Madeleine (37 page)

Discussions between ourselves, Brian and Ed, our lawyers and representatives from Control Risks continued through the afternoon. We left feeling weary but upbeat, and as we said our farewells, Brian got his hug.

Everyone had agreed that it would be a great help to have Clarence Mitchell back on board to take care of media liaison, communications and public relations. We knew he was keen to rejoin us in spite of the government’s edict. Within three days, Clarence had resigned from the Civil Service and was back in the fold, his salary generously taken care of by Brian. Being Clarence, he rolled up his sleeves and got started immediately. We were absolutely delighted – as, incidentally, were the many little old ladies who wrote to tell us that they were sleeping much better since the return of that nice ‘Mr Mitchell’.

*

Once the twins had settled back where they belonged, they began to feel Madeleine’s absence from our home and family more keenly. A week after our return, Amelie jumped into bed with me at two o’clock in the morning. ‘Where’s Madeleine gone, Mummy?’ Trying not to crumble, I explained to her gently that Madeleine was still missing and that although we hadn’t found her yet, we were all still looking. She asked me the same question when she woke up again five hours later.

The children had been away from their nursery school for four and a half months and we decided it was probably time they went back. We were prepared for it to take them a few mornings to get used to nursery again. What we hadn’t bargained for was the emotional impact it would have on Gerry and me. Madeleine had started at this nursery at eighteen months and had still been going there when we left for Portugal. It was awash with memories. We knew the staff really well and we knew how fond they were of Madeleine. The first morning was very tough, and there were many wet eyes around the building.

After lunch, I went to collect Amelie and Sean. As we were getting into the car, Sean asked, ‘Where’s Madeleine?’ Then he answered his own question. ‘She’s round there.’

He was pointing to an annexe called the Coach House where the older children were based, the place where he remembered Madeleine going each morning. I recalled how the twins used to stop at the window on the half-landing of the main building, which overlooked the play area outside the Coach House. ‘There’s Magalin!’ they would say in their toddler babble. ‘There’s Magalin!’ Their doting big sister would wave up at them, bringing beaming smiles to their little faces. God, it hurt. For the rest of that day, I would hear Seany wandering around the house telling anybody within earshot, ‘We can’t find Madeleine.’

Everywhere I went with the twins, the associations with Madeleine brought back memories that increased the agony. In the park I could still picture her coming down the slide. At the swimming pool, there she was in her little yellow swimming cap, waving to me as I watched proudly through the window. But gradually I began to force myself to go on little expeditions that I knew would make Amelie and Sean happy. I took them back to Stonehurst Farm – ‘our farm’. I could see Madeleine feeding the sheep. I could see her talking to the donkeys. I could see her swinging on the rope in the hay barn. I could hear her giggling and I wanted to giggle with her. Farmer John was coming towards us across the farmyard, shouting, ‘Tractor ride in five minutes!’ Then he spotted me, and his eyes filled with sorrow. He quickened his stride in our direction and threw his strong farmer’s arms around me. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. I knew big-hearted John felt my pain and my yearning for our little Madeleine (‘with three Es’) to come home.

On Thursday 20 September, Gerry and I travelled to London again to meet no fewer than five lawyers. Just five months earlier I would never have imagined even knowing that many lawyers, let alone needing to call upon their services. Gathered in the Kingsley Napley offices were Michael Caplan and Angus McBride, our UK criminal lawyers; Edward Smethurst, Brian Kennedy’s lawyer; Carlos Pinto de Abreu, our Portuguese criminal lawyer; and Rogério Alves, another Portuguese lawyer.

Brian had suggested bringing in Rogério because he felt we needed additional legal support in Portugal. Gerry and I spent some time on our own with him in another room, basically to get to know him a little, and vice versa, and to familiarize him with our perspective on matters. My first impressions were of a rather talkative man, but much of what Rogério said made a great deal of sense, even if the ‘uncomfortable truths’ he needed to spell out to us didn’t make for easy listening. He asked about our relationship with Carlos and listened as we explained our concerns, which related mainly to Carlos’s behaviour and attitude during the
arguido
interview period.

