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. Despi
te 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?
My statement was faxed over to the Attorney General to see if he might grant me bail. Unsurprisingly, he did not. After all he was the brother of our family Court Judge, as is often the case in small communities. The same Judge who had passed the Prohibited Steps Order, had had me placed on penal notice, and had passed the Care Order seeking M’s removal from me- ex parte – there were no end to his crimes. This Judge was clearly unfit and now his brother was protecting him. Probably there was something more sinister going on. Who knew? Perhaps there was something being covered up, like a ring? The Island was not unlike Jersey and everyone knew what had happened there. None of this made sense and as the long hours of night stretched before me, a never-ending nightmare, I wondered how this situation had happened. What else could I have done?
Perhaps if we had not elicited the help of my father we would still be safe in Florida? But then without his help we couldn't have fled. Should we have gone to the UK, as another friend of mine had done? She had succeeded in thwarting the Court, but only because her ex had run out of funds and didn't deep down, really want full custody of her son – the son he had wounded with a knife. Should we have gone to Ireland like other mothers had done? Ireland where mothers were sacred and protected. But then with a predominantly Catholic society that placed the Virgin Mary in the highest position in the Holy Order, one must expect that. Having said that, there was much unrest around the Catholic Church and certainly paedophilia was rife amongst Priests. Since 2009, many rings have been exposed around the Church.
Where was safe? I had run as a reaction to a dangerous situation – I had run to protect and save M and yet here I now was a prisoner in a dirty cell with who knew what ahead of me. M was with strangers of whom I knew nothing at all. I wondered if they were kind, if they cuddled him when he cried for his mummy in the night. I spent the long hours in isolation turning over these questions in my mind.
I was eventually charged with Child Abduction and detailed again – finger prints, photographs and my personal data all entered on the computer. At least it kept me out of the cell for half an hour whilst they completed it.
At just before eleven p.m. by my estimation, I was returned to the cell and they eventually brought me some food, if you could call it food. It was a microwave chilli con carne and it was disgusting. It was one of the cheapest variety and given how ill I was now feeling, I did not want it anyway. I forced two mouthfuls of the brown sludge down my throat, only because I needed to take an antibiotic and it had to be taken with food. I was not allowed to have my medicine in the cell, so had to wait for them to bring it. I swallowed it with some water and shortly after that they dimmed the lights, increasing my sense of fear and isolation. I knew they were watching me and I pulled the rough blue dirty blanket over my knees and prayed for morning to come.
Soon after they had brought my food, I heard the man in the cell opposite being taken somewhere – I guessed it was to prison. The custody sergeant yelled at him, “down on your knees you bastard”. They must have been cuffing him, as I heard the clanking of chains and the man was screaming obscenities back. I heard the heavy thud of his steps going down the corridor and then the screams became fainter and now I was truly alone. In a way, whilst the man scared me, the thought that other human life was nearby had been strangely comforting, now I might be the only person in the custody suite, there was absolutely no way of knowing.
A few minutes later the letterbox was pulled open and the custody sergeant barked at me. “Go to sleep.” I had been lying with my eyes shut, so I didn't know how he could tell I wasn’t asleep. I was also freezing cold and shivering from my temperature. There was no way I could go to sleep. “Can I have another blanket please?” I begged the angry face through the letterbox. “No.” He yelled back. “Go to sleep or we might keep you here all weekend.” My God, could they do that? Cold fear rose up in my chest and I thought I may be sick. I felt dizzy and hot. I put my head on my knees and wept. Minutes later the custody sergeant was back. “If you don’t fucking go to sleep, you’ll be in here for five days.” I had no idea if that was even legal. I later discovered they couldn’t detain me without a Court Order, but that night, with no knowledge of protocol, I was utterly terrified. The Custody Sergeant was clearly enjoying the sport of bullying me and now that the drunk had left, he had turned his attentions to me as a way of passing the tedium of the night.
With his threats fresh in my mind, there was even less chance of sleep. I kept my eyes tightly closed and hugged my knees closer to my chest shivering. Every so often the angry sergeant would come back and yell at me saying he knew I was not really asleep. I felt tortured and was terrified that they would keep me there for days or transfer me directly to the prison – even that seemed a better option than staying in the filthy cell. Whenever I did open my eyes, praying for light, it was still dark through the cell window – night seemed interminable. I knew I had to get through this as a way back to M, so I held onto the thought of seeing him and tried to fill my head with images of happier times when we were still together.
