"THE PROSECUTION'S OPENING SPEECH WAS PRETTY HORRIFIC. IT WAS ALSO PURE FICTION, ENTIRELY BASED ON THE SO-CALLED EXPERTS' OPINION THAT MAEVE HAD DIED FROM BEING SHAKEN. THEY HAD TO WORK BACK FROM THERE TO MAKE EVERYTHING FIT."
IAIN HENDERSON; THE DAILY MAIL;
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Iain Henderson's reasoned critique of the prosecution of his wife is one of the most extraordinary documents from a criminal case that I have ever seen.
The former police officer expressed his views in an article published in the Daily Mail on January 20, 2008, under the heading: "My wife was found guilty by guesswork: Husband of childminder convicted of shaking a baby to death tells of their anguish."
Henderson's account ran under the preface: "Keran and Iain Henderson were the ideal couple: he was a police officer and she a mother who loved children so much that she looked after them for a living. But, in a case that has terrible echoes of previous miscarriages of justice, Keran suddenly found herself accused of manslaughter, and the family's nightmare began..."
"Shortly after 8am, I answered a knock on the door of our Buckinghamshire home. Two police officers flashed their badges and asked to come in," Henderson's account begins;
"Our eldest son, Cameron, then 11, had already left for school but our youngest, Jamie, 6, was still home and I told him to stay upstairs. The officers said they were arresting my wife, Keran, for assault and manslaughter," it continues;
"Stunned, she sat down on the edge of a chair and held her hands in her lap. She had never even had a speeding ticket before. I was incensed at the shock tactic. Dawn raids are for terrorists, gangsters, hardened criminals.
I had conducted countless arrests as a police officer in London and I knew they didn't need to arrest my wife, they could have just asked her to come to the station at Maidenhead. She had co-operated with them in every way before.
"Where is your evidence? What is your case?" I demanded as they took Keran away.
She was trying to calm me down. She said she wanted to find out what had happened to Maeve, the 11-month-old baby who died after being in her care. She wanted to clear it all up and she still had faith in the system.
Keran left our home in Iver Heath and was taken to Maidenhead police station where, shaking and crying, she was made to take off her clothes and given a sweatshirt and jogging trousers to wear.
They asked her the same questions they had asked twice before. The police had no new evidence, they were just trying to make her crack.
Keran told them what she had always maintained. She hadn't shaken or assaulted Maeve, as the prosecution later claimed. Maeve had some kind of fit or seizure.
When people are lying, their story changes because they can't remember all the lies they have told.
Keran gave the same account right from the start, and she told it consistently for two-and-a-half years. But nothing she could say or do could dissuade them from prosecuting her for manslaughter.
Last November, two years after her arrest, she was found guilty and sentenced to three years in prison.
There's nothing worse for a parent than to lose one of their children ? it's almost unimaginable and my heart goes out to Maeve's parents. But the reason for Maeve's death remains a mystery that Keran's trial did not resolve.
Now there are two tragedies. My innocent wife has been taken away from me and our sons have lost their mother.
I believe the case raises vital issues about the way medical opinion is presented and handled. There was no real evidence against Keran ? no fingerprints, DNA, forensics, witnesses or confessions.
All the prosecution had was confusing and contradictory medical opinion. And this was in the wake of the cases of Sally Clark and Angela Cannings, both of whom were wrongfully convicted of killing their own children on the same kind of expert opinion.
Keran and I met when we were teenagers at school together in Yorkshire. She was a compassionate person as well as being bright and bubbly. Later we went to the same university and remained friends after college.
I joined the RAF Police and was overseas a lot, but we wrote to each other. When I came home from a posting we went out on a date and really hit it off.
We married in 1992 and moved to Iver Heath. I joined the Metropolitan Police and Keran started working for a solicitor. Cameron was born in 1993 and Jamie in 1998.
Keran was a brilliant mother and she started child-minding because she enjoyed having our children and wanted to stay at home. She really took to it. It wasn't just a job, it was a calling.
We had children of all ages, from tots to teenagers, and there was always a waiting list for places. It was sometimes embarrassing when the parents arrived to pick up children who said they didn't want to leave. Some became friends with our boys and stayed for sleepovers.
Keran was also involved in voluntary community activities. She became a leader of the local Beaver Scouts. She helped with the BBC's Children In Need appeal, the Tsunami Appeal, the local church and drama groups. She had tremendous energy and was a brilliant organiser.
Keran first started looking after Maeve Sheppard at the end of January 2005.
