By the early hours of Tuesday morning exhaustion was etched on Coral’s face, so I suggested she get some sleep. She was desperate to feel close to April, so she climbed into her bed and nodded off for an hour or so, cuddling some of her beloved teddies, which still had her scent on them.
There wasn’t much we could do but sit and wait for news. The police had set up roadblocks and were stopping all motorists leaving Machynlleth, handing them leaflets with April’s picture on in case they’d seen anything. Specially trained dogs were also searching the town for clues.
I was certain I’d never sleep, so I stayed in the living room while Coral went upstairs. A few friends volunteered to keep us company. Rich stayed by the door and Coral’s friends, Mel and Melere, said they would stay the night, too.
We spent most of the night in silence, glued to the 24-hour news channels. The Child Rescue Alert had instantly seen the coverage of April’s disappearance evolve from speculation on social networking sites to headline news, and Dyfed-Powys Police released a statement saying officers were increasingly concerned for our daughter’s welfare. I tried hard to focus but one hour just merged into the next. I must have been getting tired, but I didn’t notice. I couldn’t sit still so I paced around the house. At one point I suddenly became aware of how hungry and thirsty I was and I went to the kitchen to grab a biscuit and make a quick coffee. It was only when I looked at the clock I realised it was 4 a.m.
Coral had barely been asleep for an hour when she came back downstairs.
‘Any news?’ she asked, hopefully.
‘Sorry, love,’ I said, taking her hand in mine. ‘Nothing yet.’
As night gradually turned into morning, we huddled together on the couch and watched the news reports, which were playing on a loop. We hardly noticed dawn breaking. Overnight hundreds of volunteers had congregated at the local leisure centre to help search for April. Some had travelled over 100 miles in the dead of night to be here, from all corners of Wales and parts of England. Pubs in the town had emptied as people took to the streets to look for our daughter, some staying out all night. The local petrol station had remained open through the early hours to deal with the huge influx of vehicles which needed to be fuelled, with workers graciously agreeing to do overtime. We were overwhelmed by their kindness.
Around 11 a.m., the officers who had been with us through the small hours were relieved and two others arrived. They introduced themselves as Detective Constable Dave Roberts and Detective Sergeant Hayley Heard and told us they were our family liaison officers – or FLOs for short.
Hayley spoke first – she was caring, yet a little more reserved than Dave, an affable extrovert with a strong Birmingham accent. He soon took over and, without invitation, pulled up a chair and planted himself in the middle of the living room floor. Coral and I were so fraught we didn’t grasp much of what he was saying and I remember him repeating himself a lot.
‘Hayley and I are now your first point of contact,’ he said. ‘We’ll be with you for the duration of the case.’
Dave took control of the situation with such ease but Coral and I were so vulnerable that we didn’t realise how vital this was. It almost makes me laugh now to think I mistook his professionalism for cockiness. I’ve often wondered if Dave and Hayley knew how profound an effect this investigation would have on their own lives, as they sat in our living room for the first time on that Tuesday morning.
Dave later told us he’d been getting ready for work as normal around 7 a.m. when his phone had begun vibrating with a call from the station in Aberystwyth. He now admits it was a conversation which changed his life forever.
‘You need to get into work now,’ a senior officer said as soon as he answered, wasting no time on pleasantries. ‘A five-year-old girl has gone missing in Machynlleth. It’s a suspected abduction.’
Dave agreed to come in at once, but he was sceptical at first. It was early in the morning and he hadn’t turned his television on, so he hadn’t seen the headlines. Even in sleepy mid-Wales, the police dealt with countless missing children every week. Some had stayed too long at a friend’s house and some were even at the centre of bitter custody battles, a pawn in a battle between warring parents. They always turned up. Children weren’t abducted in Machynlleth, not in the true sense of the word.
‘Dave,’ the senior officer said, before she rang off. ‘This is real.’
Those three, simple words sent a shiver down Dave’s spine. He threw on his coat and jumped in his car, driving as fast as he could from his home in the remote Ceredigion countryside to Aberystwyth. He had no idea what role he would be asked to play in the investigation. It was only when he got to the station that he was told he would be one of two family liaison officers.
This was where he was introduced to Hayley for the first time. They’d served in the same force for many years, and it was incredible that their paths had never crossed, but they’d never been put on the same case and, as a result, had no preconceived ideas about each other. They were briefed as thoroughly as possible on the previous night’s events, but there was no time to waste and they had to get to Machynlleth as soon as they could. On the relatively short journey through the Dyfi Valley that morning, they had to get to know each other very quickly.
