Fit Up

H
uge thanks are due to Andre Clovis of Tuckers Solicitors and Leslie Thomas of Garden Court Chambers, without whom Jeremy’s case would not have been kept alive, and also to Duncan Campbell of IPTV for his computer forensic revelations.

Special thanks to Philip Appleby, my manager, who encouraged me to write my story and his endeavour to get it published, and thanks also to Iain Dale and Biteback Publishing for giving me that opportunity.

Lastly, thanks to our friends and family for their love and support throughout.

S
tanding at the roadside gazing up at the gothic Victorian spires of the Royal Courts of Justice framed by a brilliant blue winter sky, I shivered, not from the desperately cold winter’s day, but from the nerves that were consuming my very being. My mouth was dry, my heart thundered in my ears and my stomach churned as I ventured into the entrance of this imposing building.

Finally finding Court 36, the stage where we would play out our fight for justice, I took a deep breath and dared myself to peep in through one of the windows. Jeremy came into view standing in the witness box. My heart went out to him but he looked just fine, and if he was fine so was I.

I picked what I hoped would be the warmest place to wait in this cold, draughty old hall, when my attention was drawn to the amazing stained glass window, the sun illuminating its beautiful colours. I thought sadly, ‘We shouldn’t be here, it should never have come to this.’

W
oken by the doorbell my eyes flew open and looked towards the clock. Its red digital numerals gleamed 06.40 back at me in the darkness of the morning of 30 October 2003. Jeremy staggered out of bed, tugging on his dressing gown muttering that it was probably the postman. I said cheerily, ‘Perhaps it’s Keith Chegwin.’ Only the day before we had phoned in to enter the GMTV competition where, if you won, Keith Chegwin would come to your door to present you with a cheque for £10,000. Well, it had to happen to somebody, why not us?

We were not to be so fortunate. In fact, as Jeremy excitedly descended the stairs to answer the front door, we were not to know that we were seconds from the start of a living nightmare. It was Thursday 30 October 2003, a date that would be etched in our memories forever.

As the door opened I heard murmuring and the word ‘police’. Now fully alert, I quickly got up, turned on the bedside light and put on my dressing gown. Moving towards the bedroom door I met Jeremy who told me to get dressed – he was being arrested and the police wanted to search the house. My mind was screaming with questions but I thought it best to keep my mouth shut and not say a word. Jeremy was getting dressed and I became aware of a shadowy figure in the doorway. It was a plainclothes police officer, who later became known to me as DC Brian
Hopkins, watching our every move and waiting to take Jeremy away. I had not noticed that he was now by my side and because I was blocking the lamplight I could not really discern his features. I pulled my dressing gown tighter around me, feeling afraid and vulnerable.

Jeremy had put on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved sweatshirt, which I told him I did not think he would be warm enough in on this cold winter’s morning. He said he would be fine but he would not look at me and I ached to hold him, protect him. Finally, he looked up and followed Hopkins down the stairs and out of the front door, which had been left open, letting in a stream of brilliant sunshine.

A woman in a dark jumper and trousers introduced herself to me as DS Irene Patel and asked me to get dressed as she had a team of officers ready to search the house. I quickly showered and dressed, relieved to have a few moments of privacy in the bathroom, unaware that for the rest of the day all of our belongings and lives would be examined and scrutinised in excruciating detail. My mind raced as to the reasons why they could be here, as I had not heard what the officers had said to Jeremy. Now fully dressed, I emerged from the bathroom to see Patel, who asked me to hurry – they were eager to start their search. I said I was ready and dashed into the bedroom to open the curtains and make the bed. All the while Patel watched me from the stairs with the assistance of the mirrored wardrobe doors. It was now 7.30 a.m. and I felt it had already been a long day.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I stood aside for a group of men and women coming into the house. The back door was open and I became aware of the icy blast coursing through the house. Now, I am not what you would call house-proud, but bizarrely I was concerned that my uninvited guests should be wiping their feet on the mat as they came into the hallway. Of all the things to worry about at this moment – I was pre-occupied about dirt on the carpet! Not really knowing where to
place myself, I walked over to the bay window to open the curtains and look out into the street. If I had any hope that this sudden intrusion by a bunch of strangers could be conducted in secret, I was sorely mistaken as parked directly outside was a big white van with the Hertfordshire Constabulary insignia.

