How the Establishment Covered Up the David Kelly Affair
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THE DEATH OF DR DAVID KELLY
In 2003 is one of the strangest events in recent British history. This scrupulous scientist, an expert on weapons of mass destruction, was caught up in the rush to war in Iraq. He felt under pressure from those around Tony Blair to provide evidence that Saddam Hussein was producing weapons of mass destruction that could be used to immediate and devastating effect. Kelly seemed to have tipped into sudden depression when he was outed as a source for Andrew Gilligan. Case closed, for Blair, Alastair Campbell and the intelligence agencies.
But the circumstances of his death are replete with disquieting questions – every detail, from his motives to the method of his death, his body’s discovery and the way in which the state investigated his demise, seems on close examination not to make sense. There was never a full coroner’s inquest into his death, which would have allowed medical and other evidence to be carefully interrogated.
In this painstaking and meticulous book, Miles Goslett shows why we should be deeply sceptical of the official narrative and reminds us of the desperate measures those in power resorted to in that feverish summer of 2003.
Welcome Page
About An Inconvenient Death
Introduction
Part 1: Life and Death
The £4.15 scoop
Campbell counterattacks
The unmasking of Dr Kelly
An early visitor
Pale and tired
Preparations
Fall guy?
Questions, questions
‘Many dark actors playing games’
Gilligan re-grilled
Ruth Absalom: last witness
The Disappearance
Turbulence for Blair
Searching and finding
‘Suspected suicide’
Bumpy landing in Tokyo
Dr Kanas and Dr Kelly
‘Most honourable of men’
Constructing the inquiry
Forensic findings
Post-mortem
The New York Times
Formal identification
Statements
‘Have you got blood on your hands, Prime Minister?’
Dr Kelly’s dental records
‘Did you assassinate him?’
Speculation
The Hutton Inquiry
Part 2: Concerns
How to side-step an inquest
Found wanting: the Kelly family’s evidence to the Hutton Inquiry
Weston-Super-Mare
Cornwall
Tea and sympathy
A curious lack of curiosity
A body disturbed
The third man
The body: a third recollection
Dr Malcolm Warner
ACC Page and the dental records
An unusual letter
Part 3: A Calling to Account
Key findings contested
Mai Pederson
Blood and pills
The doctors versus the Attorney General
Conclusion
Postscript
Plate Section
Appendix 1: Hutton Inquiry witnesses and the dates on which they were called
Appendix 2: Key witnesses who did not appear at the Hutton Inquiry and the reasons they should have done so
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Index
About Miles Goslett
An Invitation from the Publisher
Copyright
Shortly after 3 p.m. on Thursday, 17 July 2003, Dr David Kelly left his house in the Oxfordshire village of Southmoor to go for one of his regular short walks. He had changed into a pair of jeans, put his house key in his pocket, and tucked his mobile telephone into a pouch on his belt – the routine actions of a man preparing to do something he had done many times before.
His wife, Janice, had retired to bed two hours earlier because she felt unwell. He didn’t say goodbye to her or leave a note.
Within fifteen minutes of setting off, he bumped into a neighbour who was walking her dog. They exchanged a few pleasant, unremarkable words. She then saw him stroll down the road as she turned for home. She was the last person known to have seen Dr Kelly alive.
Back at the house, Mrs Kelly had recovered sufficiently to go downstairs. When her husband failed to return after a couple of hours she began to feel some unease, but she did not try to ring his mobile phone. Instead, she waited until she was able to share her growing concerns regarding his whereabouts with her youngest daughter, Rachel, who had arranged to meet her father that evening so that they could go for a walk together.
On hearing the news, Rachel decided the situation warranted some kind of action. First on foot and then in her car, she began tracing the routes that she knew Dr Kelly habitually took. She also contacted her sisters, one of whom was prompted by Rachel’s call to drive seventy miles from her house in Hampshire to join in what was still just a family search. Despite hours of looking, neither daughter found him.
At 11 p.m. the two women went back to their parents’ house and, with their mother, debated what to do next. Shortly before midnight, they decided they must contact the police to report him missing. By this point, Dr Kelly had not been seen for almost nine hours.
This was the relatively low-key start to an overnight hunt that would involve more than forty police officers, a police dog, a police helicopter, plus some volunteer searchers, with a mounted police unit and an underwater police search team also being called upon. In the early hours, Metropolitan Police officers from Special Branch were told to search Dr Kelly’s London office, and senior figures in Whitehall were alerted to his disappearance.
Such an operation, launched so quickly, might have been expected for a top public figure, but Dr Kelly was – officially, at least – a mere civil servant.
Just after 9 a.m. on Friday, 18 July, two volunteer searchers helping the police found a body matching the description of David Kelly in a wood at Harrowdown Hill, about two miles from his house.
At the time the Prime Minister, Tony Blair, was on a plane travelling between Washington DC and Tokyo. The Lord Chancellor, Charles Falconer, who was in London, rang Blair on the aircraft’s phone within minutes of the body being found and in a surprisingly brief call was instructed to set in motion a full-blown public inquiry into Dr Kelly’s death.