We didn’t know what to expect when, startled and exhausted, we opened the door to Dave and Hayley, but over the next few months they would be towers of strength for our family. Looking back, it’s difficult to imagine how we would have coped without them. We didn’t know it then, but we’d just met two people who would prove to be loyal friends long after the investigation had finished. At some points they would almost become part of the family, putting their own lives on hold to be by our sides through the worst ordeal any parent can imagine.
While our FLOs were introducing themselves to us, the police were holding a press conference. It was vital that as many people as possible were looking for April and, in that respect, we were thankful that news of her disappearance had fast become the leading story on every channel and was spreading like wildfire on social media. Several television presenters, including Davina McCall and Phillip Schofield, had also appealed for anyone with information to contact the police. We weren’t immediately aware that the media had begun congregating on Bryn-y-Gog, but more and more reporters and photographers would arrive over the course of the next few hours.
It was around then that the name Mark Bridger first came up. Early that morning, Amy had been interviewed by a police officer specially trained in speaking to child witnesses, who established that the van she described may have been a 4×4-type vehicle. Amy also told the officer that April had got in the driver’s side. She had then been given pictures of various vehicles in a bid to get more information about the driver who had taken April. One of the cards showed a Land Rover Discovery identical to Mark Bridger’s and she’d picked it out straight away.
We’d been watching the news for so long and we’d seen all the reports so many times that they were barely registering with us. But, once the interview with Amy had been carried out, new footage of Detective Superintendent Reg Bevan briefing reporters in Aberystwyth was being shown.
DS Bevan said that police had some new information on the vehicle. He had to choose his words carefully, as they were working on the observations of a vulnerable little girl, but he suggested April could have been taken in a Land Rover – though it was what he said next that caught our attention.
‘The witnesses have told us April got into the driver’s side,’ he said. ‘It may well be that she got in with the driver but, of course, that could mean it’s a left-hand-drive vehicle.’
Coral and I looked at each other, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking. ‘Bridger,’ we both said, immediately.
Although we later discovered that Bridger had already become a person of interest to the investigation, none of the police officers in the house had mentioned his name to us yet, as the information they had on him was still very sensitive. But Machynlleth is a small town and he was the only person we knew who owned a left-hand-drive car, which just happened to be a grey Land Rover Discovery. We weren’t yet aware that a witness had seen him in his car on the estate around the time April vanished. This wasn’t remarkable in itself, as several of his children lived there, but in light of the information from Amy it would prove to be a key sighting.
‘At least we’ve got something,’ I said to Coral, trying to convince myself as much as anyone that this was a positive development. ‘We know something. That’s good.’
At that moment we were so focused on finding April that Mark Bridger was almost irrelevant. We didn’t yet feel any anger towards him – all we wanted was for him to give us our daughter back and we were clinging desperately to anything that might tell us where she was. I was so numb and exhausted I’d almost become incapable of feeling anything.
As it was the only emotion I remember experiencing at that point was shock at the fact that April had apparently been taken by a local. Perhaps because the concept of a child being abducted was so alien to me, I assumed April had been taken by a faceless stranger passing through the town – a loner in an anonymous van, with no ties to anyone we knew.
Over the next few weeks and months, reports in the press would contain various accounts of our relationship with Mark Bridger. Some suggested that he was a close friend of mine, others that we even thought of him as family. These were all wild exaggerations. In truth, I hadn’t had a proper conversation with Mark Bridger in years. He had dated the sister of a former girlfriend of mine in the late nineties, but we were rarely in each other’s company. We’d nod to each other on the street and perhaps we’d say a few words – nothing more than that.
At forty-six, he was just a few years older than me and had lived near us when we’d first moved to Bryn-y-Gog. Shortly afterwards he’d broken up with his long-term partner and since then he’d stayed in various places in the area. A father himself, he had six children to numerous different women, and I’d heard on the grapevine that he’d just become a grandfather. Long before April was born, he’d had a few games of darts with Coral in one of the pubs in the town and it would later emerge that he’d sent Jazmin a friend request on Facebook shortly before April vanished. Jazmin had no connection to Bridger and when she asked him why he had sent her the request, he claimed it was because of these tenuous links to our family.
All this considered, I wouldn’t say April knew him as such. It would probably be more accurate to say she knew of him, as Harley sometimes played with two of his children, who were neighbours of ours. He often drove to the estate to pick them up and she’d likely have recognised his car.
