Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) (13 page)

              Social Services agreed that if I returned I could see M, but they would not fix a date or time.  I thought I'd pinned them down eventually and the police had also agreed that they wouldn't arrest me if I came to the station voluntarily and gave a statement.

              I called a taxi to take me to the airport.  I'd returned the hire car I had been using and spent the fifty mile journey in a high state of anxiety.  In the meantime my Drama Club friend had drafted a statement for me to take with me and I was armed with this.  However, once I'd checked in, he called me on my mobile to say that the Department had reneged on their agreement and his advice was to stay put until we had a definite arrangement.  I was devastated but have to admit a little relieved, as I didn't trust them and this latest turn of events, confirmed my fears. 

              I headed back to my flat feeling dismal and having wasted a great deal of money on taxis and plane fares.  I waited again to hear from the authorities and at last a week later they agreed to a time for contact with M.  This time they confirmed in writing and the D.I. warned me that if I didn’t come back on that date I would be picked up in the UK and brought back.  I agreed to their conditions and this time Andrew drove me to the airport for moral support.  I was very fortunate in my friendship with these two wonderful men who had become almost family to me.

              I spent an anxious time in the Departure lounge when Andrew and I eventually said our goodbyes. I had the pre-written statement in my hand luggage, prepared by my lawyer friend but was not entirely comfortable with its content. It had been drafted it in such a way as to suggest I had run as a knee- jerk reaction and taken M for a holiday and to have some time with him before he was taken, that I had intended to come back to the Island before long and had been making preparations to do so when he was taken.  He hoped, in this way they would be lenient with me, but my gut feeling was that it would have been better to come clean and say I had run, after all, I had cause to do so. 

              It was not the first time that I had taken advice with which I was not comfortable and went against my nature to always be entirely honest and straight.  It was another hard lesson I was about to learn that trusting your gut feeling and your intuition is always the best thing to do.  Even if others are well-intentioned, it is your inner voice and conscience that steer you along the right path or at least the one you can live with and I wished at that moment I had listened to mine. It was too late to do anything about it now and he persuaded me this was my best hope.  I was to pay heavily for this mistake later on.

              I still hoped to come back to the UK after I had seen M and given my statement and so I had left most of my possessions in the apartment.  It was to be a pivotal date and one that will stay with me forever.   On the 29
th
October 2009, I flew back to the Island that had destroyed me and my son, my heart in my mouth, unsure what lay ahead. 

Chapter 8

              At the point of landing, my heart was pounding so loudly, I wondered if those around me could hear it.  I had dressed smartly in a suit as I wanted the police to see that I was a sensible, respectable person and hoped that that would create the right impression.  I also knew would feel more confident if I presented myself well. 

              I had arranged for my friend Jan to meet me at the airport and had been keeping in close contact with her via mobile and email.  She had agreed to come with me to do the police interview and for the second time I breathed a sigh of relief to see a friend rather than police officer on arrival.

              Jan and I drove to a pub in the south of the Island to meet with my father and have lunch.  My appointment at the main HQ was not scheduled to take place until 3pm so we tried to have a relaxed lunch, which of course was an impossibility.  I could barely eat one mouthful and the Island already felt oppressive and terrifying.  I downed stiff drink to calm my nerves, but I was so frightened, nothing could have taken the edge off.

              At just after 2pm, we left the pub and I hugged my father who still believed that I would be released later that afternoon and had made a cottage pie for supper.  From his position of total integrity, honesty and unwavering belief that justice would prevail , he could not perceive the danger that lay ahead and was still confident that the nightmare would eventually end.  I did not share his optimism and fully expected the police to go back on their word.  History told me that none of the authorities were to be trusted and were a law unto themselves.  I could not have envisaged what lay ahead though even in my wildest dreams.

              When we got to the station, I checked in at reception and told them who I was.  I was told I was late and had been due at 1pm.  This was the first sign that things were not going to go smoothly.  I told them that I had had an email from the D.I. which clearly stated that I should arrive at 3pm.  The woman behind the desk didn't believe me and I didn't have it with me, but she told us to wait in reception whilst she contacted him. 

              It seemed like hours until he and another female officer arrived.  In reality it was probably no more than twenty minutes.  The female officer was already familiar to me as she had taken a statement from me in regards to the initial allegations of abuse.  I had not felt she was sympathetic then.  She was heavily made up, young,  sporting a sun-bed tan with sunglasses perched on top of her head, despite it being Autumn.  She was not someone who gave you confidence in taking matters such as these seriously, but like many young officers who climb the ladder quickly, she had an air of great self-importance and seemed to be enjoying my clear discomfort.  She was patronising towards me and called me by my first name in very much the same tone as a school teacher might speak to a wayward pupil, it made my blood boil.  I must have had at least fifteen years on her. I tried not to look at her and inwardly prayed that the interview would be over quickly. 

