Conspiracy! [10]

In this episode, we become the proud new owners of a kitten called Colin. And we get a piece of unexpected, but for once welcome, news from the police. Has my persistence that the police investigate the appearance of the rapist's fiancée outside our front door finally paid off?

Trigger warnings: this podcast deals with rape, sexual assault, anxiety, depression and eating disorders.
 
 Most mothers will never have to find out what happens when their child becomes the victim of a horrendous crime. I, Lisa Lennox, never imagined that it would happen to my family, to my 17-year-old daughter. But one benign, ordinary summer's day, it did. And so began my family's immersion in the horror unleashed by such a crime, the trauma, the fear, the on-going nightmare of dealing with a police and criminal justice system which, if not completely broken, is certainly fatally fractured and struggling to cope. 
 
 Everyone is Talking About This is the true story of an ordinary family forced to face an extraordinary circumstance. I’ve tried to be honest and forthright about my desperate struggle to help my child get justice - and, on many occasions, to see the reason to go on living.

Please be aware that this podcast mentions sexual assault, rape, eating disorders and mental health issues. There is occasional strong language and some graphic detail. 

If you have been affected by any of the issues in this podcast, here are some organisations you can contact in the UK:
Rape Crisis
0808 500 2222 - calls are free.
Or you can visit their website - https://247sexualabusesupport.org.uk/

Beat, the UK's eating disorder charity
08088010677 - calls are free.
Or visit their website - https://www.beateatingdisorders.org.uk/

You can also speak to your GP or, if you are still at school, someone from your safeguarding team. 


To my listeners - please do tell your friends about this audiobook podcast and encourage them to listen so that as many people as possible are aware of the reality victims of rape are up against on a daily basis here in the UK and across the world. 

Help me to spread the word!

And contact me on: everyoneistalkingaboutthis@gmail.com 
or via Twitter: @63136_survivors to tell me what you like about the podcast and what I could improve. 

Thank you! 

