Fit Up (8 page)

O
nce again the shop had to be closed so that Jeremy could attend another court appearance. Unfortunately, I did not know enough about video equipment to stand in for Jeremy and he didn’t want me at the court anyway as it was too traumatic for him, let alone me to suffer with him. It was frustrating because it was not just another chance for Jeremy to simply plead his innocence whereupon the kindly judge allowed him to go home and get on with life. It was all in the hands of the system and I found it very frustrating to hear everyone talking about him, the case and what information would be required to progress Jeremy to trial. He, as well as I, was hoping that today would be the day his solicitor would discover some information that would make the whole case against him collapse – but this wasn’t the movies.

I went to work to try to conduct a normal life while Jeremy was back in court. By lunchtime he called me to say that the discussions between the parties had been about further information-gathering and, worse, what punishment he could expect. We had read that even with Category 1 images, which were considered the least offensive, there could still be a prison sentence of three to six months, although Hamilton assured us that Jeremy’s case would not warrant that. If found guilty, he would be placed on the sex offenders register for three years and would have to pay
a fine. He said it in such a way that made Jeremy feel as if this alternative was an option that he should feel grateful for. With all the advice he had had about the police not having a case his confidence in the justice system was getting smaller by the minute and the thought of being put on the sex offenders register had him boiling with rage.

To distract him from the morning’s proceedings I said that he should go to the shop for the afternoon and get involved in his work. He asked me if I thought this was going to go to trial and I brightly told him not to be daft and that the truth would prevail, it just takes time and we were not familiar with court proceedings. He seemed encouraged as I put down the phone. My confidence was dissipating and a feeling of dread began to creep in, but I knew I must not let him see it.

During the afternoon I could only wonder what I would do if Jeremy went to prison. How would he cope? How would I cope financially with the shop and a business I could not run? That evening I visited my parents to give them an update, and as I relayed the possible consequences of a guilty verdict, that he could go to prison, I broke down and cried.

I
n his past communications with the CPS, Hamilton had been frustrated by their claims to be awaiting important statements in relation to the incitement charge. They were busy working on this when, in fact, this charge had already been dropped back on 9 August at the first hearing. Hamilton was concerned that it was the CPS’s intention to restore the charge, trying to adjourn further hearings while they gained evidence. This was purely protracting events so he announced to Jeremy that it was his intention to apply for an old-style committal hearing where he would try to get the charges dropped through lack of evidence. It would only involve himself, the Hertfordshire Police’s solicitor and three magistrates. He felt it was worth a try.

On 19 November, Jeremy was to attend Hemel Hempstead Magistrates’ Court. He wanted me to be with him on this occasion and I was also keen to meet Hamilton as it was I who had found him on the internet.

It was a bitterly cold day and when we arrived at the court just after lunch for a 2 p.m. kick-off it was not particularly warm inside as there was some trouble with the heating. Still, we hoped we wouldn’t be there all afternoon.

We got ourselves a hot drink from a vending machine and looked for somewhere to sit among several loud-mouthed young men, most
of whom were wearing hoodies, also waiting for a court appearance I guessed. While our nerves were on edge, they seemed unperturbed by the prospect of court. They seemed very familiar and at ease with what was probably just another routine court appearance. I felt alien to them and I suppose a cut above, but how could I feel like that when I could be seen as supporting an alleged paedophile? Their crimes, whether petty or violent, paled into insignificance against the abhorrent charges levelled at Jeremy.

Sitting close together for warmth and comfort amidst the noise and chaos, Jeremy suddenly pointed out Hamilton to me and waved to him. Seeing us, he came over and introduced himself to me. I stood as we shook hands and noticed that he was incredibly tall, very long limbed and he dwarfed us both. He told us that the solicitor representing the police wanted to adjourn the hearing as he had been unable to get hold of the disc of images from the officer concerned, who was on holiday. Hopkins, on holiday again, always missing when needed, how convenient, I thought. Hamilton excused himself from us as he wanted to find out if the solicitor acting for Hertfordshire Constabulary had managed to find his contact to hand over the disk.

I felt crestfallen. I wanted to get the hearing going if there was a chance that the case would be thrown out. It was just a game to these people, I thought, so what would it matter if they adjourned a hearing? To them it was insignificant, even usual, but what they failed to think about was that it would mean putting people’s lives on hold.

I could see Hamilton in the distance talking to the police’s solicitor, the nodding of heads and waving hands, but I couldn’t gain any meaning from their interaction. Jeremy was sitting hunched into his overcoat, staring at the floor, unblinking. My feet were absolutely frozen in the cold corridor and I looked at the clock which was approaching 2 p.m. I didn’t think we would be ready for a prompt start, if at all, as Hamilton
started to edge his way back to us through the throng of people that were gathering to go into various court rooms.

