the metal detectors at Broadmoor. Carl Sutcliffe concealed them inside a plaster cast and visited his unsuspecting brother who then found himself splashed across the News of the World , primarily on the grounds that he had become fat – ‘a balding 17-stone slob’, as the paper put it.
Still, there was a limit to how much Coulson could intervene. He would sit in his office, banging out emails with terse instructions to those around him, but he relied on two right-hand men to enforce his will. Each of them had offices which flanked his own at the top end of the newsroom. To Coulson’s left, looking out, was Stuart Kuttner, who had been the managing editor at the News of the World for nearly fifteen years.
There was something dark about Kuttner with his skeletal face, his slow, calculating manner and his original London accent only slightly disguised as posh. Since 1987, he had served half a dozen editors in a role like that of the Harvey Keitel character in Pulp Fiction – he cleaned up mess. If any kind of threat came out of any kind of dark corner – scandals in the newsroom, rebellious reporters, angry victims – Kuttner would deal with it, get rid of the body, clear up the blood. He told one colleague that his favourite book was Machiavelli’s The Prince with its admiration for manipulation and deceit as the necessary tools of power. Kuttner enjoyed power. Former colleagues say he liked to use the messengers as his private staff, sending them out to buy him fresh fruit in the morning or to take his briefcase down to his car at the end of the day. He was notorious for the violence of his bollockings. But primarily his power was financial. He was responsible for the editorial budget, and all those who worked for him agree that he treated the newspaper’s money as though it were his own: he wanted every penny accounted for.
Coulson’s second enforcer, in the office to his right, was his deputy editor, Neil Wallis. He was nearly twenty years older than Coulson; he had been in Fleet Street for years, moving from one tabloid to another, earning along the way a reputation for what one colleague described as ‘a psychopathic ability to divorce his emotions from his actions’. This colleague recalls Wallis at a leaving party strolling up to an executive whom he had shafted in his earlier career with a cheery smile and an extended hand, only to be told: ‘I’m not going to shake your hand until you’ve washed it.’ He collected libel writs like kids used to collect coins – ‘the Wallis Collection’ as it was known, with a nod to the Wallace Collection of fine art in central London.
Wallis made it his business to go drinking with top cops. In January 2005 he persuaded the retiring Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Sir John Stevens, to write a weekly column for the News of the World . It turned out that Wallis had been offering Stevens free PR advice for years and credited himself with helping Stevens into the commissioner’s chair. That, plus up to £7,000 a column, plus the promise to call him The Chief, even though Stevens was no longer a chief officer, landed the man.
In some newsrooms, Wallis was known as ‘the wolfman’, possibly because of a story he had written to the effect that the Yorkshire Ripper was a Jekyll and Hyde character who killed only on full moons. At the News of the World , he was known as ‘the rasping fuckwit’, which was partly a reflection of his breathy voice but also a straightforward sign of disrespect. The truth was a bit more complicated than that. A lot of reporters didn’t like him as a person, they didn’t trust him and they knew he was the kind of cynic who gives cynics a bad name, but they also knew that he was a highly effective hack. He was quick-witted and tough. He had good contacts, he could spin a story. He understood the business of tabloid journalism.
So News Corp’s demand for success at all costs was passed down from Andy Coulson’s office through Kuttner
Still, there was a limit to how much Coulson could intervene. He would sit in his office, banging out emails with terse instructions to those around him, but he relied on two right-hand men to enforce his will. Each of them had offices which flanked his own at the top end of the newsroom. To Coulson’s left, looking out, was Stuart Kuttner, who had been the managing editor at the News of the World for nearly fifteen years.
There was something dark about Kuttner with his skeletal face, his slow, calculating manner and his original London accent only slightly disguised as posh. Since 1987, he had served half a dozen editors in a role like that of the Harvey Keitel character in Pulp Fiction – he cleaned up mess. If any kind of threat came out of any kind of dark corner – scandals in the newsroom, rebellious reporters, angry victims – Kuttner would deal with it, get rid of the body, clear up the blood. He told one colleague that his favourite book was Machiavelli’s The Prince with its admiration for manipulation and deceit as the necessary tools of power. Kuttner enjoyed power. Former colleagues say he liked to use the messengers as his private staff, sending them out to buy him fresh fruit in the morning or to take his briefcase down to his car at the end of the day. He was notorious for the violence of his bollockings. But primarily his power was financial. He was responsible for the editorial budget, and all those who worked for him agree that he treated the newspaper’s money as though it were his own: he wanted every penny accounted for.
Coulson’s second enforcer, in the office to his right, was his deputy editor, Neil Wallis. He was nearly twenty years older than Coulson; he had been in Fleet Street for years, moving from one tabloid to another, earning along the way a reputation for what one colleague described as ‘a psychopathic ability to divorce his emotions from his actions’. This colleague recalls Wallis at a leaving party strolling up to an executive whom he had shafted in his earlier career with a cheery smile and an extended hand, only to be told: ‘I’m not going to shake your hand until you’ve washed it.’ He collected libel writs like kids used to collect coins – ‘the Wallis Collection’ as it was known, with a nod to the Wallace Collection of fine art in central London.
Wallis made it his business to go drinking with top cops. In January 2005 he persuaded the retiring Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Sir John Stevens, to write a weekly column for the News of the World . It turned out that Wallis had been offering Stevens free PR advice for years and credited himself with helping Stevens into the commissioner’s chair. That, plus up to £7,000 a column, plus the promise to call him The Chief, even though Stevens was no longer a chief officer, landed the man.
In some newsrooms, Wallis was known as ‘the wolfman’, possibly because of a story he had written to the effect that the Yorkshire Ripper was a Jekyll and Hyde character who killed only on full moons. At the News of the World , he was known as ‘the rasping fuckwit’, which was partly a reflection of his breathy voice but also a straightforward sign of disrespect. The truth was a bit more complicated than that. A lot of reporters didn’t like him as a person, they didn’t trust him and they knew he was the kind of cynic who gives cynics a bad name, but they also knew that he was a highly effective hack. He was quick-witted and tough. He had good contacts, he could spin a story. He understood the business of tabloid journalism.
So News Corp’s demand for success at all costs was passed down from Andy Coulson’s office through Kuttner
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