The Devil in the Red Dress Read online

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  THE DEVIL IN THE RED DRESS

  ABIGAIL RIELEY

  The information contained in this book is based on evidence given in the trial of Sharon Collins and Essam Eid in the Central Criminal Court in 2008, and from publicly available court documents from the trial of Teresa Engle in California.

  To Michael,

  With all my love, always.

  CHAPTER 1:

  THE QUEEN OF DIAMONDS

  The way she told it, it was kismet.

  ‘I remember noticing P.J. when I was a little girl, perhaps nine or ten. He was a grown man. I didn’t know him until we started going out together but the memory of seeing him where he worked stayed in my mind. Then when I saw him walking into my shop eight and a half years ago, after seeing him out a few nights previously. I knew he was coming for me. It was almost like a premonition. It felt like I was expecting him even though I wasn’t until he walked in.’

  When P.J. Howard walked into Sharon Collins’ shop, she believed he was going to change her life. The man she had noticed as a little girl, when he had only started to accumulate his wealth, was interested in her. His love promised access to the lifestyle she craved, not to mention security for her and her sons. She was determined to hook Howard for herself and luck was on her side. He was grieving, and she was available.

  Collins painted it like a fairy tale, begging James Hamilton, the Director of Public Prosecutions, to drop the charges against her. She had met Howard in November 1998 and they had been together since she had moved into his house with her two sons for Christmas. But Collins, to all accounts, was more like the wicked stepmother than a defenceless ingénue, for she had been charged with plotting to kill the man who had made the fairy tale possible, and murder his two sons as well. Cinderella had become a femme fatale.

  Over eight weeks in the summer of 2008, the convoluted tale of Sharon Collins and Essam Eid unfolded in front of a jury in Court Two at the Central Criminal Court in Dublin. As the trial wore on the number of people who came to catch a glimpse of the woman who became known as the ‘devil in the red dress’ grew steadily. They whispered at the back of the courtroom as they peered at the long wooden bench facing the jury box, where every day for 32 days the defendants took their seats.

  ‘Isn’t she a pretty little thing?’

  ‘Is that the poker dealer?’

  As the weeks went on and the salacious details emerged, their numbers grew. Many of them were the same people who came to watch every high profile murder trial. The anorak wearing pensioners, who always brought a plentiful supply of sweets, had their own seats staked out. They had turned up to watch the main event and, as the weeks wore on, they weren’t disappointed.

  Collins wasn’t interested in them at all. Every morning she arrived in court dressed in a smart black trouser suit with a white top visible underneath, her blonde hair cut in business-like layers to just above the collar and her makeup understated, barely there. This was a different woman from the curvy pint-sized bombshell who turned up for her first court appearance in a short skirt and heels. She had lost a lot of weight since her arrest in February 2007; the angles in her face were now clearly visible, especially with the shorter hair. She now looked slightly harder, sharper; perhaps unsurprisingly as she was so close to losing everything she had spent so long building up.

  Every morning her sons would wait for her in the lobby of the Four Courts where she would arrive after her daily consultation with her legal team. David, her youngest son, would arrive first. He would be joined by his older brother Gary, sombrely suited like his brother but looking more like his mother. When she joined them there was time for a few moments shielded from prying eyes in the partial shadow of a curved leather bench tucked beneath a stairwell. Sometimes they were joined by the boys’ father, Noel Collins, who was a discreet presence throughout the trial to lend his support to his ex-wife and the two sons they shared. There were rarely other supporters though. She was involved in the kind of scandal that rarely touched the civilised middle class lives of her peers.

  Just before 11a.m she would head into court to check that Essam Eid, her co-defendant who had offered himself as a hitman on the internet, had already taken his seat and every morning she would build a defensive fort of stationery in front of her. First would come the neat black folder that she came in clutching, which held the original statements from the day’s witnesses. Then out came the pens, neatly placed within easy reach. Then the Polo mints and gum on which she and her sons constantly chewed as they listened to the evidence. On top of folder she would precisely place a large yellow Post-It pad. As the day progressed, she would write a steady stream of notes on the yellow pad, every now and then tearing off the top few pages to be folded over and given to David to pass on to her legal team. By the end of the day the back of the bench in front of her junior counsel would be feathered with over-lapping pages.

  Collins never looked at her co-defendant during the trial but stared straight ahead at the jury when not writing, the calm and collected mask slipping every now and then to allow her expressive face to telegraph her reaction to each piece of evidence that stacked the prosecution case higher against her. Every so often, when the accusations got too close, she would lean towards one of her sons and whisper in a manner both intimate and urgent, staring earnestly into their eyes. When particularly damning evidence appeared she would lean towards them to share a private joke. But for the most part, despite the evidence against her, she gave the impression of attending the trial merely for politeness’ sake, rarely showing any doubt in the security of her position.