The only thing about the situation that I could call fortunate was that I was on a day’s leave from work, so at least I didn’t have to call in to make some excuse for my absence.

One of the officers came up to me with a clipboard and explained what was going to happen. He had already been filling in and ticking boxes on a form and showed me what he had completed. I noticed one of the boxes had been ticked as describing me as ‘medium build’. The vain side of me was secretly pleased as I had felt I had been carrying ‘excess baggage’ of late. I could not really take it in, it was like this experience was happening to someone else and my body was just going through the motions. The officer asked me to sign the form he had been guiding me through and, finally, I was able to see why they were here. There it was, leaping out at me, a third of the way down the form: ‘Indecent and Abusive Images of Children’. Incredulously, I stared at the sentence, aware that bubbling under the surface was this hysterical laugh about to burst forth from my mouth; my lips were crinkling into a smile which I only just managed to suppress. How absolutely ludicrous, I thought. I looked up at both officers. What were those looks they were giving me? ‘Pity the poor wife, she was not to know,’ or was it contempt? Did they think I did know and might be complicit? Anger was rising in me and it took all my might not to write ‘bollocks’ across the form before signing it. Best not upset them, I thought, as I wanted to stay at the house and now was not the time to be obstructive – however tempting. So I was helpful, a good little wife, hoping the sooner this was over the sooner this misunderstanding could be sorted out.

My parents were our neighbours and I had to go to see them to alleviate their fears as I could see they were up and about and would have seen the early morning commotion. I asked Patel if I could leave as I needed to tell my mother to cancel an appointment with my hairdresser who was due to come to the house that morning. She said that I could go anywhere I pleased as long as I was contactable, and that I should keep my hairdressing appointment! I looked at her, quite astonished, and said that it would be a three-hour appointment. How on earth could I carry on with something as trivial as having my hair done when my husband had been arrested and everything in my house was being examined or taken away? My ordered world was crumbling around me.

I entered my parents’ house through the back gate and found my mother anxiously waiting in the kitchen. She asked me what was going on and I told her what I had read on the top of the police form. Her immediate reaction was ‘how absolutely ridiculous’, followed by my father saying, ‘Do you reckon this is something that Lloyd has set up?’ I said I did not know but I had not discounted him, especially with the threats he had been making to Jeremy since we had set up the business. I wanted to get back to the house so I told my parents I would keep them updated. I turned to leave, just glancing back over my shoulder to see my mother’s anxious face. Trouble had never been a visitor to our family before.

Having only been gone a few minutes, I returned to my house. As it was a Thursday, I could see the dustmen were coming and so moved my bins to the footpath, but one of the police officers came up to me and took the rubbish bags away as they had yet to search them. I felt irritated that I would be left with our rubbish for another week and even more irritated that the police felt they would find incriminating material. The only incriminating material in our bin was chocolate bar wrappers that Jeremy smuggled from his car so that I would not see that a healthy diet was not being followed.

Not having had a drink since getting up, I found myself very thirsty,
but didn’t want to put the kettle on for everyone here. I wanted to be helpful but I certainly did not feel charitable! I decided just to get a glass of water once the kitchen cupboards had been searched but could not face anything to eat. I wandered round the house. Officers were everywhere, leafing through all our personal details and belongings, not leaving a stone unturned. I felt a little pity for them because they were not going to find what they were looking for.

My home and life were being invaded. I was frantic for Jeremy and what might be happening to him. Most of all, however, I did not know what to do with myself in my own house with these intruders. In the end, I decided I would sit in the lounge and watch television. I was surrounded by three female officers looking in cupboards, at our music collection, at our wedding and holiday photographs. One officer, Paul Smith, who was with computer forensics, was hovering about rather surplus to requirements as there were no computers in the house. In trying to find something to do, he decided to photograph the spines of all our videos before they were boxed up and put in the police van.

The house was incredibly cold because doors had been left open, so I turned on the gas fire and knelt by it, embracing its warmth. I switched on the television and sat on the sofa idly going through the channels, uninterested in watching anything but desperately needing the distraction. I just selected
Trisha
and stared blankly at the screen. I had not really been taking in what the subject matter was and I was horrified to discover that she was talking to women who had struck up relationships with men who were in prison as lifers or on death row. My cheeks burned as I was very aware that the officers were listening and I was anxious to turn to another channel without being too obvious. It must have been a distraction for their boredom because they looked at one another and raised their eyebrows with looks of disapproval. Finally, not being able to stand it any more, I switched to another programme.

