prison and apparently returning to near normality, or what drove a troubled 15 year old to stab to death a woman neighbour in one of the most recent and most distressing cases. Another account I read of Henry Gallagher, probably the city's most notorious killer, made much of the fact he suffered from Crohn's disease, a debilitating bowel problem. McGregor merely mentions it in passing.

Again and again in this book, criminals make little or no attempt to cover their crimes, though thankfully, even clever criminals such as the notorious Andrew Hunter are sometimes caught due to painstaking police work. And though the psychology and the debauchery are part of the appeal, it is the police procedures which enthrall true crime readers like me. There is something satisfying in the hindsighted retelling of how some criminals are found and punished.

Two of the most fascinating accounts here, however, are of cases which never have been explained. In 1981, an elderly widow was found dead in her bedroom with many head wounds and blood everywhere. McGregor explains that though murder by an unknown intruder is still a likely explanation, some experts at the fatal accident enquiry (rare in Scottish law) suggested the head injuries could have been caused by a succession of knocks after an initial fall left the woman semi-conscious. Bloodstains on the ceiling may have been caused by her pulling off an elasticated hairnet.

And what of Jean Milne, an eccentric and wealthy elderly woman who lived quietly in her large house but who, on frequent trips away, was a socialite with a taste for younger men. She was found murdered at home in 1912 and we will now never know which of the many twists and turns of the plot were relevant. If the Milne case had been concocted by Agatha Christie, we might have fingered the cad or a disgruntled maid. With true crime, sometimes the truth remains in the shadows.