Red faces at Scotland Yard

Back in June last year, I reported on a series of police raids on safe deposit facilities in England. Many millions of pounds in cash, drugs, documents, works of art and the like were seized for investigation.

At the time, I was concerned that this action, whilst perhaps justifiable from some perspectives, might also represent ‘a wholesale infringement of civil liberties’. Turns out that was a prescient remark, if a report today is to be believed. It’s a long article, but I’ve excerpted a few passages to give you the gist of it.

There was a lot at stake. Never before had the British police been granted a warrant as broad as this. The raids had been made possible under a controversial law, the Proceeds Of Crime Act (POCA), which came into being in 2002 and introduced an array of wide-ranging new powers to seek out and confiscate dirty money – the houses, cars and boats bought by criminals.

However, lawyers watching the police operation unfold were quick to warn that the strong-arming of these vaults and the crashing into each and every box was tantamount to the police having obtained permission to smash down the doors of an entire housing estate.

David Sonn, of Sonn Macmillan Walker, one of the largest criminal defence practices in London, says, ‘POCA was never intended for this. No one objects when criminals are caught and their assets seized – but shaking down everyone to get to them is specifically not what lawmakers wanted.’

Aware of the controversy, Scotland Yard went on a charm offensive, with Assistant Commissioner John Yates giving a series of briefings.

‘This is a huge operation to tackle criminal networks who we believe are using safe deposit facilities to hide assets,’ he reassured the media.

The raids had come after 18 months of scrupulous intelligence gathering that had led detectives to suspect the vault owners were turning a blind eye to the worst kinds of criminality, enabling major villains to conceal, transport and launder their ill-gotten gains, said Yates. Brushing aside concerns about the invasion of privacy, he asserted that ‘the majority’ of the boxes seized belonged to criminals.

Evidence was soon put on show that seemed to underscore his position. More than £53 million in cash was impounded, some of it stuffed into supermarket bags. Most of the money, said the Met, was ‘the proceeds of armed robberies and international drug trafficking’.

. . .

However, by talking to scores of box-holders, none of whom have spoken before, Live has uncovered a different version of Operation Rize, one that shows how the vast majority of those caught up in the raids were innocent. They have had their lives turned upside down over the past 17 months. Many have struggled to recoup their money and possessions, been forced into legal trench warfare with police lawyers and told they must prove how they came by the contents of their boxes.

This is also a story told through secret legal papers, including confidentiality agreements struck with some vault depositors whose cases threatened to topple the entire operation. Although the police told a judge that ‘nine out of ten’ of all of the thousands of box-holders were probably criminally minded, criminally connected or felons, the paper trail reveals that perhaps only as few as ten per cent of the boxes have any connection to serious crime.

More worryingly, according to eminent lawyers and barristers, Operation Rize has seen the Yard employ unethical tactics, driving a coach and horses through the new POCA legislation, leaving the Met facing a raft of legal actions that could potentially cost taxpayers millions of pounds.

. . .

Many of the clientele were families who had fled turmoil, pogroms, coups and wars and long had a cultural preference for locking away money and jewels, building up a vehement distrust for the integrity of traditional banks. Here, stepping down the spiral staircase at the back to the darkened boxes below, they felt reassured that their most important possessions were safe.

One survivor of Nazi Germany in his seventies told us how he had placed a bag of diamonds there – security if ever he or his descendents needed to run again.

‘My wife and I had escaped from Germany with nothing but these gems,’ he said. ‘She sewed them into our clothing before we crossed occupied Europe, reaching Britain by ship when the jewels were snipped out and locked up.’

There was a rabbi too, Yitzchak Schochet, of Mill Hill Synagogue, who said: ‘Safety deposit boxes are supposed to be confidential. The whole situation was very unsettling and an intrusion of privacy.’

Another client, an Indian millionaire entrepreneur with connections to the House of Lords, described how he was ‘treated like a convicted man just because I had wealth in cash’.

A Hindu priest described to Live how his family’s valuables had been carried in the Sixties from Madhya Pradesh, India, to London ‘in a gunny sack’.

Among the possessions seized by the police were elaborate handcrafted bracelets, gold rings set with uncut stones, and a bejewelled wedding tikka ornament to be draped on the forehead of a new bride. ‘These items had always been in our family,’ the priest said, ‘We had cash in there too. But now we had to prove how we bought them and where that money, saved over the years, had come from.’

Under POCA, the burden of proof lay with the box-holders. Finding evidence for wartime treks across Europe, or charting migration stories from the Partition of India and beyond, would cost many of the box-holders tens of thousands of pounds.

. . .

