Did he ?
My confidence in Carlos was evaporating almost as quickly as my faith in Portuguese justice. I couldn’t tell if he believed us, which, given that his job was to defend us, was a major worry, to put it mildly. Even if he did, I was no longer sure he had the backbone to stand up for us.
Cleverly picked out, Anne.
BUT It was actually quite different to how you posted it.
Then came the best bit. Carlos announced what the police had proposed. If we, or rather I, admitted that Madeleine had died in an accident in the apartment, and confessed to having hidden and disposed of her body, the sentence I’d receive would be much more lenient: only two years, he said, as opposed to what I’d be looking at if I ended up being charged with homicide.
Pardon? I really wasn’t sure if I could possibly have heard him correctly. My incredulity turned to rage. How dare they suggest I lie? How dare they expect me to live with such a charge against my name? And even more importantly, did they really expect me to confess to a crime they had made up, to falsely claim to the whole world that my daughter was dead, when the result would be that the whole world stopped looking for her? This police tactic might have worked successfully in the past but it certainly wasn’t going to work with me. Over my dead body. ‘You need to think about it,’ Carlos insisted. ‘It would only be one of you. Gerry could go back to work.’
I was speechless.
The incentive to accept this ‘offer’ seemed to be that if we didn’t agree to it, the authorities could or would go after us for murder, and if we were found guilty, we might both receive life sentences. Was this what it came down to? Confess to this lesser charge or risk something much worse?
Gerry was distraught now. He was on his knees, sobbing, his head hung low. ‘We’re finished. Our life is over,’ he kept saying over and over again. The realization that we were at the mercy of an incomprehensible criminal justice system had hit him hard. It was excruciating to see him like this. I love him so much and he is usually so strong. I was very conscious that my response was different. Maybe I should have been on my knees, too. Why wasn’t I crying? Was my behaviour making me look cold or guilty? Again, my only explanation is that it was beyond comprehension. I might as well have been a character in a soap opera. Any time now the director would call ‘Cut!’ and this scene would be over. Even today, I struggle to believe it actually took place.
There was a phrase Carlos must have used about twenty times: ‘This is the point of no return.’ I could feel myself shaking. He was a man with three daughters of his own. ‘Do you want me to lie? What would you do, Carlos? If one of your daughters was missing, and this happened to you, what would you do? Would you confess to a crime you hadn’t committed, knowing full well it would mean everyone would stop searching for her?’
‘I’d consider it, yes.’
Heaven help us. My confidence in Carlos was evaporating almost as quickly as my faith in Portuguese justice. I couldn’t tell if he believed us, which, given that his job was to defend us, was a major worry, to put it mildly. Even if he did, I was no longer sure he had the backbone to stand up for us.It was one thing to make us aware of the PJ’s proposal, and perhaps Carlos was duty bound to do that; it was quite another, however, to suggest we accept it. I was horrified, and told him so in no uncertain terms.
My anger and ferocious maternal instinct began to permeate Gerry’s despair. He was regaining his composure, his powers of reason and his fighting spirit.
‘They’ve got nothing!’ he fired at Carlos. He began pointing out the many flaws in the PJ’s ‘evidence’ and the complete absence of any logic. ‘This should be your job, not ours!’ he said. He asked Carlos whether he felt he was up to the job. Carlos thought so. Did he need assistance? Not at the moment, but he would if the case came to trial.
Trisha and Eileen, disturbed by the noise, appeared from their room. Keeping a lid on my anger for long enough to enable me to communicate clearly, I brought them up to speed. Within seconds there were three raging lionesses pacing the villa.
Recognizing the need to switch into crisis-management mode, we calmed each other down. Gerry and I made it very clear to Trisha and Eileen that if we didn’t return from the police station the next day, they should take the children out of the country as soon as possible.
It must have been close to 4am when Carlos and Sofia left, saying they would see me at the police station later that morning. On her way out, Sofia came over and gave me a hug. She told me she believed in us, that she was ‘with’ us, and tried to allay my concerns about Carlos. I should trust him, she said. He was ‘very good’. It was a relief to know that somebody in Portugal was on our side.
Gerry and I just looked at each other, not knowing quite what to do or what was to become of us. We’d experienced many periods of despair since our beloved daughter had been taken away, but this one would take some beating. Our lives, our family, our whole future hung in the balance. We couldn’t just go to bed. We had to do something. Despite the time, Gerry rang Bob Small and, in a voice laced with panic, explained what was going on. Bob was shocked. He wasn’t aware of any forensic results, he told us, and certainly none suggesting what had just been shared with us. He tried his best to reassure Gerry. ‘Just tell them the truth. It’ll be OK,’ he insisted. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself.
It was almost 5am when we finally got to bed. Extra prayers tonight.