  At the far end of the bench her co-accused Eid joked with the prison guards. He had been in custody for almost two years, but he looked as if he was on holiday. Even in his never-varied casual outfit of black Nike jacket and jeans, he looked like a good fit for the role in which he was cast. His slightly receding hair was greying around the temples and his thick grey moustache had lost its battle to middle age. His sallow skin marked him out as an exotic character in the midst of the blue uniforms of the gardaí and prison warders, and the black gowns of the barristers. His appearance was so obviously not Irish that at the time of his arrest, gardaí had difficulty filling a line–up with a suitably cosmopolitan selection. If he felt pressured by his predicament he rarely showed it. He often chuckled to himself at the more bizarre pieces of evidence and smiled broadly as he watched the trial as if it was entertainment for him alone. He looked genuinely interested to see how things turned out.

  The drama played out over eight weeks to the delight and fascination of the spectators, both media and general public. Collins fought her corner hard and refused to concede a single point to the prosecution. Every so often the tension would show in the courtroom by someone who would punctuate proceedings with much huffing and slapping of furniture.

  The verdict finally came on 9 July 2008 on the 32nd day of the trial. After so many weeks of evidence it was perhaps not surprising that the jury took their time. They had asked frequent questions, asked to see numerous pieces of evidence and took multiple cigarette breaks when the tension got too much. In the end it took three days with two nights in a hotel. While the press settled in for the wait the tension was evident in both accused for the first time even though they both kept up a pretence at being relaxed. While Eid joked with the prison guards it was noticeable he was disappearing for more frequent cigarette breaks. By the second day he was spending most of his time in the cells that are hidden beneath the Four Courts, away from the curious eyes of press and public. Collins bobbed in and out of court like a restless bird, her supporters at her side. She spent most of the time sitting on the benches that are placed at r
egular intervals around the curved walls of the Round Hall or sitting under a stairwell. Everyone could see that her face was pale beneath her makeup and her eyes were hollowed by dark shadows. As the trial came to a close, she looked her age and the glamorous mask had finally slipped. As the hours slipped by, the tension slipped into tedium.

  After lunch on the third day of deliberations, Justice Roderick Murphy asked the jury if they had reached a decision on any of the ten counts before them. It was a standard question that always prefaced the news that they no longer needed to reach a unanimous verdict. The jury looked surprised and the forewoman cleared her throat and nodded. They had come to an agreement on some of the counts. The tension in the courtroom suddenly ratcheted up drastically. A collective breath was held as the forewoman wrote the verdicts next to the box for each count on the issue paper they had been presented with when they retired. A pin dropping would have reverberated through the courtroom at that moment as the paper was passed to the registrar who looked at it briefly and turned to murmur something to the judge. The two accused sat impassively as the first verdicts were read out.

  There was a baffled silence as the press and public tried to work out who had been convicted of what. The jury had returned verdicts on seven counts and as they were sent away to continue deliberating, the significance of what had happened spread around the court. The jury had decided unanimously that Sharon Collins had solicited a hitman to kill P.J. Howard and his two sons, although they still had to reach a decision whether it had actually been Eid with whom she had conspired; however, the jury had obviously been convinced of his intentions as a con man. He had been convicted of demanding €100,000 with menaces from Robert Howard when he had produced a stolen laptop but the jury had found him not guilty of other offences. As the jury left the room to decide whether Collins had been conspiring with Eid, everyone turned to see how the two accused were taking the news.

  Collins had barely flinched as she was convicted time after time. She stared straight ahead at the jury as the registrar read out their decision. It was her sons who showed the shock and pain. Gary bowed his head as the first guilty verdict was read out, his head cradled in his hands hiding his face from the curious press. David stared at his mother, his face red as the tears streamed down.

  The noise level in the court room rose again as journalists and barristers alike reached for their phones, and the public chattered amongst themselves about the implications of the piecemeal verdict. David stood up as if to move away from the burning scrutiny of the press less than two feet in front of him. Collins stood up as well and threw her arms around him, pulling his head down into her shoulder. Her former husband, Noel, appeared from the back of the court room and went to stand in front of the bench where Collins had been sitting, shielding her and his sons. Collins clung onto David, his shoulders shaking in her grip. It was only then that her own emotion showed and she buried her own face in her son’s chest as the tears finally came. The enormity of her situation hit her fully for the first time and she suddenly looked like a lost little girl. The petite charmer had not managed to win over the crowd.

  P.J. Howard had not been there to see the verdict, although his sons had appeared to watch the prosecution’s closing argument. A statement emailed to the waiting press after the first verdicts were delivered asked for privacy. It was left to Collins’s first husband to support his sons and ex-wife.

  Noel led them out of the court and the waiting continued, but not for long. In under an hour at about 3 p.m. the jury came back with more verdicts. Sharon Collins had just been convicted of conspiring to kill P.J. Howard and his sons, Robert and Niall. As the last of the verdicts against her was read out Collins could be seen crying quietly. Gary and David, beside her as always, looked traumatised as they sat on each side of her, both of them gripping one of her hands.

  The jury were still not finished, however, as they had not yet reached a verdict on whether Essam Eid was guilty on the three conspiracy to murder charges.

