Terence Menke (8:16)
Hm. Prison Strangeways Inmate Records Pbew 20230814 M69782. Entry reads, Parole Board for England and Wales, M69782TM. Hearing 14, August 2023, HM Prison Strangeways, Manchester. Transcript as follows. Chair. Morning, all. This hearing is convened as of 11:06am Monday 14 August 2023, to consider parole for inmate M69782TM. Mr. Terence Menke of Strangeways Prison, held on multiple counts of murder, along with various associated crimes and misdemeanors. I am the panel chair, Mr. Obadiah Quint. To my left is our psychologist, Dr. Lindsay Harris, and to my right is Mr. Alan Stolas of the Elric Rehabilitation Initiative, our independent for today. Stolas. Good morning, Chair. We're also joined by Mr. Menke's legal representative, Ms. Felika Ross, along with Ms. Chloe Leahy for the prosecution. Sana Beard has victim support and Parole Officer Connors, Cat Suge. Oh, and Rune Laverne is sitting in as stenographer for today. Thank you, Mrs. Laverne. Can I get confirmation from the panel before we proceed? Confirmed. Stolas. Looks good to me, Chair. Excellent. In that case, let's hear opening statements from you, Ms. Ross, when you're ready. Thank you. I must clarify, however, that rather than seeking parole today, my Client has, in fact, fact expressed a desire not to be released at this time. Chair. I see. I presume no objections to that. Miss. None at all. I seized the crown. Chair. And how about our advocate? Beard? We would have objected to any parole anyway. Chair. Understandable in the circumstances. In that case, does anyone have anything else to raise before we consult? I do. Since Mr. Menke's arrest in February of 2000, he has shown no remorse for his actions. In fact, in his most recent psychological evaluation, he was asked if he had any regrets. He replied, I hadn't finished yet. Beard. Christ, Harris. If that's how he views his crimes, then it seems odd to me that he would wish to remain incarcerated. I am given to understand that Mr. Menke has been receiving threatening mail and for his acts of reprisal. Stolas. There is a record of an investigation in his file. That's true, but it was found that there was no credible threat. No. Chair. Mr. Menke, you will speak only when directly addressed. Is that understood? Katsuj. It was just some kid's drawings. That's not it. Chair. Mr. Ross, control your client or I will have him removed. My apologies. Paris. If I may. Chair. Proceed, Harris. Mr. Menke, could you please tell us who you believe has threatened you? Chair. You may answer the question, Mr. Menke. You won't believe me. Answer the question, Mr. Menke. They were sent to me by Mr. Bonzo, for Christ's sake. Oh, I'm sorry, but this is obscene. We cannot let this hearing be used to mock his victims and their families. Ms. Ross, any further disrespect from your client and he will be ejected from these proceedings. Am I understood? Of course. Stolas. Mr. Menke, could you tell us a bit more about your relationship with Mr. Bonzo? Mr. Quit. Will you please put a stop to this? Chair. Where are you going with this? Alan? Please humor me. Chair. Fine. But this is the last time, you understand. Answer the question, Mr. Menke. What would you like to know, Stolas? As much as you care to tell me. Menke. Okay. Mr. Bonzo used to be everywhere growing up. Like God. He was like God in a lot of ways, really. He was always there, always had time for me. He was dancing on the telly when dad lost his job. Singing on the radio when things got worse. And watching from the billboard outside when Mum topped herself. Dad liked to pretend he went to church. But I used to pray to Bonzo, and he'd just smile and wave like normal. But I knew deep down they heard me. I remember he Was making a huge omelette. When I hammered Dad's head in, there were smashed eggs all over the studio. I remember laughing because it was just so funny. Both of us making such a mess. Wasn't a real one, though, you know, just kid stuff. But still, I thought maybe he'd be proud of me. My first proper try was much better. Of course, I was still finding my feet. Barely had a costume, Just a mask, really, with his big wobbly ears. But you have to start somewhere, don't you? And when I looked on the TV that Saturday night, there he was, as always. This time he was breaking violins and the audience kept yelling, practice makes perfect. That was when I knew that he knew. And we both laughed and laughed as the audience cheered us on. Next one was much better. I did it with a Father Christmas costume I bought in Woolworths. And I put down some past it to catch a spray. I knew he was impressed because that Saturday he did a double length Christmas special. We could have gone on like that forever. I think my costumes weren't all that. Not like his, but they didn't have to be. You just do your bonzo best. But then I went and spoiled it all for a stupid joke. I wanted to surprise him for a change, really give him a giggle. And I guess maybe I thought I'd earned it. I spent ages on the costume. Made it myself, from scratch. None of that cheap kids rubbish. I wanted it to be proper. But it was gonna be tricky this time. It wasn't enough to just do it. I needed people to see it happen. That way they'd think it was him. And then I could take the mask off and he would realise it was me all along. He'd see me. He'd finally see me properly and we'd laugh and laugh and laugh. I got it done easy enough. Don't really remember much about it, to be honest. Judge told me I used a crowbar and I don't think he'd lie about it. Anyway, everyone was screaming and running and I could barely stand for laughing. And that was