              I had been advised by my Drama Club friend to stick to the statement and not elaborate.  I read it through whilst I was waiting, still uneasy at the suggestion we had gone on holiday, but it was all I had to rely on now and I knew I would just have to proceed  with it as it stood and hope for the best.

              Jan asked if she could accompany me to the interview room, but this was refused. I began to feel panic rising, as they closed the door behind her and took me through to the custody suite.  I had no idea what to expect. I had never been in trouble with the police in my life and was completely daunted by what ahead.

              The D.I. was tall, solidly built, bald and resembled Grant Mitchell from the soap,
Eastenders
.  He would not have looked out of place as a bouncer outside a London Club.  His face registered no emotion and he had an air of boredom and grim-faced determination.  I knew the police were unlikely to go easy on me, especially as they had looked extremely incompetent for letting me get away in front of them. They now had an axe to grind and they were going to grind it hard.

              I was first taken into the reception area of the custody suite whilst I had all of my belongings taken from me.  I was asked to remove all jewellery, even a chain that held the locket with a picture of M and I in that I had not removed since I had bought it in America.  On the same chain I wore a sapphire pendant that M had bought for me on our last holiday together in Mexico and I begged to be allowed to keep them, but was told I couldn't. 

              I knew it was important to be cooperative and I told myself that this would soon be over.  I would give my statement and be at my Dad’s within a couple of hours and able to relax and enjoy a home-cooked meal and look forward to seeing M first thing in the morning which was scheduled for ten a.m. at a contact centre.  I held onto this thought hard as I handed over my chain, my earrings, my watch and finally my shoes.  My details were then read out to me and the contents of my handbag, including my asthma inhalers, money, passport, cheque book and mobile phone were put into small plastic bags. I then signed a piece of paper to say that the contents had been recorded correctly. 

              After the detailing had been done, I was given a search not dissimilar to the kind of body search one gets before boarding a plane if the bleeper goes off.  It was not too daunting, but was to be the first of many much more intrusive experiences that I would face.

              “Follow me.” Said the D.I abruptly.  I did so in my stocking feet, clutching my statement which I had been allowed to keep.  I expected to be taken into some kind of waiting room and was horrified when I was then put into a dirty prison cell and the iron door shut and locked behind me.  Now I was really panicking as I had no idea how long I would be there.  The female officer told me - “you just have to wait here, we have nowhere else to put you.”  Clearly that was not true, but the police were determined to avenge themselves and I was about to pay dearly for ridiculing them by getting away.

              It was now about 4pm from my estimation.   I felt an increasing sense of panic which was made worse by the sound of what I assumed was a drunken prisoner in a cell opposite mine kicking at his door over and over and yelling obscenities.  I knew I didn’t belong there and I still believed that they would come back soon and let me out, but hours passed without anything happening and I sat on the thin bench, now needing to go to the toilet, but not wishing to use the dirty metal container in the corner. 

              I knew I was being observed as there was a camera on the wall and a curved mirror.  I hated the idea of someone watching me.  I held on, believing that soon I would be let out to give my interview and trying to control my increasing sense of anxiety.  I didn't know how long they could legally detain me.  I had never been held in custody before.  I heard the custody sergeant screaming at the drunk and telling him to “shut the fuck up.”  It was horrible and I had to cover my ears with my hands in a vain attempt to drown out the noise. 

              I pressed the buzzer on the wall and the letterbox opening in the cell door was slid back.  “Yes?”  The custody sergeant shouted, sounding annoyed.  I asked if they had managed to contact a lawyer yet for me.  He said he had tried all the names I had given him without success.  He said “you’ll have to wait for duty counsel to get here and it won’t be until at least 6pm”.  I began to protest but he'd already gone. What time was it now?  I had no idea.  I was in darkness.  I had nothing but my fears and thoughts to occupy me and it felt like hours had passed already.  I had always been claustrophobic and I was becoming increasingly anxious as the minutes ticked by slowly.  I was freezing cold, dressed only in a thin cotton suit and shirt and trembling with fear, exhaustion and had the first signs of a fever.  I began to sob silent tears as I clutched my knees to my chest. 

              After what seemed like several more hours the cell door was unlocked.  “You need to be examined by a doctor to see if you’re fit to be detained,” a red-faced cop yelled at me.  I followed him out, breathing a sigh of relief.  I was sure that I had an upper respiratory infection and was starting to wheeze and my forehead felt damp and hot despite the cold.  I hoped the doctor would say I was unfit and end this terrible ordeal. 