Still, it seemed inconceivable that he could be responsible for taking her but there was no time to waste – we had to tell Dave and Hayley about our suspicions.
‘We think you’re looking for a man called Mark Bridger,’ I said. ‘He’s the only person in Mach with a left-hand drive.’
Dave and Hayley sprang into action straight away and began asking questions of the friends and neighbours who were gathered in the house. Bridger had recently moved from his address in Machynlleth to a rented cottage in the village of Ceinws, near where Coral and Tim had been searching the previous evening. Ironically the house was called Mount Pleasant. Now, it’s impossible to distinguish fact from rumour, as there is so much speculation about his behaviour in the weeks before April was taken, but we’ve heard on the grapevine that he had specifically sought a property with a fireplace.
However, the police were unaware of his change of address and, as a result, had broken down the door of an innocent man who had just moved into his old house. Thankfully it isn’t easy to stay hidden for long in a community like ours.
‘I think I know where he is,’ Mel told Dave. ‘I think he’s moved to Ceinws.’
Dave immediately relayed this information to senior officers at the station. Unknown to us, the man accused of taking our daughter had begun feigning concern for her wellbeing. In the early afternoon he had joined the search, telling other volunteers he’d been out all night looking for her. Several of them thought his behaviour was odd. In particular they were struck by how clean he was for a man who’d allegedly spent hours roaming the countryside. The volunteers were unaware that the police were hot on Mark Bridger’s heels.
Officers took off to track Bridger down. They located his cottage and forced entry into the house, but he’d already gone. The property was uncomfortably hot and they immediately noticed an overpowering smell of detergent – but there was no sign of April. It was becoming increasingly obvious to them that this was a man with a lot to hide. Half an hour later, they found him walking on the A487, the main road between Ceinws and Machynlleth. He was arrested and taken to the police station in Aberystwyth, where officers started questioning him in connection with April’s abduction.
We weren’t aware of these developments until several hours later. Dave and Hayley were keen to keep us in the loop, but they were also anxious not to give us false hope or to relay any information before it had been confirmed. Emotionally we were hanging by a thread and it wouldn’t help to bombard us with information before the police could be sure it was accurate.
In the meantime, we had to give the police some of April’s belongings so they had samples of her DNA. This could prove vital if officers needed to verify any sightings of her. It broke our hearts to hand over her hairbrush, toothbrush, mug and some of the teddies from her room. I couldn’t bear to give them Dolphin, so I chose a few others but made the police promise we’d get them back. Swabs were also taken from Coral, Jazmin, Harley and me.
It wasn’t until evening time that Dave told us we would shortly receive a visit from DS Andy John, who had some important news. By now, detectives had spent many hours quizzing Bridger. Although I still hoped for the best, I think I’d already begun to prepare myself for the worst.
We asked the majority of people in the house to leave, only allowing close family to stay. It was at that point I realised Harley was playing outside with a group of friends, one of whom was one was Bridger’s son. It was the most surreal of situations.
‘Probably best if they go home,’ Dave said, gently.
Andy John arrived shortly afterwards, around 8 p.m. He was a tall, thin man with steely grey hair. He had a sympathetic manner, which made both Coral and me warm to him almost immediately, but the expression on his face told us he wasn’t here to give us good news. Dai, my mum and Fil were allowed to remain in the house but they had to stay in another room while we were briefed. Only Dave and Hayley could be by our sides.
As soon as we were seated, Andy started to speak.
‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ he began, carefully, as I squeezed Coral’s hand. ‘But we’ve got Mark Bridger.’
I’d suspected this would be the first thing he’d tell us, but it didn’t stop my stomach from lurching as beads of cold sweat prickled my neck.
‘He has made a statement saying he killed April Jones on the evening of October 1st, 2012.’
I instinctively wrapped my arms around Coral but I don’t think either of us had started to cry yet.
‘He said he was driving his car down the road when he felt a small knock,’ Andy went on. ‘He got out and realised he had hit April. In a panic, he put her in the Land Rover Discovery and drove around Machynlleth not knowing what to do. He tried to revive her by giving her mouth to mouth but failed. He then can’t remember what he had done or where the body was placed.’
I felt shock cascade through my veins as I held Coral tightly. Both of us found it hard to speak, but we needed to hear more.
‘We’re not sure we believe his account of what happened,’ Andy said. He explained that there appeared to be no blood on the road, or on the car, although they’d have to wait for a forensic report to confirm this.