I sat in a trance until the sound of the postman pushing the letters through the box woke me up. I jumped up to collect the post and brought the letters back into the lounge where Patel was waiting with her hand out. She insisted that she had to look at the contents to see if there were obscene images. The only obscene image I could think of was the gas bill! I felt a rising anger, especially as she opened one letter addressed to both Jeremy and me from our bank and started to read it. If Jeremy had purchased images, they would surely not have been addressed to us both. I thought Patel had said ‘images’ but here she was looking at paragraphs detailing our personal business. Finally I was handed the papers back in the torn envelopes and I put them on the pile of post from previous days.

Despite having eight officers in the house, I had never felt so alone. I was staring at the television screen, no longer taking anything in, when I was interrupted by one of the male officers who excitedly told me that this was the tidiest house he had ever searched – the others had been right tips. I smiled weakly and said, ‘Oh, really?’

‘I can show you if I can get a battery for my camera,’ he said.

After a few minutes, he returned with his digital camera and showed me a few pictures of the most untidy and dirty rooms I had ever seen. There was one room piled high with rubbish and papers. He told me it was a kitchen but you would never have known it as you couldn’t see any appliances. Another picture was of a computer sitting on a coffee table surrounded by magazines. I knew that the police had been taking pictures of my home and I wondered if they would be entered into some sort of competition entitled ‘The tidiest raided home 2003’ and shown to other suspects’ wives as a fine example of civilised living. The same officer was equally as excited by the fact that the loft had a light and flooring and so making it safe to explore. I thought he should get out more.

The officer who had presented me with the search warrant came in from the outhouse and seemed rather excited at the prospect of a metal
box safe, especially as it was locked. He must have thought he had hit the jackpot. I told him that as the safe was fireproof, we kept explosive charges in there for firework display purposes at functions and he asked me if I knew the combination for the safe. I said I did not and the lock was promptly broken, adding a further item to the damaged property list. His disappointment was palpable; time was getting on, there were no results from anyone and he had obviously hoped to find something – anything – by now. Instead, he decided to give me a lecture on explosives and licences which I thought might culminate in my being charged with terrorism. At this point, I thought I should mention the air rifle in the back of the wardrobe. I hated having the gun in the house and I felt that for safety it should be well out of harm’s way, but could this be construed as concealing a weapon? The officer said it was of no concern to him and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Upstairs, the search seemed to be coming to an end as large plastic bags of our belongings were brought down to be put into the van. It was very difficult to be everywhere to keep an eye on exactly what was being taken. Items were being grouped together and swept into boxes and bags without any particular record being taken.

I went into the back bedroom, Jeremy’s editing room, and asked what had happened to the tapes on the table. The female officer said that they were now in a sealed bag and I asked how soon they would be returned. She shrugged her shoulders and said that they could be returned in a few months depending on how quickly they got through each case. I was horrified because we had videos of September weddings that Jeremy had filmed and had yet to be edited before being sent to the customers. I pleaded with her to leave these tapes but she said that I should speak to Patel. I explained to Patel that we had an obligation to our customers to edit their films in a reasonable time scale or they could sue us, and then I asked her if I could sue Hertfordshire Police in turn. She appeared to
understand the importance of this to our business and would see to it that these tapes were viewed and returned to us within the next two weeks. A special note was made on the bag containing the tapes and, while relieved that I had taken steps to protect our business, I hoped that they would be returned safely. I thought we could cope with making excuses to our customers if they really were returned within two weeks, but what would we say if it was longer than that or if the tapes were lost? This was only our third year in the wedding video business and 2003 was proving to be a significant trading year.

Returning downstairs, I saw Patel looking at some parody photographs of Jeremy and me. She asked me where we had them taken and I replied Las Vegas, explaining that we went there on our honeymoon. She sought clarification as to the date of this visit and I started to feel uncomfortable with the tone of questioning. I told her the date of our visit was April 1999. She was then silent, but her demeanour suddenly changed, making me feel that I had said something wrong. I wondered what was so significant and I hoped that I had not said something that would incriminate either Jeremy or myself.