Extradited (27 page)

Angelos Polizos was grilled about the word-for-word identical
statements signed by Mark O’Gorman, Christopher Paglionico, Jason Mordecai, Robert Hares and Lee Burgess: ‘I don’t know why the statements of Jonathan Hiles’s friends are the same; in no event did we copy one statement to another. They all said the same thing.’

The young officer described the perpetrator as ‘1.65 to 1.70 metres tall, a tanned complexion, with regular short hair and a beard’.

In George Pyromallis’s cross-examination, Angelos was shown a photograph of me in the Rescue club, taken by James Gibson on the night before the incident. My beard was clearly visible and my eyes were closed – it was a picture of a crowded dance floor, which was taken from afar and zoomed in. ‘Is this the photograph of Andrew Symeou which was used in the investigation and identified him as the attacker?’ asked George.

‘Yes.’

‘So the description you’re giving now … is it the description that the friends of the victim gave? Or are you just telling us what you see in the photograph?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’m describing the photograph.’

‘Right, because in your investigation the victim’s friends stated that the attacker was clean-shaven.’

‘Yes, I don’t remember them mentioning a beard. I remember them saying that the attacker must have shaved his beard and left long sideburns.’

George took a deep breath and raised his voice, ‘Are
you
telling this court … that the suspect who you – and the victim’s friends – were looking for at the time of Jonathan’s death was
a clean-shaven
male!?’ he roared.

‘Yes,’ Angelos nodded.

The trial continued the next day – 20 April 2011. The DJ who was working in the nightclub on the night in question gave his
testimony to the court – he didn’t see the attack, but said that he had alerted the security staff with a laser when he saw that a person had fallen. One of the bar staff gave evidence just after; he told the court only that the nightclub had no raised stages and that there were no CCTV cameras.

A second nightclub security guard testified to the court:

The witness made it clear that at no stage was distinctive facial hair mentioned to him. ‘None of them told me that the man responsible had a beard. They told me that the man was stocky, not with words, but with gestures. They didn’t gesture that the guy had a beard.’

The prosecution was complete.

M
y defence was simple – I wasn’t even in the nightclub at the time of the attack. We submitted photographs that were taken by my friend Andrew Christophides and female friends of ours called Toni Martelli and Christina Christou. All the photographs were taken throughout the night of the attack and had been uploaded to Facebook not long after they’d all returned from the holiday in 2007. Toni and Christina were from separate parties and didn’t know each other – they happened to be in Zante at the same time as us.

A forensic photography expert tested the original digital image files that were taken on all three of the cameras. His report came back saying that the original images had not been altered and that the date of the digital image files must have been the date that the cameras had been set to at the time. The dates on all three of the cameras must all have been the same – 19 July (before midnight) and 20 July (thereafter). Everyone wore the same clothing in all of the pictures, further suggesting that it was the same night. Moreover, there were pictures on the same cameras from a night earlier, and I was wearing the same clothing as in photographs taken by James Gibson (the professional photographer), who was present only on that one night. The
photographs were clearly legitimate and undoubtedly strengthened my defence.

One of the photographs (which was taken on the night of the incident) was of a group of me and friends in a different nightclub. You could zoom in on my watch, which clearly showed the time as being 1.20 (a.m.) – the same time as the digital information on the image file (11.20 p.m., set to British time) and around the time of the alleged attack in the Rescue nightclub.

The prosecuting lawyer stood up and objected to the submission of the photographs. ‘These images must be fake!’ he yelled.

‘You haven’t even looked at the pictures! You’re just saying that they’re fake because you don’t like what they show!’ George Pyromallis cried.

The prosecuting lawyer sat back down and didn’t make an official complaint, as it had absolutely no basis in truth.

To counter the forensic report for the photographs, the opposition scanned low-resolution hard copies of the photographs and had them forensically tested for lighting and gamma. I’m surprised that the company had even accepted digital scans of copies. The report, which they later submitted, stated that the datestamps on the photographs had been superimposed onto the image – which all cameras do. Their report also stated that the face of my watch could have been ‘crudely cut and pasted’. I was furious because the report was based on low-resolution scans of
the original images after being printed on normal printing paper. Our forensic report was based on the original digital image files – their report was not. At no stage were any photographs tampered with, which the court had already accepted.