‘Do you think there’s any chance she’s still alive?’ I heard myself asking, my voice finally breaking, as I clutched at straws.
Of course we wanted to believe that April wasn’t dead, but I hadn’t been able to shake off the horrible feeling I’d had the previous evening, that sense of foreboding that my worst fears had come true. It was a few seconds before Andy spoke, but it felt like an eternity.
‘We’re still pursuing various lines of inquiry but I think it’s bad news if he’s saying she’s already dead,’ he eventually replied, meeting my eye. ‘I’m so sorry.’
It had been agreed that some of the news could be relayed to the rest of the family if they promised not to divulge what they knew, as the investigation was at such a crucial stage. The next few minutes passed in a blur of tears and chaos as the awful news was broken to them.
Our life as we knew it had been shattered into a thousand pieces but I was almost oblivious to the sobs ringing out around me. All I knew was that our old world had ended and a new world had begun.
When Andy left that evening, we were visited by a doctor who gave Coral and me some diazepam to help us sleep. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but Dave and Hayley reminded me I needed to keep my strength up. As I climbed into bed, I suddenly realised that my body was aching with tiredness but my mind was still racing. But a little while later the pills kicked in and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I managed just short of six hours before I woke up and was hit instantly by a wave of nausea. Opening my eyes, it hit me all over again – April was gone. How could I have slept when my little girl was lost? I had to rest, but I felt sick with guilt.
The next morning, Coral was desperate to do anything to help the police get answers and they suggested we could do a television appeal.
Coral recalls:
For most normal people, the idea of going in front of the nation’s media at the most vulnerable point in their lives would be terrifying. I can’t deny I was scared, but the nerves paled into insignificance compared to my fears for April. I was clinging to any tiny shred of hope I could that my baby was still alive. While there was still no body, I couldn’t give up hope and I prayed that the television appeal might trigger a vital clue.
It was hard for Paul and me to grasp anything at that point, but we were vaguely aware of how much interest there was in April’s story. I hadn’t really left the house since the night April vanished, but friends told me that by the hour more and more press were gathering on the estate. Most were camped out less than a hundred yards from the house, armed with cameras, microphones and notepads. One brazen photographer climbed our fence and trampled all over the flower garden as he tried to take a picture of the house, but he was quickly chased away by the police.
We decided that Paul would remain at home while I took part in the press conference. I desperately wanted him by my side, but we agreed that Jazmin and Harley needed his support. However, the thought of doing the appeal alone was overwhelming so I asked Dai to come with me.
The police took us to the council offices in Aberystwyth, as the police station wasn’t big enough to accommodate the media. It was only two days since I’d last made this journey, but I felt like a different person from the woman who’d been excitedly browsing for her children’s Christmas presents. This time it was a blur and I could barely see through my tears. I could tell Dai was trying his hardest to be strong for me, but his own pain was written all over his face. April was the apple of his eye and she’d always rush to greet him with a huge hug whenever she visited.
Hayley introduced me to the police press manager, Rhian Davies-Moore, and Detective Superintendent Reg Bevan, who had spoken at the previous day’s press conference and would now be appealing for more information. Rhian and Hayley then helped me draft my short statement and it was agreed that Dai would read it for me if I became too emotional to continue. They told me to keep drinking water in case I became too warm under the heat of television lights, but my own welfare was the last thing on my mind. I was relieved when they told me not to answer any questions from reporters – just getting through my statement would be hard enough.
It was only when I walked into the room where the press were gathered that I realised how big a deal the appeal was. It was the first time either Paul or I had spoken directly to the media and they’d turned out in their droves. I’m not sure exactly how many people were there, but it seemed like hundreds. As soon as they caught sight of me, the room became a sea of flashbulbs and everyone seemed determined to thrust a camera or a microphone in my face. It all seemed so ridiculous and unfair – I should have been getting ready to pick April up from school. It was hard to believe that two days ago I’d been a normal mum.
I was led to a table, where I was sat with Hayley and Dai on one side and DS Bevan on the other. Behind me were some of our most treasured pictures of April, along with a headshot of Bridger and a photograph of his car. Just displaying April’s picture next to that of her suspected abductor seemed criminal, but it was essential that as many people as possible saw our little girl’s face. We’d picked two of the most recent pictures we could find – in one she was wearing one of her favourite pink dresses and the other showed her sitting on a wall dressed in the padded purple coat she had on the night she was taken. It was painful that what had once been private family photographs were now public property, splashed across the front page of every newspaper in Britain, but I’d have given up every picture I owned if it led us to April.