Falconer established this inquiry several hours before any exact cause of Dr Kelly’s death had been determined officially – and, indeed, before the body found that morning had even been formally identified.
What could possibly have led Falconer and Blair, the two most senior political figures of the day, to take this unusual step on the basis of what, according to contemporaneous police reports, appeared to be a tragic case of a professional man ending his own life? Why were they even involved at such an early stage in what was essentially an incident that was local to Oxfordshire?
What was it about the death of David Kelly that had disturbed Falconer and Blair so much that they went on to interrupt and ultimately to derail the coroner’s inquest, which had been opened routinely? And why were they content to replace that inquest with a less rigorous form of investigation into Dr Kelly’s death?
These questions preoccupied me, as a journalist, for years. They pointed to powerful forces working against the proper investigation of an unexpected event – in this case, a death mired in mystery.
Then, on 5 November 2014, I heard that a senior civil servant working in the Ministry of Justice had written an extraordinary letter to a man called Gerrard Jonas, a garage owner from Oxfordshire, urging him to stay away from Dr Kelly’s grave. The letter noted that Mr Jonas had been visiting the grave at St Mary’s churchyard in the nearby village of Longworth and, in a thinly veiled threat, advised him to ‘carefully consider’ whether this ‘programme is appropriate and lawful’. It went on to say that a surveillance ‘watch’ had been put on the grave as a result of Mr Jonas’s visits, though this point was worded ambiguously enough for it to remain unclear who had ordered the watch and how it was being policed. The letter was signed Barrie Thurlow, of the Ministry of Justice Coroners, Burial, Cremation and Inquiries Policy Team.
The tone of the letter certainly supported the idea that a Whitehall department and, maybe, others in officialdom still felt great sensitivity about Dr Kelly’s death, which had occurred more than eleven years previously. Its clear inference was that Dr Kelly’s grave was being monitored, perhaps by an arm of the State.
Mr Jonas – whom I did not know – sent me a copy of it and, being aware of my interest in the Kelly case, later rang me to explain the background to it. He said he had never met or spoken to Dr Kelly or his family; he had simply believed for many years that for reasons of public interest there should be a full coroner’s inquest into Dr Kelly’s death to establish how, where and when he had died – something which successive governments have refused to allow.
To that end he had set up a group, Justice For Kelly, and on behalf of its members had written to the then Home Secretary, Theresa May, asking her to consider ordering an inquest. Mrs May had passed Mr Jonas’s letter on to the Ministry of Justice. Its representative, Barrie Thurlow, had replied to Mr Jonas because it was felt that the matter in question fell under his department’s remit.
In his original letter to the Home Secretary, Mr Jonas had mentioned his self-appointed role as the maintainer of Dr Kelly’s grave, which he believed had fallen into rather a sorry condition. In mid-2014 he had begun to weed it and to leave flowers on it occasionally. The result of Mr Jonas’s declaration to the Home Secretary about his grave-tending activities was the Ministry of Justice’s faintly menacing reply.
The ministry’s letter also claimed that Dr Kelly’s family had complained of ‘interference’ at the grave. Mr Jonas told me that he had erected a placard near it to mark the eleventh anniversary of Dr Kelly’s death in July 2014. If Dr Kelly’s family found out about this particular incident at the time, presumably it had upset them, for understandable reasons: most people would not be happy for a relative’s resting place to become a site of protest. At about the same time, some flowers Mr Jonas had left on Dr Kelly’s grave were removed. In their place was an anonymous note requesting that Mr Jonas stop tending it. He replied to the individual who left him the note in what he now admits was an inappropriately flippant way – by leaving a bottle of champagne on the grave and telling whoever had left the note that he hoped they might ‘choke’ on it for having removed the flowers. In his defence, Mr Jonas made no attempt to conceal his identity: he left his name and telephone number on his note and was deliberately provocative, precisely because he wanted to speak to whomever had objected to his grave-tending. Needless to say, the champagne disappeared, but nobody ever rang him.
And so Mr Jonas continued at intervals to look after the grave as an act of, in his words, ‘civic duty’ – even though officers from Thames Valley Police have made their presence felt in his life periodically, once calling on him at home unannounced late at night and also pulling him over to check his van when he was driving in Oxfordshire.
Regardless of Mr Jonas’s actions, it seemed odd that the Ministry of Justice should have involved itself in what was little more than a local squabble. It also seemed surprising that Dr Kelly’s grave was in a bad way. Having seen it several years earlier, in 2010, I know that it appeared rather neglected at that time. Mourning being an entirely private matter, Dr Kelly’s family may have stopped visiting the grave, if indeed they were ever in the habit of doing so. But why would an official from the Ministry of Justice go to the trouble of, effectively, intimidating Mr Jonas by letter, especially when he had been so open about his activities?
When I read the letter, in one sense I was greatly surprised. Is it really the job of a government department to scare off a member of the public and talk about Dr Kelly’s grave being monitored without explaining why this was necessary? And yet at the same time it came as no surprise at all. In sending the letter, another barbed-wire fence had effectively been erected around the topic of the Dr Kelly affair in order to keep the public away.
