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NOTE: If you don't have to time to watch this whole video:
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Recap on Previous Parts
-Parts 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9: Madeleine McCann Case / Podesta / Pedophilia Connections
-Part 2, 3: ACORN Controversy
-Part 7: Conspiracy Advice for Online Researchers.
-ALL Parts: Media Cover-Up and/or Silence
#PizzaGate Part 10
Topics to Cover:
- Current PizzaGate Trends and Updates
- Kate McCann's Bizarre Book
- Mainstream Media Silence (as usual).
PizzaGate Google Search Trends and Updates
https://www.google.ca/trends/explore?date=today%203-m&q=pizzagate,fake%20news
Retrieved: 5 February 2017
https://www.google.ca/trends/explore?date=today%203-m&q=pizzagate,fake%20news,golden%20shower
Retrieved: 5 February 2017
https://www.google.ca/trends/explore?q=pizzagate,fake%20news
Retrieved: 5 February 2017
3 January 2017 by U.S. Department of Homeland Security
Take a Second Look
U.S. DHS is promoting it's "Blue Campaign" to fight human trafficking and include in the first clip a Pizza Place and what may appear as a Haitian girl next to it…
Predictive Programing??
McCanns Lose Court Case Against Amaral!
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/madeleine-mccanns-parents-lose-court-9729076
31 January 2017
Madeleine McCann’s parents lose court appeal to silence cop who claims they covered up daughter’s death
The McCanns have lost their appeal to Portugal’s highest court over ex-police chief Goncalo Amaral’s book claiming they covered up their daughter’s death.
Portuguese Supreme Court judges met this morning in Lisbon to resolve the couple’s fight against a lower court’s decision last April to reverse their 2015 libel win against the former detective.
The hearing took place in private and an official public decision is not set to be sent to lawyers acting for the litigants until later in the week.
But well-placed sources close to the long-running case said this afternoon the decision had gone against the McCanns and they would now face a massive legal bill.
Judges decided that Goncalo Amaral’s “right to freedom of expression” was worthy of greater protection under Portuguese law than the “right to honour” of the McCanns.
Flashback to what started the libel trial:
20 September 2013 by Rob Williams
Kate McCann 'contemplated suicide' after detective's book on Madeleine's disappearance
The devastated mother of missing Madeleine McCann considered suicide and told her psychologist of 'dark thoughts' after a Portuguese detective published a book alleging she faked her daughter's disappearance, a libel trial has heard.
Psychologist Alan Pike said Kate McCann spent days weeping after the book was released alleging that she and her husband Gerry hid Madeleine's body after she had died in an accident at their apartment in Praia da Luz, in the Algarve.
Kate McCann's Bizarre Book
https://www.amazon.ca/Madeleine-Daughters-Disappearance-Continuing-Search/dp/0552165158
Free download: http://bookzz.org/s/?q=madeleine+disappearance&yearFrom=&yearTo=&language=&extension=&t=0
May 2011 by Kate McCann
Madeleine: Our Daughter's Disappearance and the Continuing Search for Her
*Note: The page numbers may not be exact as the original book because I am using the PDF Download from Bookzz.org
Page 18
Gerry and I were keen to start a family as soon as possible, but after a couple of years with no sign of a pregnancy, it became clear that it wasn’t going to be as easy as we’d assumed. Those who have been lucky enough to conceive effortlessly often fail to appreciate how heartbreaking and testing trying fruitlessly for a baby can be: month after month of aching disappointment, punctuated by a mid-cycle urgency to have sex at the crucial time, which removes all the spontaneity, and much of the fun, from making love. Sex becomes a clinical requirement rather than an enjoyable and intimate experience. And as time drags by, you find yourself having to force a joyful smile and congratulate your friends as they become pregnant, apparently without the slightest difficulty.
Page 41 to 42
The only other unexplained detail I remember from that morning was a large, brown stain I noticed on Madeleine’s pink Eeyore pyjama top. I couldn’t recall seeing it the night before and I had no idea how it might have got there. It looked like a tea stain. Gerry and I do drink quite a bit of tea, and Madeleine, too, would have the odd small cup. So at the time I just assumed it was a drink spillage that had escaped our attention, and that might well be all it was. But now, of course, we can no longer make assumptions about anything that can’t be accounted for.
