Here is the complete report of Kate McCann ("Madeleine") of the"regular informal meeting". We were taken to an upstairs room at the police station where we were greeted by Luís Neves and Guilhermino Encarnação. Our interpreter this time was a police officer, not Proconsul Angela Morado, as was usually the case. The whole demeanour of Neves and Encarnação was different. They looked serious and cold.
There had been a ‘shift’ in the investigation, they said. They had always been optimistic that Madeleine was alive, but now things had changed. Almost instantaneously I could feel my breathing pattern altering and that familiar constriction in my throat. Gerry asked if any evidence had come to light to suggest that Madeleine was dead but they wouldn’t reply. There was a lot of frowning going on which, combined with the language barrier, made it less obvious that they weren’t answering us. Gerry was then asked to leave the room. Now the sirens in my head were deafening. I was on my own and afraid. Please God, let my Madeleine be OK.
Tell us about that night, they said.Tell us everything that happened after the children went to bed. I gave them every detail I could remember, as I had before, but this time they responded by just staring at me and shaking their heads. I was reeling with confusion, disbelief and panic. What the hell was going on? Evidently not satisfied with my account, they pressed me. Was there anything else I wanted to add? Anything else unusual that had occurred that night?
Of course there wasn’t. If there had been I would have told them on 3 May. I’d recounted absolutely everything and anything – more than they wanted or needed to know, probably, just in case some triviality I recalled might be significant. How could they think I would hold something back that might help my daughter? Why were they asking me this? Why?
Neves stated bluntly that they didn’t believe my version of events. It ‘didn’t fit’ with what they knew. Didn’t fit? What did they know? I was sobbing now, well past the stage of silent tears and stifled sniffs. I began to wail hysterically, drawing breath in desperate gasps.
Why did I think Madeleine had been alive when she was taken from the apartment? they persisted. I explained between sobs that there had been nothing to suggest otherwise; no indication that she might have come to harm. Had I ever considered that she may be dead? Yes, of course. Early on that was all I thought, all the time: that some paedophile had grabbed her, abused her and later killed her. Then I’d begun to wonder if she was being held by pornographers, I told them, or had been taken for someone who wanted a child.
I was becoming more and more distressed and more and more scared. I wanted Gerry. Still they pushed me. They proposed that when I’d put Madeleine to bed that night, it wasn’t actually the last time I’d seen her. But it was. It was! I felt I was being bullied, and I suppose I was. I assume these tactics were deliberate: knock her off balance by telling her that her daughter is dead and get her to confess. Because I was in no doubt now that they were trying to make me say I’d killed Madeleine or knew what had happened to her. I might be naive but I’m not stupid.
On and on it went. They tried to convince me I’d had a blackout – a ‘loss of memory episode’, I think they called it. My denials, answers and pleas fell on deaf ears. This was their theory and they wanted to shoehorn me into it, end of story. At last they seemed to decide that the interview was over. They told me I could ring them any time, day or night, to give them the information they were waiting for.
I was allowed to spend a couple of minutes with Gerry, but I don’t think he was able to get much sense out of me. Then it was his turn to be interrogated. He managed to remain a little calmer than I had but he was still visibly upset and shaken afterwards. He gave the police his account of the events of 3 May and the reasons why he didn’t believe Madeleine had been killed in the apartment. Through his tears he pleaded with the two men: ‘Do you have evidence that Madeleine is dead? We’re her parents. You have to tell us.’
‘It’s coming,’ Neves told him. ‘It’s coming!’
Outside the room, I was praying – begging prayers. I was beginning to come unstuck. But if I thought the police had finished with me, I was mistaken. Before long I was ordered back into the room to join Gerry for round three.
Once again Gerry wanted to know if the case had now become a murder inquiry. The answer was indirect: ‘You can probably guess that from our lack of response.’ In a slightly threatening manner, Luís asked why I wasn’t looking him straight in the eye. There was no reason, other than that I was incapable of looking at anyone properly: my own eyes were so swollen and sore that I was struggling to keep them from closing completely. Finally, Gerry tried to establish when – and if – we would be having another meeting with them. ‘The next time we meet it will be across the table.’ The message behind this rather Delphic statement was clear: there would be no more informal meetings.
Secret of Justice was running, that's true..
Why is there nothing in the files ?
