Madeleine (30 page)

Gerry and I both got up to say a few words. We were just so grateful that the local people had stood by us through these hundred long days. To know they were rooting for Madeleine, regardless of the nonsense with which they were being bombarded by the press, filled us with warmth and strength. If we could be stronger then so would the hope for Madeleine. We left Nossa Senhora da Luz to unexpected and rather overwhelming applause. As I wrote in my diary later:

I have no doubt the local Portuguese community are behind us. We were kissed to death again!

For Sean and Amelie, today was just another day. It wasn’t always possible for us to paint on brave faces for them, but we did try. They were growing up before our eyes and we didn’t want to inflict additional confusion, worry or sadness on them. After the service, we took them and the rest of our family group up to the Millennium area of the resort. The children loved splashing about in the pool there and even had a little knock-about on the tennis court. It melted my heart to watch them playing so happily, oblivious of the shattered lives around them.

Earlier in the day Gerry had called Ricardo Paiva. Olegário de Sousa had given a statement to the BBC regarding new ‘evidence’ that had emerged and indicating that Madeleine may be dead. He went on to say that family and friends were not suspects. We tried to explain to Ricardo that we desperately needed to know what was going on. The chaotic and upsetting events and rumours of recent days and the complete lack of real information were compounding our already unbearable agony. Rather to our surprise, Ricardo phoned later to say that he was on his way round to see us.

When he arrived, Ricardo explained this ‘evidence’ a little further. His tone was sombre as he told us about the two springer spaniels that had been brought out to Portugal by the British police to assist in the search. Keela, who could alert her handler to the tiniest trace of blood, had done so in apartment 5A. Eddie, a victim-recovery or ‘cadaver’ dog, trained to detect human remains, had indicated that somebody had died there. Test results on the samples taken from the flat were awaited from a forensics laboratory in the UK.

I trusted Ricardo back then but I struggled to understand how, never mind why, somebody could have killed Madeleine and removed her body within such a short time frame. It didn’t make sense. And, like the business of the ‘blood’, this ‘evidence of death’ seemed tenuous in the extreme. The police appeared to be telling us, on the say-so of a dog, that someone had definitely died in apartment 5A and, since nobody else they knew of had passed away there, it must have been Madeleine. Supposing she had been killed – and we think this extremely unlikely – she must have been taken out of the apartment within minutes. Did they really believe that a dog could smell the ‘odour of death’ three months later from a body that had been removed so swiftly? They were adding two and two and coming up with ten.

But of course to me, as Madeleine’s mother, it didn’t have to make sense at this point. The merest suggestion from Ricardo that it was even possible she had been killed in that flat was like a knife being twisted into my chest. My eyes, so tired of tears, succumbed to them yet again.

So Madeleine’s dead? . . . Psychopath? Burglary gone wrong? I need her body before I can believe this. I just can’t accept this. God, let them be wrong.

It’s hard to imagine that anything could have brought a glimmer of light into that dark evening but a remark by Bill Kenwright, the chairman of Everton FC, made the world seem slightly less awful than it had a second before. Our family were watching television when the Premiership highlights came on. Not only were many of the players wearing Madeleine T-shirts and wristbands but Bill, when asked about the pressure facing clubs and managers at the start of the new season, replied that it was nothing compared with the pressure Gerry and I were under. Although we hadn’t had any direct contact with Bill, we knew that he had supported the search for Madeleine from the start and had encouraged others to do so, too. The fact that he hadn’t forgotten her and was still publicly showing his solidarity really touched us.

The following three weeks felt like an eternity. It was like being on some kind of endurance course run by sadists. The newspapers in both Portugal and the UK churned out endless damning pieces that were at best speculative and mostly complete fabrications. We were living in a luxury penthouse with a swimming pool! We drank fourteen bottles of wine on the night that Madeleine was abducted! A syringe containing a tranquillizer had been found in our apartment on the night! It was all so offensive and unjust. While selling papers and making money, these stories very effectively distorted the opinions of the readership, especially in Portugal, where our daughter needed help the most.

Cultural differences were open to misinterpretation. The fact that our children slept for ten or twelve hours a night, for example, was perceived by many people in Portugal as outlandish – if not, in the circumstances, downright suspicious. The Portuguese retain elements of the southern European lifestyle, which traditionally involves a longer break in the middle of the day than we are used to, and later nights. Proper, leisurely lunches, rather than a snatched sandwich, are not uncommon, followed in some places by naps for adults and kids alike, and even small children stay up for late-night meals with the grown-ups. It’s a lovely way of life, but not one practised by many of us in more northerly climes.

Evidently it didn’t matter to the newspaper editors whether there was any truth in these tales or not. Well, it mattered to Gerry and me and it mattered to our family and friends. Above all, it mattered for Madeleine. The media’s constant refrain was that keeping Madeleine in the headlines could only be a good thing. I beg to differ.

Meanwhile, the police said nothing. In spite of our attempts to find out, we had no idea what was happening with the investigation. We knew they planned to interview us again, and we wanted to get this over with and clear up any concerns they had. We didn’t even know if anyone was looking for our daughter any more. I had just about been able to cope when we had at least some information. This silence was too much to bear.

15 August

The whole situation seems to be getting more unbelievable. We’ve always said that whatever happens, we need to know the truth. I never thought that would include the need for us to have our names cleared. What is going on with people? Where is the common sense?

