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GERRY MCCANNS BLOGS

 
 

Page 01: The reason for writing this is simple to give an account of the truth. It has always been my intention to set down a complete record
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Page 02: Yet publishing the truth is fraught with risks for our family. It lays us open to more criticism for a start.
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Page 03: The sacrifice of our privacy has been another concern. Given the choice, we would prefer to sink back into anonymity
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Page 04: What  tipped the balance in our decision is the continuing need to fund the search for Madeleine.

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Page 56:  [Tapas Booking] It wasn’t until a year later, when I was combing through the Portuguese police files, that I discovered that the note requesting our block booking was written in a staff message book, which sat on a desk at the pool reception for most of the day. This book was by definition accessible to all staff and, albeit unintentionally, probably to guests and visitors, too. To my horror, I saw that, no doubt in all innocence and simply to explain why she was bending the rules a bit, the receptionist had added the reason for our request: we wanted to eat close to our apartments as we were leaving our young children alone there and checking on them intermittently.

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Page 57: [On Tuesday 1 May]

During Gerry’s tennis lesson, Madeleine and Ella came to the adjoining court with their Mini Club for a mini-tennis session. Jane and I stayed to watch them. It chokes me remembering how my heart soared with pride in Madeleine that morning. She was so happy and obviously enjoying herself. Standing there listening intently to Cat’s instructions, she looked so gorgeous in her little T-shirt and shorts, pink hat, ankle socks and new holiday sandals that I ran back to our apartment for my camera to record the occasion. One of my photographs is known around the world now: a smiling Madeleine clutching armfuls of tennis balls. At the end of their session, the children had been asked to run around the court and pick up as many balls as they could. Madeleine had done really well and was very pleased with herself. Gerry loves that picture.
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Page 75: [Mrs Fenn] Then a lady appeared on a balcony – I’m fairly certain this was about 11pm, before the police arrived – and, in a plummy voice, inquired, ‘Can someone tell me what all the noise is about?’ I explained as clearly as I was able, given the state I was in, that my little girl had been stolen from her bed, to which she casually responded, ‘Oh, I see,’ almost as if she’d just been told that a can of beans had fallen off a kitchen shelf. I remember feeling both shocked and angry at this woefully inadequate and apparently unconcerned reaction. I recollect that in our outrage, Fiona and I shouted back something rather short and to the point.
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Page 105: I also felt a compulsion to run up to the top of the Rocha Negra. Somehow, inflicting physical pain on myself seemed to be the only possible way of escaping my internal pain. The other truly awful manifestation of what I was feeling was a macabre slideshow of vivid pictures in my brain that taunted me relentlessly. I was crying out that I could see Madeleine lying, cold and mottled, on a big grey stone slab. Looking back, seeing me like this must have been terrible for my friends and relatives, and particularly my parents, but I couldn’t help myself. And all this needed to come out. I dread to think what it might have done to me if it hadn’t.
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Page 129: I asked Gerry apprehensively if he’d had any really horrible thoughts or visions of Madeleine. He nodded. Haltingly, I told him about the awful pictures that scrolled through my head of her body, her perfect little genitals torn apart. Although I knew I had to share this burden, just raising the subject out loud to someone else, even Gerry, was excruciating. Admitting the existence of these images somehow confirmed them as a real possibility, and with that confirmation came renewed waves of fear.

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Page 226: 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.
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Page 250: [Ricardo Paiva] Each time a dog gave a signal, Ricardo would pause the video and inform me that blood had been found in this site and that the DNA from the sample matched Madeleine’s. He would stare at me intently and ask me to explain this. These were the only times I didn’t respond with a ‘No comment.’ Instead I said I couldn’t explain it, but neither could he. I remember feeling such disdain for Ricardo at this point. What was he doing? I thought. Just following orders? Under my breath, I found myself whispering,‘Fucking tosser, fucking tosser.’ This quiet chant somehow kept me strong, kept me in control. This man did not deserve my respect. ‘Fucking tosser . . .’

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Page 273: 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.
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Page 275: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

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Page 276: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.
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Page 290: [cr-letter] We have taken action against one or two websites, but it had proved almost impossible to get stuff removed from some of them, particularly those hosted in the USA. Friends flag up some of the worst offenders for us, but in the end it comes down to picking your battles.
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Page 321: We were pleasantly surprised by the prosecutor’s conclusions and by how emphatic he was about the lack of any evidence to suggest either that Madeleine was dead or that we were involved in her disappearance. For several months we’d been concerned that if the case was closed, it might be closed in a way that left a dark cloud of suspicion hanging over us, so this came as a big relief. Initially, though, I was a little sceptical as to how much use the PJ’s files were likely to be to us, bearing in mind that latterly, at least, the principal focus of their inquiry seemed to have been Gerry and me.
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Page 341: Amaral’s appeal was heard in December in Lisbon, over five days that ended up being spread over three consecutive months. Gerry and I felt it was important, essential even, for us to attend to represent Madeleine. She needed somebody there for her. She was the victim in this, not Gonçalo Amaral. I also needed to see the whites of Sr Amaral’s eyes. We flew out to Portugal on 10 December.

Not sure how I feel about seeing Mr Amaral – for the first time ever, I hasten to add! I know I’m not scared but that man has caused us so much upset and anger because of how he has treated my beautiful Madeleine and the search to find her. He deserves to be miserable and feel fear.

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