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:03

Despite the drama and upset of our penultimate night in Mallorca, none of us wants to go home. We set off to Palmer Airport on another beautiful day, driving towards a sunrise that streaks the sky with red and pink. The girls are quiet during the flight, absorbed in their music, drifting off to sleep now and then. London is soggy when we land, the air thick and heavy with damp and autumnal gloom. The house, when we reach it after hours in a queue for border control, is cold and musty. Phil has probably hardly been here whilst we've been away, taking advantage of our absence to work long hours and catch up with lost time, and also trying to lose himself in work to alleviate the pain of what has happened to B. B and I go to the Beacon. This is the organization that is providing her with her independent sexual violence advocate, or Isva, but on this occasion we are there to see the counsellors or therapists. The initial meeting is fairly underwhelming, but going forward they want to see B once a week and me once a fortnight. At first I'm pleased that it's recognised that parents might need help too, but then my paranoia gene kicks in, and I wonder if they're spies. Are they trying to get inside info on me? My parenting? How I could have let my daughter be attacked by a stranger? I used to feel the same sometimes, at the eating disorders clinic, observed, discussed, judged. My rational mind tells me it's not true, but my suspicious one can't quite relax. We drive down to the chocolate box cottage to see my parents and collect the kitten. For some reason, and no one quite knows how or why, he's been named Colin. His three sisters are Charlotte, Carla and Connie, and they've all been taken by other friends. Colin is the last one, waiting for us to return from our holiday. I watch as B picks him up and gently cradles the fluffy grey bundle in her hands. It is instant love. Before we leave we go for a walk through the water meadows, kicking up fallen leaves and playing poo sticks at the bridge. It reminds me of when the girls were little, and entertainment could be found in the simplest activities, and happiness bought for the price of an ice cream. It's hard not to wonder where on earth it all went wrong. B, suffering from anxiety, depression, an eating disorder, and now a horrific rape. Iris, her mood oscillating between just about okay and utter sadness and despondency, and me, stuck in the middle, trying to hold them up, to keep their heads above the turbulent water. When we get home, we find that introducing a new kitten to an old cat isn't straightforward. Tiggy hisses and growls at poor little Colin, and I have to shut him in my bedroom to keep them apart. Mum, wails B, what are we going to do if they can't get along? I have no idea, but of course I can't tell Bee that. Why don't you Google how you get cats to be friends, I suggest. I don't say it, but the truth is that Colin can't stay in my room forever. If we can't sort it out, we'll have to find him another home. In the evening I write my to do list for the next week. Chase the police read my statement. Chase police read the investigation into Miss X's visit. Chase police re expert witness to talk about B's memory loss, and so on, and so on. That night, Colin curled up in a ball on the bed between Phil and I, sleep is evasive. I wonder how much more tired it's possible to get, and whether I can keep going until the trial. When my alarm goes off, I'm still so exhausted I want to cry. But I get up, I wait the girls, I make breakfast, just as I always do. That's all I can do. Life goes on. Keep going. I'm still trying to find out a piece of information that, to me, seems key. How did Mr Y get our address? I'm convinced he's passed it on to Miss X, which is how she knew where to find us, why she was waiting right outside our house that evening back in September. But how did he know it? I've asked David whether there was something in B's VRI that would have revealed where we live, but he insists that he's checked it back through and there isn't. All B says is, I walk past the nursery school to get to my house, which isn't enough. I try searching for the surname canning online, and there are dozens in our postcode district, and the one that covers where the attack took place. None of the cannings listed feature B's name, but one does give Phil's. And that one listing puts Elisa Lennox at the same address. That is the clinching piece of information. If Mr Y knew both our names, then he would have hit gold. All he would need to do is pay fifteen pounds and he'd have immediate access to our full street address. But the thing is that he doesn't know our names. He's never met us, we've never met him. We don't know each other from Adam. After hours spent puzzling over this paradox, I'm no closer to understanding. I wonder if Miss X was partly telling the truth when she said she searched for ages to find us. Perhaps she went to a different canning address every night since Mr Y's arrest, ticking them all off her list. But surely she wouldn't do that. And anyway, everything about her actions on that night indicated that she knew exactly where to come. In a definite case of locking the stable door after the horses bolted, I email the counsel asking to be removed from the electoral roll. I thought I had always opted not to be on the public register, but the evidence shows not. I also email one hundred ninety two dot com to request that they remove our names and address from their directory, and I ask them if they are able to tell me who has searched for us recently. Not long afterwards David contacts me to invite us to a meeting with the CPS reviewing lawyer and the prosecuting barrister at the CPS headquarters in central London. I'm quite stunned by this as he definitely told me right back at the beginning that we would not get to meet our team until the trial itself. I wonder if this change of situation is because of Sir Keir's involvement, in which case, thank God, we have him for RMP. And then, out of the blue one Friday in November, an email from DS Luke Gallagher drops into my inbox. It informs me that the investigation into Miss X's visit, while still ongoing, has made important steps forward. The police are planning to arrest her for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. I can hardly believe it. We've gone from repeated emails saying nothing to be done, no crime made out, no power to take things further. To an arrest for a major crime, one that, I soon find out by Googling, carries a maximum sentence of life imprisonment. I should feel triumphant, and to a certain extent I do, but what a pyrrhic victory this is. For about one nanosecond I indulge in self congratulation, but the feeling doesn't last. My children, myself, and my husband are all suffering fear and trauma on a daily basis as a result of this violation of the sanctity of our home, and whatever punishment is given to Miss X and Mr Y, we will always have to deal with the fact that they know where we live. Unless we move house, they know where to find us, and can do so again, whenever they might want to. On Saturday I get another email from Luke Gallagher. After so many months of communication that is sporadic at best, this flurry of messages takes me completely by surprise. He writes Just a quick email to inform you that the fiancee has been arrested earlier today and is currently in custody being interviewed stroke processed. I will update you in due course with what the outcome of this will be once I hear back from the interviewing officers. On Sunday, yet another email. I write to inform you that we have just finished interviewing and processing the fiancee. We decided to take the matter to out of hours CPS, who have authorized a charge of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. She has been charged with this, and has been remanded in custody to appear at the magistrate's court on Monday. We will seek a further remand, but it is likely that she will be granted bail at the magistrate's court, and if that is the case I will request stringent bail conditions to be imposed upon her. This case will be for admin purposes only and is known as a first hearing. The case will then be sent to a crown court. A while ago I asked for Mr Y's name. It struck me that if he was entitled to know B's name, surely we were entitled to know his. Luke had answered in his normal passive aggressive way that of course we could have had his name, all we had to do is ask. Now I email him and request to know Miss X's name. He sends it to me immediately, and I look it up on one hundred ninety two dot com. There are two hundred people with her surname registered in the UK, but I can only find one in London. It is in an area known to be home to many people from India, Pakistan, and Afghanistan. Six people are listed at the address, including Miss X. It looks like she lives with her mum, dad, and three siblings. One click, one credit card later, and I could have the street name and house number. I could go round and terrorize her like she has us. I wouldn't do it, obviously, but I could. It's that easy. Every woman in the UK, and presumably in many other countries across the world, I want you to know once someone has your full name, they can find you. It might take a bit of time, and perhaps a small amount of money, but with patience and determination anyone can do it. The time passes slowly, waiting for the outcome of the charging of Miss X. On Monday I check my emails every five minutes. In fact, who am I kidding? I barely take my eyes off Gmail the entire day, desperate to find out what has happened at the court hearing. Nothing. Finally, I send David an email. It's not until the next day that I get a response, telling me that he's off duty, just so I'm fully aware of his devotion to the cause, I suppose, but that he logged in to check as the court didn't get back to him. He tells me that Miss X was denied bail and has been remanded in custody. Mr Y will be dealt with in the coming weeks, as he must be produced from prison for interview. And nearly fall off my chair. Six weeks ago, our insistence that Miss X was almost certainly acting in collusion with Mr Y, something that the CCTV footage seemed to prove, was roundly dismissed. Now she has been charged with an extremely serious offence, and he most likely will be soon. I go over in my head all the times I've thought about Miss X's visit, the police's response or lack of one, and how clearly I felt, I knew this just can't be right. It simply cannot be right. Finally, I have been proven correct, and perhaps just perhaps that means that things are starting to improve.