Madeleine (31 page)

In spite of having had my fingers burned so many times since Madeleine’s abduction, I’ve always believed in trying to see the good in people, at least until they give you cause to do otherwise. Not everyone repays such faith.
Telecinco
aired our interview that weekend. Its main focus wasn’t Madeleine, or the search, or the campaign. Far too dull and ‘samey’, clearly. No, the whole piece was centred on their big scoop: Gerry ‘storming off ’. The papers gleefully reproduced stills of Madeleine’s distressed father under headlines like ‘GERRY CRACKS!’ As our grannies used to say, you live and learn.

Meanwhile, Gerry had flown to Scotland to appear at the Edinburgh TV Festival. This had been arranged back in early June, when he had reasoned that if Madeleine was still missing by the time the date came round, press coverage would have died down and the event would present us with a good opportunity to remind people of the campaign. The fact that his interviewer would be Kirsty Wark, the highly respected
Newsnight
presenter, who had grown up a few miles down the road from him in Kilmarnock, had certainly influenced his decision to accept the invitation.

On the Friday, he was giving a telephone interview from Edinburgh to the
Daily
Telegraph
when he was asked to comment on an article that had appeared that day on the front page of the Portuguese newspaper
Tal e Qual
under the headline: ‘PJ BELIEVE PARENTS KILLED MADDIE’. I think this was probably the last straw for Gerry, and he completely lost it. I was equally gobsmacked. Initially my fury was directed not at the police but at the paper, for running such ridiculous, disgusting nonsense.

The basis of the Edinburgh Festival interview was the international impact of the Find Madeleine campaign and how it had been brought about. Now, of course, this serious discussion would be taking place amid a media firestorm. Gerry gave several additional interviews in Scotland, in which he appealed to journalists to report responsibly. For the most part, his pleas were ignored.

When I heard that my mum had got wind of the
Tal
e
Qual
story and the rumours it had prompted, I phoned her. She was so distraught she could hardly get a word out. I texted DCS Bob Small, saying how disappointed I was that the police were claiming Madeleine was dead,
without
any
evidence
, and how unsupported we had felt recently.

As our main liaison with the British police, Bob was not privy to the investigation details. This was for our protection, he told us, as sharing knowledge we would otherwise not have had could potentially compromise us. In the light of the volume of information being released into the public domain by police sources via the media, this seems farcical now. It did emerge, however, that Bob had concerns of his own. He explained that the British police regarded the use of sniffer dogs as intelligence rather than evidence, and he was perplexed at the apparent fixation of the PJ on the idea that Madeleine had died in the apartment. He told Gerry he thought they’d get a shock when the forensic results came back.

The next day Gerry rang Ken Jones, head of ACPO, the Association of Chief Police Officers. He, too, was beginning to despair of the investigation and the way it was being handled. It was good to know we weren’t alone, and that we weren’t going totally mad, but why wouldn’t anyone speak out about this? Many people in top positions were saying the right things to us privately but it seemed nobody could – or would – do anything about it. If someone had stood up and said, ‘Stop! This is all wrong!’ things could have been very different.

Carlos Pinto de Abreu advised us to sue
Tal e Qual
. (We did begin proceedings, but shortly afterwards the paper went bust, we found ourselves with bigger problems and we decided not to pursue the matter through the Portuguese courts.) Sadly, although the paper’s article was certainly ridiculous and disgusting, it was not, incredibly, nonsense. I’m not saying the police did believe we had killed Madeleine. I have never for one second thought that. What became clear to us, however, was that some faction within the PJ was indeed the source of the story. We can only assume that their objective was to make everyone else believe it, in order to ‘solve’ a case they were under immense pressure to conclude. What better way was there to achieve that than to harness the power of the media? So much for the law of judicial secrecy.

I hasten to add that I do not mean to tar all of the Portuguese police with the same brush. There were many officers who worked very hard on the case, certainly early on, and their efforts to get to the truth were being undermined by these disgraceful actions just as surely as ours were.

On Monday 27 August I had a call from Esther McVey, a Liverpool friend from my late teens, by then a television presenter and Conservative parliamentary candidate. Esther was on the board of Madeleine’s Fund. She said she was scared by our current situation and uncomfortable with what she felt was a ‘political shift’. For our own safety, and ‘to protect Madeleine’s good name’ (I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that), she thought we ought to come home. It seemed I was being pressurized from all quarters and I didn’t like it.

As it happened, however, the very same day we learned that we would need to vacate our villa by 11 September – news that put a different complexion on matters and forced Gerry and me to tackle this difficult and emotionally charged issue. We could have rented somewhere else in Praia da Luz, of course, but it would have been a lot of hassle for not much gain if we were intending to leave before long anyway. We had waited in vain for the police to call us back for interview. Finally, and very reluctantly, I agreed to set a date for our departure. Monday 10 September it would have to be. It was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever had to take.

I knew, though, that I would be returning to Luz when I could, to reconnect with the last place I had seen Madeleine and to remind the authorities that I was not going to allow my daughter’s disappearance to be forgotten. I could just imagine the police and the government rubbing their hands with glee at seeing the back of us at last and wrapping up the case with unseemly haste. I hoped to God I was wrong.

That Wednesday I began to sort out some of our belongings ahead of our return to Rothley, packing clothes we wouldn’t need before we left and putting surplus toys into big bags for local orphanages. The villa was heaving with toys, teddies and games sent by kindhearted members of the public, not only for Madeleine, but for the twins, too. We were so touched, and they had provided lots of entertainment, but we couldn’t possibly keep them all.

The very idea of leaving Portugal without Madeleine made me feel sick. Who’d have thought, when the five of us had landed here in April, full of excitement, that only four of us would be going home? The reality of what we were doing was killing me.