Dear God. Please bless and protect our Madeleine wherever she is. Please give us and our families the strength to get through this. Please give the police the wisdom, intelligence and honesty to solve this crime and find Madeleine. Amen x

Life went on, of course. Relatives and friends came and went, to be replaced by more relatives and friends, all of whom continued to do a sterling job providing both emotional support and practical help. We carried on giving interviews when appropriate. We had no idea if this was helping or not but we had to do something. We went to church, often several times a day, for Masses, vigils, private prayer and reflection. We made phone calls, wrote and replied to emails and letters. We spent time with Sean and Amelie, playing games, reading stories, watching movies and taking trips to the beach, the zoo or a café. None of it was getting us anywhere.

17 August

Finding it hard to talk to anyone at the moment as I’m full of so many negative emotions – anger, bitterness, frustration, desperation . . . It doesn’t make you a very nice person.

Gerry had been talking for some while now about us going home. He reasoned that we could achieve just as much there in terms of the campaign, probably more. He also felt that if we were back in Rothley the media attention would quieten down a bit, certainly in the Portuguese press, where the worst smears were originating. At home it would be much easier for our friends and relations to support us, and better for us all emotionally. Although the twins seemed quite happy, it had to be said that our life in Praia da Luz was quite artificial – not that life at home was going to be normal, by any stretch of the imagination – and they needed stability in the long term.

I appreciated all of this. The thought of some respite from the poisonous headlines was balm for the soul. It would be lovely for Sean and Amelie to be back in their own bedroom, playing in their own garden and going back to nursery to re-establish friendships. I realized that they needed to reconnect with home. It had recently emerged that they believed Madeleine was at our house in Rothley. Worried that the ‘pyramid of information’ they were building in their heads might not be structurally sound, Gerry rang the child psychologist David Trickey for advice. It broke my heart to hear Gerry explaining gently to the children afterwards that Madeleine wasn’t there. Sean looked quite confused, and perhaps a bit scared, too, but they accepted it.

However, for many weeks I’d fought against the idea of going home. Even considering it was an enormous emotional and psychological mountain for me to climb. We had always said we would not leave without Madeleine, and I still felt that to do so would be to abandon her. In mid-July I had slowly started to come round to Gerry’s way of thinking – we had to return some time, after all – but now, a month later, with matters taking a turn for the worse, there was even more reason to stay. If we didn’t, it would feel as if we were caving in to the bullying tactics of the media and the PJ. We were beginning to suspect that there was an agenda to force us out of the country and take the pressure off the police. I had no intention of allowing that to happen.

It was a difficult dilemma. Before I could think about going, I had to be completely confident in my own mind that I would not be leaving Madeleine, that we were not capitulating to any such agenda and that we were not giving up.

19
A
ugust

Madeleine, sweetheart, it’s not getting any easier at this end. I just have to hope that whoever is with you loves you too and is treating you kindly and fairly.

20
A
ugust

The news today suggests that they’re going to arrest a ‘new suspect’ in the UK. It’s likely to be more tabloid fabrication. There’s so much shit that’s been written, much of it outrageous. And coupled with the void of information from the police, who knows what’s going on!

By this time, we felt as if we had been completely cut adrift. The police ignored us, we were up against a convoluted system neither of us really understood and the media juggernaut was now well and truly out of control. If we were going to have any chance of protecting ourselves, we needed somebody familiar with the system, a Portuguese lawyer, to represent our interests. Later that day, Gerry contacted Carlos Pinto de Abreu, a human-rights lawyer in Lisbon, who’d been recommended to us, and arranged for us to go and see him the following afternoon.

We left for Lisbon at lunchtime, with our kind and trustworthy taxi-driver. At his office Carlos was joined by three colleagues and his wife, a doctor, who helped with interpretation where needed.

We took them through as much as we could: the night of 3 May, our relationship with the police, the leaks to the media and the scandalous headlines. We felt better knowing that Carlos and his team would be able to advise us.

A bit upset on the way back . . . I had ‘flashes’ of Madeleine in my head being hurt, abused and screaming for us – but we weren’t there. So awful.

We arrived in Praia da Luz late in the evening and discovered Sean and Amelie in our bed. They were quiet but still awake, which, I have to admit, secretly pleased me. I needed them with me. Thank God for Sean and Amelie.

On 23 August we did an interview with
Telecinco
, a Spanish TV news programme, in Justine’s flat. We had a pre-interview chat with the team about the topics we would be unable to talk about, such as the investigation, and areas we felt it was important to highlight to help our search.

The main reason why we couldn’t discuss the investigation, obviously, was that we could say very little without breaking the judicial secrecy law. In any case, as we were now being kept in the dark, we didn’t know much about it ourselves by this stage. Making public any details we had been told could jeopardize the investigation, not least by alerting the abductor. We were not prepared, either, to get into a debate about the continuing speculation and lies in the media.

It was stifling in the small flat. It was a hot August day, hotter still under the TV arc lights, and we were pretty uncomfortable before we even started. We readied ourselves for the interviewer’s first question. It was about the investigation. And his second question? About the investigation. As was the third. Blood and dogs were mentioned again. It was as if the conversation we’d had a few minutes earlier had never taken place. After five or so of these unanswerable prompts, Gerry, who was suffering badly from the heat, removed his mike and left, visibly exasperated and upset. Giving the interviewer the benefit of the doubt – he was bound to push us for something new, I reasoned – I carried on, attempting patiently and politely to explain why my husband had reacted as he had.