RENFORD SALMON- CRIMES THAT ROCKED THE NATION

Published July 5, 2012 | By

Renford Solomon: A serial killer with a heart of stone
Crimes that rocked the nation
Sybil E Hibbert

Sunday, April 01, 2012

CAN a mother’s tender care cease towards the child she bears?
This was the question posed to me, shortly before 30-year-old Renford Solomon, part-time gardener of a Spanish Town Road address in Kingston, was to answer to five counts of murder in the No 1 Home Circuit Court.

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Solomon was alleged to have murdered his employers, their nine-year-old daughter, the helper, and the live-in gardener. He was defended by Millard Johnson (of the family of well-known Johnson’s Drive-Inn on Maxfield Avenue) and E K Banjoko (formerly Brown).
The soft-spoken, broad-shouldered young man, was the kind of chap one passes daily on our streets and lanes in Jamaica — quiet, unassuming, penetrating eyes that never seemed to blink, and an engaging smile.
So what in the world could have triggered such vicious, inhumane, and, at the same time, senseless behaviour? Such as would arouse Solomon to turn upon a man of years, Sidney Campbell, and his wife, operators of a bicycle shop on Harbour Street in downtown Kingston, his daughter and household employees, snuffing out their lives in one fell swoop?
Evidence in court as to how Solomon was alleged to have grabbed the nine-year-old and slashed her throat as she begged for her life, caused the jury of mostly women to sob softly in their handkerchiefs.
Understandably, the trial judge, Justice Lincoln Robinson, took a brief recess, to allow the poignant moment to pass. Earlier, the case had been put for trial before Chief Justice Kenneth Smith, but due to his reported indisposition, it was put back one week and thus came before Justice Robinson.
It was a time in Jamaica’s history — during the 1960s — when a strange type of killing was taking place all over, with special reference to Upper St Andrew. Women were especially targeted. The victims would be found with their throats slashed. It happened in different communities; sometimes, more than one incident on the same night. At each murder scene would be written in blood on the walls of the house: ” By the time this is discovered, I will be in Cuba.”
The police were clueless! An all-island alert was posted. Manhunt after manhunt was mounted, to no avail. Every clue led to a dead end. Panic, fear and a growing cry by the public for quick action on the part of Government began to spread.
And then there appeared a light at the end of the tunnel.
The police had begun to turn their attention to the missing live-in gardener because his body had not yet been found. Solomon had been interviewed and it was established that on the day of the murders, he would not have been expected to be at work, so it was assumed he was not the murderer.
Two significant things happened.
One: The gardener’s body was discovered in a yam field on the property after the Campbells’ dog started scratching frantically at the spot.
Two: Solomon’s mother, thought to be a woman of high repute, though living in what is called today the “inner city”, took a decision; a decision which, if more mothers, parents could or would have the courage so to do, Jamaica would be a better place.
There was no question that she loved her son; she loved him so much, she told the Circuit Court, that she felt she had to protect him from himself, and so, save others. She grieved for the Campbell family and the other victims. She did not want others to die at the hands of her son, Renford Solomon.
Her testimony was so moving that at the end of her evidence-in-chief that first morning, Solomon asked a policeman in the holding area at the cell blocks of the Supreme Court to call me as he wished to speak to me.
Now, I did not know Solomon before the trial. But I noticed that during his mother’s testimony he kept staring at me. A lesser mortal would probably have been terrified. I still remember his piercing eyes. He had the kind of penetrating stare that never seemed to waver.
‘I should have killed her too!’
I went down to the cell block and spoke to him through the rails. He told the policeman standing nearby, obviously as his duty demanded, that he wished some privacy. I nodded. The policeman shifted his position slightly.
Then Solomon asked me the question: “Can a mother’s tender care cease towards the child she bears?”
I was wondering why he asked me that question. He had two barristers-at-law defending him. So I posed the question that was on my mind: why ask me that question when I am not your attorney? He told me, he believed I would tell him the truth.
And right then I did. I told him quite frankly that no jury in the world, after hearing a mother testify as his mother had testified, could return any other verdict than one of guilty of murder.
Solomon stared at me, always with that penetrating stare, for what seemed like an eternity. Then he said in a slow, deliberate and deadly voice:
“Mrs Hibbert, (I didn’t even know he knew my name) I made one mistake”
“And what was that?” I asked.
He continued to stare at me and in the same tone of voice said: “I should have killed her too!”
I thought it was time for me to leave. I needed time to think. My head felt as if it was suddenly stuffed with cotton or gauze or some such light material. I totally forgot lunch.
On the resumption at two o’clock that day, Solomon’s mother was rigorously cross-examined by Johnson. She stuck to her story; if anything, the cross-examination only helped to strengthen the prosecution’s case.
Solomon elected to give an unsworn statement from the prisoner’s dock, as was his right. In that statement, he denied knowledge of all the accusations. He said his mother and brother, a soldier in the Jamaica Defence Force, had concocted the murder story in an effort to frame him.
