For Queen and Currency: Audacious fraud, greed and gambling at Buckingham Palace

by Michael Gillard

  ‘Well, basically, he said you’re a fraudster, Paul.’

  ‘Well in certain terms, yeah. What do I do, Rich? The tax office has got its hand up my arse at the moment. Also, I’m shitting myself about the DPS.’

  ‘Are you going back in the Job [the police], Paul?’

  ‘I had a board for the airport, mate, I mean I rolled up in a fucking Carrera, mate, and people like go, ‘Who the fuck is that?’ I thought I’d stick out like a sore thumb. I should be coming back for six months to sort out my tax and pension.’

  ‘What, Royalty?’

  ‘I’m not coming back to Royalty. I was going to go Diplomatic Protection Group just to hide for six months and then fuck off. I’m getting my businesses sorted at the moment. I’ve got a car business as well. I’ve got a Bentley 930 if you want one of them for the day.’

  ‘Let me tell you how bad things are in my house. I had to run down to the auctions and buy myself a second-hand Honda Civic!’

  ‘Fucking hell! That is bad, mate.’

  ‘You know this tax investigation? You needed to show a bit more clarity to people.’

  ‘I spoke to my solicitor, do not tell any fucker, because I said to him, like, you know I told him that I was running an unofficial investment club, that’s what I called it. And when I started going into detail that’s when he said to me, “You know, you could be looking at time”. I don’t know if I told you that.’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘The last thing I was gonna do was give anyone copies of any fucking investigation. Imagine what old Mahaffy would do. He’d fucking stick it on his forehead and run around Jimmy’s. Not only that, fucking DPS would have been on me like a fucking rash, mate, and then I’d be nicked for bringing the Job into disrepute or whatever, do you know what I mean?’

  Page asked Humby not to tell anyone else except two former SO14 officers who had gone to the MoD Police.44 Humby said Surinder Mudhar was turning up for work at St James’s Palace looking ‘like something off the mortuary slab’. Page promised to call the Turbanator who, he was told, looked ‘suicidal’.

  But there was something else on his mind. ‘It’s gonna be like lions to the fucking, you know, I’ll be the Christian, there’ll be hundreds of lions come out wanting a piece of meat. So I’ll be careful who I give what to,’ said Page.

  ‘I won’t breathe a word. If you transfer money to my account it’s between you and me. I’ll wait for another fortnight, Paul.’

  ‘No worries.’

  ‘Take care, Paul.’

  ‘Take care, mate.’

  Beatrice Humby, Richard’s wife, had agreed to wait for their ‘cheese’. But after several weeks, when it was clear Page had lied again, she rang him at home.

  Laura answered the phone and Beatrice got straight to the point about the money. Before long the women were going at each other until Page took over the call and said he would be only too happy to pay her a visit.

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ Beatrice asked. ‘You and that wife of yours don’t have the balls to come and sort me out.’

  Beatrice hung up and immediately called her husband at work. ‘The Pages are screaming down the phone about paying us a visit,’ she told him. Richard Humby knew his wife could press people’s buttons. ‘Look,’ he said reassuringly, ‘don’t worry, it’s probably bluster, an empty threat. He’s a policeman, he’s not coming round in a menacing way.’

  But Beatrice was not convinced. ‘I told him he doesn’t have the balls to come and sort me out,’ she said. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Just ignore it. Let’s wait and see if any money does come, if Paul comes to his senses. Any more problems call me at work.’

  In the afternoon, Page called Humby at Jimmy’s. ‘I need to speak to you, Dick,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I need to speak to you. I’m tucked up with something. I know you spoke to my wife this morning, Paul, and I’m not particularly happy. Call me in ten.’

  Page agreed but never called back. Nor did the Humbys make a formal complaint. Instead, one night they drove to Page’s house and Beatrice took photographs of the Porsche and Range Rover on the drive as evidence of their continued standard of living.

  Humby had also discussed a further home visit to Page this time with two former SO14 colleagues who were now at the MoD Police. The most senior of the pair was Sergeant Jason Molen. He had spent thirteen years at Buckingham Palace, where at various times he had been in charge of the control room and issuing weapons to other officers. He was also security chief when the Queen summer holidayed at Balmoral Castle.