Minutes had been taken of the judge’s meetings with Talbot and Ponting. They tell how the Rize plan had been rejected by one senior judge only to be put to a second who was wooed with statistics rather than hard new evidence. Other court documents obtained show that the legal teams preparing their judicial reviews took the 32-page transcript to pieces and in so doing lambasted the whole Rize operation.

‘The warrant was extraordinarily broad,’ Temerko’s team warned, and ‘completely unprecedented’, representing the widest ever seen by lawyers in Britain, one that on this ground alone was liable to be quashed by High Court judges. The police had only provided the court with ‘bare assertions’ rather than hard evidence.

A High Court judge was advised, ‘The gross interference in privacy outweighed any benefit to the investigation.’

The file concludes: ‘This is a remarkable and untenable case of guilt by association’ that trampled on rights to privacy enshrined by Article 8 of the European Convention of Human Rights. This guarantees all individuals the right to privacy, barring states from intruding unless serious crimes have been committed.

Siobhan Egan from lawyers Lewis Nedas added: ‘The police had also made some bizarre errors.’ The POCA legislation barred the seizing of legal papers but they had five crates belonging to Temerko.

The police changed course. They notified Temerko’s legal team that they were now acting under the Criminal Justice and Police Act, which allowed such privileged documents to be held.

‘However, this law can only be invoked when a written notice has been given to everyone, box-holders and vault owners,’ said Egan. Alerted, the police ran around serving the directors of the Park Lane vault and their box-holders with written notices – without realising that the law could not be applied retrospectively, and that the notice had to be handed over ‘at the time’ of the raids.

On June 4 2009, the Met caved in. Temerko was offered an agreement. In exchange for dropping his Judicial Review, all five crates of his documents were returned ‘in sealed police evidence bags’, with the police even agreeing to pay his costs, as well as accounting for their own, a combined figure estimated at more than £250,000. In return, the Russian agreed to keep ‘the terms of this consent order confidential’. His silence had been assured. The Selts won too. A similar deal was offered to them, their goods returned and costs paid.

Statistics were by now causing the police significant problems. Mark Taylor, a former fraud investigator for HM Customs and Excise, now an associate director of Vantis, an accountancy firm advising families caught up in Operation Rize, kept a tally.

Of the 6,717 boxes targeted by detectives in the biggest raid in the Met’s history, just over half were occupied. And of those that were full, 2,838 boxes were now handed back, a figure that represents 80 per cent of the number of boxes seized.

Eight out of ten box owners were provably innocent. Taylor said: ‘Of the £53 million in cash that the police took, £20 million has also been given back and £33 million is now being referred to as “under investigation”, of which only £2.83 million has been confiscated or forfeited by the courts.’

This figure represents just over five per cent of the total money stored in the vaults, although the Met has 690 ‘ suspect’ boxes that it is still investigating.

That means of the total number of boxes, around ten per cent are being probed for villainy, a long way from the nine out of ten cases the Met surmised they would find while wooing Judge Macrae.

. . .

One goldsmith from north London fought for over a year to get his £40,000 cash and valuables back, then claimed it was not all there. He has now filed an official complaint.

‘The police kept saying, “Why have you got all this cash?” and I showed them my books.’

His premises were raided twice, the second time by 20 officers.

‘They found nothing because I had done nothing and eventually this summer, everything was returned to me. But £10,000 was gone – and my wife’s diamond earrings.’

The Met has strenuously denied all allegations of theft, pointing out that anyone stealing from the boxes would have been caught on camera since officers videoed the entire operation.

Another box-holder who is alleging theft, a wealthy Russian émigré party-planner from north London, who had £64,000 in cash and £250,000 worth of jewellery, including heirlooms from Russia, successfully challenged the police to produce the video.

‘I am meticulous,’ she said. ‘I have a receipt for everything. When I got my box back, £9,000 cash and some smaller items of jewellery were missing – a gold baby’s bracelet and an 18-carat gold ring.’

The initial police footage, she claims, had a time code and showed her box being carried to a table. But then the tape was interrupted and when it restarted the footage was being shot from a new camera, at a different angle and without a time code, with real time having moved on many seconds.

She told Live: ‘It only takes seconds for a small envelope of cash or a gold ring to be swiped from the table and into someone’s pocket. I was staggered.’ After failing to get adequate answers from the Met’s own Directorate of Professional Standards, her lawyers have gone to the independent Police Complaints Authority, along with 70 other box-holders.

There’s more at the link.

Hmm. Warrants obtained through questionable legal proceedings; the failure of police to find what they expected to (and said they would) find; the wholesale disruption of the lives and financial activities of innocent persons; the possible theft of private property while it was under police investigation; heavy-handed tactics that have cost the innocent tens, if not hundreds of thousands of pounds in legal costs, all of which they’ll now try to recover from the police (and, ultimately, from the taxpayer) . . . quis custodiet ipsos custodes, indeed?

Peter