(IMAGE: O’key (Left) and Bradbury (Right). It is due to the lies and corruption of these two officers, that Crimebodge was founded.)
There is a lot of curiosity surrounding the history and purpose of this site, as well as questions regarding who I am and how I am qualified to offer legal advice. What follows is the story of what motivated me to create this website.
It was July 4th 2012 when I received that fateful knock at the door. Up until then, I was, like most people, fairly clueless about the police. I trusted them and respected them. Throughout my life, and growing up in north London, I had both good and bad experiences with them. Nothing that would taint my overall opinion of them. I subscribed to the belief that they did a difficult job and were only interested in going after the bad guys.
My collision with the truth was going to be a hard one…
I was expecting builders that day, so when I opened the door and saw two female police officers scowling at me, I was taken aback. Their names – as if I would ever forget – were P.C Kate Bradbury 14174 and pc Samantha O’key 3427.
“We’ve had a report there’s been a disturbance,” one of them said.
“There’s been no disturbance. I’m here alone.”
“Apparently you were heard shouting at someone at this address.”
Then it clicked. Earlier that morning I’d had a brief argument on the doorstep with my partner about my daughter getting to school late. It had lasted all of a few minutes with us exchanging sour words as she got into a waiting cab. Nothing deserving of police attention, surely?
“Can we come in?”
“What for?” I said. “I’ve done nothing wrong and there’s no-one here.”
Both officers looked at me as if I was something they’d just stepped in.
“What happened earlier?”
“I just told you, nothing.”
But they weren’t listening. They peered over my shoulder into my empty house and resumed their questioning. I asked them who had made the report but they refused to say. It didn’t take much to work out: the next door neighbour. She had a score to settle because I’d reported her to the local authority just a few weeks earlier, unwittingly sparking a neighbour war. By arguing on the doorstep I’d given her the opportunity to get the revenge she was looking for.
I explained to the officers that the call was vindictive, nothing had occurred and there was no cause for alarm. But they just regarded me with cold contempt. I had refused to let them into my home and for that they had taken offence. ‘Why wouldn’t I just let them in if I had done nothing wrong?’ For the same reason I wouldn’t allow any cold caller – least of all a government employee – to go marching through my home. Besides which, I resented having two arrogant police officers stood on my doorstep showing outward hostility and suspicion, disbelieving anything I said, while taking the faceless allegations of an anonymous third party as the truth. Meanwhile, my neighbour was probably peering through the curtains enjoying the show. Two cops bursting into my home would be the icing on the cake for her. So it was a matter of upholding my pride as much as upholding my rights.
My resistance was fruitless. I could have closed the door on them at any time and if I had, my life would have taken on a very different course. Instead, I stood there trying to appeal to a sense of reason they didn’t possess until they abruptly barged open my door, pushed me aside and marched into my home. I knew better than to try to stop them.
They proceeded to search every room in the house. Badly I might add. The search lacked enthusiasm and was nothing else but a show of force, rather than a genuine concern for someone’s safety. When they were done, they returned to my hallway and resumed their interrogation. ‘What was I hiding? Why was I not answering their questions? Something must have happened, the caller said so, so why was I being so obstructive?’ The fact that they had offended me by intruding into my home meant nothing to them. As far as they were concerned my taking offence was yet more proof that I had something to hide.
Eventually they muttered something to each other and walked out, tartly.
The moment they were gone I emailed a complaint to Derbyshire Constabulary. I didn’t know it yet, but I had just tried to put out a fire by dousing it in petrol.
At the time, I had no idea that police officers, who are the subject of a complaint, are totally unaccounted for. They are free to pursue the complainant in any manner they choose. No superior is watching. There are no safeguards to stop them. And if they are caught out, their superior officers will cover for them.
I didn’t find out how the officers had exacted their revenge for my complaint until a month later. By then, I had been willing to forget about the matter. I’d made my complaint and all I wanted to know was whether or not the officers had exceeded their authority that day.
Instead, I got a phone call. From child protection services. The woman at the end of the line told me that they had received a referral from a police officer. One month ago. The day after O’key and Bradbury had entered my home. They had written to child services, alleging that I had been seen on my doorstep banging my head against a brick wall in front of my then 4 year old daughter.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The officers had seen me. Spoken to me face to face. They had never uttered anything about me trying to demolish a brick wall with my own forehead. They’d never mentioned my daughter. There were no marks on me. No bruising. No signs of distress. Why were they now alleging something so outrageous and demonstrably untrue as this?