The prosecution argued that Solomon, the part-time gardener, only visited the Campbells’ home three days per week; and he was very kind, especially to the nine-year-old, Campbell’s only child.
The picture painted by neighbours, family members of the Campbells and others was such that no one, including the police, suspected the quiet, unassuming Solomon. He had been routinely checked and seemed to have passed the test.
But at Spanish Town Road, things were quite different!
Solomon’s mother said she had no radio; she never heard of the murders until some time after. She had noticed that her son was not going to work and when she enquired of him what had happened, he told her his employers were travelling.
Days later, she noticed some “bloody” clothes in a pan of water outside in the yard. She said nothing. She did a search inside their one-room dwelling and found some foreign-looking coins and other items, which she suspected did not belong to her son. Then he came upon her looking at one of the coins and her life changed dramatically thereafter.
She told the court that her son threatened to kill her if she told anyone in the tenement yard where they lived — about what she had seen. He ordered her to wash the bloody clothes; she was not allowed to leave the room, and if Solomon was going out — which was rare — he would lock her in.
Then one day, her younger son, a soldier, visited. Solomon acted as if everything was normal and advised her to do likewise. She appeared to co-operate. However, Solomon made the mistake of stepping outside briefly. That was her cue. She hastily wrote three words on a piece of paper — CALL THE POLICE — and squeezed the paper into the palm of her younger son’s hand, as if she had been shaking his hand in farewell.
She told the court that her younger son seemed to have sensed that all was not well and he bade a hasty farewell. Mercifully, Solomon, it seemed at the time, was unaware that anything had gone awry.
Obeah, D’Lawrence and Satanic rituals
Within minutes, a squad of police and soldiers descended on the Spanish Town Road residence and the very surprised Renford Solomon was taken into custody, the court heard.
The premises were searched. Some personal effects belonging to Sydney Campbell were found — among them some rare foreign coins, of which he was known to be a collector.
Also taken from the premises were Solomon’s clothes, some of them still showing traces of blood; a knife resembling a dagger (which forensic evidence proved was the murder weapon); and some literature on “Obeah” and “D’Lawrence”, which the court was told had to do with certain Satanic rituals. All these items were exhibited in court.
Forensic and handwriting experts gave evidence to prove the writings in blood on the walls, both at the residence of the Campbells and at other murder scenes, were done by one person — Renford Solomon.
After his conviction for murder in relation to Millicent Campbell, the wife of Sydney Campbell, and the sentence of death was pronounced, Solomon had nothing to say. I went down to the cell block to witness him being fingerprinted.
He appeared as cool as a cucumber. When he put his right hand out for his fingerprints to be taken, it was steady as a rock! Same thing with the left hand. That told me he was as cold as ice!
He turned and stared at me as I entered, and said quite matter-of-factly: “You know I’m going to appeal?”
I managed a faint smile.
I have seen some convicted persons who, prior to conviction, appeared as large as life, but when crunch time came, both their legs and their tongues seem to have migrated and left them. Others fall into a coma and have to be lifted downstairs to the cell blocks, and there have been worse cases. But Renford Solomon is one of the rare ones. In over 40 years, I have seen fewer than 12 persons convicted for murder react like him.
Having exhausted all avenues of appeal, the date with the hangman was finally set.
I was in the No 1 Home Circuit Court on the morning preceding the scheduled hanging at Spanish Town when Millard Johnson, Solomon’s lead attorney, asked the court sergeant to call me. I went outside.
Johnson told me that he had been to the St Catherine District Prison to see Solomon that morning and that Solomon had asked him to get me to come to see him. He wanted to speak with me.
I was tempted. I thought about what a great story that would be. My interviewing a prisoner who was about to take that final walk to meet his maker! And he knew beforehand that he would be doing so in hours, then minutes, then seconds, then… It was mind-boggling! What if Solomon confessed? How would I handle it?
I was standing there for what seemed like an eternity, my mind racing in respect of the endless possibilities therein, when Johnson brought me back to earth: “We have to go now! Time is of the utmost!”
Then it hit me. I suddenly recalled a story I had heard about a man on Death Row who had been granted a last wish before his execution. He wished to see his mother. She was taken to the prison. The prisoner asked his mother to come closer so he could give her one final hug. She stepped forward and as she did so, the prisoner leaned forward and bit off her ear. The prisoner reportedly said that had she corrected him as a child, he would not have ended up where he was.
I decided to second-guess myself and telephoned my husband, Isadore Hibbert, who at that time was stationed at the Half-Way-Tree Police Station. I told him what I had planned to do — to visit Renford Solomon on Death Row, to interview him.
His sharp retort was: “You must be crazy!”
That put paid to that! The following morning, it was the first item on the news. Renford Solomon had cheated the hangman by committing suicide in his cell the previous night. He had used his undershirt to hang himself.
It has been a long time now but I still wonder just what he had wanted to tell me.
Sybil E Hibbert is a veteran journalist and retired court reporting specialist; send comments to [email protected]
Next week: The Mary Lynch murder trial