The morning continued like the others with kids’ clubs and tennis. After my lesson, I hung around on the grassy play area, watching Gerry on the court and chatting to Russell, who I’d found there. Another guest appeared with a video camera to record his three-year-old daughter playing mini-tennis. He looked a little embarrassed and laughingly remarked to us that filming in this way made him feel like a dirty old man. It led to a conversation between the three of us about paedophiles. I remember Russell talking about how everything had got a bit out of hand, that these days people were so untrusting you hardly dared speak to children you didn’t know. What he was effectively saying was that the world had become paranoid; that he wanted his daughters to grow up with confidence and a sense of freedom. The other dad and I chipped in with our views – I mentioned not being allowed to take photographs of your own kids in swimming pools any longer – and we agreed that it was a shame things had come to this, especialy for the children. It would be some days before Russell and I were able to acknowledge to each other the horrible irony of this conversation.
Page 60
Having been so late back from the police station the previous evening, we’d decided to wait until morning to meet the trauma psychologist, Alan Pike. But by this point we realized that we needed help urgently. Just before 5am Gerry rang Craig Mayhew, the Mark Warner overseas manager, and asked if Alan would be able to come and see us. He was at the door of our apartment by 6am.
Alan is a clinical partner at the Centre for Crisis Psychology, pioneers in psychological trauma aftercare following disasters at home and abroad. They have worked with the families and survivors of the Bradford fire, the sinking of the Herald of Free Enterprise, the World Trade Center terrorist attacks and the 2004 tsunami, to name just a few. Alan himself, we would learn, had been involved in the aftermath of, among other horrors, coach crashes in Gran Canaria, Cuba and South Africa, three hurricanes and the terrorist bombing at Sharm el Sheikh two years earlier.
Alan must be used to seeing people in states of profound distress, and he certainly found two in apartment 4G at the Ocean Club. By this stage I was beginning to feel that there just wasn’t any way up. He started by asking us about our home, our family and our normal lives. He told us we seemed like model parents. I cannot overstate how much such kind reassurance meant to us at that moment. We were both feeling so desperately guilty. Whatever we had or had not done right, we were Madeleine’s parents and in our own eyes we had failed to keep her safe. We struggled to bear that sense of guilt and we always will.
Alan got us talking, encouraging us to try to think rationally about what we were saying, and we talked a lot, for several hours. We faced our biggest fear: that Madeleine had been taken by a paedophile and killed. This was the only scenario occupying our minds just then. Alan pointed out to us that these thoughts could be no more than speculation. We didn’t know what had happened. We needed to avoid focusing on the negative and channel everything into looking forwards. ‘Madeleine might walk through that door at
any minute,’ he said. ‘You need to be ready for that.’ He discussed with us the importance of taking control of things, little by little, starting with tiny actions as simple as making ourselves a cup of tea. The effect our conversation with Alan had on us that morning was truly amazing. To say it helped would be a gross understatement. Any scepticism we might have had before about how a psychologist could possibly benefit us personally has long gone. Alan was, and remains, a saviour.
Page 67
A couple of days later, the [Family Liaison Officers] FLOs’ efforts were bolstered by the arrival from the UK of the specialists from the Child Exploitation and Online Protection Centre (CEOP). The director of the forensic psychology unit, who was a detective superintendent, and a social worker came to see us to outline their current lines of inquiry. In the weeks ahead the input of the UK experts would encourage us to feel more optimistic that the investigation was gaining momentum. This initial discussion, though, was unsettling, focused as it was on the typical profile of a paedophile. All I could think was, not Madeleine. Please, not Madeleine!
Page 74 to 76
Having spent much of the previous four days cooped up, first with the police and then with the lawyers, by the Sunday afternoon Gerry and I felt the need to escape into the open air. We decided to go for a walk along the beach. Perhaps ‘escape’ isn’t the right word, since we were soon tailed by a posse of journalists, and there could be little escape in any case from the hell engulfing us. Thankfully, we were left alone when we reached the shore, and were able to stroll along the sand in relative solitude.
I remember this walk well. It had been a chaotic and confusing ten days, shot through with unremitting cold dread and dark thoughts that were hard to push away when we had nothing else with which to replace them. That is the anguish of the ‘not knowing’.