A couple of days later I was going through the children’s DVDs when I came across Madeleine’s favourite:
Barbie: The
Princess
and
the Pauper
. She loved that film, and she loved the two main characters, the princess and the poor village girl. If it was an Erika day, she’d say, ‘Mummy, you pretend to be Anneliese and I’ll be Erika.’ The next day our roles would be swapped. I could see Madeleine now, with her pink princess blanket over her head, the corners pulled together under her chin like a headscarf, singing ‘If I was a girl like you . . .’

Sean and Amelie were talking about Madeleine quite a lot by now. I wore a locket with a picture of Madeleine inside, and Amelie had taken to opening it. ‘See Madeleine,’ she’d say, or ‘Night night, Madeleine!’ And then she would give her a kiss.

Started to feel a bit ‘funny’ again. My fear for Madeleine is creeping back. It’s so hard to block it. Sometimes I wonder if I should try and pretend that she never existed to make it easier, but I just can’t.

Thursday 30 August was another milestone we could hardly bear to think about. It should have been Madeleine’s big moment: her first day at school. She’d been so looking forward to this. She had talked about it excitedly, while in my mind’s eye I had pictured her in class, having fun and making lots of new mates. Now all her friends would be starting without her.

It was an awful day. Every hour, I’d see her standing there in her new uniform, smiling at me. I cried, I prayed and I held my husband and children tightly. We could make things right for her. If only we could get her back we would work through anything and everything she’d endured. We would make sure that her life was as full and as happy as it should always have been.

Clement Freud returned to Praia da Luz on 31 August and called Gerry that day. ‘Is it true, Gerry?’ he said, without preamble.

‘What’s that, Clement?’

‘That you’re close to a breakdown and needing medication?’

Very funny.

‘I have a lot of empathy with the
Express
though, you know,’ he went on.

For a split second Gerry thought he was serious. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Well, you see, we both suffer from poor circulation.’

Thank God for people like Clement who kept us smiling.

On the night of 1 September I dreamed about Madeleine for the first time in four months. I was astonished that this hadn’t happened before. The workings of the mind are impossible to fathom. It was a good thing it hadn’t, because it was such a dreadful experience – far more painful than anything that had occurred in real life since the night she was taken – I’m not sure I could have survived it in the early weeks.

We had a call from one of the girls at the children’s nursery school. ‘Guess what?’ she said. ‘Madeleine’s here! She’s been here for a couple of days. She’s fine.’ We rushed to the nursery immediately. And sure enough, there was our Madeleine. She looked beautiful, just as I remembered her. I ran over to her, my face split by the widest smile, the tears running down my cheeks, and just held her and held her and held her. Although I was dreaming,
I
could feel
her
. It was as if parts of my body that had been hibernating for four months suddenly began to stir. I could sense the cold, dark days lifting as I luxuriated in warmth and light. And Madeleine
was
holding
me
, her little arms wrapped tightly round me, and it felt so good. I could smell her. I could feel her with every one of my senses as I soaked up this heavenly moment.

My Madeleine. I wanted to stay like this for ever. And then I woke up.

Ice began to course through my body, driving out every endorphin and remnant of warmth. I didn’t understand. What was happening? How could this be?
I
could still feel her!
A heavy boot connected with my stomach and the ache in my chest was worse than I’d ever known it. I was struggling for breath, almost as if I were being strangled. Please God, don’t let her go! Stay with me, Madeleine. Please stay with me. Don’t go – stay with Mummy. Please, sweetheart, hold on. I love you so much.

I started to cry. The crying built into seismic sobs. An unearthly sound, like the howl of a wounded animal, was coming out of my mouth. The crushing pain in my chest intensified to the point where I thought I was going to die.

I’d been with her. And then she was gone. Again.

16

FANTASY LAND

The day after the dream had been a difficult one. That night I’d gone to bed with puffy eyes. I woke on the morning of Monday 3 September with puffier ones.

There was a phone call from Ricardo. He would be coming over later as he needed Gerry to sign some release forms so that the emails relating to the Dutch extortion attempt could be used as evidence in court.

Alan Pike was back in Praia da Luz today to see how we were coping with recent events and our preparations for returning to the UK the following Monday. We spent several hours talking about my recent low episodes and the support we were going to need at home. He reassured us that he would be keeping in touch with us and that we would continue to see him regularly. Gerry and I spoke of the craziness going on around us: the media speculation, the lies, and the change in the attitude and the behaviour of the police. At one point I remarked sardonically, ‘They’ll be hauling us in as suspects next!’

‘Now you’re wandering into fantasy land,’ replied Alan.

At 4.30pm Ricardo arrived with a female colleague and the forms Gerry needed to complete. After his colleague left with the paperwork, Ricardo asked if we had any queries he could answer. ‘Do you have any information for
us
?’ I inquired.

He clarified with us the date of our planned departure back to the UK and told us that the PJ wanted to ‘interrogate’ me on Wednesday and Gerry on Thursday. We’d waited almost four weeks for these interviews and it was obvious they had been hastily arranged once Bob Small notified the PJ that we would be leaving the country. Otherwise, why now? As far as we knew, they didn’t have the forensic results back yet.

We should bring our lawyer with us to the police station, Ricardo went on. Gerry smelled a rat. The law has changed now, but back then witnesses were not normally entitled to legal representation. ‘Isn’t it unusual for witnesses to be questioned with their lawyer present?’ he asked. It was like pulling teeth, but these were teeth that would have been falling out very soon anyway. We were not going to be questioned as witnesses, Ricardo finally admitted. ‘So what
will
our status be, then?’ Gerry pressed him.