Hell hath no fury like a police woman scorned.
As I was to find out, every officer subject to a complaint, receives a copy of that complaint in writing. The moment O’key got her notice she drove to my neighbour’s house in a bid to extract anything she could to dish the dirt on me. And when my neighbour wouldn’t say anything to incriminate me, O’key made it up. Then forwarded it on to child services. Using my daughter as a weapon.
Months later, I made a subject access request for a copy of O’key’s notebook to compare it to a copy of the referral. Guess what? They didn’t match. The witness had made no mention of someone hitting their head against a wall. It was entirely a figment of the officer’s sick mind.
When I discovered this gross disparity between the two documents it was conclusive evidence the officer had lied and made the referral maliciously. Grounds for gross misconduct surely? Grounds for dismissal? So I made another complaint. To my dismay, not only did Derbyshire Police refuse to uphold my complaint, they fabricated an excuse for her: That the referral had been ‘made in error.’ Apparently, the officer had had difficulty reading her own handwriting. Even though she had made the referral within an hour of taking down the witnesses account, somehow she had misheard the witness and then mis-transcribed the referral. The fact that O’key’s regulation notice was hanging out of her pocket when she interviewed my neighbour, was dismissed as mere ‘coincidence’.
To toss me a bone, the investigating officer conceded that the entry into my home had been unlawful. Years later, after I had become adept at suing police officers on other people’s behalf, I revisited this complaint and successfully sued Derbyshire police for trespass. I would have sued for assault and battery too, but O’key, true to form, furthered her lies and corruption, by alleging the door had not been forced open but that I had stepped away from it for a moment, allowing them unobstructed access into my home.
I still had much to learn about what fluent liars police officers are.
As I expected, child services found no wrongdoing on my part. But it did nothing to lance my contempt and disgust for Derby Police. I wanted to vent my frustration in some way. The only way I knew to do that was to write. My intention wasn’t to start some kind of hate campaign against the police but to ridicule them. Mock them. Hence the chosen name of ‘Crimebodge.’ I purchased a domain name, set up a blog and began writing about the police. Within the first few weeks someone posted a link to my articles on a police internet forum, inviting other’s to ridicule me. Within hours, police officers began sending me hateful remarks and threatening emails. All this did was to spur me on even more. I’d got under their skin and I was glad of it.
As the hate mail poured in, so did some genuinely encouraging comments from members of the public, sharing their own stories of police misconduct. Not criminals angry at being caught, (as the police are so quick to dismiss complainants as being), but ordinary people that had been let down by the police service. Some of these people were asking for advice. As I’d learned so much about the police complaints process during my experience, I shared that knowledge with them. The requests for help kept coming in. There were no other resources on the internet at that time advising people how to protect themselves from the police except for websites maintained by activists and political agitators.
So I began religiously studying the law. Applying it. Learning from other complainant’s experiences. I began writing articles frequently, sharing everything I had learned. It took me many years to become proficient enough to help people across a broad range of criminal and civil law issues. I saw no reason to devote 4 years of my life getting a law degree. I had no interest in becoming a solicitor. I had the same access to law books, case law, codes and practises as any other student of law. The law isn’t the preserve of academics, and legal professionals, it is accessible to us all. Besides which, studying Judge made law and parliament made law was not enough. I needed to study police made law; that improvised set of rules and customs that the police practise on the streets away from the scrutiny of senior officers and the courts. And the only way I could teach myself that was by learning from other’s experiences, getting actively involved with the many thousands of people who came to me asking for help. People who cannot afford the services of a solicitor, or who cannot find reliable advice that isn’t slanted in favour of the police.
None of this would have been possible without the perpetual feedback, communication and solidarity I have had from the many millions of visitors I have had to this website. As long as there is police misconduct, this website will continue to exist. It has been a group effort and I thank every single person who has supported this site and my Youtube channel over the years.
Oh, and not forgetting the lies and malice of P.C Kate Bradbury 14174 and P.C SamanthaO’key 3427; without whom, the Crimebodge website would never have existed.
Note: Samantha O’key is now a police officer with Cumbria constabulary.
PC Bradbury has since married and changed her surname. She is still a police officer in Derby, where I have it on good advice she drives patrol cars. Badly.