Maeve was nine months old and Keran was worried about her from the start. She seemed to be a sickly child and was lethargic. It was difficult to stimulate her. She didn't pick up toys, she just sat around and watched the other children.
Before the day itself, there were two disturbing incidents. The first was on February 15. Maeve had vomited and Keran sat her on the floor while she fetched a bag for Maeve's soiled clothes. When she came back, Maeve had toppled over.
Keran was concerned in case she had banged her head and took her to the doctor, who said she should go to hospital. Keran called Maeve's parents and they met her there.
The second occurred on February 24 while I was at home. Maeve became floppy and Keran called out to me: "She's gone again." We thought she was dehydrated and after checking all her airways we gave her some liquid and she recovered after about 15 minutes. Her mother took her to hospital where a viral infection was diagnosed.
The third time was on March 2.
Keran was getting the four children in her care ready for playgroup and thought Maeve's nappy needed changing. Maeve was on the floor and Keran picked her up. Maeve arched her back and her eyes rolled back, then she went floppy.
Thinking the baby was having a seizure, Keran called 999. As Maeve seemed to be struggling to breathe, she tried to give her cardiopulmonary resuscitation. An ambulance arrived quickly and the paramedics took her away.
We were terribly worried that night and when we didn't hear anything we called the local hospital. They said Maeve had been transferred to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford.
We called Maeve's parents and I spoke to her father. "The police have told us not to talk to you," he said, and put the phone down.
Soon afterwards, the police called and told me Maeve had died. Keran was devastated.
The police came to see us a few days afterwards, saying they just wanted a chat. Keran told them exactly what had happened.
Later they asked her to do a voluntary interview on video. We had nothing to hide and from that point we did everything we could to co-operate.
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The tragedy affected Keran deeply. She gave up her work with children and, for a long time, didn't want to go out. She felt so badly for Maeve's parents and tortured herself with the thought that she could have done more. I tried to reassure her, but she was extremely traumatised.
We then heard nothing until the day she was arrested, the day of the dawn raid. She was released later that day on bail, though one of the conditions was that she was not allowed to have any contact with children.
"What happens if any of our children's friends knocks on the door and Keran opens it?" I asked the custody sergeant.
"Well, she mustn't answer the door."
Even now Keran was trying to see the best in people. "They're only doing their job," she told me.
"There's a difference between doing your job and doing it right," I replied.
We soon discovered it wasn't only the children of friends who needed to be kept away from Keran.
We also faced the threat of having our sons taken away from us. Social Services held an inquiry but finally decided the boys should be placed on the at-risk register ? the least drastic option.
Keran was finally charged in May 2006. The trial was set for February 2007 but was postponed until October. It was a desperately difficult time, but we tried to keep things as normal as possible and didn't talk about the case in front of the boys.
That summer we went camping in the West Country with friends. While there we made plans for the following year. I had been seconded to a Government agency and decided I wasn't going to return to the Met. "I don't think I can go back," I told Keran.
"It's your decision," she said. "You've got to do what you think is right."
The trial started on October 3 at Reading Crown Court. We left for the court in plenty of time but still got lost in Reading's one-way system. In spite of this, the journey was fairly quiet. Keran was physically shaking.
The prosecution's opening speech was pretty horrific. It was also pure fiction, entirely based on the so-called experts' opinion that Maeve had died from being shaken. They had to work back from there to make everything fit.
Because Keran had told the police that Maeve had needed her nappy changing as they were getting ready to go to playgroup, the prosecution claimed Keran had been so angry at being late that she had shaken the baby so violently that she had died.
However, Keran was used to dealing with nappies and vomit, and it didn't matter what time they arrived at the playgroup, which was close to our house. And as for shaking Maeve, there were no injuries or bruises where Keran was supposed to have gripped her.
The prosecution kept getting her name wrong ? calling her Caron, Kieran, Kieron, anything but Keran.
I wondered if they were doing it deliberately to unsettle her. "I don't mind," said Keran. "If they get my name wrong, I can pretend it isn't me."
During the first five weeks of the trial I wasn't allowed inside the court because I was to be called to give evidence. So I sat outside the courtroom and friends would pop in and out to tell me what was going on.
Maeve's parents and grandparents were among the first prosecution witnesses.
They were complimentary about Keran. The grandmother said how worried she had been about Maeve's health before Keran had started looking after her. The prosecution realised this was helping Keran's defence and quickly got the grandmother off the stand.
Then the 999 tape was played. Keran could be heard talking to the operator and saying: "Breathe, Maeve, come on darling, breathe."