This had plenty of precedents. Minimizing the risk of anybody scrutinizing anything to do with Dr Kelly seems to have been a preoccupation of the State ever since he left his house on 17 July 2003 and was never seen alive again.
Since 2003, contradictions and peculiarities connected to Dr Kelly’s death have emerged at every other turn, pointing to the idea that for some reason this hugely significant – and tragic – event was never investigated exhaustively, and certain details about it were simply withheld from the public.
In January 2010 I learned that, shortly after Dr Kelly’s death six and a half years earlier, Lord Hutton, the Law Lord who had chaired the public inquiry into Dr Kelly’s death, had secretly recommended that all medical and scientific records relating to him, plus photographs of his body, should be classified for seventy years. Hutton also advised the classification for thirty years of witness statements provided to his inquiry which were not disclosed at the time of his hearings.
It is highly unusual that these records should have been locked up by the State for so long, but somehow even more suspicious that the embargo had itself been carried out without anyone knowing. The burial of this key information, never aired in public, had itself been buried. It is thanks only to an accidental revelation by a local government official that anybody knows about it. That fact made me reflect on what else about Dr Kelly’s death the public might be unaware of since it occurred. Plenty of new material has surfaced.
Thanks to Freedom of Information responses provided by Thames Valley Police to various people over a prolonged period of time, it is known that there were no fingerprints on the knife he allegedly used to kill himself or on some of the items found beside his body: a water bottle; some empty pill packets; a watch; a pair of glasses and a mobile phone. And yet when his body was discovered he wore no gloves. This lack of prints was never even mentioned at the Hutton Inquiry. Then there is the startling matter of the apparent theft of Dr Kelly’s dental records from his dentist’s surgery in Abingdon. Who took the records; when did they do so; why did they want them; and why did a senior police officer give inaccurate details about this to the Hutton Inquiry?
Among other urgent questions that remain unaddressed are why a factually contentious death certificate for Dr Kelly has been produced; why incomplete evidence concerning his whereabouts during the last week of his life was given to the Hutton Inquiry; why certain key witnesses were not called to give evidence to the Hutton Inquiry; and why a police search helicopter with thermal imagining equipment which flew over the wood where his body was found did not detect his body – despite the fact that his body temperature was warm enough at the time to register on the helicopter’s search system.
It is clear that the Hutton Inquiry was an inadequate substitute for a coroner’s inquest into Dr Kelly’s death. It raised more questions than it answered. This book sets out to examine those questions, which have never been dealt with satisfactorily.
At teatime on 22 May 2003, a quietly spoken government scientist with virtually no public profile walked into the Charing Cross Hotel in central London for a meeting that would lead to his death exactly eight weeks later. His name was Dr David Kelly and his rendezvous was with Andrew Gilligan, the defence correspondent of BBC Radio 4’s Today programme.
Gilligan was regarded as a faintly unorthodox journalist not afraid to ask awkward questions of those in power. He was also a bit of a loner, known for keeping strange hours, who was rarely seen in his office at BBC Television Centre in west London. He had read History at Cambridge and his reporting skills were sufficiently highly prized for him to have been poached by the BBC from The Sunday Telegraph a few years earlier. Although only thirty-four, he looked older thanks to being prematurely bald.
Gilligan and Dr Kelly had known each other since 2001. They had met twice previously, but they were not close. Their third – and what turned out to be final – encounter was initiated by Gilligan and was intended as nothing more than a routine chat between a journalist and his contact, on this occasion about Iraq. American and British forces had invaded the country two months earlier and by that stage occupied much of it.
Dr Kelly had risen from relatively humble origins in Wales, where he was born in 1944, and was brought up by his mother and grandmother after his parents divorced to become one of the world’s pre-eminent experts in the field of chemical and biological weapons. This meant he had spent long periods during the previous decade working for UNSCOM – the United Nations Special Commission – as a weapons inspector in Iraq. He had visited the country thirty-seven times.
His career route to this dangerous world began in 1973, when, aged twenty-nine, he became a senior scientific officer at the Unit of Invertebrate Virology at the National Environment Research Establishment. From 1984 he worked at Porton Down, the secretive Ministry of Defence chemical research unit near Salisbury, where he led experiments in how to defend troops in battle against biological warfare. In 1989 he became a technical expert in assessing germ warfare data coming out of the Soviet Union. From the early 1990s he had taken part in foreign weapons inspection programmes, working for both the Ministry of Defence and the Foreign Office, as well as briefing MI6. He had been a senior adviser to the United Nations Special Commission since 1995 and is also believed to have worked undercover for the intelligence services.
Among Dr Kelly’s most significant achievements was his lead role in an inspection mission in Iraq in the mid-1990s which forced the country to admit to having a biological warfare programme. For this, in the Queen’s birthday honours list in 1996, he was awarded the Companion of the Most Distinguished Order of St Michael and St George (CMG), which ranks just below a knighthood. The citation referred to his contribution to the UK’s biological warfare defence programme and the success of his inspection duties in Iraq.