  Eventually the judge called the jury back and asked them if they had reached a majority verdict on the conspiracy charges against Eid. He told the twelve worried and tired looking jurors that he was now giving them the choice of not returning a verdict. That if less than ten of them agreed they could agree to disagree and give up their deliberations. The forewoman looked at her colleagues who stared wearily back. It was now 5.30 p.m. and they had been deliberating for almost 11 hours. The forewoman told the judge they would need to discuss the matter in their room. Moments later they came back with news of a stalemate. Eid was neither guilty nor innocent of the conspiracy charge. There was a low babble in the courtroom as the assembled mass tried to work out the implications of this.

  Collins’s solicitor hurried over to her and they went into an urgent huddle. But ultimately she had been convicted and would be spending that night in jail. Her sons looked distraught as their mother was led away to the cells after Eid. The courtroom started emptying as the media machine geared itself up to start turning. For Sharon Collins, the fairy tale was definitely over.

  CHAPTER 2:

  IN SICKNESS AND IN WEALTH

  Back in Ennis in County Clare the gossips really picked up speed, turning the story quickly from fairy tale to local legend. Rumours spread like mould in the damp humidity of the summer, the wettest for many years. But when the press descended they were met with polite smiles and stone walls. Ennis is too small a place to share gossip without having one eye open to see who’s listening.

  Prosperity may be apparent in the narrow twisting streets left over from a medieval history but the population is still only 18,000, many of them immigrants who have flocked to the town over the years. There are those who mutter darkly about the town becoming more cosmopolitan, who cling to the old Ireland where decades were needed before an interloper from the next parish became one of their own. But the story that hit the headlines did not concern any recent arrival. Both Sharon Collins and P.J. Howard were from local families and the story was embraced with a mixture of embarrassment and shock. Just as there were those who rubbed their hands over the juicy scandal that saw a local businessman and landlord embarrassed by a woman, there were others who shook their heads in wonder at a local girl from a good family wandering so far from what was right. For all its new found multiculturalism, not much has changed in Ennis over the boom years for those who have lived here all along. The big supermarkets only opened within the past few years and greengrocers still thrive among the old narrow streets. There is still a regular market, and the pubs sport wood panelling and old Guinness signs with floors of flag stones or red carpets. Today the town is beginning to feel the failing fortunes of a flagging economy, although the tourists still stream into the town. The maze of streets hide the numerous ‘for sale’ signs and there is consternation at several well-established businesses failing, but the boutique clothes shops remain. They cater for the ‘ladies who lunch’ and there are many lunching in Ennis. In fact the town prides itself on being the boutique capital of Ireland. Many shops house dresses that sell for hundreds of euros. These are not the shops that fear closure as the penny pinching begins; their patrons are women who don’t need to worry about where the next pay cheque is coming from. Sharon Collins was once one of these women. As P.J. Howard’s partner she enjoyed a powerful social standing that she enjoyed flaunting. There are many who have stories about her lady of the manor attitude.

  She was born Sharon Coote, in the Hermitage area of Ennis in 1963, the youngest of three girls. Her family were not well off but were respectable and well-liked. Her mother and aunt had run a local cinema when she was a child and her uncle was the projectionist and sang in a local church. As a family they kept themselves to themselves. Even as a girl, Collins did not move within a large group of friends, although this might have been a natural reaction to the situation at home. By the time she reached her teens her parents’ marriage had floundered and her father moved out of the family home.

  Sharon wa
s the only Coote girl who stayed in Ennis. Her sisters also left Ennis to pursue their lives and careers. Sharon was a bright girl and could have gone far. She did her Leaving Certificate at a local school and won a place at the National Institution of Higher Education (which is now the University of Limerick) to do a course in computer studies. She enjoyed college. It was there she discovered that information had a nasty habit of lurking hidden in computer memory which could be unearthed by the authorities. She was even caught that way when a group of them played a prank and were discovered and punished. But this information, which could have been so useful to her, slipped her mind after she was overtaken by one of life’s curve balls.

  At 19 she dropped out of college to marry Noel Collins, her first husband, and later gave birth to her first son Gary. Collins discovered she loved being a mother and David was born two years later. She was devoted to her boys, but marriage was another thing entirely; neither of them had been ready to take that step and the strain began to show. In 1989 Noel moved out of the family home. Two years later they obtained a church annulment. As soon as the law changed in 1992 they divorced. Collins remained in the family home and they stayed friends for the sake of the children.

  She would later say, ‘I didn’t have to resort to extreme measures at that time … I can get on quite well with my ex-husband now. I think it’s important for children that parents try to get along, even when the relationship breaks down. Otherwise, the children question their own worth.’

  Collins was ruthless when it came to protecting her sons. She built up her own business, a kitchen design shop that sold bespoke kitchens and reclaimed antique fittings. With the property boom and home improvement fixation sweeping the nation it couldn’t fail. She was standing on her own two feet for the first time in her life, in her own words she ‘had come to the conclusion I didn’t need a man.’