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.So many of the emotions and physical sensations I’ve experienced over the past few years will be beyond the scope of most people’s comprehension, thank God. I felt as if I’d embarked on a slow, painful death. Just imagining your child, any child, like this is agonizing and unless such thoughts have any basis in reality, it is normal and understandable to banish them from your mind. Everybody has their own mechanisms for self-protection and surrounding yourself only with ‘nice thoughts’ is one of many. I wished I could do that. The pictures I saw of our Madeleine no sane human being would want in her head, but they were in mine. I simply couldn’t rid myself of these evil scenes in the early days and weeks.
That walk with Gerry was, however, a small watershed. The mutual acknowledgement of such delicate and deeply upsetting responses drew us even closer together.
It would be some time before we could get far enough past the terrible scenes seared into our minds to think logically about that night. Once we did begin to function within what felt like an endless bad dream, we started to comb through our memories, searching for something significant.Had Madeleine been specifically targeted, either for herself or because someone knew that apartment 5A would be a breeze to raid? Not only did its corner position allow for easy access and escape, but, unlike many other residences, it had no protective wrought-iron bars at the windows and no security light.
Could Madeleine’s apparently excessive tiredness on that last Thursday afternoon have been caused by some kind of tranquillizer administered earlier in the day, or even the night before? It had been noticeable, but then we’d been approaching the end of our break and the children had all been extremely active for almost a week. It might simply have been, as we’d thought at the time, the holiday catching up with her. Inevitably, though, since we cannot yet know for sure, a little nugget of doubt remains.
…
So many little things had and would continue to come to light, so many chance incidents and minor decisions made in all innocence, which on their own would not have driven events to such a disastrous conclusion. Together, though, they seem to have accumulated into a monstrous mountain of bad luck.
Page 88
The two officers talked openly about Robert Murat, who remained an arguido, and drip-fed us snippets of ‘evidence’ linking him to Madeleine’s disappearance. Not enough, apparently, to arrest and charge him. In some ways, I wish now they hadn’t done this. It served only to colour my judgement of Murat. They told us, for example, about a newspaper clipping they’d seized from his house, an article entitled ‘Lock up Your Daughters’, which claimed that Casanova had been a paedophile. It made us shudder. Back then we feared everything and, perhaps understandably, leaped to the worst conclusions without pausing to consider innocent explanations.
Page 93 to 96
We were met at Madrid airport by several British Embassy staff, a liaison officer and two press officers, as well as a crowd of journalists and photographers, and taken to the hotel where we were to spend the night. Clarence briefed Gerry and me about the meetings and press conferences arranged for the next day and then we went up to our room to get some rest.
A bit tearful again tonight. It’s getting harder to black out the bad thoughts.
After a troubled night, we got up, dressed and went down to breakfast. I couldn’t focus on the day ahead, on what we were trying to accomplish. Every now and then, by taking a few deep breaths and giving myself a firm talking-to, I gained a little control, only to collapse minutes later into a blubbering wreck. I was so angry with myself. Stop crying. Just stop it. You have to help your daughter. You will achieve nothing if you spend the whole day crying and wallowing in your grief. But trying to ‘snap out of it’ when every thought, every action, every breath is polluted by anguish is easier said than done. As I continued to sniffle over my untouched cup of tea, Gerry said, ‘Kate, you don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do any of this. These meetings can be cancelled quite easily.’ I knew he meant it but I also knew that I’d persecute myself later if I pulled out.
Once we’d been introduced to the British ambassador to Spain, the British consul for Madrid and a lady from the Justice and Home Affairs Department, we were scheduled to talk to representatives of three Spanish non-governmental organizations (NGOs) working with missing and exploited children. We’d both been a little nervous about this meeting. Conscious of the fact that there were many children abducted around the world whose plight hadn’t been given anything like the publicity Madeleine’s had, we were concerned that this might have caused some resentment.
We couldn’t have been more wrong. The reception we were given by the NGOs was nothing but appreciative. ‘Thank goodness you are doing this,’ they said. ‘We are so grateful to you for drawing attention to the whole issue of child abduction and exploitation.’ We listened for an hour while they explained to us the extent of the problem in Spain and the difficulties they faced. While the situation had improved slightly (possession of child pornography, for example, had finally been classified as a criminal offence in Spain a couple of years before – which it still has not, incidentally, in many other nations), they felt that many cases of child sexual abuse, pornography and trafficking were still being swept under the carpet. The authorities and even the general population seemed unwilling to acknowledge that this kind of thing happened in their country.