As well as being one of the leading chemical and biological experts in the world, he was also the husband of thirty-five years of Janice, a retired teacher, and father of three grown-up daughters, one of whom, Rachel, was about to get married. Bearded, avuncular, hard-working, with a sense of humour and varied interests, he had many friends and had clearly made a success of his professional life.
Given the defence brief Gilligan covered, Dr Kelly was certainly a very useful source, but in no way did he ‘belong’ to the reporter exclusively: Dr Kelly was working for the Ministry of Defence and often spoke to journalists from all over the world who were interested in his area of expertise. Indeed, his name and telephone number had been in the BBC’s central database of contacts since 1988 and it was not unusual for him to be quoted in news reports.
Gilligan had recently returned from Iraq, from where he had filed reports for the BBC about the West’s invasion of the country, and Dr Kelly was curious to hear what he had learned while there.
If the meeting had a specific purpose as far as Gilligan was concerned, it was to establish from Dr Kelly why he thought no weapons of mass destruction had been found in Iraq. The ability of the Iraqi dictator, Saddam Hussein, to deploy such an arsenal at forty-five minutes’ notice had for months been cited by Tony Blair’s government as the chief reason for the invasion on 20 March, but no weapons store had ever been found.
They sat down shortly after 4 p.m. Having ordered a Coca-Cola and an Appletise, the two men spoke on an unattributable basis for about an hour, with Gilligan taking notes on his electronic personal organizer after Dr Kelly agreed that he was happy for him to do so.
According to Gilligan, as the conversation progressed Dr Kelly told him that, in his opinion, Iraq continued to pose a potential threat to the West and might still possess weapons of mass destruction. Gilligan’s notes recorded that Dr Kelly was even prepared to speculate on this possibility in percentage terms, with the likelihood of the existence of weapons being, apparently, up to ‘30 per cent’.
However, Dr Kelly allegedly then went on to tell Gilligan that there was considerable unease within the intelligence services about the accuracy of a dossier which had been published by the British government on 24 September 2002. Titled Iraq’s Weapons of Mass Destruction, the Assessment of the British Government, it had been used to sell the case of the need for military action in Iraq. It was in this document that the infamous ‘forty-five-minute’ claim was first made.
Dr Kelly told Gilligan that he had had some involvement in the production of this dossier, writing the sections on the history of UN inspections and about Iraq’s weapons programmes over the previous three decades, from 1971 to 1998. But he had had nothing to do with the dossier’s central claim – clearly stated four times, including in the Foreword written by the Prime Minister, Tony Blair – that Iraq could deploy chemical and nuclear weapons within ‘forty-five minutes’. This terrifying ‘fact’ had been duly splashed on the front pages of some newspapers. For example, the day after publication, 25 September 2002, The Sun informed its three million readers:
‘BRITS 45 MINS FROM DOOM’
From a public relations perspective, the dossier was a success for the British government. There could not have been a more effective way of ratcheting up the tension and, by extension, increasing the likelihood of gaining public support for military action in Iraq. And yet here was Dr Kelly, a man who commanded worldwide respect in biological weapons matters, apparently suggesting to Gilligan that the ‘forty-five-minute’ claim had been included against the wishes of the experts who drew up the dossier.
Among Gilligan’s contemporaneous electronic notes from the now-infamous Charing Cross Hotel meeting are the following: ‘[Dossier] transformed week before publication to make it sexier... The classic was the forty-five minutes... Most people in intelligence weren’t happy with it because it didn’t reflect the considered view they were putting forward.’ There is also a reference to ‘Campbell’, and then ‘not in original draft – dull, he asked if anything else could go in’. The ‘Campbell’ referred to was Alastair Campbell, Tony Blair’s spin doctor. According to Gilligan, Dr Kelly apparently told him that Campbell had been personally involved in the transformation of the September dossier.
Without question, Dr Kelly had handed Gilligan a potential scoop, and one that had cost just £4.15, the price of the two soft drinks they had ordered. If it was true, it was extraordinary to think that Downing Street officials – including Campbell, a former Daily Mirror journalist with no military or intelligence background whatsoever – had deliberately exaggerated the threat posed by Iraq to the West in order to justify going to war.
It was also a fascinating insight into how Tony Blair’s government operated that fell squarely within the public interest.
After they parted company, an understandably excited Gilligan immediately carried out some checks in an attempt to corroborate what he had been told. These included analysing the September 2002 dossier itself. Officially, it had been produced by the Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC), the arm of the Cabinet Office which oversees intelligence and security matters. Gilligan knew his way around some of the earlier JIC assessments on weapons of mass destruction and in his view the language used in the September dossier did indeed appear to be far more definite than usual.
He also spoke to other contacts and went through a series of newspaper cuttings, discovering that references to the much-vaunted forty-five-minute claim had virtually disappeared from government speeches made in the months after publication of the September dossier and before the outbreak of war. Indeed, it had not been mentioned specifically by Blair during his eve-of-war speech to MPs in the House of Commons on 18 March 2003. It looked as though the government might well have had second thoughts about the wisdom of committing itself so firmly to the idea and quietly dropped it.