Even if the court were to disregard the forensic report of the original images, George Pyromallis provided evidence that the photographs had been uploaded to Facebook around 24 July 2007. For the images to be altered, the people who had taken them would have had to alter them before uploading them to the social networking site, and I wasn’t even a suspect at that time. The accusation of the photographs being fake was ridiculous.

My friends Andrew Christophides, George Georgiou, Alex Kalli, Jason Demetriou, Aron Rouse, Toni Martelli and Christina Christou gave evidence over the next few court days – as did one of the holiday reps, Georgina Clay. My friends reiterated the statements that they had given to my lawyer in 2007 – all of us were together in a different nightclub over 200 metres away. If it wasn’t for the statements made not long after the holiday, it would have been extremely difficult for any of them to remember – so it’s lucky that we took that precaution.

The prosecuting lawyer challenged them on all having the same story (we’d been to the same series of nightclubs together, so their statements were very similar). They were all accused of conjuring up a fake alibi to protect me. I doubt that the court took the accusation seriously. We were on holiday together, so we went out together!

One of my best friends, Andrew Christophides, was the first defence witness to testify. The prosecuting lawyer wanted to know if any members of our group on the holiday were blonde, or whether we’d spent time with any blonde people. The alleged perpetrator had been described as being in the company of a blond male.

Andrew told the court that our group of friends were all British Greek Cypriots, apart from Aron, who’s black. The prosecuting lawyer showed the court a photograph that had been uploaded to Facebook. The BBC had used the photograph for a news piece on my case; it was a picture of Andrew Christophides, Chris Kyriacou, Charlie Klitou and me with a tall, blond male. The Hiles family had seen it and had probably been told that the blond guy was the alleged accomplice.

‘Who is this blond male in the middle of the photograph?’ asked the lawyer.

‘He was one of the holiday reps … his name was James, I think. He came out on special event nights, but he was working,’ Andrew said.

The prosecuting lawyer changed the subject and didn’t submit the photograph. It must have shocked him, because he’d probably been told that this blond male was the same person as the blond male from the Greek investigation. Jonathan Hiles’s friends – yet again – had wrongly identified someone from a photograph.

Georgina Clay (the holiday rep) testified in court after Andrew. George Pyromallis asked the prosecuting lawyer if he could see the photograph that was submitted earlier, ‘the photograph with the blond member of staff from the travel company,’ George elaborated.

‘I didn’t submit that photograph,’ the prosecuting lawyer said.

‘No, but I’d like to submit it!’

The prosecuting lawyer handed the photograph to George, who showed it to the judges then placed it on the lectern in front of Georgina. ‘Do you know this male, the blond one?’ he asked softly.

‘Yes, he’s one of my best friends – James.’

‘And you worked together?’

‘Yeah, it was my second year working in Zante. I’d worked
there the year before and I asked him if he wanted to come and work with me the next year.’

‘In your statement made to the South Wales Police in 2007, you spoke about the Greek police coming to the hotel where the defendant and his friends had been staying – the Mariana Hotel.’

‘Yes…’ she agreed.

‘But at this stage, the defendant had gone back to London. This was the time when the Greek police took Chris Kyriacou and Charlie Klitou to the police station after recognising the defendant’s picture. You said the police had two photographs: one photo was of the defendant and the other photo was of a blond male.’

‘I remember the pictures, yes,’ Georgina nodded.

George picked her South Wales Police statement out of a wad of papers on his desk and walked towards her. ‘You said in your statement: “I was at the Hotel Mariana, even though it was my day off, when the Greek police turned up. I was called over by two other staff members and I was asked by the police to identify the photographs.” Do you remember this?’

‘Yes, that’s what happened,’ Georgina confirmed.

‘You mention that “two other staff members” called you over; would one of those staff members happen to be this blond male – James?’

‘Yes.’

‘So the police saw James?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the police showed James the two photographs, one of which was the photograph of the blond male who had been identified as the friend of the attacker?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did the police ask James if he recognised the blond male in the photograph?’

‘Well … yeah. The police asked all of us.’

‘And the police had no reason to arrest James? They weren’t showing James a picture of
himself
were they? That would be absurd! He
wasn’t
the blond male that the victim’s friends had identified, was he!?’

‘No, the picture was of a Scottish man called Gordon,’ she said. ‘He stayed in the hotel.’

‘And Gordon and James are different people?’

‘Of course,’ she smiled.

‘And do they look alike?’

‘Erm … I’d need to see a picture of Gordon again but I’d say no. Not really.’