As empathetic as the NGO representatives were, with every horrendous fact and statistic they shared with us I became wobblier and wobblier. Afterwards I took refuge in the ladies’ room as the next deluge of tears gushed forth. Gripping the rim of the washbasin, I glanced at the red, swollen eyes and blotchy face looking back at me in the mirror. Come on, Kate. Deep breath in, deep breath out. And again. Nice and slow. Calm. Calm. I soaked some tissues in cold water and pressed them against my eyes and cheeks, then performed a few eye-widening exercises in an attempt to look vaguely human. Taking a final deep breath, with my mind refocused, I joined Gerry and Clarence and we made our way to the press conference that had been arranged, followed by a few short interviews.
In the afternoon we met Señor Rubalcaba, the Spanish interior minister. He listened attentively and his manner was gentle and sympathetic. He showed us the case file that had already been opened for Madeleine, which instantly brought us both some reassurance. There are two things I remember Señor Rubalcaba saying to us. ‘We are treating Madeleine as if she is one of our own,’ and ‘As time moves on, people forget. Please feel free to come and knock on my door at any point to remind me.’ Of course, I have no idea how genuine either statement was, but he certainly seemed sincere and we were grateful and encouraged.
As yet another day draws to a close and you are no nearer to finding your missing child, such fleeting flashes of optimism can disappear very quickly. That evening, as we flew back to Portugal, my mood was no doubt influenced by what we’d heard from the NGOs.
Quite upset on the way home. Can’t stop thinking about Madeleine again – her fear and her pain. Dark thoughts have been creeping in a lot this week. How can I carry on, knowing that her life may have ended like this?
Saturday 2 June. It wasn’t unusual for investigative or campaign issues to eat into our family days, and this was one of those occasions. Before we took the children out to Praia da Rocha beach, Gerry needed to catch up with the emails that had accumulated while we’d been in Madrid and I had a letter I wanted to write to J. K. Rowling. A couple of weeks earlier, a friend had mentioned to me that the author had a new Harry Potter story coming out in July and suggested I got in touch to see whether she could do something to raise awareness around the launch of her book.
‘July?’ I’d said. ‘July?’
Surely Madeleine would be back by then. I was panic-stricken at the idea that she might not; that my friend could imagine she might not. I simply couldn’t think this way. I needed Madeleine home tomorrow. But here I was, several weeks later, writing my letter to J. K. Rowling. How on earth had I survived this long? I wondered. It is quite staggering how much stress the human mind and body can endure and still function on some level. You simply can’t see how it is possible that you are still alive, and yet there you are, still breathing, speaking, moving. I clung tightly to the hope that whatever help J. K. Rowling might be able to offer in a month’s time, when it came to it, it wouldn’t be needed.
It wasn’t enough to prevent me from sliding down the slippery slope for the rest of the day.
Crying in bed again – can’t help it . . . The thought of Madeleine’s fear and pain tears me apart. The thought of paedophiles makes me want to rip my skin off. Surely these people along with psychopaths are not ‘normal’ human beings? I’ve never been in favour of the death penalty but these people should be ‘kept’ in a secure location of some description. I don’t mind if it’s in nice surroundings but certainly, in the case of paedophiles, away at all times from ANY contact with children.
In the event, J. K. Rowling’s support was needed, and greatly appreciated. When Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was published on 21 July, it was distributed with a new poster of Madeleine, which she asked all retailers to display.
MES NOTE:[WTF IS J.K. ROWLING (HARRY POTTER AUTHOR) DOING HERE??!!!... # THERABBITHOLEGETSDEEPER]
It was the following evening, Sunday 3 June – exactly a month after Madeleine’s abduction – that Gerry and I opened up a little more to each other and shared some of the thoughts and anxieties that had been quietly tormenting us both; thoughts and anxieties that perhaps we hadn’t felt able or ready to voice up to now.