We rejoined the others an hour later, discussed our strategy, decided upon a plan and worked out who would be doing what. It was agreed that Rogério would join the legal team. He and Carlos knew each other well and were a good combination: Carlos was a details man while Rogério, who was president of the Portuguese Bar, had a high profile in Portugal and a good working relationship with the media. Between them, it was felt, we would have all the angles covered. Rogério would represent me in Portugal while Carlos continued to act for Gerry. We would petition the prosecutor, asking to be informed of the evidence against us. At the same time we would put forward our own catalogue of information, which would include my detailed account of our movements from May to September 2007, a record of all our trips in the hire car and Gerry’s research into the reliability (or otherwise) of blood and cadaver dogs.

The meticulous record of events in my journals enabled us to account for every journey we made in the Renault Scenic, taking us to within a few kilometres of the much-publicized ‘unexplained mystery mileage of the McCanns’ hire car’ which, of course, was not a mystery at all.

We would also supply a list of all the witnesses we believed should have been interviewed before we were made
arguidos
. It was an extensive list, but everyone on it was an obvious candidate. I’m sure the man or woman in the street would take it for granted that it was necessary, if not crucial, for the police to talk to all these people in the course of investigating any potential suspect, so it shouldn’t have been beyond the wit of experienced officers to have done so. It was straightforward common sense, not rocket science.

Our GP I’ve already mentioned. Also included were the staff at the children’s nursery at home, who spent a great deal of time with them and witnessed our interaction with them on a regular basis; Trisha and Sandy, Madeleine’s aunt and uncle and godparents, who came out to Portugal on 5 May and lived with us for the next three months; Alan Pike, the trauma psychologist who had talked to us for hour upon hour; not forgetting Fiona, David, Russell, Jane, Matt, Rachael and Dianne, none of whom was ever re-interviewed before the police decided to declare us
arguidos
. And the list went on. Trisha and Sandy’s testimony would, you’d have thought, been particularly relevant to the hypothesis that we had ‘stored’ Madeleine’s body, since they were with us the whole time. But then, perhaps the PJ were never looking for evidence that supported our innocence.

We got to spend some nice time with Sean and Amelie this evening – baths together and Wallace and Gromit. They are both so lovely, loving and delightful. It breaks my heart thinking about what fun our three children would be having together now. They had such a close and beautiful relationship.

All the preparatory work was now being put into action. Brian Kennedy arranged for Jane Tanner to see an FBI-accredited forensic sketch artist to try to create an image of the man she saw carrying a child on 3 May. A forensic team had been sent over to Praia da Luz to carry out the full examination of the Renault Scenic. And on 24 September, a forensic scientist from Control Risks came to take samples of hair from Sean, Amelie and myself.

On the night Madeleine was taken, you may remember, Gerry and I had been very concerned that Sean and Amelie had hardly moved in their cots, let alone woken up, despite the commotion in the apartment. Since Madeleine was snatched apparently without making a sound, we had always suspected that all three children might have been sedated by the abductor. We mentioned this to the police that night and several more times in the following weeks, but no testing of urine, blood or hair, which could have revealed the presence of drugs, had ever been done. Apparently, hair grows at a rate of approximately 1cm per month, so it was possible that hair samples taken even four months later could provide us with additional information. It was worth a shot, at least. I asked for samples of my own hair to be taken as well simply because I was fed up with the constant insinuations that I took tranquillizers, sleeping pills or any medication, for that matter.

The process seemed to take ages and we all lost loads of hair. I couldn’t believe they had to take so much. The scientist cut chunks of it from Sean and Amelie’s heads while they were sleeping. I cried as I heard the scissors in their baby-blond hair. I felt angry that the children had to go through this further insult. As for me, I looked as if I had alopecia. Though I cursed the abductor and the PJ, I had bigger things to worry about.