As I started to speak, a hush descended on the room and I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry, but I knew what I had to do for my daughter.
‘It’s been thirty-six hours since April was taken from us,’ I began, trying my hardest to keep the sobs at bay. ‘There must be someone out there who knows where she is and can help the police find her.’
Now the cameras and microphones were edging closer. As reporters and photographers elbowed each other out of the way to get nearer to me, it felt like a pack of wild animals was descending on me and I was powerless to stop the attack. I’d been warned by Hayley and Rhian that this might happen, but nothing could have prepared me for how daunting it was. With the benefit of hindsight, I can appreciate that everyone in the room had a job to do, and the support of the media was vital in helping spread the word about April’s disappearance, but for an ordinary person who has never asked for any kind of fame or publicity, this kind of attention is truly petrifying, especially when you are already at your most fragile. Somehow I found the strength to keep speaking.
‘We are desperate for news,’ I went on, aware that my voice was shaking more and more with every word. ‘Please, please help find her.’
As soon as I said the last word of my statement, I couldn’t stop the tears. I’d forced myself to say what I had to for April before I dissolved into sobs. I was vaguely aware of DS Bevan placing a supportive hand on my arm. It was a small gesture, but comforting nonetheless. For the rest of the press conference, I sat with my head in my hands, weeping uncontrollably as Dai tried his best to console me. Thankfully, Bevan was able to pick up where I’d left off.
‘In relation to this specific investigation we are pursuing a number of lines of inquiry and Mark Bridger is one of them,’ he told the room. By now, I was crying so hard I could barely breathe.
‘In relation to the images I circulated to you earlier today, which was the Land Rover Discovery and Mark Bridger’s photograph, can I again ask, did you see this vehicle between Monday evening and Tuesday afternoon? Do you know Mark Bridger and did you see him during that period, between Monday evening and Tuesday afternoon? If you have any information please contact us on the Child Rescue Alert Line.
‘Do not assume somebody else has already contacted us with information. Even if you feel yours is trivial, it may be the vital piece that we are missing.’
I was ushered away as reporters barked questions at me. I can’t remember much of the journey home, but as I walked through the front door it hit me all over again – April wasn’t here. Although there were dozens of people trickling in and out of the house, it seemed so quiet and morbid without my daughter’s infectious laughter. Her toys were still strewn across the floor and her teddies tucked up in her bed. It was so hard to believe she was gone.
Overnight I’d become obsessively protective over anything belonging to my daughter. If anyone touched her favourite biscuits, I’d be on the verge of a meltdown. I even burst into tears when someone tried to use a carrier bag she’d had at school a few days before she vanished.
I was given some more sleeping tablets that evening and I managed to doze off for a few hours, but every time I opened my eyes my grief hit me like a ton of bricks and tears began to stream down my face. Paul tried his best to comfort me, but his own pain was ripping him apart.
I’m not sure how either of us managed to get up the next morning, but somehow we did. We were desperate to maintain a shred of normality for Jazmin and Harley, who didn’t realise just how bleak things were looking. Harley’s teacher kindly agreed to collect him and take him to school to get him out of the house for a few hours.
Dave and Hayley came round shortly after 9 a.m., but they didn’t have much news for us. For Paul and me the waiting around was torture. By now, there were almost 400 people looking for April, but we were asked by the police not to join the massive search party. There was such intense press interest in the case that they worried our presence would attract unwanted attention, which could harm the chances of finding April.
It felt unnatural, sitting at home while volunteers from all over the country braved the wind and rain to help the police and mountain rescue team look for our little girl. But we had to put our trust in the police. At the end of the day they knew best and we had to do what was right for April.
But I felt like I might explode with frustration if I spent another minute sitting around. April had been missing for over two days and I desperately wanted to do something, anything that might help bring her home to me. At that point, I’d convinced myself there was a chance she could still be alive. That’s when I came up with the idea of making pink bows. Pink had always been her favourite colour and I thought it would be a nice way of keeping her at the forefront of everyone’s minds.
Making the bows gave me a focus. Within hours, friends had rallied round to help and a shop in the town had kindly donated some pink material. Over the next day, word of the pink bows spread and people started making their own. It wasn’t long before almost every house in Bryn-y-Gog had a pink bow tied to its gate. Shopkeepers soon caught on, displaying them in their windows, and a giant pink bow was tied to the railings at the town clock. I was overwhelmed by how quickly the bows had become a symbol of hope for April.
