Saving Gary McKinnon by Janis Sharp Page B

the photographers were pressing their cameras against the high blacked-out windows and flashbulbs were going off non-stop. They were banging against the van and shouting “Gary! Gary!” I was low down on the floor of the van and I realised the photos would be in all the papers and I didn’t want to look like a criminal, so I looked up and I tried to smile. Huge mistake, eh?’
    ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Wilson as he looked at the papers.
    ‘The photos were taken with wide-angled lens through tinted windows and it’s the fish-eye distortion that’s made you look odd, that photo looks nothing like you. It might have been designed to make you look sinister to make the story seem more dramatic.’
    ‘Please don’t get involved, Mum, or I’ll look silly, needing my mum to speak up for me when I’m thirty-nine years old,’ said Gary worriedly.
    I decided that if it all went smoothly I’d keep a very low profile but if things looked as though they were going to go badly, I would step in.
    Gary was articulate, of that there was no doubt, but he was vulnerable and young for his age and could easily misjudge the mood or motives of others. He tended to get the wrong end of the stick, causing him to respond in a way that could be misinterpreted. Many people thought Gary was aloof, when in fact he was quiet and lacked confidence.
    I was hugely relieved that Gary was free again and I knew I had to keep him free. To do that I had to learn everything about the extradition treaty and about how everything works inside and outside the courts. I initially stayed away from the meetings he had with his legal team as he wanted to prove he could do this on his own and I didn’t want to embarrass him.
    Gary started giving interviews and every time I read them I would want to curl up and die. He was being asked by journalists to tell them what he had done and how he had done it. They understandably wanted a story but Gary’s freedom and very life was on the line and I don’t think he realised that he might be making things worse for himself. However, I quickly discovered that people liked Gary. From young guys and girls to old white-haired ladies and men, who invariably described Gary as that lovely young man.
    I remember the prosecutors giving interviews where they were irritated as they felt that Gary was being portrayed as some sort of choirboy, but Gary was just being Gary, and his gentle nature, honesty and naivety were transparent to many people.
    It was 27 July 2005 and we were due back in court for the second time. I wore the most conventional thing I owned but also wore my favourite yellow platform shoes.
    Wilson and Gary usually wore casual clothes but today they were both dressed in the way that every Celt is taught by their parents to dress for such a sombre occasion: in smart suits.
    It was a warm, wet day in London as we again walked past theballet dancer, her head still bowed as the rain washed over her body. Stepping back through the dark, heavy wooden doors of Bow Street Magistrates’, the intoxicating atmosphere of oppression in the air drained hope from the hearts of the hopeful.
    Photographers and journalists congregated outside and Gary was nervous. He always carried a small bottle of water when he was going in and out of court and I think that holding the bottle somehow helped him to stay calm.
    We met Gary’s QC, Edmund Lawson, for the first time. Impressive and intelligent, he was also a showman who without effort commanded the attention of everyone he spoke to both inside and outside the court. Edmund had a warm personality and a great sense of humour.
    This was the first chance I’d had to speak to Karen, as after the previous court hearing we had left immediately to try to raise the bail money.
    Karen was young with blonde hair. A bit different from other solicitors, she wore trendy clothes and fishnet stockings. She was caring, intelligent and down to earth and thankfully didn’t seem intimidated