Despite encouragement from people who worked in and around intelligence that he was on to something, Gilligan has said he was unable to find a second source to back up exactly what Dr Kelly told him that day. Everything which Gilligan could find out independently indicated that Dr Kelly was right to doubt the forty-five-minute claim, however, and the reporter was able to satisfy his Radio 4 Today programme editor, Kevin Marsh, of this. In fact Marsh himself had heard from two separate sources – Cabinet Minister Clare Short and a senior intelligence contact of his own – opinions which clearly echoed what Dr Kelly had said.
Also at the front of the BBC journalists’ minds would have been the dramatic resignation of Labour MP Robin Cook, the Leader of the House and former Foreign Secretary. He had quit the government immediately before the Iraq invasion because he did not believe, as the administration of which he had been a member had claimed, that the country had a stock of weapons of mass destruction.
With Marsh’s backing, Gilligan was given clearance to run his report on the Today programme on 29 May, exactly one week after the Charing Cross Hotel meeting. That morning at 6.07, in a live, unscripted preview ‘teaser’ summary aired eighty minutes before his main Today report, Gilligan unwittingly fired the starting gun on the series of events which ultimately culminated in Dr Kelly’s death. Most memorably, Gilligan said on air:
What we’ve been told by one of the senior officials in charge of drawing up that [September 2002] dossier was that actually the government probably knew that that forty-five-minute figure was wrong even before it decided to put it in. What this person says is that a week before the publication date of the dossier it was actually rather a bland production. It didn’t – the draft prepared for Mr Blair by the intelligence agencies – actually didn’t say very much more than was public knowledge already and Downing Street, our source says, ordered it to be sexed up, to be made more exciting, and ordered more facts to be discovered.
For some reason, in this live, unscripted broadcast Gilligan had changed the story agreed the night before between himself and his team of editors and producers at Today by inserting the allegation that ‘the government probably knew that that forty-five-minute figure was wrong even before it decided to put it in’. This was a significant upgrade from the original assertion he had been expected by his BBC bosses to make, which was simply that ‘the intelligence agencies... didn’t necessarily believe the claim’.
Furthermore, originally Gilligan had been expected by his bosses to say that the official to whom he had spoken had merely been ‘involved’ in the dossier. In the unscripted broadcast, this assertion was elevated to the official having been one of those ‘in charge of drawing [it] up’.
Neither of these claims was ever repeated again in any BBC bulletin, either on radio or television, but the damage was done: these words became central to the ensuing scandal and their consequences are likely to be associated with Gilligan for the rest of his life.
Perhaps surprisingly, given its content, Gilligan’s 6.07 a.m. broadcast caused little more than a ripple in the first instance. A Downing Street press officer called Anne Shevas made a written complaint to the Today programme on the day of the broadcast, grumbling that it had not reported sufficiently the government’s denial of Gilligan’s allegations. That was the only official reaction it generated at the time.
Three days later, on 1 June, The Mail on Sunday published an article written by Gilligan which was based on his BBC report. This newspaper piece differed in one significant respect from that report because it claimed that Gilligan’s source had specifically named Alastair Campbell as the person who had ordered the September dossier to be ‘sexed up’. Indeed, the name ‘Campbell’ was written in capital letters in the newspaper’s headline. When Gilligan had spoken on the Today programme, he had not mentioned Campbell by name.
It was well known among journalists that Campbell did not like the cut of Gilligan’s jib and considered him a trouble-maker. On that basis alone, Campbell was unlikely to let this accusation pass. But what Gilligan had suggested first on the BBC and then in greater detail in The Mail on Sunday was of major international significance. It was career-threatening for all concerned if substantiated.
On 6 June, eight days after Gilligan’s original broadcast, Campbell sent the BBC a four-page letter complaining that Gilligan had broken the Corporation’s own guidelines by relying on a single source – as opposed to multiple sources – for his 6.07 a.m. broadcast. Campbell also claimed that Gilligan did not understand the role of the JIC. The BBC’s lawyers batted this away in a written response on 11 June, but the next day Campbell returned to the attack, essentially repeating his earlier complaint. Correspondence continued until 16 June, at which point the row seemed to have faded away.
A few days later things changed for Campbell, however, and the dispute over Gilligan’s broadcast was reignited. This was because two weeks earlier, on 3 June, Campbell had been asked to give evidence to the Foreign Affairs select committee (FAC), which had recently begun an inquiry into the decision to go to war with Iraq. He had refused the invitation.
Part of the committee’s inquiry concerned a second Iraq dossier, which had appeared a few months after the notorious September dossier containing the dubious forty-five-minute claim. This second dossier, published under the direction of Campbell in February 2003, was seen by some as a further attempt to strengthen the government’s case for going to war.
But the second dossier quickly became known as the ‘dodgy dossier’ after it emerged that Campbell’s staff had lifted much of the material it contained from the internet – complete with grammatical errors – and presented it as their own careful research and analysis.
This largely plagiarized piece of work was an adaptation of an essay written by a Dr Ibrahim al-Marashi and had originally been published in the Middle East Review of International Affairs in 2002. Dr al-Marashi was a research associate at the Center for Nonproliferation Studies in Monterey, California. Without his knowledge, his text was turned into the February dossier overseen by Campbell and titled, somewhat ironically under the circumstances in which it was produced, ‘Iraq: Its Infrastructure of Concealment, Deception and Intimidation’.