I also wanted to show my gratitude to the volunteers. We had some spare tins of biscuits lying around, so Melere gave me a lift to the community centre to drop them off. It was the least we could do. Luckily, we used a lesser-known side entrance and managed to avoid being detected by the press.
By the Thursday, our house was still packed with friends and family and the press were camped outside, so our FLOs had decided that it was no longer sensible to share sensitive information about the investigation with us in our own home.
Dave and Hayley quickly realised that our little terraced house was the centre of our family life. It was the only place April had ever lived and we’d made so many happy memories with her there. They appreciated that in the weeks and months ahead, it would be important for us to keep those memories intact, as far as we were able. As officers with over fifty years of service between them, they knew only too well what kinds of awful things the police might have to share with us as the investigation progressed.
Unbeknown to us, they’d been working hard behind the scenes to provide a ‘sanctuary’ for us – a safe house at a secret location where we could speak to officers in private, away from the prying eyes of the press. This would also double as an office for Dave and Hayley. As grateful as we were for the support of our family, friends and neighbours, from early on the police made it clear to us that anything they told us must be treated in the strictest confidence or we risked prejudicing the investigation.
At first, Dave and Hayley had tried to find a room for us at the small police station in Machynlleth. However, as this was the most high profile case the police in our small town had ever dealt with, it had become a hive of activity overnight and as a result was incredibly chaotic – even the rest room would have been too busy to accommodate us. Dave then began ringing round local businesses and eventually found one which had a spare room. Of course the room was completely bare, and Dave thought it looked too clinical, so he’d spent most of Wednesday evening making it look homely – sourcing tables, chairs, some plants and a fridge. He hung photographs he had taken of local landscapes and wildlife on the wall to make it look as welcoming as possible. It’s hard to describe how much of a difference these little things made.
Our first meeting with Andy John at the sanctuary came late on Thursday afternoon, when Dave and Hayley received a phone call from him asking if he could meet us. Bridger was still in custody and forensic teams had been working round the clock, combing his cottage and his car for evidence which might help lead us to April. Dave and Hayley knew there had been an important development, but they didn’t know what it was.
By this point, the press had realised that Dave and Hayley were our FLOs and whenever they were seen coming in or out of the house, rumours of developments in the case started to circulate amongst them. To us, it was important they didn’t find out where the sanctuary was. After updates on the case were delivered, it was crucial we were given time and space to process what we’d been told and it certainly wouldn’t help if we were besieged by photographers at the front door.
Dave and Hayley picked us up at the house and drove us there, where Andy was waiting. It was only a short journey – around five minutes in the car – but Dave kept his eye on the rear-view mirror at all times, in case an eagle-eyed photographer spotted us and tried to follow. Thankfully no one seemed to have noticed us leave the house.
The mood was sombre. It was hard for Coral and me to know what to feel. Given what we’d been told on Tuesday evening, it was obvious that the police were working on the assumption April was dead. If Mark Bridger had killed our daughter, we wanted them to uncover every scrap of evidence they could find so we had the greatest chance possible of putting him behind bars for the rest of his life. But the more evidence they found, the more our already slim hopes of finding April alive would crumble. Coral, in particular, was finding it extremely difficult to accept our daughter was gone. Like any mother would be, she was still full of hope that we were being summoned to the sanctuary because April had been found safe and well.
But, as soon as we stepped into the place, we knew the news wouldn’t be good. Andy had the same grim expression on his face as when we’d first met him on Tuesday. There was little point in formalities and we were both glad when he got straight to the point.
‘The forensic teams have identified spots of April’s blood in Mark Bridger’s house,’ he said, slowly. ‘We’re confident this means that April was in the house.’
I nodded, willing him to continue.
‘We also believe this means she came to significant harm within the property,’ he added.
Neither of us said much. I’m not sure if we even cried. A thousand questions were running through our minds, but we didn’t have the strength to voice them.
I’d expected to be hysterical but instead I felt like something was clawing at my insides and slowly destroying me, bit by bit. What had that bastard done to my little girl?
Andy didn’t stay long. He knew that we’d already built up a strong rapport with Dave and Hayley and it was better if we talked things through with them. They spent the next few hours explaining the implications of this development to us. The forensic team had used the samples of April’s DNA taken from the belongings we’d handed over to establish that the blood did, in fact, belong to her. Even though there was no sign of her body, the investigation was fast becoming a murder inquiry.
