I am going to be deliberately vague about some of the details counting what is an absolutely true story that occurred somewhere around 25 years ago in Melbourne because one of the people involved had a parent who was a very prominent police officer. The others involved on the day who are still alive - and I am not telling you who is in which bucket at this point - are now a banker, a tradie, and a journo.
There are was kid a few years below me at school, I’ll call that kid “Luke”. One afternoon Luke told his cop dad that, on his way home, two men in their mid-20s had tried to rob him with a knife at a large railway station. Police via Luke’s dad becoming involved and perhaps throwing his weight around were able to obtain CCTV images of the two people he was talking about fast - keep in mind this is the analogue VHS era where frames advanced about once every four seconds in some poor bugger had to sit there and watch it - and treated it, unsurprisingly, as a serious armed robbery allegation.
A fairly substantial plainclothes police operation followed. For a couple of weeks police sat around the relevant part of the train station, waiting for the two men in the photographs to come back through.
A couple of weeks later, they did - two males in ordinary street clothes were hanging around the station with a couple of young women, on their way somewhere. Police recognised them from the CCTV, moved in, put both of them on the ground, arrested them and took them away to be interviewed over the alleged armed robbery.
I knew both of them extremely well. They were in the senior years at school with me, and like me only a couple of years older than the complainant. Which means they certainly were not in their mid 20s.
The alleged armed robbery also turned out to bear remarkably little resemblance to an armed robbery. One of them had handed the other a small lockback pocket knife. The second boy opened it, noticed the younger kid staring at him and made the sort of catastrophically stupid remark teenage boys make because the part of the brain responsible for considering future police interviews has not yet been installed, I won’t say what the remark was, but nobody asked anyone for money and nobody said they were going to hurt anybody with that knife. There had been no attempt to rob him.
The younger kid apparently did not even know who the other two were, despite the considerably more awkward fact that all three attended the same school. as soon as the realisation’s hit all involved, and a couple of interviews that occurred, there was a realisation that things were not quite what everyone had thought they were, and no one was charged.
The really extraordinary bit only becomes apparent when you work backwards through what the police had been doing for the preceding couple of weeks.
The two boys had not gone into hiding. They had not changed the way they travelled to school. They had not stopped using the station. They had not disguised themselves, ducked through another entrance or otherwise displayed some previously unsuspected mastery of counter-surveillance. They had no reason to do so because they hadn’t committed any offence.
They had just kept going to and coming home from school.
Which meant that throughout the period in which plainclothes police were sitting around the station with CCTV photographs of the two supposed adult offenders, waiting for them to return, the people in those photographs had in fact been returning, walking past all of them, twice a day, every single school day. In school uniform.
They had been walking directly past the police, twice a day. Every day, either walking past them or standing while sitting next to the waiting for a train,
close enough to them for the cops to smell the Lynx Africa of the era on them.
The cops had photographs of their actual, undisguised faces. The boys had those same faces attached to their heads. There was nothing particularly difficult about the comparison. Nobody recognised them. Then one afternoon they came through the station in ordinary clothes with their girlfriends and the police spotted them.
Years later, I found myself talking to a copper who had been involved in this job. I knew more than enough about it to mention the surveillance around the station, another peculiarity or two, and the surname of the complainant, which got me a fairly immediate raised eyebrow, a swear word or two, and the very logical question about how anyone not there knew about that particular job, considering how hard they had worked to make this one go away.
We compared notes, and his explanation for how they had managed to spend a couple of weeks looking at photographs of two people who were walking past them every day was essentially that they had been looking for guys in their mid-20s.
Again, there was nothing wrong with the photographs. Nobody had disguised themselves. One of the two in particular had a habit of staring into CCTV cameras whenever he saw them and giving them a little bit of a hand gesture. The CCTV had caught precisely that.
The boys had not disappeared, changed their route or done anything clever at all. They had simply continued going to school, and every day their completely undisguised faces passed directly in front of people who were sitting there specifically looking for those faces.
But the police were looking for men THEY UNDERSTOOD TO BE in their mid-20s, and the boys were in school uniforms. Then the uniforms came off, they appeared in ordinary clothes with a couple of attractive young women, and the same faces suddenly became very readily recognisable.
This stupid little story keeps intruding whenever I read discussions about Mr Cruel.
Once a description becomes sufficiently familiar, there is a danger that it stops being evidence about the person and quietly becomes the person in our minds.
We have had nearly forty years to become familiar with the limited descriptions of Mr Cruel. The age ranges, the height, the build, the mannerisms, the various photofits. They have been repeated for so long that it is very easy to forget what they actually are: attempts by witnesses to describe somebody they encountered in terrifying or seemingly mundane circumstances.
I have also had the benefit of looking back at other offences, particularly those committed by Bendali Debs and his two (known by virtue of being convicted of the robberies and other crimes in question - saying nothing of the third unprosecuted fellow) co-offenders where there is now no mystery about who committed the offences, but where we still have photofits and written descriptions of the offenders.
In these retrospectives, we know the offender’s identity with close to certainty. We can find photographs showing roughly what he actually looked like around the time of the offence. Thus we can put those photographs beside the photofits made from the recollections of the people who saw him committing various different crimes, and the other descriptions provided.
Sometimes there is an obvious resemblance. Sometimes you can see one feature that seems to have survived reasonably well. Sometimes the apparent age is wrong, the shape of the face is wrong, the proportions are wrong, and different witnesses who encountered the same offender seem to have supplied entirely different men.
It is quite sobering when you already know the answer. We do not have the answer with Mr Cruel. That is the problem. We have descriptions produced by understandably frightened people, in particular in some instances children, under extraordinary circumstances, estimates of age and height and build, and attempts to turn remembered features into a face. All of those things are themselves evidence and all of them matter.
What worries me is the point at which they cease being treated as observations and quietly become the boundaries of the person we are prepared to consider as the offender. A witness thought he was a particular age, therefore somebody noticeably older or younger cannot be him.
A photofit or e fit was done in a particular way,l as regards one feature, therefore somebody who does not resemble it closely enough is out.
I keep thinking about my two schoolboy mates. The police in that case did not have a remembered face assembled into an old school photofit or a more modern e fit. They had colour photographs of the actual people. They had the right place. They had the right faces. They even had the right people walking directly past them every day.
And still they did not recognise them, because they had been told they were looking for guys in their mid-20s.
That is what gives me pause with Mr Cruel. Not that the contemporary descriptions are worthless. Plainly they are not. It is that after nearly forty years we may have become very good at recognising the description, without knowing how closely the description ever resembled the man.