  Molen had avoided the Currency Club but was into property. Mahaffy had vouched for Page’s Midas touch at a time when Molen felt the rental income from his buy-to-let property was lying ‘dormant’ in an Alliance & Leicester building society account earning just 7 per cent interest. By comparison, Page was offering 30 per cent over seven months on a £8000 investment in the Esher conversion property. Molen convinced himself that this level of return was possible because the property market was ‘very buoyant’. He transferred the money to Laura’s Clippers account at NatWest before signing any contract.

  When the investment period was up, Molen started to get the run-around from Page. Only £1400 in cash had been paid, which was £1000 short of what he was promised. Molen, a part-time football referee, was left standing with just a whistle in his hand, when Page cancelled a meeting after a match to pay the remaining return. ‘I’ve got problems at home,’ he told Molen and made it up by sending him and his wife on a £2500 holiday to Israel in November 2005.

  The BAT-arranged trip also represented a commission payment to Molen for introducing two other SO14 sergeants, Rob Pearce and Barry Crosby. Page had wanted to keep Molen sweet because he was an influential officer at S014.45

  However, by June 2006, Molen had had enough. By now aware of the DPS investigation into Page, he drove early one summer morning with Humby and Pearce to confront him at home.

  When the door opened, Laura stood there, her boys playing noisily in the background. It was 7.30 am and she was trying to get them fed and ready for school

  ‘Can we speak to Paul?’ Molen asked.

  ‘He’s not in. He’s away on business in Bristol,’ she told the trio coldly.

  Within seconds, though, the conversation heated up.

  ‘Where’s our money? Humby demanded. ‘People have invested their life savings!’

  ‘I’ve got to take the kids to school. Go and get a coffee and come back later,’ Laura told them.

  The three policemen went back to their car and watched her leave on the school run. Some fifteen minutes later, she returned with the youngest Harry, who was now almost two years old. The trio walked purposely again to the doorstep and rang the bell.

  ‘If Paul doesn’t ring tonight I’m going to the DPS,’ Molen told Laura. She had no idea what this meant. ‘Tell him Barry Crosby wants his money too. He can’t be here because he’s now retired to Spain but I’m looking after his interests,’ Molen added.

  Humby then chipped in. There was no love lost between him and Laura. ‘I’m not going down the route of solicitors. I’ve got my own methods,’ he told her.

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘Take it whichever way you want,’ Humby replied.

  ‘You all knew what you was letting yourselves in for. You all knew it was high risk. You’re greedy. Can you now leave my house?’

  The SO14 officers suddenly felt wary of looking oppressive. Especially as Molen believed Humby was secretly recording the heated and unequal encounter.46

  When Page learned of the visit later that day he swapped a few texts with Molen. One, in particular, stood out. Page texted: ‘It’s all gone wrong. I’m just looking after my family. That’s the end of it.’

  Laura had her own problems with creditors coming to the house after the collapse of Wicked Wardrobe in the summer of 2006. The ladies boutique had lasted just over six months. It was a failure foretold h
aving rented in the wrong location and bought high-end stock for a low-end market.

  One fashion supplier knocked on her door in May wanting settlement of a £4000 debt. She invited him in and he explained how he’d tried unsuccessfully to call her but in the end spoke to what he thought was Laura’s partner, who said she was merely an employee.

  ‘Look. I’m really sorry. I ran up a lot of debt when I set up Wicked Wardrobe,’ Laura explained. ‘But don’t worry. My husband’s a trader and he will pay it off at the end of the week.’

  The supplier bought the story. The Porsche and Range Rover on the drive gave it credibility, he convinced himself. But when the money never appeared, the matter was passed to the courts for resolution.

  Maria Abraham, the sales agent of another supplier, was given a more revealing spiel when she came round in June after Laura had stopped taking her calls. Laura would only talk on the doorstep. Maria felt she was very nervous and unhappy.

  ‘I’ll be honest with you. My husband has more or less stopped working because of depression. I’m worried about him and about losing my house.’