We’d been sitting alone at the table, working at our computers. It was quiet and the lights were low. Though I can’t remember how the conversation started, I’m glad it did. We talked through the guilt we felt about not having been in that apartment with the children; about having left the patio doors unlocked. How we found it hard to comprehend that we could have been so naive. We acknowledged the possibility that Madeleine might no longer be alive; the possibility that we might never find out what had happened to her. Would we ever be able to return to our home, the home we had all shared with her? Maybe we should move elsewhere. Where? We discussed the need we felt to do our utmost to prevent this from happening to another child; to prevent another family from having to go through what we were going through. We had to ensure that something positive for someone, even if it wasn’t us, came out of this horrific experience.
For me, the honest exposure of this buried poison was like lancing a boil. Admitting these secret fears and concerns, bringing them out into the open and sharing them with the only other person who was persecuted in the same way, made them suddenly a little easier to understand and to manage. Strengthened and comforted, I fell asleep that night more peacefully than I had in many days.
Page 117 to 118
If we’d wondered about the change of venue for our regular informal meeting, the reason for it soon became clear: this wasn’t our regular informal meeting. We were taken to an upstairs room at the police station where we were greeted by Luís Neves and Guilhermino Encarnação. Our interpreter this time was a police officer, not Proconsul Angela Morado, as was usually the case. The whole demeanour of Neves and Encarnação was different. They looked serious and cold.
There had been a ‘shift’ in the investigation, they said. They had always been optimistic that Madeleine was alive, but now things had changed. Almost instantaneously I could feel my breathing pattern altering and that familiar constriction in my throat. Gerry asked if any evidence had come to light to suggest that Madeleine was dead but they wouldn’t reply. There was a lot of frowning going on which, combined with the language barrier, made it less obvious that they weren’t answering us. Gerry was then asked to leave the room. Now the sirens in my head were deafening. I was on my own and afraid. Please God, let my Madeleine be OK.
Tell us about that night, they said. Tell us everything that happened after the children went to bed. I gave them every detail I could remember, as I had before, but this time they responded by just staring at me and shaking their heads. I was reeling with confusion, disbelief and panic. What the hell was going on? Evidently not satisfied with my account, they pressed me. Was there anything else I wanted to add? Anything else unusual that had occurred that night?
Of course there wasn’t. If there had been I would have told them on 3 May. I’d recounted absolutely everything and anything – more than they wanted or needed to know, probably, just in case some triviality I recalled might be significant. How could they think I would hold something back that might help my daughter? Why were they asking me this? Why?
Neves stated bluntly that they didn’t believe my version of events. It ‘didn’t fit’ with what they knew. Didn’t fit? What did they know? I was sobbing now, well past the stage of silent tears and stifled sniffs. I began to wail hysterically, drawing breath in desperate gasps.
Why did I think Madeleine had been alive when she was taken from the apartment? they persisted. I explained between sobs that there had been nothing to suggest otherwise; no indication that she might have come to harm. Had I ever considered that she may be dead? Yes, of course. Early on that was all I thought, all the time: that some paedophile had grabbed her, abused her and later killed her. Then I’d begun to wonder if she was being held by pornographers, I told them, or had been taken for someone who wanted a child.
I was becoming more and more distressed and more and more scared. I wanted Gerry. Still they pushed me. They proposed that when I’d put Madeleine to bed that night, it wasn’t actually the last time I’d seen her. But it was. It was! I felt I was being bullied, and I suppose I was. I assume these tactics were deliberate: knock her off balance by telling her that her daughter is dead and get her to confess. Because I was in no doubt now that they were trying to make me say I’d killed Madeleine or knew what had happened to her. I might be naive but I’m not stupid.
On and on it went. They tried to convince me I’d had a blackout – a ‘loss of memory episode’, I think they called it. My denials, answers and pleas fell on deaf ears. This was their theory and they wanted to shoehorn me into it, end of story. At last they seemed to decide that the interview was over. They told me I could ring them any time, day or night, to give them the information they were waiting for.
I was allowed to spend a couple of minutes with Gerry, but I don’t think he was able to get much sense out of me. Then it was his turn to be interrogated. He managed to remain a little calmer than I had but he was still visibly upset and shaken afterwards. He gave the police his account of the events of 3 May and the reasons why he didn’t believe Madeleine had been killed in the apartment. Through his tears he pleaded with the two men: ‘Do you have evidence that Madeleine is dead? We’re her parents. You have to tell us.’
‘It’s coming,’ Neves told him. ‘It’s coming!’