As Hamilton sat down with us, he said that our hearing wouldn’t be cancelled after all, but he didn’t know when we would start that afternoon. It all depended on when this disc, which had been retrieved from a safe by another police officer, was delivered to the solicitor. The three of us sat in a row on uncomfortable chairs in infinite boredom. With Hamilton in the middle of Jeremy and me, I took this opportunity to ask about his experiences of these types of case, our prospects, his thoughts. He answered my questions in one tone, not looking at me, only ahead, and I felt he was just being polite with me rather than having a particular care for either of us. I realised then that where we had been seeking reassurance and support of an emotional nature as well as professional, it was not his business to be our therapist or friend. Jeremy was just another job to do and get paid for. I fell back into silence, amazed at the length of Hamilton’s legs stretched out in front of me. Maybe it was his aloof mannerism and the fact that I failed to gain any eye contact with him that made me feel uncomfortable.

Four o’clock came and went, the time punctuated by the occasional appearance of the police’s solicitor rushing up and down the corridor, frantically waiting for the crucial evidence. Surely, at this rate even the court would decide that time was running out and decide we would not be proceeding today.

As time approached 4.30 p.m. the court rooms and corridors began clearing out and we were still sitting there. At this point Hamilton decided to approach the police’s solicitor, who said that he had been told that the disk would not be forthcoming because of some technicality about showing images of that nature. I was annoyed that it had taken all this time to get that information. They had had weeks to sort this out and now here we were, at the eleventh hour, and suddenly this problem had been discovered.

The solicitor decided that he would proceed without the disc if we wanted and Hamilton said we would. We were the only ones left requiring the court services and at 5 p.m. we were finally ushered into a courtroom. As the doors opened, Jeremy whispered in my ear, ‘This is going to be a total waste of time.’

Hamilton got to his position and laid out his books and papers. The police solicitor sat on the other side. Jeremy had to sit at the front in the defendant’s chair close to Hamilton and sadly I had to sit on my own in the public gallery at the back. There was no one else in the room because of the late start, and I suppose we were lucky not to have any press presence, although I am not sure if this type of hearing would have been of any interest to them.

This room was not warm either but by now I was totally numb, even with my coat on. I couldn’t tell whether I was shivering from cold or nerves but it was tiring and I wished we were a long way from here. Jeremy sat with his head down, looking at his hands, and then up at me. He looked sad and dejected but I returned a comforting smile.

The court usher came in and said, ‘All rise,’ and in marched the three magistrates to their seats high up at the front of the court. One man flanked by two women. Any optimism I had left suddenly vanished.

The police solicitor brought to their attention the fact that he had hoped to adjourn the hearing as he had been waiting for further evidence of images on a disc, but would be happy to proceed. The magistrates said that they felt that they had sufficient information for them to go ahead. For me that was court-speak for ‘we’ve already made up our minds’ – and it wasn’t in our favour. Jeremy was right, I thought, this was going to be a waste of our time.

The police’s solicitor said that his evidence, which was transcriptions of three police interviews with Jeremy, would be read out to the court. Jeremy and I looked at each other and I knew he was thinking that we
might have a chance after all. He and I knew the interviews did not reveal anything of substance, especially the interview in which Hamilton had advised Jeremy only to say ‘no comment’. Being so cold, however, all I could think was, how long would that take after Hamilton had his go? The magistrate prompted Hamilton to start.

Quietly and methodically, Hamilton went through the case, stopping at intervals to refer to books and quote various case law. In just under an hour, Hamilton concluded his arguments and was thanked by the head magistrate. Then we looked to the police’s solicitor, who started to read the transcripts. I was restless sitting on the wooden benches and I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs. I knew the transcripts almost by heart and was aware that this was going to take ages. The solicitor spoke in a bland voice, too, and I could only assume he was as bored as we were.

Finally, we were onto Jeremy’s third interview, which the police solicitor informed the magistrates would be a no comment interview. They nodded for him to continue and although he had not been able to receive the disk with images to show them, he carefully emphasised the description of the first image that Jeremy was questioned on. The solicitor quoted Hopkins, saying, ‘This is a picture of a young male child aged about ten. He’s naked, he’s sat with his knees pulled up in front of him and leaning back on his arms, that is a level one image. Jeremy, have you seen that before?’ I looked up at one of the female magistrates and I could see her nose wrinkle in disgust as she glanced at me, as if she had just opened a plastic container of egg sandwiches under her bench. The nail was in the coffin, Jeremy was right, this was a waste of time.

Despite all that had preceded this point – Hamilton’s arguments, quoted case law, risible evidence from the police – once the mention of a naked child was made, it seemed to me that all reason and objectivity went out of the window. If the three stooges had not made up their
minds how they were going to vote at the beginning, I thought I knew how they were going to now.

The police solicitor finally sat down and the head magistrate said that he and his colleagues would adjourn for a short while and return with their decision. The court usher called for us to rise as they left but I could hardly stand because I could no longer feel my feet.

I went over to Hamilton and Jeremy. He was thanking his lawyer for his efforts and asking him how he thought it went. Hamilton said that we had done as much as we could and I did not let on about my observations of the magistrates to either of them.