  Maria hadn’t met Page but knew from Laura that he had put £60,000 into setting up the business.

  ‘He’s become more depressed and aggressive since his dad died and now his mum’s terminally ill and in hospital. Give me ten days and you’ll have your money. I promise.’

  Again, the fancy cars on the drive encouraged Maria to believe that the family was good for a few thousand pounds. Again, the money was never paid and the matter passed to debt collectors.47

  Laura was telling some truth to her creditors about her husband’s mental state. He was depressed only she didn’t know by how much. His drinking was getting worse and he was starting to take less pride in his appearance.

  Often nowadays when the bell rang Page would hide in the house and whisper to his wife, ‘You answer it and tell them to fuck off!’ She would do his bidding but it was in defence of her family not of her dishevelled husband. When the caller had been seen off, Laura would find Page in some alcove and give him a mouthful.

  ‘How dare you make me have to do that,’ she’d yell at him. It was not the act of lying that annoyed her. It was that her once cocksure husband was now cutting a pathetic figure at home, incapable of taking care of business and looking after his family.

  At Page’s request the blinds were now almost always shut in the house. He had taken to sitting silently by the front window looking at the cul-de-sac.

  ‘Who’s that? What’s his game?’ he’d say to himself or Laura as she passed through the sitting room.

  ‘Paul, you’re paranoid!’

  £ £ £

  A letter containing catastrophic news for Mark and Sufia Copley dropped through their letterbox at Barn C on 7 July 2006. Lawyers acting for Mortgage Guarantee informed the couple they were repossessing all three barns. The legal letter went on to say that the Copleys had ‘exercised unauthorised occupation’ of Barn C and would have to leave immediately or face court eviction proceedings.

  The notification threw the family into a panic not least because their two young children were settled in local schools and would shortly be homeless. Mark Copley immediately texted Humby explaining that agents for Mortgage Guarantee had padlocked the now repossessed barns. Humby in turn texted Page but got no reply. However, on the Jimmy’s grapevine he heard that Page was telling others it was all part of his plan to raise cash and steady the ship.

  Since March, Page had been promising Mortgage Guarantee that he would pay them £100,000. By 24 May 2006, the finance company tired of the excuses and demanded full repayment of the loan, which was now a little shy of one million pounds. The development was not even in a finished state to sell and Mortgage Guarantee felt the work that had been done ‘fell well below building regulations’.

  In the days leading up to Copley receiving the legal repossession notification, his colleague Jim Mahaffy had notified Mortgage Guarantee of an interim charging order on the barns to the value of £151,000 that his lawyers had obtained against the Pages.

  For their part, the Copleys fought through lawyers to remain at Barn C. They explained to Mortgage Guarantee how £150,000 was paid to Page towards buying the barn, albeit in a very unorthodox way. The finance firm was unmoved and ordered them out by the end of the year but not before the Copleys put their own charge on the barns. The Humbys did the same for £131,000 but it was debatable, even in a boom market, whether after Mortgage Guarantee had taken its share there would be any equity left in the barns once they were finished and sold.

  The three Jimmy’s officers had also opened another front in their quest to get money back: they were now giving information to the Operation Aserio team from the Met’s anti-corruption squad.48

  £ £ £

  In mid-March 2006, Steve Phillips stopped at the Riverside Inn for a chat with Bristol landlady Anne Carter. She was one of his customers but, on this occasion, he wasn’t selling fruit and veg.

  ‘I’m leaving my job, Anne, to work for my friend.’

  ‘That’s a big step, Steve. Who is he?’

  ‘He’s a Royal Protection officer in the Metropolitan Police who’s taken time off to run a property business. I’ve been working for him on the side getting investors from around here, which is what I wanted to talk to you about. Property development is a good way of making money, Anne. There’s short- and long-term investments available.’

  ‘It is appealing, Steve. But I’d only be interested in a short-term investment. I’ve got my own money and the money I owe on VAT to invest, but I’d need that back by August.’

  ‘I’ll speak to Paul Page – he’s the boss of United Land and Property Developments, the company I’ll be working for – and see what short-term opportunities there are and then get back to you.’