Outside the room, I was praying – begging prayers. I was beginning to come unstuck. But if I thought the police had finished with me, I was mistaken. Before long I was ordered back into the room to join Gerry for round three.
Once again Gerry wanted to know if the case had now become a murder inquiry. The answer was indirect: ‘You can probably guess that from our lack of response.’ In a slightly threatening manner, Luís asked why I wasn’t looking him straight in the eye. There was no reason, other than that I was incapable of looking at anyone properly: my own eyes were so swollen and sore that I was struggling to keep them from closing completely. Finally, Gerry tried to establish when – and if – we would be having another meeting with them. ‘The next time we meet it will be across the table.’ The message behind this rather Delphic statement was clear: there would be no more informal meetings.
Page 128
We found Clement watching a cookery programme, dressed, as promised, in his nightshirt. It was so ordinary and comforting, a bit like going to see your grandad after a horrible day at school. He gave me one of his looks and a giant glass of brandy, and managed to get a smile out of me with his greeting: ‘So, Kate, which of the devout Catholic, alcoholic, depressed, nymphomaniac parts is correct?’
http://www.dictionary.com/browse/nymphomania
Retrieved: 27 January 2017
nymphomania
noun, Pathology [disease].
- abnormally excessive and uncontrollable sexual desire in women.
Page 150 to 151
It was the nights that were the worst. Not only did lying awake in the dark take me straight back to the most awful night of all, but my brain, finally free of the preoccupations of the day, would wander unbidden down black and terrifying avenues. I struggled constantly to think nice thoughts and drift off to sleep, but the demons had me in their grip and would torture me mercilessly with images too frightening and painful to share. Where is my Madeleine? Please, God, do something!
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 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.
I was determined not to be beaten by this, not simply to capitulate and accept it as just one of the unfortunate side-effects of this tragedy. Gerry and I talked about it a little, but mostly I analysed the problem privately in my head. I also discussed it with Alan Pike, who assured me that, like my ability to relax or enjoy a meal, it would gradually return and that I shouldn’t fret about it too much. But I did. I even considered seeking specialist help. Deep down, though, I knew there were only two solutions: bringing Madeleine back or conquering my mental block. Since the first was not within my control, it was up to me to try to train my mind and my thought processes. So that is what I applied myself to doing.
Page 160 to 161
In spite of some of the terrible discoveries I was making as I learned more of the stories and statistics relating to missing and exploited children, it wasn’t all bad news. Gradually, my outlook was growing more positive and I was beginning to get past my early certainty that Madeleine must have been taken by a paedophile and murdered. I was coming to realize that didn’t have to be the answer. Meeting Ernie Allen and the people at NCMEC played a big part in helping me along this road.
Page 175
Night after night, I read of depraved individuals, British paedophiles, Portuguese paedophiles, Spanish, Dutch and German paedophiles, and of the horrific crimes they’d committed. The police went to visit some of them, looked around their apartments and recorded merely, ‘No sign of the minor.’ Was that enough to eliminate these vile characters from the inquiry? If more had been done, there was certainly nothing in the files about it. No description, no photograph, no alibi, no DNA. Just ‘No sign of the minor.’
27 August
A late night. Depressing reading. So many child molesters! Dear God, please don’t let this have been what’s happened to Madeleine. Please, God.It’s difficult not to criticize, and I know I’m a bit of a perfectionist, but honest to God, when your child has been stolen, surely you are entitled to expect more than this. Much more.
Page 189 to 190
Fortunately, Gerry’s worst days don’t usually coincide with mine and for the most part we’ve been able to buoy each other up. We also know it is essential that we somehow make time for each other if we are to keep communicating, avoid growing apart and escape becoming another marital breakdown statistic. I say ‘somehow’ because since 2007 our life has been hideously busy as well as traumatic. The relentless workload of the search for Madeleine, organizing and participating in fund-raising events, Gerry’s fulltime job and the general demands of family life have left us with little space for anything else.
I took a cognitive approach to getting our sexual relationship back on track, concentrating hard on what Gerry means to me, as a husband and as a friend; on the love we have for each other and the three beautiful children we created together; on our unity as a couple and as a family of five. It seems to have worked. If my mind ever starts to wander down dark alleys, I fight against that, focusing on what I have that is good and important. And I tell myself that I cannot, and will not, allow this evil person to destroy anything else in our life.