Keran hadn't heard the tape before and it brought everything back to her. Distraught, she was taken out of court to compose herself.
Worryingly, though, I felt the jury might have missed some things on the tape in all the confusion. It was possible to hear the other children in Keran's care talking normally in the background. They would hardly have done so if Keran had just assaulted Maeve.
Later the jurors asked if they could listen to the tape again in the jury room, but they were refused. One felt that the tape was "tremendous" evidence but that its value had been overlooked.
After the tape-recording, the jury heard the evidence of the shaken baby syndrome experts. There are supposed to be three signs that a baby has died in such a way: bleeding in the brain, a swollen brain and bleeding behind the eyes.
But the experts kept contradicting each other, and most of what they said was technical. It wasn't evidence, at least not as I understood the word. The experts didn't use definite words. They would say, "it points to" or "it could be" or "it's indicative of" ? meaning it was all just theory and had never been scientifically proven.
One, neuropathologist Dr Waney Squier, suggested Maeve's injuries could have been months old. But that did not suit the prosecution, so the next day they brought someone in to say the injuries must have been more recent.
That night Keran said: "I just hope the jury are getting all this." I couldn't have agreed more.
Sitting outside the courtroom, I would often see the experts mingling before taking to the stand.
On one occasion I heard one voicing his worries about giving evidence. "Don't worry," said his colleague. "We're not the ones on trial."
As soon as the experts came out, the Crown Prosecution Service staff would thrust a blue form in their hands and say: "Get this signed and we'll have you paid today."
As one of them left, he told the officials: "Enjoy the rest of the trial". "Yes," I thought to myself. "It's been a hoot so far."
At home in the evenings, Keran would spend time with the boys. We did our best to reassure them everything was going to be OK. At the weekends we did things as a family.
It was wonderful the way everyone rallied around to help. Friends took the boys to school, dropping off food so we didn't have to worry about cooking when we got home.
Meanwhile, Keran tried to stay in touch with her normal life. One evening we were due to have a collection for the Scouts and at lunchtime she sent us out to buy the buckets we needed.
When Remembrance Day approached she sold poppies to our friends. By October 17, the prosecution had finished its case. Its experts had disagreed so much I thought the judge would kick it out without even hearing the defence.
"If they can't decide what their case is, how is the jury supposed to?" I asked Keran. But she was reluctant to build up her hopes. By now she had gone from being a glass half-full person to someone for whom the glass was half-empty.
Indeed, the judge ruled the case should continue, which meant Keran was going to appear in the witness box. The night before she said: "I'm worried about everyone looking at me and judging me."
"They've got to judge on the facts, so just tell them what happened," I reassured her. "Like you've done dozens of times up to now."
Keran was still nervous when she gave her evidence. Her voice was extremely quiet at first and the prosecution got up to its usual tricks, coughing and talking, so it was difficult for the jury to hear what she was saying. But it didn't shake her.
Then we called our expert, the neuropathologist Professor Philip Anslow. The prosecution had tried to sign him up but he had been on holiday and we managed to get him. He said the bridging veins on top of the baby's brain were intact and there was no bruising on the brain. From these and other signs, he said, "shaking baby has not occurred".
I felt sure the jury could never convict Keran now ? there was simply too much doubt.
Then it was the turn of our character witnesses who all praised Keran's qualities. We could have called dozens but kept it to 12 ? they included teachers, solicitors, mums and the local vicar.
It was so heartening to see them arrive at court, not least because it reflected the support we had received throughout this terrible period of our lives. We had been afraid of being shunned by the local community, but instead people came up to us to offer help.
We were concerned, too, that the boys might run into trouble at school, but nothing like that has ever happened.
On November 1, I finally had my chance to give evidence. Keran said she was worried about me, but I told her: "For Heaven's sake, I've done it loads of times before."
The prosecutor did her best to belittle me. She tried to push me on a particular date and I said I couldn't remember. She said: "Oh, so you can't remember?"
I wanted to ask her if she could remember exactly what she was doing two-and-a-half years ago. But I didn't.
The closing speeches began on November 6. The prosecutor said the evidence was not straightforward. There is still no evidence, I thought, only opinion. Then she said the jury had to decide between guesswork at Keran's character and objective medical evidence.
But the character evidence wasn't guesswork. And why would you believe people who are paid to give evidence, rather than those who are doing so because they want to?
The defence closing speech was excellent, but I was disappointed by the judge's summing-up.