Channel 4 News had broken the plagiarism story on 6 February 2003; Campbell was utterly humiliated. Criticism of Campbell was mounting over this incredible blunder, and a second invitation was issued to him by the FAC. Snubbing the FAC twice in the space of a few weeks was considered a serious breach of parliamentary etiquette, and he was forced to accept, agreeing to give evidence on 25 June.
Gilligan had already given evidence to the FAC the week before, on 19 June. When he had been asked by the committee about his single source, all he would reveal was that the person was ‘one of the senior officials in charge of drawing up the dossier’. He added: ‘I can tell you that he is a source of long standing, well known to me, closely connected with the question of Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction, easily sufficiently senior and credible to be worth reporting.’
During his evidence session the following week Campbell put in what was widely seen as a rather hysterical performance. He used the three hours available to him largely for his own ends, admitting the central charge that February’s ‘dodgy dossier’ was indeed unreliable, but devoting most of the session to lambasting the BBC for what he saw as its false reporting of the Iraq issue. Campbell also claimed, on thin evidence, that the BBC had suggested Tony Blair was a liar.
In his 2004 book Inside Story, ex-BBC Director-General Greg Dyke wrote: ‘It is clear that the whole attack on the BBC from Campbell [at the FAC hearing] was a means of diverting attention away from the “dodgy dossier” and the disgraceful way he and his team had produced it.’ Dyke added that Campbell ‘wanted a public bust-up for political reasons’.
Campbell had apparently calculated that the reporters watching him give evidence to the FAC would be far more likely to latch onto the distracting new row he was advancing – that the BBC had it in for Downing Street and the Prime Minister – and far less likely to spend time picking over the bones of the older argument relating to the ‘dodgy dossier’. His instinct was right.
Raising his voice theatrically, Campbell told the FAC: ‘I simply say, in relation to the BBC story, it is a lie... that is continually repeated, and until we get an apology for it I will keep making sure that Parliament and people like yourselves know that it was a lie.’
Campbell’s private diary entry for that day recorded his satisfaction at what he had said at the FAC hearing. He wrote: ‘I felt a lot better. Flank opened on the BBC.’ Little did he know that the fight for which he was spoiling would end with the death of Dr Kelly only three weeks later.
On 26 June, the day after the FAC hearing, Campbell stepped up his campaign against the BBC with another long letter to its Director of News, Richard Sambrook, this time demanding immediate answers to twelve questions. Question three was: ‘Does [the BBC] still stand by the allegation made on that day [29 May by Gilligan] that both we and the intelligence agencies knew the forty-five-minute claim to be wrong and inserted it despite knowing that? Yes or no?’
Provocatively, Campbell shared his letter with the press as a way of forcing the BBC’s hand. The BBC responded rapidly, standing by Gilligan and the story, but Campbell was so aggravated by the BBC’s refusal to apologize for its general coverage of the Iraq issue that he carried on with his war of attrition. His diary entry for 26 June even notes that he wanted to ‘nail Gilligan completely’.
The next day, Friday, 27 June, Campbell took his adolescent son Calum, plus a friend of Calum’s, to watch the tennis at Wimbledon, but his mind was clearly on other matters. This explains why in the late afternoon he left them to make their own way home while he went unexpectedly to the studios of Channel 4 News in central London shortly before its evening bulletin began at 7 to give an interview to the programme’s presenter, Jon Snow. Such was Campbell’s status as Blair’s spin doctor at the time, he was able to secure this right of audience at short notice.
He was in an excitable state, and insisted live on air to Snow that the BBC ‘just accept for once they have got it wrong’ [about Gilligan’s claim on the Today programme]. During the ten-minute interview he also said the BBC had ‘not a shred of evidence to substantiate the allegation’ [made in Gilligan’s Today broadcast]. Again, he demanded an apology.
This hastily arranged encounter bore all the hallmarks of a man obsessed. Even Campbell’s long-term girlfriend, Fiona Millar, privately criticized his Channel 4 News performance afterwards. But he would still not let the matter drop.
Parallel arguments were developing: the BBC’s interest was moving in the direction of asking whether there really were any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq; Campbell’s interest seemed to lie in painting Gilligan as an unreliable young journalist and the BBC as a partial broadcaster.
Campbell’s Friday-night showdown with Jon Snow guaranteed further coverage of the row in the weekend papers, and by Monday, 30 June pressure surrounding the story was still intensifying. Now, though, the media’s attention was turning to the identity of Gilligan’s source.
Realizing that the temperature was rising, on 30 June Dr Kelly volunteered his involvement in the row in a private letter to Dr Bryan Wells, his line manager at the Ministry of Defence. With the benefit of hindsight this was, at best, ill advised. Dr Kelly cannot have realized that by doing so he was entering a lion’s den.