All the hair samples produced negative results. While this didn’t totally exclude the possibility that the children had been sedated, especially given the time that had elapsed, it meant nobody else (including the PJ and the media) could prove otherwise. It also confirmed that I didn’t ‘abuse’ sedative medication. It is sad that we had to go to such lengths to demonstrate this; sadder still that such tests weren’t carried out at the time.

While Gerry and I laboured away, hour after hour, at our desks, the media onslaught continued unabated.

THE McCANNS ARE LYING

IF A BODY ISN’T FOUND, THE McCANNS WILL ESCAPE

BRITISH POLICE SAY MADELEINE DIED IN THE APARTMENT NEW DNA LINKS TO KATE

FSS CONFIRMS PARENTS SEDATED THEIR CHILDREN

GERRY IS NOT MADELEINE’S BIOLOGICAL FATHER

By now you might think I’d have become immune to these headlines, but they still shocked me.

KATE’S ALCOHOL-FUELLED UNIVERSITY DAYS

OK, so maybe there was the odd one with a grain of truth in it, but they were few and far between.

Angus McBride paid a second round of visits to newspaper editors, this time with Clarence. Michael Caplan had written to the chief constable of Leicestershire police asking him to intervene. On 17 September, the chief constable wrote to newspapers and broadcasters urging restraint, to little effect. On 8 October he sent a further letter, again making it clear that much of the media coverage simply had no foundation and that rumour appeared to have taken precedence over due diligence.

It was the nights that were the worst. Not only did lying awake in the dark take me straight back to the most awful night of all, but my brain, finally free of the preoccupations of the day, would wander unbidden down black and terrifying avenues. I struggled constantly to think nice thoughts and drift off to sleep, but the demons had me in their grip and would torture me mercilessly with images too frightening and painful to share. Where is my Madeleine? Please, God, do something!

After Madeleine was taken from us, my sexual desire plummeted to zero. Our sex life is not something I would normally be inclined to share and yet it is such an integral part of most marriages that it doesn’t feel right not to acknowledge this. I’m sure other couples who have been through traumatic experiences will have suffered similarly and perhaps it will reassure them to know that they are not alone. To those fortunate enough not to have encountered such heartache, I hope it gives an insight into just how deep the wounds go.

Apart from our general state of shock and distress, and the fact that I couldn’t concentrate on anything but Madeleine, there were two continuing reasons for this, I believe. The first was my inability to permit myself any pleasure, whether it was reading a book or making love with my husband. The second stemmed from the revulsion stirred up by my fear that Madeleine had suffered the worst fate we could imagine: falling into the hands of a paedophile. When she was first stolen, paedophiles were all we could think about, and it made us sick, ate away at us.

The idea of a monster like this touching my daughter, stroking her, defiling her perfect little body, just killed me, over and over again. It didn’t make any difference that this might not be the explanation for Madeleine’s abduction (and, please God, it isn’t); the fact that it was a possibility was enough to prevent me from shutting it out of my mind. Tortured as I was by these nauseating images, it’s probably not surprising that even the thought of sex repulsed me.

I would lie in bed, hating the person who had done this to us; the person who had taken away our little girl and terrified her; the person who had caused these additional problems for me and the man I loved. I
hated
him. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to inflict the maximum pain possible on him for heaping all this misery on my family. I was angry and bitter and I wanted it all to go away. I wanted my old life back.

I worried about Gerry and me. I worried that if I couldn’t get our sex life back on track our whole relationship would break down. I know there is more to a relationship than sex, but it is still an important element. It was vital that we stayed together and stayed strong for our family. Gerry was incredibly understanding and supportive. He never made me feel guilty, he never pushed me and he never got sulky. In fact, sometimes he would apologize to
me
. Invariably, he would put a big, reassuring arm around me and tell me that he loved me and not to worry.