I’m sure Alan Pike was right and it helped that I was gradually, very gradually, able to allow myself some pleasure and relaxation in general. Whether this was just a matter of time I don’t know: it certainly took well over a year. I remember very clearly the first brief moment of peace I experienced. It was on our first holiday since Madeleine’s abduction in the summer of 2008, in that wonderful isolated cabin in British Columbia. Gerry and I had been for a run together through the forest and returned to find that Auntie Norah had prepared a fabulous lunch for us. After we ate I went for a long soak in the bath, taking a glass of red wine with me. I lay back, completely immersing my head and letting the burning hot water wash over my face. My mind was at rest, my body calm . . . and suddenly I felt the weight of our life lift temporarily. It was fleeting, but it was good.
Just acknowledging this slow personal ‘improvement’, however, brings a wave of guilt over me. My life is weighed down by guilt: guilt for what happened to Madeleine, guilt at surviving this whole horror, guilt that our family, especially Sean and Amelie, have had to experience any of it, guilt for not being quite the person or wife I once was and guilt about taking even five minutes for myself. Perhaps being a mother and a Catholic is a double whammy when it comes to guilt. It is certainly a heavy load to carry around with you. It preys on your conscience and when you weaken it can pull you down.
That said, the knowledge that I am a stronger and more able woman now than I was a couple of years ago helps me to shake off a little of that guilt: I recognize that this is a positive development, for me, for Gerry, for Sean and Amelie, and for Madeleine.
Mainstream Media Silence
Retrieved: 6 February 2017
No mention in The Guardian
Retrieved: 6 February 2017
No mention in BBC.
Retrieved: 6 February 2017
As per usual, only alternative media (or comments) bother to cover this.
Also, note the bizarre poses and images of Madeleine…
Summary and Conclusions
Kate McCann's book deals almost exclusively with her and her husband's ordeals that they suffered in this ongoing case about the reported disappearance of Madeleine McCann.
Very little discussion was made about actually searching for Madeleine.
Kate McCann was obsessed with the idea that a pedophile either abused and/or killed Madeleine.
Kate describes many times during the book how she had horrible thoughts about Madeleine being sexually abused including making references to her "perfect little genitals" and "perfect body", extremely bizarre references especially coming from mother of a reportedly missing child.
Kate describes how the Portuguese Police were highly suspect of her account about Madeleine, including questioning why she initially told police that a pedophile "took" Madeleine.
Kate has a mental breakdown at the thought of being accused in the possible death and cover-up of Madeleine.
Kate appears to be overly concerned about her sexual desire being affected by Madeleine's reported disappearance, even making it a key part of the book in terms of getting back to a normal life.
One of the most telling parts of Kate's book is the following quote:
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.
Who is this person Kate is thinking about?
How does she know it’s a "him"?
Why is all this emotion directed at this "man" but very little about finding Madeleine?
This quote makes it clear, along with my earlier videos on the McCann case, that Madeleine was almost certainly sexually abused by a man that they knew…
Kate McCann's book is further proof that the theme of pedophilia and cover-up is rampant in the Madeleine McCann case.
I wanted to read over these parts of her book to show that even her own words are incriminating.
Also how is Kate McCann able to randomly get connected with J.K. Rowling??
11 April 2011 by "Daily Mail Reporter"
JK Rowling helps Kate McCann write book on Maddy's disappearance in bid to raise £1m to find her
Kate McCann turned to author J K Rowling to help write a book about the disappearance of her daughter to raise funds to help find her.
The Harry Potter scribe is understood to have assisted Kate in writing her harrowing account of the events following Madeleine's disappearance in May 2007.
They hope the book will raise £1m which will pay for private investigators to continue hunting for Madeleine for two more years.
The Madeleine Fund was originally set up in May 2007 after the then three-year-old Madeleine was snatched from her parents' Portuguese holiday apartment in the Algarve village of Praia da Luz.
Within the space of four months it had raised over £1m from donations from well wishers as well as wealthy benefactors including Sir Richard Branson.
But it has recently dwindled to just £200,000.
Stay tuned for #PizzaGate Part 11…
Watch the rest of my ongoing #PizzaGate Series: https://steemit.com/pizzagate/@mes/pizzagate-video-tutorial-series-on-youtube-easy-to-follow-and-fully-sourced