He praised Keran's character at first, but when he went through the medical material he always finished on one of the prosecution's points.
The jury was due to go out on November 9.
The previous night Keran had warned the boys she might not be coming home. She had been given a list of what she could take to prison ? clothes, toiletries ? and dutifully packed a bag.
The jury went out in the morning. The tension was appalling. We were in the tiny defence waiting room and it got dreadfully claustrophobic. Every time the court loudspeaker came to life my stomach lurched in case the jury was coming back. After six hours the court officials said we could go home for the weekend.
We did our best to carry on as normal. It was Remembrance Sunday and we all went to church, which was packed to the rafters. People were seeking Keran out to wish her luck. We were all touched by these displays of support. That night she gave both the boys a kiss and warned them once again that she might not be coming home.
We waited all through Monday. They came back in on Tuesday morning. I knew it was bad because they didn't look at Keran as they came into court.
When the foreman said "Guilty", it was like a hand grenade going off. Keran gave a terrible cry and collapsed. She was hyperventilating and needed help, but I couldn't get out of the public gallery to reach her and I called out: "Get an ambulance."
At some point I stood up and clapped and said: "Clark, Cannings, and now Henderson ? well done!" I know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but I was at a low point.
It was a majority verdict, 10-2. The judge gave Keran three years for manslaughter, but he could have given her more. I don't think it stacked up for him.
There were some pointers in his closing remarks ? he said the jury had found her guilty, as if he was distancing himself, and he said a child had died in her care, not that she had killed her.
My cousin went up to the chief inspector in charge of the case and said: "I think there has been a terrible injustice." He replied: "I know there has." My cousin couldn't tell if he was joking.
The boys were still at school. My father went to fetch Cameron and broke it to him. I had to tell Jamie when he got home. Keran telephoned in the evening to say which prison she was in. She was seriously upset. It was two days before I saw her.
I went to the prison with the boys, but they weren't allowed in so I took them home and went back by myself. She looked awful, her skin was red and blotchy, and she was in such a terrible state she could hardly talk.
I was in a daze myself, but already friends were asking how they could help.
That night, 45 people crammed into a friend's front room with one thing on their minds ? to do whatever they could to fight for Keran's freedom. Not one person had any doubt that she was innocent. It was tremendously heartening and gave us all a new focus after the hideous experience of the trial.
When I saw Keran a week later she was still low, but the time after that she seemed a brighter. Previously when I went into the visiting room she had just been staring ahead, but this time she was looking out for me and waved.
I had more to tell her about the support we were receiving. A friend had given us an office in the village to work from and we set up a team of experts. The solicitor who handled the Sally Clark case offered to help with an appeal.
Yellow ribbons were spreading too ? a lot have been put up by the boys' friends from school. They appeared in the village soon after the verdict.
We decided to set up a group, Carers4carers, with three aims. We want to get Keran out of prison; we want to help other falsely accused people, a number of whom have contacted us; and we want to find out the truth about why Maeve died, for the sake of her parents and other victims of similar tragedies.
A week before Christmas, two jurors broke with legal convention by openly criticising the verdict in the Press.
One said the case should never have gone to court as the evidence was so weak, while the other questioned how the jury could be expected to decide the truth since the experts had disagreed among themselves.
Cameron, now 14, Jamie, now nine, and I saw Keran together for the first time on December 23. At first they had not been allowed to visit her at all, then they were permitted one visit with a social worker.
I thought I could see something of the real Keran coming back. She had been worrying about the other prisoners not getting enough exercise. "I've been getting them to do step-ups in the prison garden," she said.
She had also been making Christmas decorations, tearing up paper in the shape of Christmas trees, bells, snowmen and reindeer. She had received more than 100 Christmas cards, which she put up in her cell.
The boys and I spent Christmas Day at home. We had lots of invitations, but we wanted to be by ourselves. When we saw Keran on December 28, she told us she had had to eat most of her Christmas lunch alone in her cell. Christmas has always been special to Keran, but she seemed to have managed and I felt proud of her.
As things stand, Keran, who is now 43, will be released early next year, but we are hoping she'll be home before that. Following the comments from the two jurors, I feel the pressure is building up and the Attorney General, Baroness Scotland, has said she is reviewing the case.
My faith in justice has plummeted but, because of the enormous amount of support we have received, my faith in the kindness of people has rocketed. Our immediate goal is to get Keran home as soon as possible. Then we must do whatever we can to stop anyone else having to endure such an ordeal."
Harold Levy...hlevy15@gmail.com;