Finally dawn came and with it a change of custody sergeant. I was handed some breakfast through the shaft in the door at what must have been around six a.m. It was another micro-waved hot meal – over-cooked to the point of solidifying and inedible. Congealed scrambled synthetic egg, rubberised bacon and a sausage that could not be cut – I tried to swallow something so that I could take my antibiotic, but all I could manage was one bite of the sausage which was like chewing a pencil eraser. I pressed the buzzer on the wall to alert the custody sergeant that I needed my meds. He came and brought it back with him, opening the cell door, he threw it on the floor – a floor that had clearly been urinated on many times. “Oops”, he said and then with a laugh, he left.
One might have thought we were in a third world country, given the way I was treated. I obviously didn't take the capsule. It was the least of my worries.
Another long hour passed and then a woman PC came to the door and told me I could take a shower. She handed me a carrier bag of clean clothes that my friend Jan had brought in for me.
I walked past two other cells and wondered if they were occupied. There was no noise since the drunk had left, so I couldn't tell. The shower was not much cleaner than the cell had been, but I thought it might stop me shivering at least. There was no curtain and I had to have a female officer standing with me as I tried to wash the smell of the cell from my shivering body – scrubbing endlessly with the soap Jan had thoughtfully provided.
I felt I would never be clean again. Tepid water trickled slowly from a broken shower head and I was then handed a rough badly stained towel with which to dry myself. I did the best I could and then reached in the bag to find a pair of knickers that Jan had put in there – a couple of sizes too big, but at least they were clean. I pulled them on and a clean grey T-shirt that was also a little too big. I then put on my own grey suit and was accompanied back to the cell to await being taken to Court which I was told would be within the next two hours. Thank God the night was over and the end of my ordeal was in sight.
After another seemingly endless wait, the female officer came back and accompanied me to be checked out of custody. This entailed going through the belongings that I had come in with so that I could say they had been returned to me – which they had not – but had been put on the van taking us to Court so had in effect left the custody suite. I was not going to argue. I was searched once more and put in handcuffs and then told to get into the waiting van where security guards would now drive me to Court.
As the officer slid the side door of the van open, I could see there was another girl in the back and I was asked if
I wanted to sit next to her. I was so glad of the company of another human being, I said I would join her. She could have been an axe murderer, but at that point she was just another person in the same boat as me. Once we were seated, the cage was pulled across and we began bumping out of the station as we were thrown from side to side unable to steady ourselves with our hands cuffed. As we drove into daylight, I could make out that the girl looked in her forties, but was probably younger – life having aged her – or maybe substance abuse. She had brown hair, was wearing shabby jeans and a jumper and her teeth were stained and broken.
“That custody sergeant was a right bastard last night.” She suddenly volunteered in a strong local accent.
“Yes,” I agreed. “He told me that if I didn’t go to sleep I would be in custody for five days and not be taken to Court.” The girl, whose name was Diane laughed, a harsh gravelly heavy smoker’s laugh.
“He can’t fuckin’ do that mate. They’re not allowed to keep you that long without an Order from the Court. He was just fuckin’ you around to scare you. That’s what they do the bastards… I tell 'em where to go...they treat you like shit whatever anyways.”
I felt strangely comforted by being with someone who knew the ropes. I couldn’t have been more out of my depth. The whole experience was so alien to me. I asked Diane why she had been taken into custody and she said she was caught dealing drugs. It felt surreal and bizarre that I was sharing a cage in a van with a drug dealer on my way to Court in handcuffs – I felt like I was watching this happen on a movie screen and that it must be someone else’s life not mine. It would be one of many times that I tried to pretend I was an actor playing out a scene in a crime drama. In my worst moments – I would try to persuade myself that once the episode came to an end, I could walk off the Courtroom stage and back into my real life with M - but the Crime Thriller never seemed to reach the final act and my scenes became longer and more horrifying. My real life had been replaced by this interminable nightmare.
Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) Page 11