when the filth tackled me. I mean, what are the chances a couple of random coppers just happened to be walking by at that exact moment? But honestly, if anything, it just made the whole thing funnier. I tried to stand and shake them off, but I couldn't stop laughing. Besides, the suit was really bulky and I couldn't really see very well. It was tight, though. Tighter than it had felt. When I put it on, I could barely breathe and it was slick inside. I must have Been sweating buckets. Obviously, I didn't get to see Bonzo that night because I was locked up. I asked for a tv, but they just told me. She shut up. I knew I'd get to see him eventually, though. After all, he was Mr. Bonzo. He was everywhere. Or at least he had been. But as weeks went by, it was like he'd disappeared. He wa'n't on the radio anymore, weren't on tv, and they took down his billboards. It was like everyone had decided to pretend he'd never existed. I honestly started to feel like I was going crazy. That was why I yelled at Mr. Dickerson in the trial. I thought if anyone knew where he'd gone, it would be his best mate. But he just got angry and said horrible things about me. That was when I started to worry. What if he hadn't found it funny? What if he was insulted? What if he was angry? I wanted to find him to tell him I was sorry. To let him know I would never do anything to upset him. But that was when they put me here. I tried explaining it to them, but every time I did, I just ended up back in solitary. So eventually I just stopped trying. I did get some letters from fans at first, but that soon stopped. I don't know, it was weird. I don't think they wanted to talk about Mr. Bonzo at all. Eventually, I got used to being in here. It's not so bad at the end of the day. Didn't have much of a life outside anyway. But then the letters started again. Only this time it wasn't from fans. At first I thought it was something from the lawyers, maybe to do with parole, since I had my name and a number on the envelope. But the paper was yellow with orange flecks and it had a massive thumbprint on the corner in purple ink. I saw that and I knew what it was, who it was from. I was shaking so much I couldn't even open it. Just holding it felt like. I don't know, like blasphemy. But the guards had already opened it. So after a while I just peeled it apart and looked inside. It was an old Mr. Bonzo car, but I couldn't tell what type because everything was scratched off the front apart from his face, which was staring up at me. I was so happy to see him after all these years, to finally be seen again. But his face was wrong. Instead of his happy googly eyes, these were fixed in place, staring at me. And he wasn't smiling. He looked angry. Car was warped, so it Took a moment to prise it open, but once I had, I found a message scored inside in childish letters with smudge purple ink. Just one line. Mr. Bonzo's on his way. I wanted to tell someone, but last time I said his name they put me in solitary, so kept quiet, didn't I? The next one arrived a few weeks later. This one was larger and got a bit of attention when it came through. Looked like it was one of those big cards for a big birthday, the kind where someone's friends and family would be there. I didn't want to take it, but they insisted. So I carried it back to bed and opened it in there alone. Same paper, same purple ink on the envelope. Even more smudged this time. And it was difficult to pull the card out as it was so bent, as if it had been wetted then dried. Mr. Bonzo was there again, staring at me through the scratches on the COVID with those fixed, angry eyes. Bigger card meant I could see all the details. And I could see Mr. Bonzo warn't just angry, he was furious. I was travelling all over when I opened the card and found that child writing inside. He wants to stay. The last one came a few days ago. He was enormous. I had to sign a special form to get it and everything felt like I was looking at one of those big charity checks he used to give out and hit people over the head with. And there was so much purple ink that it looked like he'd spilled paint. I needed help to pull the mangled card out and our hands were all covered in the ink, which was somehow still wet. Almost all of it was destroyed, leaving only those eyes and his huge mouth, which was open, open wide and deep. I didn't need to open it to know what was written inside, but the people helping insisted. The paper was gouged with the force that it had been marked more stabbed than written, but I could still make out the words. He wants to play with you. Since then I've been trying to stay in solitary as much as possible. It's better there. Thicker walls, stronger gates. But he won't help. I love Mr. Bonzo with all my art, but I don't think he likes me anymore. Mr. Bonzo's on his way. He wants to stay. He wants to play with me. Chair. Right. Well, er, Miss Ross, is any of this true? The cards, I mean. I'm not entirely sure. I was informed he'd received some strange mail, but nothing like that. Thank you, Mr. Menke. That's all I needed to hear. Right. Well, in that case, I would like to formally recommend Mr. Menke for referral to the Elric Rehabilitation Initiative as soon as possible. Chair. Alan Stolas. He's a perfect candidate, and I think we could do a lot with him. I'm sorry, but this is completely unacceptable. The Crown cannot condone this. No, ross. Sit down. Mr. Menkey. He's on his way, Chair. I warned you, Mr. Menkey. He wants to play with me. Chair. Get him out of here. Katsuj, watch out. He's got Ross. Mr. Menkey. What? Transcription ends due to interruption I'll tell.