Dr Kelly revealed to Wells that he had met Gilligan the previous month and discussed the forty-five-minute claim. His letter said that he had told Gilligan the claim was there for ‘impact’. But he did not endorse the suggestion about Campbell’s involvement, saying that Gilligan had mentioned Campbell’s name first, rather than him feeding it to the reporter. In his written clarification, Dr Kelly also categorically denied having alleged that Campbell had exaggerated the September dossier. He said his conversation with Gilligan about Campbell was ‘essentially an aside’. Dr Kelly wrote:
I did not even consider that I was the ‘source’ of Gilligan’s information until a friend in RUSI [the Royal United Services Institute think-tank] said that I should look at [Gilligan’s] oral evidence provided to the Foreign Affairs Committee on 19th June because she recognised that some comments were the sort that I would make about Iraq’s chemical and biological capacity. The description of that meeting in small part matches my interaction with him, especially my personal evaluation of Iraq’s capability, but the overall character is quite different. I can only conclude one of three things. Gilligan has considerably embellished my meeting with him; he has met with other individuals who truly were intimately associated with the dossier; or he has assembled comments from both multiple direct and indirect sources for his articles.
Dr Kelly’s letter was passed to Sir Kevin Tebbit, the MoD’s most senior civil servant and Dr Kelly’s ultimate boss. He requested that Dr Kelly be interviewed by Bryan Wells and Richard Hatfield, the MoD’s Personnel Director.
On 3 July, after a two-hour conversation with Dr Kelly, Wells and Hatfield decided that he was not the source of the most serious allegations advanced by Gilligan relating to Campbell and the forty-five-minute claim. They also decided he would face no penalty despite, as they saw it, his having broken departmental guidelines by speaking to a journalist without seeking the necessary authorization. (In fact, Dr Kelly’s terms of employment did not forbid him from having discussions with reporters.) Bolted onto the MoD’s conclusion, however, was the condition that a fuller inquiry into Dr Kelly’s conduct could be launched if new information came to light.
Tony Blair and his Defence Secretary, Geoff Hoon, were both told that day that an official had come forward to admit having spoken to Gilligan. Blair and Hoon were apparently not given Dr Kelly’s name at this stage but John Scarlett, the Chairman of the JIC and the government’s chief intelligence adviser, was told it.
Inevitably, newspaper reporters were still on the case. On 5 July Tom Baldwin, then a reporter on The Times, wrote a story which dropped heavy hints as to the identity of Gilligan’s source. Who can say where his information came from? It remains unclear who knew Dr Kelly’s identity at this point.
With what seem to be good intentions, Sir Kevin Tebbit warned Downing Street that Dr Kelly was in danger of being compromised, so on Monday, 7 July Scarlett suggested that Dr Kelly should take part in ‘a proper security-style interview’ to find out if he really was Gilligan’s only source. It was agreed at a meeting chaired by Tony Blair that day that the interview of Dr Kelly would go ahead.
Far from receding, after his admission to Bryan Wells a week earlier the seriousness of the situation was growing for Dr Kelly. On 7 July he was at RAF Honington in Suffolk on a training course in preparation for a forthcoming trip to Iraq where, ironically, he was intending to carry on searching for weapons of mass destruction. He was told to be in the London office of Richard Hatfield by 4 p.m.
During this interview, Dr Kelly reportedly said that he ‘might have been led on’ by Gilligan. Four days after initially clearing him, the MoD then decided that Dr Kelly probably had been Gilligan’s source, but that Gilligan might have exaggerated what he had been told. In effect, Dr Kelly was found half guilty, but again the official decision was that no action would be taken against him.
Dr Kelly was also advised that it was likely that the press would persist in wanting to know who had briefed Gilligan ahead of his BBC broadcast, however, and therefore that his name might come out.
Alastair Campbell was clearly rampantly keen on the idea of Gilligan’s source being identified as is evidenced by his diary entry for 4 July – three days before Dr Kelly was re-interviewed. It noted that Geoff Hoon told him that day that a possible source had come forward. Campbell did not name Dr Kelly in his diary and, officially, he did not know his identity, but he appears to have known what he did for a living because he described the source as ‘an expert rather than a spy or full-time MoD official’. The source’s comparatively lowly status as a mere expert and not a spy would, Campbell believed, reflect badly on the credibility of Gilligan’s story. Campbell’s perception was that Gilligan’s source was simply not high up enough to know exactly what he was talking about. Indeed, with what seems considerable force, the spin doctor wrote that he and Hoon ‘agreed that it would fuck Gilligan if that was his source.’
It is also possible that he wrote this sentence in his diary with a sense of triumph or relief, for it would have been disastrous for the government if Gilligan’s real source had turned out to be someone very senior such as, say, Robin Cook, the former Foreign Secretary.
Campbell’s personal animosity towards Gilligan seemed to have infected his professional judgement to such a degree that he would be happy to use Gilligan’s source in whatever way necessary for victory in his clash with the BBC. And his diary entry for 6 July confirmed that he did view the situation in combative terms, in that he wrote that he was lusting after ‘a clear win not a messy draw’.
On 8 July another news story about the affair appeared in The Times, again written by Tom Baldwin, revealing more details about Dr Kelly’s identity but still falling short of naming him. His perceived status as just an ‘expert’ was being held up as a reason to cast doubt on Gilligan’s claim.