After only a short time the usher was announcing the magistrates’ return. I sat down to await their decision but my heart was as frozen as my feet. The head magistrate quickly did a summary of the case and then said that as there were transactions on Jeremy’s credit card yet to be investigated, it was in the public’s interest to pursue the case to trial. You stupid, stupid man, I thought. Did he not remember that the charges for incitement (the credit card transactions) were thrown out due to insufficient evidence at the first hearing?

The usher, for the final time, said ‘all rise’, and I just sat there; these people no longer deserved my respect. I looked at the magistrate who had shown so much distaste for the case, my eyes blazing with hatred. She looked up briefly at me still seated and I met her gaze, to which she quickly turned away and disappeared through the door behind her.

Jeremy thanked Hamilton again for his efforts and offered him a lift to the train station. It was a relief to get out of this court and make our way home.

This case wasn’t going away any time soon, I realised. In fact, it was just warming up.

A
s Jeremy’s case had been referred to the Crown Court in St Albans, the case management hearing to review the evidence was to take place on 20 December.

Jeremy saw little point in my attending such appearances, but on this day I wanted to support him and if the hearing ran on time, we could go out later on to do some Christmas shopping. We couldn’t believe that we were about to have another Christmas with this hanging over our heads.

St Albans Crown Court was a more modern building with TV screens in the public areas that gave the times, names and some details of each case. Jeremy’s name had the time, 11.30, and distressingly ‘Operation Ore’ next to it, and I was fearful that this would attract the interest of roving reporters. In fact, Jeremy had already spotted the young journalist who had been at his previous hearings and who was obviously looking for a story. Would this be the week that Jeremy would be named in the local papers and our terrible secret exposed? It made me frightened for our reputation and, more importantly, our safety.

Jeremy and I had been to see our barrister, Martin Lahiffe, a week earlier at his chambers in London and had felt reassured that we were in good hands. He seemed confident this case would be thrown out, but we were reluctant to believe this line any more. Disappointingly, only
two days before this hearing Hamilton had told Jeremy that Lahiffe was now not representing him on this day, and that he should make himself known to a Nichola Cafferkey. I knew that Jeremy was taking this hard as he had pinned his hopes on Lahiffe. We eventually found Cafferkey, whereupon we shook hands and she led us into a small meeting room.

She looked to be in her thirties with the air of someone who meant business, but did she have as much knowledge and experience as Lahiffe? Jeremy told her that he was disappointed not to see Lahiffe and that this last-minute change was unsettling. Cafferkey said she had been adequately briefed and that this was just a case management hearing to prepare for a forthcoming trial. Forthcoming trial! Hearing this was shocking, but she assured us that this was early days and the prosecution’s evidence was weak.

Finally, a court usher called for our hearing and I took a seat in the public area where I would be able to have eye contact with Jeremy in order to reassure him – it would also be of some comfort to me.

The reporter we had seen earlier was here and I made a mental note to buy the local papers. Everyone responded to ‘all rise’ as the judge came in to take his seat. He nodded to the assembled courtroom and we all sat down together. I looked at Jeremy. His face was pinched, he was fanning out his hands in his lap and staring at his nails, lost in thought. I felt someone sit in the seat next to me by the aisle and casually glanced over to my new neighbour. To my horror, it was Hopkins and I quickly looked forward. My heart had started to thud painfully in my chest, I could hardly breathe and I was sure I had gone the colour of my red jumper. Making sure that not one part of me touched Hopkins, I pulled up my sleeves to my elbows as I was uncomfortably hot and tried to distract myself from the situation by folding and re-arranging my coat on my lap. I was so aware of his presence that I couldn’t take in the proceedings. Judging by Jeremy’s expression, he wasn’t aware that Hopkins was seated next to me – his view must be blocked, I thought.

Shifting in my seat slightly, I looked at Hopkins side on. His face and neck were a mottled map of pasty white and scarlet patches and he was clearly very nervous.

I had not taken in much of the proceedings but had picked up enough to know that, as with the other hearings, the CPS’s barrister had floundered along flicking backwards and forwards with their papers desperately trying to make something of the flimsy evidence. Cafferkey had done a good job in defending Jeremy and highlighting the holes in the prosecution’s case. The judge was clearly irritated with the CPS and gave them a further chance to firm up the dates before the next hearing as to when the images appeared on the PC as they had failed to establish this.

Feeling Hopkins fidgeting beside me, I took a sneak peak and the blush was still evident. As the usher called ‘all rise’ for the final time and dismissed the court, the CPS barrister, looking irate, signalled for Hopkins to meet him outside. I followed the crowd of people heading towards the exit, where Jeremy and Cafferkey would catch up with me. I noted the reporter scuttling out but I was more interested in Hopkins, who was looking quite troubled as his barrister talked rather animatedly to him while pointing at a file. I was sure Hopkins was getting a dressing down for not providing adequate information but could not follow them much further as they had disappeared into a meeting room.

Jeremy and Cafferkey finally caught up with me outside the courtroom. I said I was not sure what difference it would make, but told her what I had seen. She was not surprised and said that the CPS were having difficulties with the lack of evidence. Later that day, Jeremy received an email from Hamilton informing him that the next hearing date would be 21 January 2005. It was sheer torture.