‘Is there any way it’s not April’s blood?’ Coral asked.
Dave bowed his head. ‘The results of the DNA profiling show that it is,’ he replied. ‘The chances of these results being wrong are around one in a billion.’
Early the next morning, Bridger was arrested on suspicion of murder. We were told the police had until 5 p.m. that afternoon to formally charge him. We knew this was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear that awful word.
At times like this, it’s easy to slip into denial. While I’d accepted what the police had told us the previous evening, when the tears finally took hold of me in the early hours I began to allow myself to doubt what they’d said. Perhaps April was still being hidden somewhere and the spots of blood in the cottage had appeared because she’d grazed her knee or cut her finger? Plus, there was no sign of her, dead or alive. How could the police know anything for sure?
But, realistically, we knew they were now looking for a body – and all we could do was wait.
We didn’t attend the press conference held by the police that morning. Although she would have done anything to help find April, Coral had found Wednesday’s experience very distressing and there was no real need for us to face the cameras again.
However, the news channels were still playing in the living room as friends and family made endless cups of tea and coffee, desperate to help but not sure what to do or say. Detective Superintendent Bevan, along with another senior officer, Superintendent Ian John, briefed the media on the latest developments, both wearing pink bows.
Perhaps most significantly, they announced that the search was to be scaled down and that the hundreds of volunteers who had turned up to help find April were no longer required. From now on, the search would be carried out solely by professionals.
Superintendent John told reporters: ‘We want to acknowledge and are extremely grateful for the efforts of the community volunteers who have supported the professional searchers in trying to locate April. They have been a vital part of our team throughout this search operation. Quite frankly, their commitment has been an inspiration to us all.
‘The dynamics of the search have now changed and, due to the passage of time and the developments within the investigation, it is no longer appropriate for us to expect untrained members of the public to continue the search.
‘Now, we only require professional searchers to be involved in the ongoing search which continues in and around Machynlleth.’
Afternoon came and went but there was still no sign of Bridger being charged. We were soon told that the police had been granted special permission by the court in Aberystwyth to hold him for another twenty-four hours of questioning.
It was a very trying time. While Coral and I knew about the damning forensic evidence, we couldn’t share these details with anyone – not even our closest family. Dave and Hayley impressed upon us just how important it was to keep this information to ourselves, as neither the search team nor even many of the officers assigned to the case knew about the development. If it was leaked, it could significantly harm the investigation. In fact, if and when the case came to court, Bridger’s lawyer could argue it had affected his right to a fair trial, particularly if the media printed details of the evidence before it had been put before a jury. As much as it pained us to keep things from the people who had provided such unwavering support to us, we knew we couldn’t breathe a word of what we knew to anyone.
Dave and Hayley explained that in many cases where a child has been murdered, some key evidence has actually been withheld from the parents until the trial because the police have been so concerned that they might, even unwittingly, share some sensitive information with someone who shouldn’t be party to it. In our case, Dave and Hayley told Andy how important it was for us to kept in the loop and how we could be trusted to keep details of the evidence to ourselves. Dave stressed that there was only one condition attached – neither of us could be told anything unless the other was there. If one knew something the other didn’t, not only would this cause confusion, which could potentially harm the investigation, it could also fuel resentment between Coral and me.
That night, reporters on television reminded viewers that if Mark Bridger had not been charged by 5 p.m. the next day, officers would have no choice but to let him walk free. To Coral and me, this was nothing short of unthinkable.
‘They need to speed things up,’ I said to Dave. I was trying to keep my cool, but anger had now started to set in and I was powerless to stop the rage that was mounting against the animal who had taken my precious girl. The idea of him walking away without so much as a slap on the wrists made me feel physically sick. ‘They can’t just let him go!’
After spending hours in the pressure cooker that had become our home, you could have forgiven Dave if he’d lost his temper from time to time, but even on this most testing of days he remained as calm as ever, no matter how anxious he was inside.
‘Paul, that won’t happen,’ he told me firmly. ‘Let me tell you, he’s going nowhere.’
I didn’t know what to believe and I was barely aware of darkness falling. I’m not sure if either Coral or I slept at all, but when we got up the next morning all we could think about was the 5 p.m. deadline and the prospect of the man who appeared to have taken April being released. A long day of agony stretched out ahead of us as we waited to hear his fate.
Fortunately Dave recognised how distressing this was for us and decided that he and Hayley should take us out for the afternoon.