That morning’s papers also carried the news that the FAC had cleared Campbell of exerting ‘improper influence’ in the drafting of the September 2002 dossier, which claimed that Iraq’s chemical and biological weapons could be launched at forty-five minutes’ notice. Campbell was off the hook, though many in Westminster found the committee’s decision convenient because Labour MP and committee Chairman Donald Anderson had had the casting vote in clearing him.
On the afternoon of 8 July the Ministry of Defence published a press release, with Dr Kelly’s agreement, confirming only that an individual had come forward and admitted to being Gilligan’s source. It did not name Dr Kelly, and Dr Kelly never sanctioned the release of his name. A short time afterwards, however, the MoD press office was instructed by officials to confirm Dr Kelly’s identity to any journalist who guessed it correctly. Dr Kelly was unaware of this astonishing breach of the agreement he had understood he and the MoD had reached.
The meeting at which the decision was taken for this ‘name game’ to go ahead was chaired by Tony Blair in Downing Street on 8 July. Dr Kelly had no idea that he was at risk of identification, but the rules of the game allowed journalists an unlimited number of guesses, and a crib sheet with biographical information about Dr Kelly was even prepared for the MoD press office to assist any reporter who rang in with a question.
The government was helping reporters hungry for the hottest story in Westminster at the time but, crucially, in such a way as to allow anyone involved at an official level to claim that, technically, the government had not actively provided Dr Kelly’s name to the press.
At 5.30 p.m. on 9 July James Blitz, a Financial Times reporter, was the first to guess Dr Kelly’s name correctly. Not long after, The Times followed suit.
As Fleet Street’s political correspondents were trying to work out what Gilligan’s source was called, Sunday Times reporter Nick Rufford set off from London by car for the village of Southmoor, near Abingdon, to call on Dr Kelly at home.
At this point in his career Rufford, a respected journalist who has worked on the newspaper since 1987, mainly wrote stories about the world of intelligence. Dr Kelly was a trusted contact and source who had been furnishing him with reliable information since 1997. The pair had met by arrangement at least twenty times previously, either for lunch in Dr Kelly’s local pub, or at Dr Kelly’s house, or at restaurants in London. They had also spoken by telephone fairly frequently and exchanged emails. Their professional relationship was nothing if not friendly.
On this occasion, however, the purpose of Rufford’s visit was entirely different to previous encounters. Not only was it unannounced, but the story on which he was working was about Dr Kelly himself – specifically whether he was the source of Gilligan’s recent Radio 4 broadcast alleging that the British government had taken the country to war with Iraq on the basis of a lie.
No doubt having read the reports in The Times written by Tom Baldwin, Rufford speculated that Dr Kelly might be at the centre of the political skirmish by being Gilligan’s source. To his mind, the seventy-mile trip to the Oxfordshire countryside which he made that afternoon was by no means a fishing expedition.
In fact, earlier in the day Rufford had tried to test his theory via the less awkward method of contacting Dr Kelly at home by telephone, to no avail. When he rang, the phone was answered by Dr Kelly’s wife, Janice, who told him her husband was working in London. So, having discussed it with his news editor, Charles Hymas, Rufford decided to turn up in person unannounced at Dr Kelly’s house, estimating that by the time he got there Dr Kelly would have returned.
On arrival in Southmoor at about 7.30 p.m. he parked in the Waggon and Horses pub car park. It was directly opposite Dr Kelly’s house, an attractive five-bedroom Victorian property set in half an acre which reflected Dr Kelly’s steady but financially unremarkable three-decade civil service career. Between 1997 and 2000, the Ministry of Defence failed to give Dr Kelly an annual salary rise, meaning he remained on only £51,071 – hardly the sort of money befitting a man of his stature and reputation. In 2003, months before he died, his pay was finally increased to £63,496 – but only because Dr Kelly had complained more than once.
As he got out of his car Rufford saw Dr Kelly standing in his driveway. He waved. Dr Kelly acknowledged him and waited while Rufford crossed the A-road that separated them. They began to chat while Janice Kelly was some distance away watering flowers. She was aware of Rufford’s arrival but played no part in their ensuing conversation and was, by her own admission, unable to hear much of it.
Dr Kelly volunteered to Rufford that he had just been updated on the consequences of the ‘name game’ that MoD officials had decided to play. He said he had been contacted by the MoD and told that he would be named as Gilligan’s source in national newspapers the following day. This put Rufford in a frustrating position familiar to many Sunday newspapermen: he was a reporter who couldn’t report. He had some rights to the scoop but, as it was only Wednesday, he was going to be beaten to the punch by the daily papers.
The MoD – acting under orders from Downing Street – had taken the very unusual step of throwing Dr Kelly to the wolves by thrusting him into the limelight against his will. His name would be plastered all over Thursday’s papers as the man at the centre of the row, likely leaving the Sunday titles no more than some scraps three days later.
This was bad news for Rufford professionally but, showing some genuine concern for Dr Kelly, and calculating that he could perhaps persuade him to write about the row in the next edition of The Sunday Times, he kept the conversation going.
The Sunday Times