‘So, would you say that a picture of the defendant and his holiday rep is totally irrelevant to this case?’

‘Erm … I guess so.’

‘So this blond male … Gordon … was he friends with the defendant?’ asked George.

‘I never saw Gordon socialising with the Cypriot boys. I couldn’t be 100 per cent sure because I wasn’t there the whole time … but in this job you do get to know who becomes friends! I’m 99 per cent sure that they hadn’t even spoken.’

Georgina later testified that she was present in the police station when the police interrogated Chris and Charlie. Before being forced to leave she could see Charlie through a door that was ajar and mouthed, ‘Are you OK?’ Charlie shook his head and mouthed, ‘No.’ Georgina confirmed that Chris and Charlie instantly made a complaint about the Greek investigating officers’ violent behaviour, and that they had forced them to sign documents that they didn’t understand. She also told the court that Charlie’s face was noticeably swollen and bruised as a result of the beating.

O
n 16 June I gave my testimony to the court. The night before, I met George Pyromallis in a café with his assistant Vanessa. ‘Don’t shout, don’t get too emotional, just stay calm and tell them the truth. Even if you stand there and say, “it wasn’t me”, it’s fine. Your job is very easy!’

I’d read the Bible, and there was a Psalm that I said I’d wanted to tell the court in my testimony because it was so relevant to the case.

‘Don’t quote the Bible, Andrew, they think people who quote the Bible are crazy!’ he said.

My heart thumped before I stood to testify, but I was as ready as I could ever be. I stood at the wooden lectern and looked up at the public prosecutor, four jurors and three judges. They looked down at me with curious eyes – who could have known what was going through their minds? They had the power to change the course of the rest of my life. I was nervous, but reminded myself how simple my job was:
just tell the truth
. It was a far easier testimony to make than that of some of the prosecution witnesses.

I’d been waiting three years for this moment. I put my hand on the Bible and took the oath:

‘I had no involvement in the tragic death of Jonathan Hiles,
I wasn’t there and the accusations are false. It’s taken three years of suffering to clear my name; one of those years was in a foreign prison.’

After everything that I’d gone through, I became overwhelmed with frustration and anger. ‘I was twenty years old when I was extradited here!’ I cried.

Then I said exactly what George Pyromallis had told me not to.

I couldn’t help myself.

I told the court that I’d found it extremely difficult being accused of urinating in a public place, indoors.

I buried my face in my hands and felt tears.

After reiterating where my friends and I were on the night of the attack, I sat down. I was too emotional and angry, but it was over – I couldn’t go back and change it. Hopefully they didn’t think I was crazy because of the Psalm that I’d attempted to recite.

Was the truth obvious or did they doubt me? I couldn’t bear it any more – I needed to know their verdict.

It was time for the public prosecutor to make his recommendation. He was more like a judge and sat to the left of the counsel panel. He’d asked a few questions throughout the trial, but hadn’t cross-examined witnesses like the Hiles family’s lawyer had. The public prosecutor stood up and told the court that he recommended my acquittal.

It was such a relief – a first real sign of hope that I’d been given by the court. It didn’t mean that I was found innocent,
or mean that I would definitely be acquitted. It meant that the court acknowledged that the case against me was extremely weak. I tried not to keep my hopes up, but hearing the recommendation was still an incredible feeling.

The trial was postponed until the next day, 17 June, and I knew that it was going to be a big one. It had been a long journey and I’d come so far – but it wasn’t quite over yet.

It was the last day in court. I’d never felt such nausea before – my stomach wouldn’t stop churning and my eyes were puffy. We heard the closing argument of the prosecuting lawyer – of course, he suggested that I be found guilty. He lodged perjury suits against Chris Kyriacou, Charlie Klitou and me to counter the suits that we’d lodged against the victim’s friends. Suddenly everyone was suing each other! He suggested that my friends Chris Kyriacou and Charlie Klitou had voluntarily told the truth in the investigation, and that they were not beaten or violently intimidated by police officers in Zante.

‘Look, Andrew Symeou himself even said in his statement that Chris Kyriacou was his best friend! They have made up this entire story to protect him!’

The prosecuting lawyer reminded the court that the five friends of Jonathan Hiles had looked me in the eyes and identified me as the killer with complete certainty. For this, the prosecuting lawyer suggested that the jury must find me guilty. He turned his attention to the panel.

(This isn’t right – jurors are expected to do the opposite by law. If there is any reasonable doubt, they must acquit.)