  Despite all the problems of the last year, Philips was still very interested in Page’s recent offer to work full time as his Bristol agent. There was talk of redundancies at the catering firm where he worked and Page was offering a salary of £2000 per month, use of a Porsche and the possibility of expansion. He’d also asked Phillips to look for a suitable shop in the Clifton area of Bristol where he and Laura were thinking of opening a kitchen-fitting business, another boutique or a luxury car-hire firm for him to manage.

  As far as Phillips could see, Page had good contacts in all three sectors. New kitchens were being offered to Bristol investors in lieu of returns, although none had ever been fitted. Meanwhile, his wife had reported back, after visiting Wicked Wardrobe the previous year, that the clothes range was impressive. Of course, unknown to the couple, by the time of the job offer the boutique was bust and creditors were looking for Laura.

  The Pages saw Bristol as an escape route from their London situation. What to Phillips looked like a chance to be part of a growing business in a housing bubble was, for Page, a flight from an escalating fraud.

  He maintained the charade by asking Phillips to send his P45, a copy of his passport and his last wage slip for ULPD’s accountant, who didn’t exist.

  Phillips already had a number of good reasons to question Page’s business ethic and stay well clear of the job offer: investors close to him had not been paid their returns; Page’s explanation that his accounts were frozen by an Inland Revenue investigation should have rung alarm bells, especially as cheques had bounced, loan repayments to his wife and cousin had stopped, his mum had not received money on her loan to the mysterious Premier League footballer and there was a spread-betting account where the balance went up and down. But Phillips appears to have ignored all this for the glitter of fool’s gold.

  A few weeks later, he was back at the Riverside Inn as a newly appointed ULPD employee.

  ‘I can offer you a two-month investment opportunity, Anne. If you invest £20,000 in ULPD we will guarantee you a 30 per cent return. That’s £6000 in eight weeks,’ he told her enthusiastically.

  Anne Carter needed little convincing. She signed the contract
Phillips had prepared and gave him £20,000 in cash. On leaving the pub, Phillips spoke to Page who arranged to meet him halfway between London and Bristol. At the Junction 8 service station on the M4, Phillips handed over £19,000 of Carter’s money. Page told him he could keep £1000 for himself as commission.

  Days later, Phillips was back on the phone asking the publican if she knew anyone else who would invest. But Carter wasn’t willing to introduce others to the scheme until she saw some readies.

  ‘When I’ve got my £6000 and my investment back I will introduce you to other publicans I know, Steve. You can meet them in my pub and tell them all about it.’

  Phillips reported this back to Page, who pulled up the £6000 return two weeks before it was due. Anne Carter was impressed and told Phillips she would re-invest the £20,000 in a similar scheme. She also recommended him to Marcus Williams, her stock taker and the son of another local publican who owned the Hauliers Arms. ‘He’s someone who can make some money for us,’ she told Marcus.

  On 12 May, he and his father, David Williams, met Phillips at the Riverside Inn and signed a contract to invest £30,000 for one month at 35 per cent. They were encouraged by the fact that Anne Carter had received such a healthy return on her initial investment and was now rolling it over with an extra £15,000 in cash, which she gave Phillips the same day.

  Page drove to Bristol five days later to thank Williams and his son for their investment, which they were told was returnable at any time. However, no sooner did the £30,000 hit Phillips’s HSBC account then it was transferred to the CMC account in his wife’s name. Had David Williams known this he would not have agreed to put in a further £10,000 a few weeks later, which Page had claimed was vital for buying some land. This time, Williams agreed to transfer the money to the NatWest account of Page’s father, Terry, who also put it all into a CMC account he too had opened for his son to use.

  During these days between May and June, Page and Phillips hoovered up new investors that the Bristol publicans had innocently recommended. Phillips would warm them up with an excitable pitch then Page would arrive in his Porsche, a day or so later, smartly dressed with development plans under his arm to seal the deal at a pub or Tesco café. He would ask for cash where possible, saying all his was tied up in property at the moment. Alternatively, he asked for the funds to be transferred to a family member’s bank account.49