              The doctor was faceless and nameless.  I couldn't even now recollect what he looked like.  I can only remember that he seemed about forty and was largely disinterested.  I explained that I was asthmatic and thought I was coming down with a respiratory infection, but my temperature didn’t register and he declared me fit, after asking me if I was suicidal to which I replied no – but deep down wondering how I might feel if they held me many more hours.  I reminded them that I was allowed one phone call – recalling a television detective series I watched in the past. They conceded to this and I rang my friend Jan who had been regularly phoning the station.  I had already given her several numbers to call should the worst happen.  We had laughed about it at the time not really believing it would, but she knew what would have transpired when I was taken into custody and had already informed my father, Andrew and Shaun and John Hemming who was still following our case.  She'd also tried to contact my drama school lawyer friend. All were sympathetic, but they were powerless to do anything other than to advise to hang on for duty counsel who surely must come soon.

              I was taken back to the cell and locked in again.  It was now dark outside and I prayed to God they wouldn't keep me all night.  I knew I must find a way to control the panic that was overwhelming me and in the end I buzzed and risked their further annoyance by asking for a magazine.  I was given some old
Telegraph
supplements which I read from cover to cover repeatedly without taking in a single word.

              By around 6pm, or so I was told that was the time, I had no way of knowing,  the duty counsel had been and gone.  He had recused himself on the grounds that he was conflicted.  I had not heard of him, so was not sure where the conflict lay, but was now informed that I must wait for someone else and that they may not be able to get there until the morning as it was now getting late.  I wept more silent tears as the custody sergeant again shut the opening in the cell door and went back to the opposite cell to shout further obscenities at my fellow detainee.

              I was a caged animal with no escape, facing possible endless night in this dirty cell, all for trying to protect my innocent child who I now had not seen for six weeks.  I knew I had to get through this and focused on my need to see M to keep me strong through the hours that stretched interminably before me.

              The stench of urine was overwhelming.  I had now been wanting to use the toilet for over three hours, but still could not face using the filthy metal toilet.  I was sure that an advocate must arrive soon and I would be bailed.  Hours more passed and by then my temperature was starting to rise.  Another doctor was called to examine me.  This time it was a lady doctor and she was more sympathetic. She confirmed I had an upper respiratory infection and prescribed me some antibiotics.  However, this was still insufficient for me to avoid detention and the only advantage was that she persuaded them to let me use the staff toilet in the custody suite.  This was not much cleaner than the one in the cell, but at least it had a basin and soap so I could wash my hands.  I had to have a police officer standing outside the door watching me which was humiliating.

              I was led back to the cell then and the heavy door banged shut and locks turned.  It seemed less and less likely that I would be giving a statement that night.  My heart pounded loudly in my chest with fear.  I hadn’t even noticed that I hadn't eaten or been offered any food since I was taken into custody.

              At nine p.m. another duty counsel arrived at last.  I was let out of the cell and taken to a small room with a table and two plastic chairs.  The advocate came in and introduced himself in a strong Scottish accent. I had never come across him before.  He seemed arrogant and disinterested in my plight. He said a strange thing which was “No one believed you then and no one believes you now”.  I had not yet discussed my case, so I asked him what he meant.  He said “the sexual abuse, no one believes you.”  I was aghast.  It appeared this man knew all about the case, but how?  Had the police informed him?  But it seemed he had already taken a biased position against me and I wondered how he could  possibly represent me if this was the case.  I pleaded with him nonetheless to get me out of custody.  I showed him the prepared statement and he told me I should go with the statement and stick to that and nothing else – “you won’t get bailed tonight though.”  He said registering no emotion.  You’re going to be in here for the night.  I caught a flicker of cruel satisfaction in his face and I guessed he was well in with the police and enjoying my suffering.  There was another reason he was not sympathetic, but I didn't learn this until later.  In fact, they couldn’t have given me anyone worse.

              The interview took almost an hour.  The same bald-headed thuggish officer and bimbo-style police woman took me through endless questions.  Mostly I gave a "no comment" response, other than what was in my prepared statement.  I was asked about why I had transferred my house to my father a few weeks before we left for Florida but I told them it was to raise funds for our case. This was to some extent true, but obviously in our darkest moments we had considered fleeing.  My former advocate was always suggesting I ran too, telling me that there was no way of getting justice in a Island's Court.  Despite all this, we had not made a firm decision to go until the night of the fateful Multi-Agency Meeting where they had told me they were going to remove M from me and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.  He would then be placed with his father in the UK within four weeks.  What mother who loved her child would have willingly handed him over to a paedophile?