My lawyer George Pyromallis walked towards the judges. He held the wad of police statements in his hand and waved them in the air.

George reminded the court of other witness testimonies, which further suggested that no facial hair was ever mentioned. A Rescue nightclub security guard’s testimony was revisited – he’d confirmed that on the night in question there was no mention of facial hair when looking for the perpetrator. The investigating police officer, Angelos Polizos, confirmed that the victim’s friends were looking for a clean-shaven male in the preliminary investigation. James Gibson’s testimony (the photographer) was mentioned again; he was present when the victim’s friends were looking through photographs in the police station. He’d said that there was ‘definitely some doubt’ when they recognised an individual, and that they had started to convince each other.

George continued:

George began to raise his voice.

I was an innocent man and George had done everything that he could to prove it. I was so proud to have him as my lawyer.

There was an hour’s recess for the counsel panel to deliberate on the verdict. We walked down the road to a fast food restaurant for lunch, but I doubt anyone could eat. It was strange, but I was suddenly struck by the same feeling I’d had three years earlier when I was arrested in London. Civilians around me were living their everyday lives – they were on their lunch breaks from work, or were shopping for their families. I felt so insignificant; it was one of the biggest days of my life and the world was still spinning. All I wanted was for it to be a completely normal day again.

I couldn’t even sit down, let alone have lunch. My parents, my gran and Sophie all had the same drained, pale faces. I walked around anxiously, but was hiding my nerves with smiles and laughs. ‘Why do you all look so miserable, we’re going home soon! We should be celebrating now!’ My friends Aron Rouse and Jason Demetriou were also there; they probably thought that I’d finally snapped and lost the plot. The truth was that I was the
most terrified I’d ever been in my life – if I sat down and let one negative thought pass through my mind I would’ve broken down. I’d never felt that level of suspense before; it was almost too much to bear.

It felt like the longest hour that had ever passed in my life. When we walked back to the courthouse, I managed to have a word with Theo (the translator) in the hallway. ‘I won’t understand the verdict; it will all be too quick. Please, could you just give me a thumbs up or thumbs down as soon as you know?’

‘Of course, Andrew.’ He’d translated the entire trial – and from the soft tone of his voice, I could tell that he was expecting positive news.

I sat on the defendant’s bench for the last time and waited for the judges and jurors to enter. They were taking far too long – did it mean that they were really thinking about it? Did it mean that they were considering finding me guilty? If they were to find me innocent, surely it would be a quick and easy decision – why was it taking so long? I sank into the seat – I couldn’t move. I stared at the crooked portrait of Jesus in front of me – it was blurry; my eyes couldn’t even focus. I was empty. Waiting. Every minute that passed felt like an hour of dangling in mid-air. I couldn’t bear it for much longer. I was numb. My head felt heavy. I needed it to end, but I couldn’t distract myself from the mental image of Theo turning his thumb to the floor. I couldn’t bear the thought of being sentenced to my doom; twenty years in prison and branded a murderer. It had to be a thumbs up – it just
had
to be.

Every now and then the side door would open – the door where the judges and jurors would enter the courtroom. My heart would start to palpitate – but it was only the court clerk.

After a two-and-a-half-hour recess, the door opened and the judges and jurors walked into the courtroom.

The president judge began to speak. I don’t know what she
said. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears – my head felt like it was about to burst. The court clerk clapped his hands together with a huge grin on his face. The translator made eye contact; I looked down at his hand and started to wonder as he clenched his fingers into his palm.

He shot his thumb up to the sky.

It was a thumbs up.

After a three-year battle for truth and justice, I’d been found innocent. As soon as I saw the hand gesture, my head collapsed forward. My face was lost in my palms – I filled them with tears. It was over. I could hear my family sobbing behind me. It’d been a long road; a road that none of us could ever have imagined.

‘Do you have any questions?’ the president judge asked.

‘No,’ I answered – my eyes began to stream.

The judges and jurors walked out – just like that, it was finished. I stood up and turned to my family. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at them – our eyes flooded and we held each other in the tightest embrace possible, as though the world around us had stood still. It was a moment that I’ll never forget. After everything that we’d been through as a family – the extradition battle, prison visits, living in Athens and fighting for a court date – it was all over. Forever. I was found innocent. My dad held my face in his hands. ‘It’s over, Andrew. You’re going to go to university and get a good job. You have your entire life ahead of you now. Be proud, you did it son!’