‘Why don’t we go down and have a look at the pink bows?’ he suggested.
The idea of going anywhere or doing anything that wasn’t essential seemed ridiculous, but Coral and I were beginning to feel suffocated in the confines of the house. Everywhere we looked there was some reminder of April and, although we were grateful for all of the support we’d received, the living room and kitchen were constantly packed with people. We barely had room to collect our thoughts.
I felt a lump spring up in my throat when we were driven down the main street in Machynlleth: there wasn’t a window or a fence post which didn’t have something pink on display. As well as bows, people had put out teddy bears and balloons in April’s favourite colour. These were such simple gestures but they gave us an idea of just how many hearts had been broken by our personal tragedy. Machynlleth had been rocked to its core and would never be the same again.
While we were driving, Dave noticed some members of the mountain rescue team who had been out searching in the town and pointed them out to us.
‘I’d love to shake their hands,’ I said.
Dave immediately pulled over. ‘Do you want to shake their hands?’ he asked.
I looked at Coral and we both nodded our heads. ‘Yes,’ we said, in unison. We hadn’t realised this was a possibility but we were desperate to say thanks to the people who’d braved the elements to search for April round the clock.
‘Well, why don’t we?’ Dave said.
Hayley then got out of the car and stopped the searchers in their tracks.
‘Mr and Mrs Jones would like to speak to you,’ she said.
We couldn’t express our gratitude in words, so we simply grabbed hold of their hands and said a simple ‘Thank you.’ All of them had tears in their eyes.
By coincidence, Dave and Hayley met two members of the team the following evening, as they were staying in the same hotel, a few miles outside of Machynlleth. They later told us that there were more tears as they recounted the meeting and Dave joked that the searchers were speaking as if they’d met the Pope. It took us just a few minutes to thank them for their work, but I don’t think we’ll ever truly know how much it meant to them.
The police promised us that we’d be the first to know of any developments. Dave and Hayley knew we’d been glued to our television for the past few days and the last thing they wanted was for us to hear it on the news. We’d initially been told Andy wanted to meet us at noon, so we couldn’t stray far from the town, but the meeting was postponed several times. This didn’t do anything for our nerves. It was important Dave and Hayley had mobile phone reception to allow them to speak to Andy whenever he called, so Dave then drove us up one of the hills on the south side of Machynlleth. He told us to spend a few moments together, while he and Hayley waited in the car.
From early on, it was clear that our relationship was important to Dave. He knew how much we needed each other, but he was also painfully aware of how the murder of a much-loved child can rip even the strongest of marriages apart. I’ve heard varying statistics on the issue, but it’s believed fewer than ten per cent of couples will stay together after experiencing this kind of trauma.
It was only then Coral and I realised we hadn’t had any time alone together since April was taken. Those precious few moments, where we could cry together and console each other, provided a little comfort, albeit small. Although it would be pushing it to say we enjoyed ourselves – with April gone, we felt like we’d never, ever enjoy anything again – the fresh air and serenity of the countryside did give us a sense of relief. While the whole country appeared to be rallying round us, no one in the world felt the loss of April as keenly as we did.
In that moment, I spontaneously removed a pink ribbon from my pocket and tied it to a fence post. In the coming weeks and months, I’d climb this hill many times to do the same thing. It would become a daily pilgrimage and soon I had tied over eighty pink bows to that same post.
A few minutes later, we were interrupted by Dave, who’d got out of the car and was rushing towards us.
‘We need to go,’ he said. ‘Andy is heading to the sanctuary now.’
With no time to waste, we got back into the car and Dave drove us back into the town. Andy had already arrived at the sanctuary by the time we got there.
‘We’ve had the go-ahead from the Crown Prosecution Service,’ he said. ‘Mark Bridger has been charged with murder, abduction and attempting to pervert the course of justice.’
Andy reassured us that the search teams were still focused on finding April. Tears sprang to Coral’s eyes, but my first feeling was one of relief. I was just so glad Bridger was off the streets and that we would get our day in court. Naively I assumed this meant we’d soon find out exactly what he did with April.
But, over the next few hours, reality began to set in. Our friends and family were still gathered in our living room, anxious for news. A breakdown in communication between the Crown Prosecution Service and the police meant the news was released to the media before Dave had a chance to update them and we returned home to a very tearful group of people. It was only then I began to process that the charges were confirmation of the unthinkable. April was dead.
It was difficult to imagine feeling any worse than we did. In fact, the agony was only beginning.